#sorry this took a bit to answer!! self preservation etc etc

[scalpelsister]

For the dnd character questions: 13, 49 and 67 for morana? And 21, 37, and 66 for leo!!

tysm!! <3 sorry this took me. a hot second lol. also some of these answers might be a bit abstract oops.

Morana-

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

absolutely without a doubt a pond- somewhere still, slightly off the beaten path. both for backstory reasons but also just for her personality- somewhere quiet, muted color palette, lots of animals, etc.

49. Do they talk to themselves?

yes! she absolutely mutters to herself when shes alone. she would struggle to do so in front of strangers, but it still happens from time to time. (bonus: she also mutters to others about various goings on- to any animals present and to her goddess. formal prayer? out. rambling about your to do list? in!)

67. Selflessness or Self-Preservation?

selflessness- not that she can't practice self preservation from time to time, but her paladin nature is too strong for her to ever go full tilt that direction. besides- she is of the belief that she will be reincarnated if she dies, so whats the worry? shes more easily expendable than her party members- who may not have such an easy ticket to Coming Back.

Leontine-

21. If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

ooh ok. the potion would be liquid gold- similar to those videos of tea with edible glitter in them- in a relatively simple / classic square bottle. the bottle would have a leather strap detailing on it around the top with a little sun shaped charm hanging from it. it would smell like.... cinnamon. as for affect / what it does... fantasy antidepressant? some kind of emboldening / courage / borderline recklessness potion? who knows!

37. What are some ways your character acts silly?

she has never been serious a day in her life, so, all of them lol. but specifically shes very passionate about pranks (her skills in slight of hand and stealth are for prank based shenanigans NOT rampant theft). she will tie your shoelaces together when you arent looking. otherwise shes a chronic silly face in serious situations puller, as well as being prone to suggesting / backing whatever the craziest plan that can be brainstormed.

66. Outward Passion or Quiet Rebellion?

shes done both at various stages of her life, but mostly outward passion! once she caught on that quiet rebellion was not getting her the results (or the attention) she wanted, she switched tactics pretty fast. shes not interested in playing the long subtle game- she'd rather be direct. this applies both to interpersonal disputes with her family, but also with her political views.

[the-art-block]

Random John questions: If John is an operative, does that mean he's a spy? Also do he and his sire ever see each other or get along . Who staked Atena:ti anyway? Guy's built like a freaking tank! Also who killed John's sire? I hope you do art of her. Do you play as John etc. /they appear in your campaign or are they just artwork. Sorry for a million questions. Also I *hugs* them and *shows them Dutch bunny*

To answer the questions in a helpful order: - John isn't in any formal campaign, no. He's just part of my personal stable of ocs that the setting inspired me to make. HOWEVER I would absolutely play him in a campaign that suited his character, any fuckin time any fuckin where! - Yes, John is essentially a spy! It's a very complex and chonky piece of fan-made content, but to be as brief as possible: John is a vital intelligence member of a new Kindred sect in the 2020s that's comprised largely of Indigenous American Kindred who are putting their immortal and superpowered unlives to good use by fighting for native causes. They're also working to preserve tribal traditions that might die out if there weren't literal undying folks with the cultural knowledge kicking around. They're led by an ancient Tzimisce named Dibikad, who rose up out of the Lake Superior as a Great Lynx-shaped monster, and they call themselves the Moonrise Nation. (And of course the Moonrise Nation has a lot of opposition in other Kindred sects, so by extension - John has a lot of enemies to deal with for his people!) - Atena:ti was staked by the Nosferatu living in the warrens under the Bronx! They uncovered his torpor burrow when they went digging under the Hudson river, hoping to expand their dwelling a bit. He was awakened by the sudden collapse of his underground chamber, and luckily the New Yorker Nos managed to stake him before he killed anyone in his angry, sleepy confusion. - John's Sire/Atena:ti's Childe, Kaiennenhawi (Who also went by the name "Mary Davies") was killed at Wounded Knee in 1973 by Camarilla agents sent in to neutralize the conflict. Her death really devastated John, who fled the scene in fear for his own life. And I simply must draw her now! - John and Atena:ti do get along, extremely well. Atena:ti is super damn old, as you've seen. As an ancient warrior he's used to being a self-sufficient, god-punching, one-man army. It took him a long time to get comfortable with dependence on others. He relies heavily on younger Kindred to help him navigate the modern world, and John is the person he trusts most. Their "familial" bond is important to him, moreso than it might be to other modern Kindred. He considers John his only living family, and John feels the same way about the giant grandpa.

[thegeminisage]

Here's something I'd love your take on: I read a meta recently (would link it but I can't remember where, ack) that suggested that Sam is able to forgive John in later seasons because a) he's had the whole "family making unilateral decisions for your own good" thing repeatedly shoved down his throat, and b) whatever John did under this umbrella in their childhoods, Dean has done far worse by that point, and Sam HAS to forgive him so by extension he can't really be mad at John anymore (1/2)

(2/2) As someone who has admittedly only seen bits and pieces of the later seasons, this seems to jive with Sam losing a lot of his characteristic early-seasons anger, letting Dean call the shots almost all the time even when he thinks it's the wrong move, and moments of sympathy for John (contrasted w/Dean's growing resentment, which is so interesting!). But! I got some big ol' gaps in my spn comprehension, so was curious if you had any thoughts on this dynamic

wow okay long answer warning! i got carried away and forgot how to use punctuation. nobody is obligated to read all of this lol and the biggest part of the answer is behind a cut. anyway!!

first things first: i think a big thing to remember with sam’s characterization in later seasons is that it’s like...not there, and when it is there, it’s sometimes flat and inconsistent. because dean became sole the main protagonist after the first 8 (arguably the first 5 or even first 2) seasons, sam sort of got demoted to “side character we don’t know what to do with” along with cas and crowley. they all had good arcs pop up now and then (sam had some fun stuff going on with lucifer in s11 and s13) but most of the time the writers either don’t know how to give him a meaningful characterization or don’t care (or both). so we have to do a lot of that work ourselves. 

so, for example, when we talk about sam losing his anger, i like to read it as him OVERCOMING that anger to avoid becoming his father (which may even be where some of the seemingly sympathetic comments come from, because he’s trying to be forgiving instead of angry), but really...it’s that the writers forgot he had anger issues. in-universe explanation vs irl explanation, yk? and i think pretty much all meta about sam in late seasons is written through that lens, whether the writer of that meta knows it or not. including this one! i can’t prove any of this shit, it’s my personal reading, i’m making it up. like there were just SO many different people involved in the production of supernatural that there was a lot of conflict and contradictions in things like continuity and characterization. (most of the writers room hadn’t even seen every episode!) so there’s not one definitive way to go about it. in many ways it makes the characters more nuanced and in many other ways it makes me fucking insane.

as for sam and john and whether or not sam forgives him, i’m actually glad you asked because this has been driving me nuts for a long time and it took me SO LONG to pin it down - sam’s relationship with john is very different to dean’s, and i couldn’t figure out WHY. it’s not that he was “abused less,” it’s not that he loved john less or was less hurt by his actions, so why doesn’t he seem as INVESTED in everything that happened to them as kids? like he says in season 14 he had to learn to let it go and that it was all a lifetime ago for him. meanwhile i think dean still deals with it every day. he’s still stewing in it to some degree 24/7. so like what’s the difference??

i think it comes down to two things. firstly, that while dean didn’t have anybody parenting him except john (and mary, but only for a very short time that he could actually remember), SAM’S parents were john AND DEAN. most of the time dean was the one raising sam, and in fact he arguably did way more parenting of sam than john did. so the person that made dean feel safe and like he could fight back against monsters, the person he was grateful to, was john. but the person who made SAM feel safest was dean. he doesn’t have that same gratitude towards john that dean does and he never will, because of how john made him feel alienated and excluded from their family growing up. dean’s resentment of john is so tangled up in this very deep and unconditional love and gratitude for him that sam just doesn’t have. 

secondly, i think dean has a serious case of “i can fix him” re: john that sam doesn’t have and possibly never had. john just never showed sam the same kind of inclusion and warmth and trust that he showed dean (however rarely he showed it, and however fucked up it was). i think sam figured out very very early on that their quest for yellow eyes was either a long shot or straight up impossible, and that they couldn’t waste their entire lives doing it, and that even if the demon died, john was never going to change. dean 100% drank the koolaid - he really truly believed in a world where someday they’d kill the demon and all retire from the life and be normal and be a family again, because that’s what john said and dean took his father’s word as gospel. sam knew better.

so i think what sam did was just disengage. partially because he felt he couldn’t afford to nurse that kind of anger and not become either his father or lucifer, and partially because even though sam loved john, still loves john, he never needed him the way dean did, because sam had dean. so it doesn’t hurt him as much to just “gray rock” it. i think if sam stopped and really dug into it he’d find that he’s still quite angry (probably more angry on dean’s behalf than his own, at least at first, because in his mind he was able to move past it and dean was not, dean had it worse, HIS OWN trauma isn’t real etc etc), but he doesn’t do that because he doesn’t want to be that angry, and possibly even thinks that if he brought it up dean would jump to john’s defense and it would cause a fight, which the opposite of what a gray rock does.

as for being forced to forgive john because if he didn’t he would also have to condemn dean...i don’t think i buy that at all. sam is fine making dean his exception and he allows dean to get away with a lot of deeply horrible shit he would condemn other people for. partially because he’s dean and sam loves him, but in my ~personal reading~ of sam, this is also because once sam became an adult the weight of everything dean did and had to give up to raise him really sank in, and part of him felt guilty (even though sam arguably didn’t have a childhood either). you know how kids take care of their parents in old age to repay them for raising them? that’s sort of how sam is with dean in later seasons - he implies multiple times that he would leave the hunting life forever and not look back if it weren’t for dean.

and as a side note - sorry, this is only tangentially related - dean implies several times in later seasons that the job is where he finds his sense of accomplishment and self-esteem and meaning - he believes the world is a better place because of what he and sam do, and even though he doesn’t always like DOING the job, he likes the outcome. it’s weird because this is as close as we see dean get to even HAVING self esteem. sam, emotionally intelligent, would have picked up on that - and since he and dean have both tried to leave the life multiple times and have always come to regret it, i also think part of sam believes you CAN’T escape - certainly SAM could never escape so long as dean was still in it, because whether he meant to or not dean would always pull him back in. and part of dean doesn’t really want to escape because he’s made his peace with it. so sam stays, and i think even if he can’t find the same meaning in the job that dean does, he finds a lot of meaning in being there for dean. (this, like gray rocking, is also consistent with the seasons where sam’s sole character trait is caring about dean lol. but i’m happy enough to read it in a kinder and less bitter/resentful way.)

it IS worth noting i think that the most forgiving sam ever was about john was in the adam episode, where he said he understood why he was the way he was and why he did what he did, and when dean said they were alike sam decided to take it as a compliment. sam in season 4 is arguably at one of his lowest points - struggling with addiction, consumed by anger and hatred and the need for revenge. he WAS like john in many ways, and i think he justified what john was doing because it also justified what HE was doing. but what he was doing led to breaking lucifer out of hell and the apocalypse that followed, which is why i like to think sam worked so hard to reign in his anger afterward - both to avoid his fate and avoid becoming his father.

in short: i don’t think sam has actually forgiven john so much as disengaged from him and moved past it. because if he DID engage with it, it’d bring up a whole lot of stuff he didn’t feel prepared to deal with. one of the risks of gray rocking things is doing it to the point that you lose touch with your own wants and needs and personality, so i think by late seasons sam’s repression, which is much more sneaky and quiet than dean’s, has settled in to the point where he’s like “yeah whatever” about dad out of sheer self preservation - because otherwise, he’d end up going crazy about it like dean does. i think it’d do him a hell of a lot of good to be able to get to shout at john and finally say his piece/ he’s really afraid of his own anger, but i think it’d be healthy for him to get back in touch with some of it.

[spn masterpost]

[chaoticspacefam]

The Lana Shipping Meme!

This is a meme made by @swtor-legacy-sitcom​ who very kindly tagged me to fill it in, thank you! :D This was super fun, I’ve been in a bit of a writing rutt lately so this was a nice way to sort-of dip my toe back into it :P I TOTALLY forgot this was in my drafts and forgot to schedule it to post, I’m soooo sorry it took so long lmao 😳😬

I’m not sure if we’re supposed to tag other people with this one so I’ll just leave a general, open tag here: if you have a Lana ship and want to fill this one out, feel free to yoink the meme and say I tagged you! Yes, I promise I mean you <3

Spoilers for KOTFE/KOTET, and slight spoilers for the Subterfugeverse “version” of said events, will be discussed below, so be aware of that before proceeding! There’s also some midlly nsfw questions so you might wanna skip those if they’re not your thing! :D Under a cut because it’s long, but no trigger warnings need apply.

Is Lana Beniko absolutely done with their shit?

Oh yes, absolutely. Nearly always. At any given time, BUT Lana wouldn’t have it any other way. Saarai may be a reckless, overly-heroic idiot with seemingly no self-preservation, but she’s Lana’s reckless, overly-heroic idiot, ya know :’D

Do they make jokes together?

Fairly often, yes! Theirs is very much a flirty/fond banter type of relationship. Lana tells her she’s insufferable, Saarai rolls her eyes and snarks back, so on. See:

Saarai: Well this was a stupid idea Lana: Considering it was one of yours, I’m not surprised Saarai: Why didn’t you say something? Lana: I did and you did it anyway. And what have we learnt from this? Saarai, quietly: I’m a dumbass and I should listen to you more.... Lana: Good. I still love you, though. Saarai: :’D

Lana, two minutes later: You’re going to do it again, aren’t you? Saarai: Yeah, probably.

as well as that little cutscene “You’d better come back blah blah blah” “Well I have you to rescue me, that’s all I need~” is their default pre-dangerous battle banter :P

Who’s hornier? (who initiates)

Saarai is definitely hornier, and while she’s not always the one to initiate, she’s definitely the one to ask more often. (if I had to give it a number, prolly something like 65/45 lol) One of these days, Lana’s going to buy a spray bottle /jk

Kinkiest they’ve been?

Not awfully. Saarai’s a biter (Lana likes it, don’t worry 😏) and she loves it when Lana pulls her hair, but other than that, and making use of connections within the Force to heighten the sensations during such activities ;) they’re pretty vanilla

There was a post going around a while back about an alternative to a praise kink that was like, a “reassurance” kink, instead. I can’t find the actual post to link to it and I haven’t pinned down any specifics for them yet but I definitely think that’s a Saarai thing to look into later 😏

Has Lana ever covered up something your OC did as Minister of Intelligence?

In a roundabout way, yes. Technically, Saarai’s entire existence on Rishii. Since, teeechhnically, as far as the Empire’s concerned at that point, Rai’s supposed to be dead. Lana doesn’t know the technicalities of why that is (and Saarai isn’t comfortable telling her, even now), but she knows it’s important, so she does it for her even if she doesn’t know why.

Favorite non sexual downtime activity?

Cuddles! Saarai is a cuddlebug, and while Lana enjoys them she’s definitely not the “if I don’t get cuddled x times a day I can’t go on” type (in my headcanon, ofc, I’m not saying she can never be that way!) but, Saarai’s also very warm and cuddling her is cozy, so it’s something they both enjoy, whether Rai’s the big spoon, or - and this is Rai’s favourite thing ever - Saarai putting her head in Lana’s lap so Lana can play with her hair, it’s something they always do at the end of the day when they’re both done with work.

Mushiest thing Your OC has ever done for Lana?

So, I’m too impatient & lazy to do the actual HK missions in-game, but I know you can technically get another HK unit, so because ✨it’s my fanfic and I get to make the rules✨ Saarai sent Aria (my DS! Jedi Shadow, very good at stealth) back to Zakuul and though it was a bit battered up, she managed to retrieve HK’s processor. They had to get him a new chassis, but Koth and Ty managed to salvage the rest of his “important” bits and they rebuilt HK for her after they settled on Odessen :’3

Most Embarrassed Lana has ever been because of your OC?

In the middle of an important meeting, in front of everyone on the Alliance High Council, including Theron, Senya, Ni’kasi, Vano, etc.

Lana, sarcastically, after they’ve been disagreeing on how to handle a particular matter for ~1 hr: hahaha bite me.

Saarai, dead serious: Okay, where? 😏

Lana was mortified, to say the least XD

That thing that happened that they vow to NEVER speak of?

Saarai’s reaction when they went to Nathema. Rai’s psychometric, and in hindsight she realises putting her hand on that wall as she ducked into the building was a mistake. She was bombarded with flashback after flashback of what had happened on Nathema when it was still Medriaas, the planet where she was born and where most of her family died, it was not a pleasant experience for her and Rai actually collapsed at one stage because it was all too much for her ;w;

Lana had to bring her back around and herd her back on the ship, where Rai had to wait because she just couldn’t go any further, and Lana and Vano had to go on alone. Lana agreed not to tell anyone else about what had happened, because Saarai didn’t want any of them to worry about her, or think she was “weak” because of it.

The Angriest they’ve ever been at each other?

There’s actually two instances that come to mind for this one

1) Koth’s betrayal/stealing of the Gravestone, Lana was pissed at Koth and wanted to take it out on him, Saarai was pissed at the situation and got between them and chewed Lana out for taking it out on him. (Subterfugeverse is kinda complicated, there’s two Commanders calling the shots for different parts of the Alliance, Koth took issue with something Vano did and made the reckless, kinda stupid decision to still steal the Gravestone even tho Saarai didn’t do anything. (also for anyone new to the blog, all three of them are dating, they’re polyam ;)) Lana took it personally, Saarai was more upset that he was upset and didn’t say anything before he did something stupid. Rai and Lana butted heads about how to deal with it, Lana got salty cause she got yelled at, but they ofc fix it later :3)

2) Torian’s death. Saarai had tried to warn Lana what would happen if they split Vette & Torian up during that fight, Lana brushed it off and told Rai to “stop overreacting, it will be fine”. Obviously, it was not fine. Rai was very angry at the result because, I quote, “I WARNED YOU! And you wouldn’t listen to me!” Saarai refused to speak to Lana for a few days after that, it was kinda a rough time for Lana, she’s only seen Rai get that angry a few times, and only once at her so it shook her a bit. 😢

How does both Lana, and your OC initiate the ‘fade to black’ ;)

For Saarai, the “indicator” is usually when her kisses start to become 50/50 between kissing and biting/nibbling. That’s the universal “ok I want to” signal for Rai. Usually very quickly followed by a soft “yes?” or “are you sure?”, either against her skin or into her ear, depending on where she’s kissing at the time; because she’ll always check first, and if Lana says “no”, it’s off, because Lana’s consent is more important than any of her feelings.

For Lana, it’s when she’ll let Rai pick her up and/or usually to pin her to a wall. There’s a decent height difference, Saarai’s 6 ft 3, and I headcanon that while Lana’s not necessarily “short” at around 5 ft 8, she’s considerably smaller than Rai, as well as being more “reserved” with PDA, she’ll hold hands, or kiss her on the cheek etc. in front of other people, but otherwise Lana tries to keep somewhat “professional” while they’re at work. So when she starts climbing her like a tree, Rai knows she’s about to get some. XD

Do they have kids?

Kiiiinddd of? It’s complicated. Saarai has a son, Ty, from a previous relationship. Lana & Koth both sort of step up to help co-parent, but since Sith Purebloods age differently (i.e. they’re adults at ~20ish the same as humans, but after that they’re more like elves and their physical aging slows down, so they’re more long-lived), even though Ty’s very young by Pureblood standards, he’s still 60 years old, so he’s technically older than Lana and it’s kind of awkward for him to actually call her mom even if she kind of acts like one. He accidentally called her “mom” once, it was very awkward for both of them XD

What has been the most protective Lana has ever had of said kid?

I sat and scratched my head for ages trying to think of something to answer this question with, but I’m very sad to say that right now at the time of answering this meme, I don’t have any specific scenes planned out to tell you about! :( But rest assured that Lana absolutely would rush to help Ty if it was ever necessary :D

House pets? Is your Lana a dog person, or Cat person?

Funnily enough, they don’t actually have any pets! I’d like to think of Lana as more of a cat person than a dog person, in my personal opinion. But they have yet to get any pets of their own, maybeee later on, I dunno. Haven’t hit on any solid ideas for them yet, but I feel like if they happened upon a cute kitty they definitely could adopt one at some stage :’3

Do they get freaky on the Alliance Base or in the Shuttles?

They’ve done both, to be honest lol. Thankfully, Saarai’s sneaky enough that they haven’t gotten caught doing it, yet. Thank the Force.

Are their Sparring Matches Flirtatious? Hardcore?

They could go either way, it depends on what kind of mood they’re both in. If Lana’s particularly annoyed (usually not at Rai, but sometimes) then it’s more likely to be a hardcore spar, Rai’s a pretty tough cookie so she’ll often offer to be Lana’s punching bag in order to spare them some repair bills so she doesn’t rip apart the training dummies irrepairably, it’s okay, Rai can take it ;)

But if they’re both in an otherwise good mood and are just sparring for practise sakes, then yes, they often very quickly devolve into flirtacious banter and some of the classics, you know, “okay you win, you can let me go now” “mmm, nah” “I thought we were sparring” “do you want me to stop” “...don’t you dare.” etc. :’D

Class Specific things that play into their relationship?

Saarai’s a Juggernaut, and I headcanon Lana’s probably some sort of Sorcerer, so they tend to fight as such. They cover each other in more ways than one, if you want to get to Lana you have to go through Saarai first (and good luck to you, that woman can take and give a fucking beating lmao). Lana picks off whatever Saarai’s saber misses, usually with Force attacks but sometimes with her saber, too. Saarai takes bullets for Lana so Lana doesn’t have to get hurt. Lana yells at Rai for doing that and then fixes her up with Force healing afterwards, rinse and repeat. :’D

When they do argue, Lana tends to spontaneously manifest Force lightning, Saarai’s used to it and doesn’t bat an eyelid, she knows Lana’s not actually going to throw it at her and she’s more than prepared to dodge any stray bolts that do come her way.

Lana’s the tactician and the ground support, Saarai’s the battering ram/the bigass hammer used to clear space when Lana needs a bit of extra “oomph” (and trust me, they’re usually never far apart. The other one will be there and then you’ll be in trouble lmao)

Describe a time your OC went ‘Full beast mode’ to protect Lana, instead of the other way around?

"Kriff. Koth, what happened?” Three words was all it took, and everything made sense: “They hurt Lana.”

That scene in the Endless Swamps on Zakuul, just before they pull the Gravestone out of it and Lana and the Commander get ambushed. Saarai went with Lana & Koth to break Vano out of carbonite (since Saarai was still on Rishii at the time, she doesn’t get frozen, only Vano) so when they split up, Saarai goes with Koth to look for ship parts while Vano goes with Lana to look for water.

Lana and Vano get ambushed by the Knights/Skytroopers, and Lana’s hand gets busted. It takes Saarai and Koth a little while to rush over there to help them, but when they do

Saarai. Goes. Fucking. Feral. It’s the scariest she’s ever been in front of Lana and Lana will never forget it, they almost didn’t really need Senya’s help for that part, Saarai basically had it covered. I imagine Lana later described it as “kind of hot, but also kind of terrifying, actually”

Saarai’s considered Chaotic Good, so generally speaking if there’s a peaceful, non-violent solution to a problem, she’ll opt for that, but she has a few buttons that you just do not want to push, ever. And hurting her partners is one of those buttons. She will go apeshit and that’s exactly what happened in the swamp lmao

Little things couples do to annoy each other. What does Lana do? What does your OC do?

Saarai likes to wake up early and hide Lana’s kaf mug in increasingly ridiculous places. Once, she even got Koth to help her stick it to the top of the Gravestone’s hull. It took Lana half the morning to find it, Lana was not amused. XD

Saarai and Koth also have an ongoing “terrible puns” contest where they basically see who can annoy Lana with the most ridiculous puns possible, see this post for an example :P Lana wonders where/how they keep coming up with these puns, she really does.

Does Lana get jealous in your headcanon?

Not really! In Subterfugeverse, both Rai and Lana are polyam, so generally speaking, jealousy isn’t a problem for them, and when it is it’s more of a case of “hey. Hey. Hey, I’m not getting enough attention, pay attention to me.” and then it’s usually dealt with and all is well ;)

When Lana meets Anri, the only thing Saarai does is tease her about “when she’s going to make the move”. 😜

Story that is prominent in their relationship?

I was gonna draw a little doodle for this but the poses kept not coming out right so I gave up, sorryyy qAq

I haven’t gotten very far into planning the SoR onwards+ segments of Subterfugeverse, just bits and bobs like this, but I’d say for now the most prominent is probably their first meeting on Rishii. Basically, meet-cute but with a lightsaber involved too hahaha. There was a lot of posturing and flirty subtext right from the get-go with these two, even if Saarai was particularly suspicious at first (see the earlier question about her being technically dead to the Empire). At first, when she noticed Lana tailing Ty (because Lana was extremely confused about why a Pureblood was so far from Sith space ;)), Saarai assumed that something had happened to her twin and the Empire had A) found out she and Ty were still alive and B) Sent Lana to track them down and kill them for good. Several tension-loaded hours later and Lana managed to convince Rai that actually, Ni’kasi was fine and speaking of, she was trying to avoid being killed too so maybe, actually, they could help each other. And that was all she wrote <3

[gastropodpapa]

For everyone it applies to in the Obey Me verse: What is their favorite position? Sort of inspired by my cuddle position ask, but also inspired by your headcanons for their dom/sub/top/bottom statuses.

I actually had to go back and reread my own post bc I am a jumbo dumbass.

I’m going to assume you mean sexual position, so here goes. I think they’re all too esoteric to be strictly dom/sub and bottom/top, though. So prepare for trouble, and make it double. I didn’t do everyone cause like,,,,,,, no thoughts head empty, so i hope you don’t mind just 7.5 characters.

Lucifer:

Bottoming: Though I doubt he’d let just anyone top him, I get the sense that if he was getting railed by someone he’s not super emotionally attached to yet he’d be more inclined to still be in control. He might prefer riding someone, if he’s wanting to still be dictating pace etc. But with someone he’s subbing for, I think he’s a pillow princess ngl. Partially to hide his face/muffle his sounds since we KNOW this guy doesn’t have as much self-control as he thinks, partially bc he just wants some stress relief and relaxing on his stomach with a comfy pillow while he gets his whole pelvis destroyed it a great way to unwind. Topping: I don’t think about the guys as tops v much cause I’m, for the most part, an IMMACULATE TOP and as such it’s just not as interesting to me. HOWEVER: Lucifer would wanna top in any position where he can see his partner’s reactions. Gives him the Big Ego when he knows he’s making them feel good. pride man take me by the hand. If he’s emotionally attached to the person he’d wanna hold them close, cause I’ve seen how much of a cheesy romantic asshole he’s turned into in-game LMFAO Mammon:

Bottoming: Honestly? He’ll take just about any position as long as he can hold onto or bite down on something to muffle himself. Y’all know he’s a loud bottom. YOU KNOW IT OK- ok i need to chill. He does have a special love for getting bent over the side of a bed or a table but that could just be me projecting what i wanna do to him and pushed around a bit, even though he whines about it to preserve his ego.

Topping: Missionary, probably. If he’s feeling embarrassed about his reactions, he can just bury his face in his partner’s neck instead of focusing on keeping his face and voice under control. Or he can bury his face into his partner’s neck for Additional Intimacy via neck kissing and getting pets on the head while being told how well he’s doing. Win-win. He’s also fond of getting a smaller partner to sit on his lap while he fucks them so he can hold them close and feel like he’s supporting them. service top hours. he’s so cute heLP Levi:

Bottoming: EXTREMELY loud bottom no matter what position. This man has perfected the hentai moan. Possibly the ahegao face as well. I think he might like to get railed from behind, either pushed up against a wall or mirror/bent over a desk/etc or doggystyle. Either way, he likes to be in his demon form so he can get his tail squeezed and/or wrap it around his partner. Topping: This man is...... snakey. He has no bones. Extremely flexible.I can see him getting into a few interesting positions, but honestly I can’t think of any specifics bc up until very recently I avoided thinking of him in a sexual way. I DO know that his tail would go crazy unless he had something to anchor it to (like, for example, mc’s leg) Satan:

Shockingly, despite being a huge Satan stan, I don’t think about him in sexual situations very much? Which is literally the main reason it took me like A MILLION YEARS to publish this.

Bottoming: Ok hear me out,,,,,, What if he likes being shoved back against a wall though. 😳 Get a little bit rough with him, maybe? I think he might enjoy that.

Topping: This one depends a bit on his mood, but generally unless it’s Angy Stress Relief Fuckin’ he likes to be behind his partner with his face up by their neck/shoulder so he can whisper fun things in their ear and/or bite.

Asmo:

We know this guy is probably down for just about anything, at least once. Any position is good with him honestly. But he does have favorites.

Bottoming: He would like to be picked up and sat down on something so he can wrap his legs around his partner. This can be a pretty versatile position too, because he can lay on his back and/or push his partner’s head down to hip level if he’s feeling a bit bratty. I’m sure he can get much more creative with the possibilities than me, some guy writing this at 7 am while waiting for his breakfast burrito to cool. But the real appeal for him is getting manhandled. We know he’d love it. If his partner can’t lift him, he’ll hop up on the kitchen counter/table/dresser/etc himself and pull them in. Win-win.

Topping: Any position where he can show off his moves. Of which he has many. He also likes any position where his hands are free to roam all over his partner’s body (and make good use of his knowledge of all sorts of sensitive places one might have). Honestly there’s just too many to choose from and just thinking “there’s too many to choose from” has made me imagine Asmo on his phone scrolling some knockoff kama sutra app while his partner is waiting for him to decide how they fuck.

Beel:

Bottoming: Probably more than happy to bottom, because one he’s very inclined to please his partner, two he’s much less likely to misjudge his own strength, three he gets to lay back and be indulged with as much dick as he likes. Gluttony does not extend only to food, people. ;) ANYWAY BACK TO POSITIONS: He’s quite happy to lay on his stomach and let his partner go to town on him while he bites down on a pillow (probably ripping it to shreds and getting feathers/stuffing EVERYWHERE). He also dreams of one day riding someone, but he thinks his size will hamper that. BUT NOT NECESSARILY MUAHAHAH can you tell i’m thirsty for this big lad

Topping: Honestly? Two modes. Soft service top, simple missionary style. Or gluttony time, where he just indulges in his partner until they’re both exhausted, probably in a nice reverse of the pillow biting from the previous section.

Belphie:

Bottoming: Pillow prince. Listen to me. PILLOW. PRINCE. Lazy as fuck, honestly. Just wants to lay back and get railed. Or lay on his stomach and hold onto a pillow so he can immediately go to sleep when his partner is trying to clean him up. Lazy motherfucker. He does get bratty though, and dragging him up to his hands and knees so he has to hold his own weight is an excellent way to get him to either shut up or complain more.

Topping: Depends. Also has two modes: Lazy top who’s more inclined to let his partner put forth all of the effort or (hoo hoo get ready for animal motif jokes) an absolute bullride. Really depends on how tired he is at the time and how much he’s been teased. Either way, I suspect he likes his partner to ride him so that 1; he doesn’t have to put forth as much effort and 2: he can still hold onto them and maybe pull them close if he’s feeling soft and cozy.

Diavolo:

Bottoming: Just about any position, honestly. Man craves being topped. As long as he’s getting fucked (and preferably getting some rough treatment at the same time) he’s happy.

Topping: I’m too much of a top to answer this one and my only thoughts about diavolo include him being a bottom, sorry mate

[skamamoroma]

Martino always thinks he's not enough 💔

You ok there, anon? Sending you a cuddle ❤️

He does have a habit of it, doesn’t he? I find him overwhelmingly relatable across the board but this is another way. He cuts and runs the second he has a feeling he might be hurt. He did it in s2 and he did it in s4. I also do the same. I have done that before and I caused hurt with it too which is regrettable but it’s a self preservation thing, a way to stop the inevitable you think is heading your way.

I think all of the Isaks have a form of this feeling and they all react in various ways but Marti did in s4 exactly what he did in s2 and retreated entirely. He’s comfortable alone and so he retreats into it for safety. That’s ridiculously understandable for me as I do the same.

In s2, he does it 3 times, I guess. Once when Nico didn’t get in contact post kiss, one post night club when he saw Maddalena and Nico and once post Milan. Some of those were understandable because Nico made it difficult (and from Nico’s perspective - ALSO understandable!) but the final one is what makes me so sad. They were together then, really happy, really comfortable and it took one comment from Maddalena for Marti to believe the entire thing was nonsense. His belief in being happy and loved is so fragile.

I think this is where they played it up MORE with Marti and his personality because Nico didn’t send him numerous messages suggesting he was still within the throes of a MH crisis and perpetuating the idea that he was still under the effects of it and that meant it was the only reason he liked Marti like the other remakes... that didn’t happen. Nico’s struggles are different and he tried to explain to Marti in his own way with his “la giraffa” but this is where Marti is so endearing to me and where his mamma’s assessment of him is perfection - he speaks a different language to most.

Marti being the literalist and being incredibly straight forward cannot use that approach the way others can. He shut it down. He blocked Nico, he refused to see what was in front of him. He had to be told so many times (by the boys and Dottor Spera) that Nico should be the one to explain and that Marti had jumped to too many conclusions but above all, he needed simple, straight forward, non-metaphorical words from Nico to show how he felt.

And what happened the second he got them? He went immediately to Nico and was different. He was confident, assured, brave and bold in La Grotta.

Marti needs very little to be yours. If he loves you, he just needs simple, straight forward honesty. If you give him that I think he is cool with most stuff and can handle a lot, otherwise, left to his own interpretations he flounders because he isn’t a nuance guy when it comes to feelings. He is always going to assume the worst and place himself at the bottom of the pile unless he is presented clearly with stuff.

That’s why season 4 makes SO MUCH SENSE in the way they both behave because it’s that test to see if they realised that about themselves post s2 and I think they realised a LOT and learned a lot but they hadn’t learned this lesson yet.

Marti, over a long space of time in s4, keeps trying to get the truth. He understands what something is happening with Nico. He knows that there is something fundamental there but he doesn’t know what and obviously his mind jumps to the worst possibility, sees this handsome stranger enter Nico’s life and spark secrecy and Nico to hide things. I don’t think Marti knows his own worth and I don’t think he necessarily sees himself as someone that would be prioritised when he’s left to his own thoughts. I bet Nico has done so many things and said so much to make Marti feel cherished and loved but it’s ingrained in you sometimes to forget everything in favour of your brain telling you that it’s nonsense really... that there is always stuff that comes to ruin it or that you’re never going to measure up.

Now, Nico had no requirement to do anything and clearly had so much going on in his mind. He struggled trying to tell Marti, he struggled with the whole thing HIMSELF before he could even contemplate handling the Marti of it all... he lied and chose the least helpful path in secrets and trying to cover it all in a blanket and pretend it’s not there to the world while trying to make peace with it. Unfortunately, he’s in love with a guy who needs honesty and needs someone to be straight forward. Without that, Marti makes up his own mind.

Again, and I say it so often because it’s one of my favourite things about them. Nico is a metaphor and Marti is a literalist. It defines so much about them. Nico has come a LONG way to understand Marti. We’ve seen it a few times since s2 (even in their test released by Netflix!!! Thank you Besse!) and especially in the fisherman scene, but Nico has grown to understand Marti’s language just like Mamma Rametta. To love Marti means to tune into his ways. With Nico, he is a much more complex soul with intense fears of abandonment and difficulty with truth and transparency because of his past. He told us how he has been spoken for and talked on behalf of and how he has felt controlled. He told us how he felt alone despite being surrounded by people. We know he chose an animal as the one thing who understood. We know he chose a make believe scenario as comfort. We know he took Marti away and into their make believe world to find happiness. We know he lied time and time again about the truth of his life to protect what he felt was something special. This is ingrained behaviour for Nico as much as Marti’s is for him. Nico consistently uses lies, pretend and metaphor to handle his feelings and fears.

They’re both so hugely compatible but these two facets of their characters mean that 1) they both have to learn to speak a different language to make it work and 2) they both bring stuff to the other’s life that is missing and that enhances the other person. They just hadn’t learned that lesson yet despite learning a LOT in the meantime about other things.

In s4, with Nico’s behaviour being unusual, with his lies, with his lack of transparency, with his failure to explain to Marti, Marti filled in the gaps himself, he put himself at the bottom of the pile, he cut and ran to save himself hurt and he couldn’t handle not knowing the truth. Nothing about his behaviour shocked me in context except perhaps the knee jerk reaction to seeing Nico respond the way he did to Luai and start a bit of a scuffle. But even then, Nico didn’t say “oh I see an old friend”, he looked at Luai in the way he did and then walked off and brushed Marti off. Now if you consider it from Nico’s perspective it’s OVERWHELMING. No wonder he behaved as he did seeing Luai again, no wonder he was in shock and was probably really emotional to be presented with his past, no wonder he found it all difficult to digest and didn’t immediately tell all to Marti. But Marti wasn’t to know that.

I think it’s so telling in the fisherman scene. Marti’s request for a birthday present is honesty 😂😂😂

I mean, can it be more blatant. He has already told Gio and Sana and Dottor Spera and the boys in so many ways that Nico lied and “why didn’t he tell me that then?” and “he has a relationship with the truth”. Gio being the voice of reason telling Marti that Nico is working on it. But Marti craves that honesty. And so he eventually finds a way to be like “ok, I need it so please can you try to give me what I need”. That’s a huge step for him. He’s being clear with what he needs to be able to have a great relationship and I think Nico understood him. Nico isn’t weak or a push over. Marti saying he needed honesty was something Nico immediately agreed to, responded to and gave Marti in a heartbeat. He was being very honest when he said that he had wanted to sleep with Luai back in the day etc... and Marti’s response was to smile a little and say “ok”! I don’t think the crux of his issue was jealousy at all. I think it was a part of it but I think the main issue was being in the dark... and for Marti that’s catastrophic.

I like that the fisherman scene shows how much there both willing to work on stuff. Marti is trying to assert himself to say what he needs. Nico is trying to adapt and be more open and honest when the stuff he’s handling is difficult. And the final moment we see them come together with Nico showing how great he is for Marti but also how much he knows and understands him ESPECIALLY when you wait for that “I love you” which would have been so cliche and we were gifted with the much more romantic and ridiculous option of Marti asking to throw the fisherman in the sea and Nico smiling to himself and cuddling Marti to him, KNOWING Marti’s language enough to know that’s his way of deflecting while also expressing his contentment and also Nico just loving Marti for all that he is with all his weird ways. That “I love you for who you are” is VERY strong with them even if who they are is difficult or is different to the other... they try hard. Marti shouldn’t require Nico to be answering questions 24/7 and Nico shouldn’t require Marti to change his entire personality but they’re finding a balance because there’s so much love there. They just need to keep learning and I think that where Marti is concerned, the security of being loved is not enough. He needs facts and clarity and confirmation. He has been left behind before. To love him means to understand that and to respond to it and Nico learned it a little in s2 but had so much to handle in s4 that this is when they had that tested the most... and I think Marti knew what he was being given when Nico said he could ask anything. Marti is such a simple soul, man. He really doesn’t need a lot! He just needs to be able to apply his logic and facts to what is happening so that his ingrained fight or flight isn’t triggered!!!

WOW. YOU SET ME OFF. Sorry this is so long!!!! Hahahaha. I could talk about him/them all day 💙💙💙

[abstract-apocalypse]

Asks 8, 12, 15 and 17 for anyone you like!

Gonna do these foooorrr Poe, Cliff, Tacita, and Viv! Got em on the brain lately, yes that's a lot but I do not control the brain.

8. If they were given 1000 acres of land with no strings attached, what would they do with it?

I have literally no idea how much a thousand acres is, but I assume it's a lot? It's ten Winnie-the-Pooh's.

Poe would love to have a fully equipped medical practice tbh, and space to store all the medical curiosities and preserved corpses and bits she wants!

Cliff doesn't really need a ton of space himself, he would probably just give some to the Followers for their facilities, and some for maybe housing and growing food for the community at large.

Tacita might try and start an orphanage or something like that, she loves kids and god knows plenty need care in the wasteland.

Viv would expand Raider presence into the space for sure, and use it to just get more of what they need. Workspaces for weapons and armor, training spaces, etc.

12. What’s a skill or craft they would like to master, but haven’t?

Poe has always wanted to get into knitting or sewing or something like that, her needlework is awesome so it seems like a thing she could do. But textiles are hard to come by, and it just hasn't come up yet.

Cliff definitely would like to get a bit more educated, he never really went to school or anything like that and sometimes feels like a dummy next to his pals in the Followers and whatnot. Also, something with his hands like candle or soap making. He thinks it must be nice to look at something and hold it and know you made it, music is of course his true love but it is ephemeral.

Tacita would like to get more formally educated, and maybe learn farming or something! She didn't have opportunities to do a lot of book learning in the Legion, just finishing-school-type stuff to prep her for marriage and then learning to read with Cato, and obviously never learned sort of self sustaining skills like farming cause upper class ladies don't do that.

Viv feels pretty good about her skills to be honest! She isn't a great medic, she's about average, so maybe that? But otherwise she's like bitch I'm great.

15. Do they believe in getting revenge on those who wrong them? If so, how do they go about it?

Poe does for sure, but only for egregious wrongdoings. She goes about it with a scalpel.

Cliff honestly hasn't had to seriously consider the question much, he couldn't beat anyone in a fight anyway, little twink ass. Though he sometimes does get in his feelings about some grudge or other and fantasize about horrible things happening to whoever wronged him.

Tacita subscribes to the idea that the best revenge is to forget about it and live well-- she wasted enough life being hurt, now it's her time.

Viv gets revenge quickly and definitively. Depending who the offender is and what they did, anything from beating them up to just cutting them in half vertically.

17. In 40 years, what will they be the most nostalgic about?

Poe isn't really much for nostalgia... if her body starts working worse, maybe she'll be nostalgic about being young and spry? And she'll probably miss wandering a bit once she settles down, too old to travel the wastes willy nilly.

Cliff will definitely be nostalgic for his days on the stage, and honestly he'll miss being young and sexy, his looks are one of the things he actually likes about himself.

Tacita's life is likely to only improve as she puts her past further behind her to be honest. Maybe she misses having young kids, but honestly I'm more and more into the idea of her doing something in childcare, so she might get to be around younguns even when she no longer personally has any.

Viv will definitely miss being in the prime of her life physically, able to destroy anyone in a fight. She hates the idea of getting old and dependent, needing help to do things-- gross!

Sorry it took so long, I flew close to the sun on the number of answers I did lol. Ty for the ask!!!!! 💕💕

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG127 /o/ (with rambling/pondering/speculating/ etc.)

- Albrecht Von Closen’s letter from MAG023 had been referenced twice in the series so far, and reminding myself of both gave me different kind of heartbreak. First… Tim mentioned it at the beginning of MAG033:

(MAG033) ARCHIVIST: […] Was there anything else? TIM: Oh yeah, just one. ARCHIVIST: Good lord. TIM: So, in case 8163103… it isn’t clear if Albrecht’s wife is called “Clara” or “Carla”, ‘cause you keep switching back and forth… ARCHIVIST: Well, I’m sorry if I found it hard to read a two-hundred-year-old letter, written in cursive by a native German speaker. Who complained about that one? TIM: Oh, it’s, it’s not a complaint. Hum, I just noticed actually!

94 episodes later… Tim finally got his answer ;_; It was distinctively “Carla” in MAG127. Second thing: Martin came very close to destroying Albrecht’s statement in MAG118! It was actually the statement he was about to burn when Elias finally managed to unlock the door.

(MAG0118) MARTIN: Hello. ELIAS: What. Are you. Doing. MARTIN: That one… that one was Benjamin Hatendi. You weren’t fast enough for the key! ELIAS: What. Are. You. Doing. […] MARTIN: Oh sorry! Sorry, I’m not keeping you from the show, am I? Well, well you head back, I’ll keep myself busy here. Albrecht von Closen is next, I think. It’s quite an old one! Should go up very quickly.

I really doubt that Martin meaning harm to Albrecht’s statement made Elias try to go faster to stop him or anything – he was already seething and had already left to get the key, it was really a matter of Martin burning statements which, overall, made him unable to fully focus on the group’s expedition and why he snapped hard at Martin (all going according to Martin’s keikaku). I’m more curious as to whether or not Martin… picking up this one was a total coincidence, or something partially spooky (Beholding-related intuition or Web drawing Martin towards it), since we now have confirmation that this letter was one chapter in a bigger story intrinsically tied to the creation of the Institute, and that Jon was spookily redirected towards another chapter in MAG127.

- That episode was very packed in… almost all aspects? Characters-wise, we learned about Melanie’s current state, a bit more about Martin’s state of mind when he began working with Peter, and about Jon’s own situation; we also got to hear ~*Elias*~ which gives some more food to speculate about what the eff is happening… and the statement, hoooooly Mew, the statement. Offering us a follow-up on MAG023, giving us another peek at Jonah Magnus, giving us a reminder that HI? NO, NOP, BEHOLDING IS NOT A HARMLESS ENTITY. IT’S JUST AS TERRIFYING AS THE OTHERS., and giving soooo many bits to speculate here and there…

- Jonathan Fanshawe immediately secured a place amongst the (very restricted) club of statement-givers with self-preservation skills.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) Jonah, I must first and foremost decline your generous offer of a medical position servicing Millbank Penitentiary. While the terms you’ve laid out are no doubt more than adequate, I have, over these last months, come to the unfortunate conclusion that our intimacy and friendship must cease immediately. […] In the light of what I have so recently witnessed, I can no longer in good conscience associate with any of your endeavours. Nor will I continue to collect or provide all those accounts of the esoteric and otherworldly, that you and your… Institute so eagerly require. Consider this the severing of our acquaintance. […] … Do I need to tell you what I found, Jonah? Do I need to detail what covered his organs? His bones? The inside of his skin? What clustered together in their dozens, and all turned as to focus on me as I opened his chest? Their pupils constricting in the light, with irises of every hue and colour. Because whatever it was that did this to him, I know in my heart that it is your fault. I’ve had the body burned. Please, do not write to me again. Your obedient servant, Doctor Jonathan Fanshawe.

He sounded so, so cold and rigid and deadpan and dry and accusatory, hhh… That was an excellent tone. Very satisfying. We tend to hear fear, despair, vulnerability; here, it was… covered up with a veil of unimpressed anger and resentment?

- Regarding Jonah Magnus: Jon had described in MAG041 how Robert Smirke took over the Millbank prison project in 1815 and finished it in 1821. Jon had already theorized that the tunnels under the Institute couldn’t be remnants from the old prison, but probably tunnels constructed below it (MAG041: “when it was finally closed in 1890, it was demolished. Flattened. Which meant that what I was in now couldn’t be the old prison itself. It had to be something built below it.”); we know that the Institute was founded in 1818, and though I think it’s still not confirmed whether Smirke was behind the building or not (I assumed he was but can’t find any mention about it anymore?), Leitner referred to its tunnels as part of Smirke’s work (MAG080: “Over the years I have found that it interacts with Smirke’s architecture, and those tunnels specifically, in a more predictable way.”). The whole… concept behind the Millbank prison already reeked of Beholding (MAG041, Jon: “First proposed and designed in 1799 by Jeremy Bentham, a philosopher who wished to test his theories of the panopticon prison, where cells would be arranged in a circle around a single, central guard tower, so all cells were observable at once. It was to have six such areas, arranged in hexagons, giving it from the air the shape of a vast, angular flower.”); with Jonathan Fanshawe mentioning Jonah’s offer of a job in the prison (MAG127: “I must first and foremost decline your generous offer of a medical position servicing Millbank Penitentiary. […] I do not know what interest you have in the poor condemned souls within those walls, nor do I care to guess.”), it sounds more and more likely that Jonah and Robert Smirke did actually collaborate? How did Jonah Magnus come to have such an influence in Millbank, and what was his aim, indeed?

- Chronologically, the few things we know about Jonah Magnus:

*Jonah was already known for his interest in the supernatural:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) […] I recall that during your visit last spring you mentioned your… fascination with the macabre and strange, and pressed upon me as to whether there were any such lore or legends that I myself were familiar with. Wolfgang writes me that you are acquiring quite the collection, and I feel that I now have something that belongs with it, far more than any of the fairy stories or old maids’ tales that I told you before.

*On March 31st 1816, Albrecht von Closen sent Jonah a letter, describing his adventure and a book he had retrieved, promising Jonah to show it to him:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) a book, perhaps fallen from the shelves long ago. It was in far better condition than the others, perhaps due to where it had lain, and I was able to very carefully open it. I was disappointed to see that was not written in German, or even French or Latin, but appeared to be in Arabic. It seemed to be an illuminated manuscript of sorts, produced by hand and utterly beautiful, though I could not for the life of me have told you what it concerned. […] The book, though beautiful, stubbornly refused to offer up any clues to its contents. With your permission, I’ll bring it over for your expert eyes next time I have the pleasure of your company. […] Still, I look forward to showing you the book I have acquired, and the revelations you will no doubt glean from it.

*Sometime in 1818, Jonah Magnus founded the Magnus Institute.

*On April 9th 1824, Barnabas Bennett, prisoner in Mordechai Lukas’s dimension, pleaded Jonah for his help by leaving his letter in the Institute. Jonah, according to Elias, only witnessed his demise and collected his bones. (MAG092)

[*One year prior to April 1831, Albrecht von Closen, who had previously acquired the books from the Black Forest’s mausoleum at some point, had them rebound. Jonah Magnus apparently exchanged them with fakes at this time.]

*On November 21st 1831, Jonathan Fanshawe sent a letter to Jonah about the illness and death of Albrecht von Closen, after they returned the (fake) books to the mausoleum. Albrecht’s body was filled with eyes; his wife was already dead, and he had sons at the time of his passing. What happened to the sons afterwards is unclear. (MAG127)

*On June 12th 1841, Sampson Kempthorne sent Jonah a letter about the workhouse architecture of George Gilbert Scott (Robert Smirke’s disciple’s disciple, who was a bit dangerous according to Smirke). Sampson mentioned Jonah’s state:

(MAG050, Sampson Kempthorne) Dear Jonah, It is my fondest wish that this message should find you in good health, as I have heard more than one mutual acquaintance remark on your current state of overwork. While I earnestly hope it is merely idle gossip, my knowledge of your character leads me to entreat that you allow yourself some respite, or at the very least take some further secretarial staff into your employ. Certain uncharitable quarters would have it that your life consists of little but rattling around in Edinburgh Townhouse, surrounded by piles of ghostly accounts and lunatic documentation. Piles, I am afraid to say, to which I am about to make an addition.

I’m not sure if Jon making his mind about Jonah Magnus is a Certainty (inspired by spooky Beholding magic) or an assumption:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] “Jonah Magnus”. I’ve never really given much thought to him. Not nearly as much as I should have. I suppose I had always hoped there was a chance he was… innocent, in all this. I know, I know! But I had… [EXHALE] I had just… hoped that maybe the founding of the Institute was in earnest. And not simply the foundation stone for all the terrible things that have happened here. … But no. Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man.

But if it’s the latter… I’m not sure that Jon is making a good decision by shutting down other possibilities: he’s absolutely following Jonathan Fanshawe’s opinion here, but there might have been other interpretations for what Jonah did and why? After all, he could have stolen the books in an attempt to protect Albrecht from their influence (while he had probably been heavily contaminated by them already)? I’m mostly surprised at the fact that Jon just went ahead and labelled Jonah Magnus an “evil man” and assumed that the Institute was founded for bad reasons, as if suddenly this statement was proving a point, when… it was the opinion of one person, who felt betrayed, hurt (and partially worried for) a(n ex)friend. And time had passed since the founding: maybe the Institute had originally been founded with better intentions, and maybe Jonah got worse and worse… just like Jon could. Maybe there would be more to learn about Jonah’s life, if it was a gradual descent into Beholding – maybe knowing a bit more about it could help Jon find counter-measures. But maybe it’s also an easier story for Jon to swallow, right now: to think that people don’t change, can’t become corrupted, can’t start out good and gradually lose their ability to want to protect the people they care about.

- And now, this statement put the damn books back at the forefront: indeed… where do they come from? … technically, Jonah Magnus here didn’t remind me so much of Elias or of an Archivist, but more of… Jurgen Leitner? (That’s mean, I know!)

(MAG080) LEITNER: I… thought that I could control them. That I alone had the knowledge to contain them. Back then, I believed they were simply books. Horrifying, powerful, yes; but with rules, limits that could be charted. … I was a fool. I had no idea what forces lay behind them, or that they had other servants that might come searching. I was ruthless, I will admit that. I don’t know how many assistants I sacrificed to learn the secrets of the volumes I collected. Dozens, at least. Only a few escaped with their life and mind intact, and even then they were deeply marked. But I was relentless. I saw myself as a guardian, a reverse Pandora, gathering the evils of the world and locking them away.

Accumulating statements (and books) like Leitner was accumulating books, in his own personal building constructed through Smirke’s principles? Leitner was even known for getting his books custom-(re)bound!

(MAG004, Dominic Swain) The last seller I went to did recognise the name Jurgen Leitner, though. She told me Leitner had been a big name in the literary scene during the 1990s; some rich Scandinavian recluse paying absurd amounts of money for whatever books took his fancy. It was said he’d often have books custom-bound after providing a manuscript, or even commission authors to produce works to his brief – although she didn’t actually know any writers who had worked with Leitner.

Jon had been suspicious of the amount of books in circulation, even before discovering that Leitner had only applied his seal on some but not all of them (and that he had absolutely no involvement in their creation):

(MAG070) ARCHIVIST: […] It seems to support the theory that, whatever these books are, Leitner is not entirely responsible for them. […] Books. Again and again it always seems to come back to those books. There are other artefacts that hold sinister power, certainly, but none of them seem to be quite so prevalent or… insidious as those damn books. But why? I had always assumed that Leitner had created them somehow, leasing parts of his own damned soul to give them power, or… some similar nonsense. But no. I’ve heard enough now to be sure that these books existed long before he managed to hunt them down. Not all of them, though, it would seem.

And it’s true that we only had questions in that regard. We know that the books can be anachronistic:

(MAG080) LEITNER: An unexpurgated copy of Ruskin’s The Seven Lamps of Architecture, published in 1845. Of course, Ruskin didn’t even begin writing the book until 1846, and the text of this one varies markedly from the version that was distributed.

We know that some of the books are old, written in different languages, and that a few of them must have appeared fairly recently (A Guest For Mr. Spider, and the one from MAG125 which looked like a paperback). We know that a few can write themselves (the unnamed Book of the Dead) or have new content added to it (Mary Keay’s book in human skin). We know that they can bind monsters (Ex Altiora). We’d already had one mention of a book that just tagged along or perhaps showed up out of nowhere and tried to read its reader (MAG091, Mike Crew: “I spent some time with a small grey volume, I think it was in Cyrillic, that decided it was at home amongst my bookshelves. I couldn’t read it, of course, but… when it tried to read me back, I buried it on a lonely stretch of moorland.”).  Leitner mentioned that in rare cases, they can host multiple powers (such as The Key of Solomon) – in most cases, they seem to be tied to only one. Some of them can apparently be destroyed (Gertrude and Leitner managed it in the tunnels), though some could just shift or resist (MAG080, Leitner: “Many of them wouldn’t have burned, and some even liked the flames. And those that did, I now believe, would have been released to take a different form.”), but Jon discovered recently that some can apparently lose their powers:

(MAG125, Terrance Simpson) All I could see for certain… was that she held a book in her hands. It was a paperback, old and unloved, with obvious signs of wear long before it found itself in this chaos. The cover and title were unrecognizable, now far too soaked in blood, but it was clear that at some point the woman holding it had torn it, clean in two down the spine, and now held half in each of what was left of her hands. Ross told me later that she’d gotten a good look at the pages, and that every single one of them was blank.

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: […] Another Leitner, obviously. Not one I can readily identify, though it sounds like it would now be… inert, anyway. Given the blank pages, I do wonder whether its destruction was a last-ditch effort to stop its effects, or the exact thing that released its power in such an… extreme way.

So where do they come from and/or how are they produced? Are they just… emanations, like the monsters? Are they purposefully created by avatars? Leitner told Jon that he had gathered 978 of those when his library was attacked; it’s… not that much – the Black Forest’s mausoleum could have contained more than that, and we even know that new books have appeared since then. … However, I do wonder if the books in the mausoleum weren’t rather a precursor/equivalent of… statements? I had already wondered whether “Johann von Württemberg” might be an ancient Archivist (especially after MAG053), and now that we’ve been told about the contents of the books…

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe ) […] [Albrecht] took the seat opposite me, and started to tell me… a story. And then another. And another. A stream of… strange tales began to pour out of him, and I just sat there, transfixed, [STATIC–], desperately wishing I had the strength of will to leave, but all I could do was listen. He told me of a seamstress, who laced her body with fine black thread; and when she pulled it all out in a single swift motion, her skin dropped away like a loose shift. He told me of a man so scared to die he spent a year weaving a rope blindfolded, so that he would not know the length, and could not foresee the moment it would tighten around his neck when he finally threw himself into the void. He told me of a fire that burns so hot and fierce, that to even know about it is enough to burn a man’s tongue from his head. He told me so many terrible things. [/STATIC] And at the end of it all, the only thing I could think to ask him was where he read them. My eyes darted to the books that surrounded us, but Albrecht laughed at this, and placed his hands across a spine that was simply labelled A Warning. For a moment, he looked as though he were about to wrench it from its place and hurl it into the fire. But it passed. He turned back to me. [STATIC–] “You do not understand,” he said to me in German. “I do not read the books. They read me.” [/STATIC]

… they were all stories. Like Jon himself is receiving stories through the statements… Could the Beholding folks be responsible for the books, binding a bit of other powers in them to spread them, ensuring a never-ending self-sustaining cycle of stories – people finding the books, getting terrorized by them, and the survivors having new stories to tell? What happened to the books that Jonah Magnus stole? Are they still somewhere in the Institute, did he destroy them, did he release them into circulation…?

- Even before that: when did Albrecht get his hands on the books? Had he stolen them back in 1816, and concealed that fact to Jonah in his letter? Or did he go back later? With or without Jonah? It is now… striking, that in MAG023, Albrecht was insisting on the fact that he missed his own library (MAG023: “And so began what was to be a lengthy sojourn near Schramberg, and truly have I never wished more keenly that I had been able to bring my library with me. I had but a few books with me and Wilhelm, despite his not-inconsiderable intelligence, had even fewer.”) when, oops, he got his hands on another’s in the end. The only thing he said was that he had them rebound one year prior to April 1831, and he had already been able to tell in 1816 that they were in a terrible state:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) I walked cautiously closer, until my lantern illuminated it clearly. The walls were covered with bookshelves. Packed in with such a density that it was impossible to tell if there was a real wall behind them or if the books themselves formed the only bulwark against the soil. They were, unfortunately, terribly rotten. The centuries had not been kind to them, and as I tried to move one of them, I realised that the damp had, over time, caused them to merge into a single mass of paper and bookcloth. Predictable as this may have been, I still felt the most acute pang of loss. To see such a volume of knowledge, possibly unique in all the world, utterly destroyed, was incredibly painful to me. The actual shelves were formed of the same marble as the two blocks, and seemed to have fared better. As I looked at them, I noticed a small engraving, carved at regular intervals along the edge of each one. It was a small eye, open and staring. For some reason, it was only at that moment that I began to feel afraid. Of what, I couldn’t tell you, but those small eyes filled me with a dread that I have trouble describing to you now.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) As he walked the shelves, stroking the spines of each book in turn, I started to ask him about his health, and explained why I was there, but he showed not the slightest sign that he was listening. “I had them rebound last year,” he said. “Damp can do terrible things to a book.”

- There were so many “WHAM” moments in that statement… the fact that it was another letter to Jonah! That it was once again about Albrecht von Closen! The fact that the uncanny atmosphere began even before Jonathan reached Albrecht’s house (because people were burning the tree)! The very casual mention that Carla had died and that there were now sons in the family, although they were explicitly childless and Jon hadn’t been able to trace the family line down back in MAG023! The fact that the spooky house gave me a Lonely/Beholding vibe somehow (rather than Beholding only), even before Albrecht showed up? And then, the… fact that nothing physical happened to Jonathan: but that he witnessed, had to hear and couldn’t really understand, though he was trying to work a way out. The resignation, in the fact that he was forced to hear Albrecht’s stories, and that Albrecht couldn’t stop them nor harm the books? All the mysteries as to what happened and why Jonah had apparently been involved? What was inside Albrecht’s corpse? (HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANKS JONNY…) The attempt at returning the books, Albrecht’s sudden death, the reveal that Jonah had actually stolen the real books when they were rebound?

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) I do not know how he died. I saw nothing and no one with him, and his body seemed whole and undamaged. But I do have some idea as to why it happened. For as I filled those dead shelves with freshly bound volumes, I could not help but notice that every page was blank. I have since checked with Payne’s, who I believe to be your preferred bookbinders. And I know that the books poor Albrecht was returning to the grave were not the books that were taken. I hope they bring you much wisdom, Jonah, for the cost was dear enough.

(Roger Payne was a famous bookbinder from the 18th, already dead by then, so it was probably his shop. Still, another historical figure /o/) There were so many little things changing perspective, and it raised so many questions, aaaaah!! It was definitely a very strong episode…

I don’t know what to think of what happened to Albrecht; was he a failed Archivist? The fact that he almost threw one of the books to the fire but couldn’t, that he needed help to manage top ut them back, that stories were pouring out of him… Is that another red flag about what could ultimately happen to Jon? Or was it just a Beholding curse/influence, since he had been in close contact to the books? Or was it something that Albrecht had brought down on himself since the first time he had entered the mausoleum?

(Aza confirmed me that:

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) It was the face of Albrecht von Closen. In the light, his eyes met mine, and his mouth began to work furiously, repeating the same phrase [STATIC–] over and over, increasing in volume until he was screaming it into my face: “Leg sie alle zurück. Leg sie alle zurück.” [/STATIC] Put them back. Put them back.

=> can’t be about the children, because “sie alle” means “them all” and wouldn't be used for just two things, and the verb used conveys the sense of putting things lying down and wouldn't be used for people. That's assuming that Jonny knows that much German, though.)

Big Questions, too, about… the tree. What was the deal with that one?

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) […] as we got closer, I could see that it was… a single tree that was burning: a gnarled and ancient elm, that sat removed from the rest of the forest. A small crowd surrounded the spectacle. One man, who I took to be a groundskeeper, stood closer than the others, with a lit torch in his hand. […] I asked the man why they were burning the tree when the rain was coming down so heavily. Surely it could have waited for drier weather. The man simply shrugged. […] all that I could get from him was a sense of resignation, and the insistence that his master, who I took to be Albrecht, wanted the tree dead. I’m sure that he used that word, though. Not “burned”, not “removed”, or “destroyed”. Dead. I resolved to ask Albrecht about it when I saw him.

The only “main” tree we’ve got before was at Hill Top Road: is it the same kind of thing…? What did it do, here…? (Where spiders involved in the shadows, again.)

- I remember how quick Aza had been to jump on me after I had listened to MAG023, a few months ago, because there was a Big Fandom Joke about the easter egg of the “Schwarzwald statement” directly following Martin Blackwood’s, AND NOW IT HAS COME BACK TO HAUNT US since!! Surprise surprise!! Fifteen years after his letter to Jonah from MAG023 (March 31st 1816), Albrecht, who had mentioned never managing to have children with his wife… suddenly had sons as of November 21st, 1831:

(MAG023, Albrecht von Closen) myself and Clara [sic] have since made every effort to provide [our nephew Wilhelm] with guidance and such affection as he may have lost. This felt especially keen as we have ourselves been unable to conceive a child, and so we felt it our duty to teach Wilhelm what we would have impressed upon a son of our own.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) As I’m sure you’re aware, Albrecht’s wife Carla was taken by a fever some years ago, and his sons were away at school; so it was the housekeeper who greeted me when I arrived.

Back in MAG023, Jon had managed to track down Wilhelm’s genealogy, to discover that some of his descendants might have been Mary and Gerry Keay (which Gerry confirmed in MAG111), but he had found nothing about Albrecht:

(MAG023) ARCHIVIST: […] I did try to find out what happened to Albrecht von Closen and his book, but I can find no mention of him in any volume of history nor anywhere online. Perhaps I might find out more if I spent months sifting through the historical statements in the Archives’ back rooms, but I simply don’t have time to indulge my own curiosity like that.

(ISN’T IT CUTE HOW BEHOLDING IS SHOWING UP TWO YEARS LATE WITH ANOTHER VON CLOSEN STATEMENT WHEN JON FINALLY HAS TIME TO INDULGE HIS OWN CURIOSITY.......) So, Albrecht managed to get descendants of his own, after his adventure in the Black Forest. We know nothing about them, just that they happened, so there might be another branch of the Von Closen somewhere, with perhaps a change of name at some point. As @justasmalltownai​ highlighted, there is an old (historical and literary) tradition of naming abandoned/magic children after the place they were found, which would be “Schwartzwald” for them… Which…………………. indeed……………. puts Martin Blackwood to mind………… … On a meta level, Jonny Sims not above giving reasons to yell at him with random things, either. Remember how, in MAG017, Jon was reading about how someone should have had trouble with the police when he was interrupted by Elias “I Have Killed And Will Kill Again And Will Be Sent To Prison For This” Bouchard of all people?

(MAG017) ARCHIVIST: […] He was always very careful to stop before he did anything that might get the police involved, and I guess there was enough leftover affection from a childhood spent together that I never really thought about reporting him. It wa– [DOOR OPENING] ARCHIVIST: Oh, erm, hello Elias. ELIAS: Do you have a moment?

(Yes, that one is a very “jONNY” scene in retrospect. And trousersless!Martin interrupted Albrecht’s statement in the same fashion, when Albrecht was getting ready to enter the crypt.)

On the one hand, Gerry asserted that blood ties don’t matter for the Entities – and, indeed, it sounds… more in synch with the series to think that choices and personality are the things that determine you(r fate). But on the other hand: it’s still so curious that Gerry was so deeply rooted into Beholding powers, when Wilhelm von Closen had been so close to the Beholding mausoleum?

(MAG012, Lesere Saraki) […] watching [Gerard], standing and walking despite the burns covering eighty percent of his body, despite the sheer quantity of painkillers we had given him… he just made me very afraid. […] I followed him, asked what he was doing. I got no answer, but he seemed to know the code to the door immediately and strode right in, scanning the shelves for something. He saw what he was after and picked up a small object wrapped in paper and plastic. I recognised it immediately as a sterile scalpel.

(Gerry even technically demonstrated powers that were… very close to Jon’s? His body was still able to function when it shouldn’t have been able to; he just knew things; he was able to tell that MAG048’s statement-giver had been “marked” just by staring at her…)

So. While we were all focusing on the potential of Martin Lukas, was it actually Martin von Closen (/whatever Albrecht’s sons were: monsters stolen from the crypt? Emanations from the books? Non-spooky babies who got contaminated by the books? The Beholding equivalent of whatever Agnès was for the Desolation?) all along, or The Unholy Encounter Of The Two.

(Or as usual: is Martin still… absolutely normal, without any spooky roots nor anything.)

- Biggest initial shock was to hear Jon… revealing that he was Genre Savvy.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INHALE, FAST] Statement of doctor Jonathan Fanshawe, regarding the months leading up to the death and autopsy of Albrecht Von Closen. […] Disconcerting to find my namesake in a statement. Especially one connected so directly to the Institute. […] Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man. … Exactly two hundred years, in fact. Don’t think that little detail has evaded me.

(Jon, stop staring at the camera/tape recorder, I feel called out.) He spotted the name (though there have been a lot of variations around “John” in all the names involved in all the statements), he revealed that he’s aware that is the 200th anniversary, and that something bad is likely coming. That’s a lot from him!

- Amazingly, we’ve already learned where Jon was hurt and what with!

(MAG127) BASIRA: But she did want me to… apologise. ARCHIVIST: Oh. BASIRA: From her. For… the shoulder. ARCHIVIST: Oh. It, it’s fine; scalpel wounds… they heal quickly. BASIRA: Hm. ARCHIVIST: Too quickly, really. BASIRA: Already? ARCHIVIST: Just another scar for the collection! BASIRA: Hm.

Jon’s self-deprecative dry humour makes me laugh and cry at the same time, and ha, in the list of things he’s savvy about: the fact that he’s collecting them indeed. (Now, to know whether that serves a grand purpose…)

- I LOVE THAT OVERALL, JON IS TRYING…………..

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] I’m sorry Basira, I–I will try to keep anything I learn about you to myself. My priorities haven’t changed; I hope you can believe that. [SIGHS] I’m still on your side. You can trust me.

And I perfectly understand that Basira might want to stay cautious: of course, a liar would lie about that, too ;; And Jon, after all, is trying a new approach – laying it all down in the open, instead of hiding himself. It’s good, but it can understandably raise suspicions for Basira ;;

- The trend of Jon sounding So Thirsty about getting anything about Martin, any news about Martin, is still going strong:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] I’m still on your side. You can trust me. BASIRA: [EXHALES] … Yeah. People keep saying that. ARCHIVIST: Do they? … W–w–who else– Did Martin say something?

I KNOW THAT HE HAS LEGITIMATE REASONS TO BE WORRIED… but w o w Jon, you’re sounding more and more desperate. (I do understand!! Last original assistant alive, Martin being in a bad place since he’s working with Peter and all… But the sheer contrast with season 1 is just astounding, and I’m still not getting used to it. I’m used to Martin gratuitously thinking about Jon; not to Jon… spontaneously thinking about Martin, as one of his concerns.)

- Jon’s life sounds like a succession of… doors? It’s definitely his biggest recurring motif. Mr. Spider’s door, that he never knocked on. “Michael”-then-“Helen”’s door: the one through which Helen disappeared right in front of him (MAG047), the one he used to flee from Not!Sasha (MAG079), the one he should have opened to die and the one that ultimately saved him from Nikola (MAG101), the one that had been haunting his dreams:

(MAG120) ELIAS: […] There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out. The Archivist turns away.

And now, the image of the “door” he used to describe the power that has been the most prevalent since he woke up:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: I’m not “snooping”, I’m not looking. That’s not… how this works. BASIRA: Explain it, then. ARCHIVIST: I, I’m not sure I can. BASIRA: Humour me. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] It’s… hard. It’s like there’s a–a–a door, in my mind. And behind it, is… i–is the entire ocean. Before, I didn’t notice it, but now, I know it’s there, and I can’t forget it, and I can feel the pressure of the water on it. I, I, I can keep it closed… but sometimes, when I’m around p–people, or–or places, or… ideas, a drop or two will push through the cracks, at the edges of the door. And I’ll… know something. BASIRA: … What happens, if you open the door? [PAUSE] ARCHIVIST: I drown.

Jon ;; (That mental picture… was really striking, and now, we know what could ultimately happen, what will probably happen…)

- Same as last episode: Jon’s powers, when they direct him towards statements… make him dig into the past? Is it a way to keep him detached from the present, as time continues to pass and as Jon knows that something is coming?

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man. … Exactly two hundred years, in fact. Don’t think that little detail has evaded me. I don’t know the precise date the Institute was founded, but I do know that it was in 1818. … Something’s coming. I know it is. … But I just don’t know what I need to do. […] BASIRA: And what was that you were doing yesterday? ARCHIVIST: … When…? BASIRA: You were sat on the floor for like four hours. ARCHIVIST: … Oh! Er, n–n–no, I was, er, I was… listening. Y’know, it’s, trying to see if any of the statements… called to me. BASIRA: And? ARCHIVIST: [FLIPS PAPER] BASIRA: Brilliant.

(yfhudscjnfed I love getting something about how Jon is perceived from the outside, but at the same time? At the same time, isn’t it a fairly standard thing to sit or lay on the floor while you’re waiting for something or inspiration to strike, Basira, why do you depict it as odd.) (Does it mean that Basira regularly went to take a peak during these four hours, though.)

Or is Beholding trying to give Jon a clue to assert the situation, to get the bigger picture and to understand what he could do (whether it’s to… contribute to The Watcher’s Crown or to sabotage it)? Jon once again acknowledged that he is lacking direction:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] Something’s coming. I know it is. … But I just don’t know what I need to do. […] [SIGHS] So what do we do now…? BASIRA: You tell me. Just don’t expect much on trust these days. ARCHIVIST: … Yes, I… I suppose that’s fair. [CLICK.]

And ;; I guess that either he’s still waiting for spooky insights directing him towards some statements, either he’ll have to wait for something else (the tapes Elias mentioned? Getting a hold on Martin again? Waiting for Peter Lukas to reveal himself? Waiting to get a visitor?), either he’ll have to get a bit more creative (leaving the Institute again to try to talk with other avatars? Tracking Adelard down, since Jon knows that he knew Gertrude and worked with her a bit, having even moved out the explosives for her?).

- I’m sad but also relieved for Melanie… Even though we’re not hearing her, it seems like she’s getting back some of her feelings, some of her individuality; she’s not a ball of nerves and instinct anymore? It sounds like she’s having a rough time but… also like she’s recovering a bit? ;;

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: How’s Melanie? BASIRA: How do you think? ARCHIVIST: I, er, I should probably… talk to h– BASIRA: You should probably stay as far away as possible. She doesn’t want to see you. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–o–of course. Er, she has… […] Do–do you think it worked? Is she… BASIRA: I don’t know. She seems more… coherent, I guess. And you did get an apology. ARCHIVIST: Yeah. BASIRA: She said she can cry now, which is, hum… ARCHIVIST: Oh… BASIRA: Progress, I think? ARCHIVIST: Uh… BASIRA: She’s still angry but, she hasn’t attacked anyone. Not even sure she has it in her anymore. ARCHIVIST: Well that’s, that’s good! BASIRA: Hm.

(It’s also good that Jon quickly accepted that if Melanie doesn’t want to see him, it means he won’t try to see her? He’s trying so hard to fix things, but also to manoeuvre without hurting others, and gosh ;;) (… Now that Melanie is out of her downwards spiral, maybe Jon will switch his focus to getting Martin back?)

- I’m a bit torn about Martin’s mother: on the one hand, I’m obviously “AOUCH???” and almost offended because??? Can we give Martin a break p l e a s e??? He had learned about Sasha’s death in April 2017 (and also that, surprise! He was bound forever to the Archives.), Tim died and Jon fell into a coma in August, his mom died around October, that’s a rough six months??? On the other hand, that’s still textbook fridging, and it felt a bit dry to me (even for the series!) given that… we only knew about her through indirect mentions and violations of privacy: Jon digging through Martin’s stuff to discover the letter to his mother, and Elias using his powers on Martin in MAG118. The only time Martin himself mentioned her was to contextualize why he had lied on his application:

(MAG042) ARCHIVIST: […] there is an unfinished letter, addressed to his mother in Devon, in which he mentions that he is worried about “the others finding out I’ve been lying”. It may be nothing, some… inconsequential deception or other – after all, it is ostensibly written to his mother – but if it was actually to be sent to someone else… I will keep my eye on Martin.

(MAG056) MARTIN: I don’t have a Master’s in parapsychology, I don’t even have a degree. When I was 17, my mom, she… had… she had some problems, and I ended up dropping out of school, t– trying to support us.

The fact that he had to take care of his mother shaped Martin’s whole life; it contributed to leading him to the Institute, it probably prevented him from socializing much, it’s probably why he doesn’t live very well (Stockwell isn’t the fanciest of neighbourhoods), since he had to pay for her care and then carehome. Yet, even with Elias, Martin avoided to mention his relationship with her and, obviously, we never heard her (we don’t even know what illness she was afflicted with!). She was distant in all senses (geographically, communication-wise, information-wise). The thing I mostly hope for (and which would feel a bit better for me?) would be to finally get Martin… talking about his relationship with her?, instead of having people doing that in his stead. It was obviously a sore spot already; after MAG118, it… was probably worse (Elias wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t supposed to hurt on the long run and keep Martin in check.) I don’t know if we’ll have the time for characters to even consider that they can afford to take care of themselves and treat themselves a bit by trying to unpack their issues, though. But I’d really love to finally hear Martin talk about his mother, and not other characters describing their relationship from the outside? (I want to think she died of natural causes, since she was sick for a long time, but obviously, can’t help but wonder if Lonely fuckedupness didn’t contribute somehow, since Peter wanted Martin. Though I doubt it for meta-reasons, since killing/hurting someone just to get a reaction out of one of the main characters, without hearing the victim’s own feelings about it, wouldn’t feel like the series, I think?)

- What happened to Martin’s mother… also explains why Basira was a bit defensive of him back in MAG123:

(MAG123) BASIRA: Yeah, he comes and goes. He’s busy. Well, he seems it. ARCHIVIST: Working for Peter Lukas. BASIRA: Don’t be too hard on him, Jon. Your, er… “situation”, it hit him. Hard. ARCHIVIST: [LONG EXHALES] Yes. Well, I’m sure there are better ways to deal with it than getting cosy with Elias’s successor. Who I’ve yet to meet, by the way.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] W–w–who else– Did Martin say something? BASIRA: … It was a few months back. After the attack. He’d started spending time with Lukas. At least, he said he was. And I wanted answers. He kept telling me to trust him, to hear the guy out even though he still wouldn’t actually show his face. I told him he could… drop me an email or vanish me. ARCHIVIST: … Right. BASIRA: Honestly, I kind of regret not just… grabbing Martin and shaking an explanation out of him. But I didn’t want to push it. He was in a… bad place, what with the attack and his mom and everything, so I didn’t press it. Now, I try and bring it up, he just… disappears. Nothing to be done. ARCHIVIST: So–sorry, you said… What happened with his mother? BASIRA: Oh, yeah. She died. About two months– ARCHIVIST: Oh… BASIRA: –after you, er… … Martin was… … He tried to stay strong. Keep it together but, that sort of thing… ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] BASIRA: [SIGHS] Then those Flesh things busted in, and well, here we are! ARCHIVIST: … God. BASIRA: He didn’t tell you? ARCHIVIST: No… BASIRA: Hm. Guess you don’t know everything, then. ARCHIVIST: No, I, I–I guess not.

(I wonder if Basira’s mention that Martin “just… disappears” is literal, or if she means that he just leaves? We heard him walk away, back in MAG125 with Jon, but… Peter just appears Like That, so…)

;; Slowly, we’re also filling in the gap between MAG120 and MAG121 a bit – at the same time as Jon does. Tim died, Jon went into his “coma”; Elias was arrested, Peter became Head of the Institute; two months after, Martin’s mother died; two months after, The Flesh attacked (Basira told Jon it happened “About two months ago” in MAG123); two months after, Jon woke up. We’re still not sure when the season 4 trailer happened exactly – was it before or after The Flesh? (Martin sounded at his end, back then, so I’d like to think right after but the other option is not impossible either…).

- GODS, I LOVE BASIRA… She’s Judging and assessing, not talking a lot with Jon (so many non-committal “Hm.”), but also frankly expressing her disapproval or that she thinks Jon is crossing lines; not closing communication but also highlighting the limits… And what a LEGEND, honestly. The fact that she didn’t even threaten to leave but just started to leave as soon as Elias began to Act All Elias. Not taking any of his bullshit (SHE GOT HIS POSH MOUTH TO SAY “BULLSHIT” =D) redjrefdujire,d. I’m love her. And I’m also so worried for her because Elias talking to you means Problems in general.

- Squinting at how Elias “I Can Complain About How ‘Oh, good lord, don’t be so dramatic, Jon!’ Because I’m An S-Class Dramatist Myself Have You Heard MAG092 And MAG120 And My Perfect Sense Of Timing” Bouchard greeted Basira with that… “Detective”?

(MAG127) ELIAS: … Good evening. Detective. [STEPS COMING CLOSER] BASIRA: I’m not a detective. ELIAS: Of course.

Elias rarely says seemingly gratuitous things if it’s not actually meant to hurt (even a few months later), or to mock, or to manipulate, so what’s the deal there. It could be a nod to Daisy (since she was the detective), or… a kind of ~I know what you’ve been doing~, if Basira has been researching on some delicate matters (that she still wouldn’t have shared with Jon)? I also wonder if it’s not… once again, Elias just quoting what other people said when he wasn’t there and shouldn’t have known, since Georgie had also called Basira a “detective” in MAG122 (right before they discovered that Jon had woken up), and Basira hadn’t reacted back then:

(MAG122) BASIRA: Alright. And you don’t know why this guy would have left a tape recorder? GEORGIE: You’re the detective. BASIRA: And you’re sure it was him who left it?

Reminder: Elias Does That and has a sucky sense of humour. He was already doing it back in season 1 (MAG039, Jon: “I can’t really stand up yet. I need you to describe what’s going on. For the record.” / Elias, in another place, right after: “You [Sasha] did bring a tape recorder. I just thought Jon would appreciate as many supplementary recordings as possible. For the record.”). We know that Basira wasn’t against presenting herself as an “investigator” for fun:

(MAG106) BASIRA: I should probably go check in with Martin. Y’know, if he’s in for drinks. MELANIE: So you can double-check your gossip~? BASIRA: I don’t gossip! I have the mind of an investigator.

… but that’s not the term that Elias used. Sooo… why the “Detective”, indeed. It doesn’t sound like a Beholding title (a bit too police-oriented) compared to “Watcher” or “Archivist” (Leitner had also called Jon “the observer”)…

- Elias is having it rough in prison, it’s a treat to hear <333 Kudos to Ben for the… raspier, tighter, incommodious? voice that deeeefinitely conveyed that Elias is not sitting on his throne anymore. … Actually, some of it reminded me a bit of Jon going through statements-withdrawal in MAG107, so I wonder if Elias isn’t having a personal form of withdrawal somehow, too, by being far from the Institute for such an extended period of time?

I’m… a bit lost as to why he even tried to pretend that he wasn’t spying on Basira&co in the first place, only to admit that he knew things when Basira told him off?

(MAG127) ELIAS: Er, I’ve found one of these in my cell? It, it wasn’t recording, but… I assume this means he’s awake. BASIRA: … ELIAS: … Basira? BASIRA: Can we cut the bullshit? ELIAS: What “bullshit” might that be? BASIRA: The part where you pretend you don’t spend your whole time watching us. ELIAS: … Sometimes I’m eating. BASIRA: You know he’s back. You’ve seen him. ELIAS: Fine! Yes.

Why even bother? He had implied to Martin that the distance wouldn’t prevent him from spying on them (MAG120: “Best of luck, Martin. Ah, let the others know I shall be thinking of them. […] G–goodbye, Martin. Be seeing you.”) and his comments to Basira about “trust” are a clear reference to her discussion with Jon earlier in the episode:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: […] I’m still on your side. You can trust me. BASIRA: [EXHALES] … Yeah. People keep saying that. […] Just don’t expect much on trust these days. ARCHIVIST: … Yes, I… I suppose that’s fair.

(MAG127) BASIRA: Right. So, what? You figured you’d record us for him? Sow some distrust from afar? ELIAS: Our… arrangement with the Inspector notwithstanding, I… rather feel that right now all the distrust is very much your own.

So nop, he’s still a pesky misery-sucking voyeuristic mosquito even from further distance and even though Peter/the Lonely has taken over the Institute – he’s still able to spy on them.

One thing I wondered was whether he wasn’t having trouble watching Jon, with his new status and all, hence the pretending that he had guessed that Jon was awake through deduction and not just… sheer observation; but he did admit that he knew and had indeed seen him when Basira pushed it. So!! That actually clears something up for me: Elias might be using the “I assume(d)” expression as a loophole when he’s lying-without-personally-feeling-that-he’s-lying (MAG040, Elias: “so, I assumed [Gertrude] was dead and left the investigation to the police, for all that good it did me.”). That counts as lying for me, but maybe not for him, apparently :w

Plus, Elias’s reasoning about the tape recorders seem to follow Jon’s, a bit in the same fashion (possibly overheard him, and is using his arguments?):

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: […] There was a tape recorder waiting for me when I sat down. […] I’ve decided to let the tapes run. They’ve… proved useful before, so…

(MAG127) ELIAS: […] And as to whether he will ever hear this, maybe he’ll get the tapes. Maybe he won’t. But the recordings have helped so far, so…

Not the exact same phrasing for once, but roughly the same intention, except for one thing: “THE RECORDINGS HAVE HELPED” WHOM/WHAT, ELIAS. (I’m really not sure he meant “they helped Jon in the past” here.)

- In the same fashion: I wonder whether he can see what Martin is currently doing, or if Peter’s influence prevents him from accessing him, since they’re working closely together? What does Elias think of Martin working directly under Peter, and “isolating” himself? You’d think that even if Elias only felt mostly disgust towards Martin, cheating on Beholding would be a big enough offender for him to snap about that…?

FUN THING: Elias… still has NEVER EVER. MENTIONED. EVEN. ONCE. “PETER LUKAS”.

He never acknowledged that Peter had taken over the Institute. He didn’t even mention that Peter might be supposed to protect the Archives team? If Peter is not great with computers and with administration work with “too many variables” (from a sea captain??? Really??), nor is he supposed to protect the Archives, nor does he share Elias’s priority of setting off the Watcher's Crown (as Peter is focusing on Adelard’s investigations instead)… why was Peter chosen as an interim director? What was he supposed to do, in Elias’s mind? I’m going back to this, once again: does Elias even know that Peter has taken over the Institute? And/or does “Peter” truly exist as a person/avatar/monster? Jon had immediately thought about the possibility that he wasn’t “real”:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: Sorry, you haven’t– BASIRA: Nop. Never seen him. As far as I can tell, Martin’s the only one who has. ARCHIVIST: … right. A–and you’re sure he’s… real? BASIRA: We get emails from him. Memos. […] ARCHIVIST: But i–if you’ve never…seen him, I mean…

And it’s true that Peter wasn’t exactly interacting with his surroundings in past appearances: he was isolated when drinking his coffee in MAG033 and then… didn’t actually command The Tundra (Carlita only spotted him when they left the boat at night). In-series, he only appeared to people when they were alone (MAG100 for Bryan; MAG108, MAG120, MAG126 for Martin). The only cases in which there were multiple people involved around him were in MAG066, when he and Salesa freed Vincent Yang from the box (… and Peter was implied to have betted on Vincent having died in said box), and in MAG101, when Michael recounted that Michael Shelley and Gertrude had met with Peter to get transportation to the Great Twisting. MAG126 implied that Martin might have been the one writing Peter’s emails (since Peter ~can’t stand computers~): is that because Peter can barely interact with the world around him / is only perceptible to people who have been marked by the Lonely? Or is that part of the plan to isolate Martin further – by making everyone think that Martin is actually “Peter Lukas” and deceiving everyone?

Alternatively: Elias is not mentioning Peter on purpose, knows in excruciating detail what is happening around Peter, and, whatever is currently happening, they’re in on it together, and it really doesn’t bode well for Martin even if the New Threat is actually a thing. ;;

- Biggest plot-twist, for me, was to learn that Elias doesn’t want Jon to see him and has taken extra measures to ensure that they wouldn’t meet. Basira had already mentioned that Elias had made a deal with the police (MAG122: “A bunch of Section’d officers took him in. He made some sort of deal, I think. But… he’s not getting out anytime soon.”) and we still don’t know the details of that one, though Elias just mentioned his “cooperation” (is it just behaving without making people’s lives hell in the prison? Or is it actively helping Section 31’d officers? I’m guessing that… selective omniscient powers might be relevant to their interests?)

Elias not wanting Jon to see him leads me to wonder about two things: what is Elias waiting for – he described Jon as being in transition, so when and how is Jon supposed to reach the next stage (AND HOW CAN HE AVOID IT)? And why does Elias want to avoid being in Jon’s presence? Because Jon would punch him in the face? (Definitely, but there is a long queue :w) Because Jon would most definitely do the exact contrary of what Elias seems to be aiming for? (Nothing new in that regard :w) Orrr… because Elias thinks that Jon has reached a stage where Jon’s compulsion might work on him?

Anyway: there is something definitely funny in the way that… for both Martin and Elias, Jon is a ~*HIM*~-who-doesn’t-need-to-be-named:

(MAG126) MARTIN: […] It’s because he’s back, isn’t it. [SIGHS] He’s back, so now you’re going to be… around, again. Listening in. Mff. You missed him, didn’t you. … Yeah. … [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] Yeah, me too. […] PETER: You talked to him. MARTIN: I… I, I tried not to, I–I, I didn’t mean to… PETER: You talked to him. And that’s understandable, Martin, of course it is! Please don’t think I’m upset, it’s just… not ideal. Shows how much work we still have ahead of us. MARTIN: If I keep avoiding him, people will get suspicious. […] You said he’d probably never wake up. […] When all this is over, I’m telling him everything, with or without your permission.

(MAG127) ELIAS: […] It, it wasn’t recording, but… I assume this means he’s awake. […] BASIRA: You know he’s back. You’ve seen him. […] You figured you’d record us for him? […] Fine. So you won’t see him, but you’re happy for him to hear our conversations. ELIAS: He can listen all he wants, but he’s at a very delicate stage right now, and I… fear my presence would be a… a distraction. I’ve made it clear my cooperation’s contingent on his not seeing me, and my terms have been accepted thus far.

(Only moment Elias said Jon’s name was to diss him: “Then again: you are beset by enemies on all sides, Basira. And unless you expect Jon to record them into submission […]”. So Jon only has a name when it’s about trashing him and the fact he’s a nerd who can’t win in a fight. Elias, please.)

- By the way! The many shackle sounds gave us an indication: Elias must have the habit of using a loooot of hand gestures for emphasis, since it was clicking all the time when he was talking!

- Not the first time that Elias has acknowledged the tape recorders (MAG098: Melanie: “… Did…? Did you turn that on?” / Elias: “Hmm? Oh. You get used to it.”) or used them as a means of communication between him and Jon (he addressed Jon directly when recording in MAG092 and MAG120), but first time that he’s been directly asked about what he knows about them!

(MAG127) ELIAS: […] And as to whether he will ever hear this, maybe he’ll get the tapes. Maybe he won’t. But the recordings have helped so far, so… BASIRA: … Do you know what they are? ELIAS: What a question.

WHICH TECHNICALLY MEANS SHIT, THANK YOU E-LIE-AS. Could mean that He Knows Exactly What They Are And How They Operate; could mean that he has a vague idea; could mean that he has absolutely no idea and is bullshitting his way out of the question. Eff you, grinning man. (Sidenote: Ben’s delivery on that last line was so satisfying somehow??)

- “Sometimes I’m eating.” … Yyyyyeah but, Elias. Do you sleep? Jury’s out on the question. Relatedly: I wonder if Jon is wishing he didn’t need to sleep, but at the same time… he hasn’t mentioned sleeping since season 4 started, and we still don’t know if he’s still having The Dreams. When Basira listed off the overview of Jon’s powers, it would have been the perfect moment to try to sort out what’s up with those:

(MAG127) BASIRA: … So. You can’t be killed by a collapsing building. Major injuries scar up fast. You can force the truth out of people and knowledge pops into your head whenever you need it. ARCHIVIST: Yes. I, I think that about, that about covers it.

But Jon didn’t add anything. I have no inkling of what is going on in Jon’s head: was he actually less aware of the true nature of his dreams than we had accounted for at the end of season 3 (MAG113: “I’m not too concerned, to be honest, my dreams are, uh… Well, let’s just say I don’t think they’re going to be letting anyone else in… any time soon.”)? Was he made to forget about the content of his dreams when he woke up from his coma, in the same way that he forgot the end of the Unknowing? Is he hiding that information from Basira because he’s trying to make her trust him again, and feels like it could be a deal-breaker? (He’s making efforts to be transparent with her, though… but is he exhaustive in that transparency? He, of all people, should know that hiding things has proven to be a wrong course of action, and so far in season 4 he has been precisely sharing and trying to talk to people, though…).

I guess that we’ll need to wait for a push in order to find out what Jon knows/remembers about his dreams: whether an old statement-giver coming back, whether a new person coming to give a live statement (what will Jon do in such a situation?), whether… MAG120’s tape resurfacing, which could be soon.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: […] There was a tape recorder waiting for me when I sat down. They’re not even hiding it anymore. There weren’t any tapes from when I was… away – I checked. Whatever they are, they are here for me.

(MAG127) ELIAS: Er, I’ve found one of these in my cell? It, it wasn’t recording, but… I assume this means he’s awake. […] And as to whether he will ever hear this, maybe he’ll get the tapes. Maybe he won’t. But the recordings have helped so far, so…

^He’s probably referring to the time he was comatose but, technically, Jon went “away” at the end of MAG117, so that could include the tapes of MAG118 and MAG120. Both involving Elias. Elias clearly said “the tapes”, plural, in MAG127, so maybe getting that tape recorder will unlock the missing ones, which could just… reappear? No idea.

- Oh My Gods, Elias:

(MAG127) BASIRA: … So why am I here? What do you want that’s so important you needed to tell me to my face? ELIAS: I believe you’ve recently lost Melanie. BASIRA: … We saved Melanie. ELIAS: As a person, yes, but as a defender…

Melanie, from off-screen: STOP TELLING PEOPLE I’M DEAD. (That was so mean and gratuitous and savage, ELIAS???)

There is something absolutely disgusting in the way Elias managed to turn one of the only good things that have happened recently (they managed to remove the bullet from Melanie! She’s a bit more of herself again! She’s getting emotions back!) into… a loss. Was it because she was infected by The Slaughter that Elias wanted to hire her in MAG084? We know from MAG106 that the fact that she didn’t have many people around her helped:

(MAG106) MELANIE: Threaten then. I’ve got nothing. ELIAS: That’s… almost true. Your life is indeed shockingly absent of any meaningful connections. That’s actually one of the reasons I chose you for this job. [PAUSE] Your father was your last real anchor, wasn’t he? [STATIC BEGINS.]

But it was “one of the reasons” (potential others being: Melanie listing how she’s reached the end of her options in MAG084); did Elias already know about the Slaughter-infected wound?

… ;; I REALLY don’t like that Elias is ~offering his help~ for the Archives now that this part is getting better. What is the trick. How is he planning to get some power back through the option he’s ~generously~ mentioning to Basira.

(MAG127) ELIAS: As a person, yes, but as a defender… I would have thought you would want all the help you could get, or… have you forgotten what happened last time you lay your guard down? BASIRA: … We’ll work it out. ELIAS: Possibly. Then again: you are beset by enemies on all sides, Basira. And unless you expect Jon to record them into submission, it would seem you’re in rather dire need of another option. BASIRA: … And you just happen to have one. ELIAS: I might have an idea, yes. BASIRA: And what does it cost? ELIAS: Just some of your time, Basira. Just your time. BASIRA: … [SIGHS] Okay. Let’s hear it.

(Gods!!! I hate it!! I love how he’s good at what he’s doing!! Hitting where it hurts – that “last time you lay your guard down” might be about The Flesh attack? And as usual, he sounds totally rational, getting you when you’re in a weak spot, when you’d need help!! There are obvious parallels with the way Peter handled Martin in the meantime: both playing on the way Basira&Martin feel responsible for the others’ safety, both being ~logical~ and insisting that their deal is mostly in your interest…)

What is the triiiiiiiiiick, WHAT IS THAT INSISTENCE ABOUT “TIME”………..

1°) I really hope that whatever he told Basira, Basira won’t play along with his game. The tape recorder cut at this point; Jon won’t know about Elias’s offer if Basira doesn’t tell him. I really hope that she’s not planning dissimulation – Martin is already doing that and it… doesn’t sound good already. If they scatter, if they hide and keep things from each other, they can be sure that Elias will get some power back this way……………

2°) Regarding the ~cliffhanger~ of Elias having a suggestion to make regarding the Archives team’s new “Defender”, there are many options and, even amongst characters we have already met, they’re all interesting.

Daisy? Sounds the most logical, since we can assume (from a narrative standpoint) that she’s not totally dead + Elias mistakenly called Basira “detective” and called her in – she would be the one who would agree to do anything to get Daisy back. (Though… anyway, Elias couldn’t have called anyone else: Melanie would have skinned him anyway, Martin is off, and Elias doesn’t want Jon to see him.) Is the mention that Basira would only have to give “time” because she would be supposed to take her place inside of the coffin…? (Past victims seem to just disappear inside of it, though.)

Simon Fairchild? Jon said that he didn’t want to meet him a few episodes ago (MAG124: “Fairchild seems to travel far and wide for his victims, with no motivation other than… variety. I do not think I ever wish to meet him.”), would be Very Elias to just throw the old man at Jon as a result.

The Section’d officer who arrested Elias / the Legend who punched Elias? He sounded like an awful guy but HEY!!! He punched Elias. Melanie would love to hear about how it felt, and she needs some cheering up. And I wouldn’t put it past Elias to rec the guy who punched him.

JUDE PERRY? Would be amazingly awful for Jon and also worst choice ever, which is why Elias could go for that one.

Julia&Trevor, having managed to come back from the US? Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t dream of Trevor hunting in the Archives. (Okay, maybe I just want to hear Julia again because nnggg. Maybe.) (Also!! They burned down Ivy Meadows (and Melanie’s father), so if anyone should get to meet them, it’s Melanie.)

Spider-people and/or Annabelle? Can’t say for sure, but I feel like whatever the spiders are doing, they’re enjoying their lurking in the shadows for now (and given that they sent Oliver to wake up Jon, they seem to avoid direct interactions with him).

Mikaele Salesa? He had contacts with the Institute, knew Gertrude a bit, and we only know that he disappeared(status is unknown, “he hasn’t been seen for almost two years now” in MAG045, which took place in September 2016). Plus, Salesa knew Peter Lukas…

Breekon or Hope, depending on which of them survived Daisy’s wrath? I really don’t think so (if anything… the surviving one might be a threat for the Archives), but their fake accent would drive Jon CRAZY so fast, probably, and I’d be here for this.

Sadly, if Jon’s dreams from MAG120 are any indication, he’s presumably dead, but I can’t help but think about Mike Crew for the Hilarity. I mean! He wrecked Jon (a bit) and:

(MAG091) MIKE: You’re sure I can’t get you a cup of tea? ARCHIVIST: Uh, it–it’s fine, really. MIKE: Okay. You just seem a bit… jumpy, is all. […] ARCHIVIST: You… There was, there was a book? Er, two of them, at least. Er… Ex Altiora, The Boneturner’s Tale. You, uh… I think you threw a guy off a skyscraper in Paris. MIKE: Hmm. Last chance for that cup of tea. ARCHIVIST: I… [STATIC] Where did you get that scar? MIKE: [LONG SIGH AS THE SOUND OF RUSHING AIR RISES] And I was trying so hard to be polite. […] We have a lot in common, really. After all, what, what good’s the height, the terrifying draw of gravity, unless you, unless you really know the scale of what you’re facing?

He said they Vast and Beholding had “lot in common”! He makes tea!! (Wrong person, but still. He likes to make and offer tea. A spot was left… vacant, for that role.)

tl:dr BEHOLDING-STATEMENT YIIISSS, and I’m so glad and mad to have heard Elias again, already =DD

We already have MAG128’s title soooo… personal speculation would be about Breekon &/or Hope, maybe the coffin already? And/or a Buried statement? Regarding the title’s double-meaning (/if taken literally): Sounds Like A Big Lie anyway :|

[gaycrouton]

Massage

Words of Lust 13/27 [ Scully's feeling a little tense and Mulder just wants to help.]

Massage: (noun) the act or art of treating the body by rubbing, kneading, patting, or the like, to stimulate circulation, increase suppleness, relieve tension, etc.

Ten. Ten autopsies in one day. He wasn’t sure what the record was, but he knew Scully was damn near it. He had overheard scattered corners in the hall talking about “the talented FBI gal,” and he heard enough to know Scully hadn’t had a break, or any help, all day. Ten bodies were found, preserved with an unidentifiable substance, and he knew Scully never liked working with other people on cases where she would just have to listen to them marvel at the mystery of the unexplainable. It distracted her. By the time he had come back from scavenging the forest with the local police department, it was six in the evening, and she was practically dead on her feet. When he found her in the morgue, she was sitting on a rolling stool with her arms crossed on a desk in front of her, her head resting on top of them like a pillow.

“Hey Scully, ready to go?” he asked as he walked up to her hunched form. He was puzzled by her lack of response until he got close enough to her to notice she was fast asleep. He squatted down so he was face to face with her and he couldn’t repress a smile from the sight. Her eyes were closed and her full lips were slightly parted. A tendril of hair hung loosely in front of her face and each breath sent the strand fluttering away from her face. To top it all off, the tiniest line of drool was leaking from her open mouth and pooling on her arm. It was painfully adorable.

He tentatively raised his hand and ran the back of his index finger along her delicate cheekbone, relishing the feel of her smooth skin. Scully let out a soft “mmm” and shifted a little, but didn’t wake up.  Being a little bolder, he placed the palm of his hand against the side of her head and started running the pad of his thumb across her cheek, gently murmuring her name.

His heart leapt in his chest when her lips twitched into a contented smile and she nuzzled into her arms to get more comfortable. If he hadn’t been so close, he would have thought he imagined it, but he saw her lips move softly and heard “Mulder” in a sleep ridden whisper. His attempts to wake her seemed to be just putting her to sleep furthur, so, with his free hand, he gently grabbed one of her hands and squeezed it lightly while saying her name a bit louder.

With the small smile still on her face, her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him with a glossy stare, trying to focus her eyes. “Good morning sleepy head,” he teased. The sound of his voice helped her get her bearings, and her sated smile quickly morphed into shy embarrassment. She sat up and swiftly ran the back of her hand against her mouth, erasing the light drool that had been there. He had removed his hands when she started to sit up and was now just playing with his hands idly in between his bent knees, the sensation of her skin still burning his fingertips.

Her eyes scanned lazily around the room as she remembered where she was. She turned to him and cleared her voice before asking, “Did you find anything in the forest?”

He found himself getting distracted by the sight of her trying to wipe the sleep out of her eyes and took a moment before answering, “Afraid not, I was actually dropping by to pick you up and go back to the motel. We’ve both had a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” she mumbled as she got her jacket and followed him out. The drive home was filled with idle chatter as she slouched in the passenger seat with closed eyes. He made a quick stop to get Chinese take-out, knowing her order from years of experience, and they were back at the motel soon thereafter.

In normal routine, they were going to spend the evening typing up field reports in his room while eating and watching tv. “I’m going to change into my pyjamas, I’ll be over in a second,” she told him as she got out of the car and unlocked the door to her room.

He set the chinese on the queen bed, turned the TV on to the Sci Fi channel, and changed into his own pyjamas, which consisted of long, loose running shorts and a plain white t-shirt. As soon as he was pulling the shirt over his head, he heard the adjoining door open and a small gasp from Scully. He pulled the shirt all the way down and was met with a wide eyed Scully looking at everything except him. “I’m sorry, I should have knocked first.”

“Trying to take advantage of me and compromise my modesty, how devious of you, Scully,” he teased, making her roll her eyes as she walked towards the bed. She had truly only seen his chest and abdomen, maybe a bit of his hip bones, but it thrilled him to know he could fluster her just from that bit of exposed skin.

Okay, so the normal routine was actually Scully being the only one working on field reports while he sat against the headboard, laptop in front of him, watching her work. Tonight was no different. They had both finished their food sometime ago, and now he was flush against the grain of the headboard as she was parallel to him, laying on her stomach, typing on her keyboard, a rerun of Star Trek faintly playing in the background.

His eyes raked over her form appreciatively. Scully wasn’t the type to be verbal with her feelings, so he had to perfect the art of picking up on her subtle cues. Her pyjamas were a prime example of this. For the first year or two of their partnership, barring that first case, in terms of pyjamas she would only let him see her in exclusively; a long sleeved top, long bottoms, slippers, and a tightly closed robe on top of it. Her vulnerability was hidden from him and she was reluctant to show him anything other than Agent Scully.

Flashforward to now, she was laying in front of him wearing just a small t-shirt, which was riding up ever so slightly to reveal a pale sliver of skin, teasing a glimpse of her tattoo, and a pair of cotton short-shorts, which were just barely long enough to not be considered underwear. Her shapely legs were bare and she was idly running one foot against the other, just a comforting thing she would do when she was relaxing. Her posture was the pinnacle of ease and openness. Her outfit and demeanor were just a touching display of her pure trust in him.

He quickly snapped out of his reviere when she started to slid off the bed. “How many field reports did you catch up on?” she asked while tucking her laptop into her bag.

Mulder took a tentative glance down at his laptop’s blank screen and in a hesitant voice replied, “Uhhh.. I got a good start on the first one.”

“Oh really? And without even touching the keyboard once, you’ll have to let me know how you do that,” she teased.

Busted. He let out a self-deprecating laugh and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I pulled up a document, so I did start a little bit, in my defense. This is a really good episode.” She cocked her eyebrow at him and he knew she didn’t buy it, but wasn’t going to press him. She lifted her bag to lay it on the motel table and a grimace passed over her face. “Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

“Yeah, but almost a full day hunched over and working with dead bodies really took a toll on my own.” She cracked her knuckles before she started stretching her arms, each time she did it there was a series of “pops” and “cracks” emanating from her sore joints. She did the same with her legs and it had the same effect. However, she tried to stand up straight, nothing happened, she leaned back and one sole pop occurred, but nothing else. The frown on her face told him that it was not the outcome she was hoping for.

“Do you need help?” he asked, already getting off the bed to move towards her.

“Help how?”

“I can crack your back,” he stated. Her doubtful expression was in full force and instead of explaining himself, he decided to just show her. “Turn around and cross your arms over your chest,” he commanded.

She did what he said and asked over her shoulder, “Like this?”

“Exactly.” He hadn’t done this in a while, let alone on someone so tiny. He stood behind her and bend down a little bit, so that his chest was on her back, before crossing his arms atop of hers, pressing them into her chest. He felt her about to ask what he was doing when he stood up fully, taking her with him. She squealed a little bit and wiggled her feet, which were now about a full foot off the ground.

He tried to ignore the way her hair was tickling his face and how her body felt squirming flush against his own, so he started arching his back and leaning backwards. As he did this, her body reclined with him, and that, and the weight added from gravity, created a series of what felt like twenty cracks along her spine. During the series of pops, she involuntarily let out a moan from the relief and let her head fall back, laying gently on Mulder’s shoulder.

The sound of that moan did more for Mulder than he’d care to admit, and he didn’t want Scully to feel that reaction pressing against her butt, which was pressing sinfully against the front of his pants right now. When he was sure he got all the pops out, he gently put her back down on her feet and quickly stabilized her when she stumbled a bit.

She turned around with a goofy smile and just said, “Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Do you feel better?” he asked, enjoying seeing her so serene.

“Aside from aching muscles, I’m feeling great,” she declared, stretching a little bit and reveling in the new found relief in her back.

“I could help with that,” he offered. He had a girlfriend a few decades ago who was interested in massage therapy and taught him a few things. They only lasted about a week together before he was too weird for her and she broke it off, but he was still pretty good at giving a massage.

The skepticism his last offer was met with wasn’t present in her new response, instead she just looked a little pensive before replying, “I’d appreciate that. Where do you want me?”

His mind immediately went dirty, but he knew he needed to reign that in. He wanted to help, but he knew this was going to be tantalizing and he needed to be as detached as possible. “If you lay on your stomach near the edge of the bed, I’ll sit in a chair and be able to work over you.”

She, yet again, did as he asked and sprawled out on her stomach near the edge of the bed. He brought a rolling chair over and elevated it so that he could hunch over her and have full access to everywhere he needed to reach. He was glad that the television was still on, or else he was positive she’d be able to hear the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. As he pulled up, he looked down at the soft, delicate body laying before him. She looked like an angel.

He decided to go from top to bottom. He placed his fingertips on the crown of her head and started massaging circles into her scalp, utilizing his nails to add an extra sensation. When he first started, he noticed she inhaled a big breath, but as soon as the ministrations started, her breathing evened out. He relished the feeling of her silky strands of hair falling through his fingers, the auburn tresses highlighted by the dim light from the motel lamp.

He massaged down her scalp, behind her ears, and on the nape of her neck before he began utilizing his whole hands versus just his fingers. He put one hand on either side of her neck which blended into her shoulder and started applying more weight. Scully wasn’t wrong, he could feel how tense and hard her muscles were. He spent a good amount of time using the balls of his hands to massage away her tension, using the pads of his thumb to massage her spine. When he got to the lower part of her upper back, he split off and started focusing on one side at a time. He started at her shoulder blade farthest away from him and gently moved his hands around it. He hadn’t realized it until this moment, but with the sensation of her thin shirt moving against her bare skin, he realized that she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

He delicately traced his hand in a line of where her bra strap would have been before moving onto her arm. Leaning over her like this made him really realize how tiny she was, he grabbed her biceps with both of his hands and he could almost wrap his fingers around her arm. He just worked his way down her arm, squeezing and caressing until he got to her hand, figuring they had a workout today, he spent extra time rubbing circles into her palm and working on her fingers, from base to tip. When he was done, he repeated the process on her other side. This time when he got to her hand, he felt her subconsciously twitch, as if her hand was trying to hold onto his.

When he was done, he returned to his place in the middle of her back, continuing to work his way down. His thumbs worked her spine, the palms of his hands kneaded the muscles of her back, and his fingers rubbed along her sides. When he got all the way down to her tattoo, he took a moment to appreciate it, and let her feel where his eyes were. His thumbs met at the top of the ouroboros and they rubbed along the circle until they met back together at the bottom. He saw, as much as he felt, her breath hitch, but she didn’t move to stop him.

The tension was near palpable in the air as he reached the top of her tailbone, he could practically feel her curiosity burning his fingers. As much as he wanted to, fully palming Scully’s ass was probably not the best idea. So, he teasingly ran his fingers over the dangerous line of back-meets-butt until he was safe at her hips, massaging down until he was in the safe zone of her legs. When he had asked her to lay down, she kind of just face planted like a log, arms at sides, legs together. As he massaged she loosened up, so her top half was a haphazard sprawl of limbs, but her feet were still together. See the note about ass grabbing and also apply that to the concept of shoving his hand between her thighs.

As he had predicted earlier, he was sporting a slight hard on from feeling her soft flesh under his palms, and her lying on a bed so accepting of his touch. He bent over a little bit, so if she turned to look at his she wouldn’t see it, and cleared his throat of any lingering arousal, “Um, Scully. Could you spread your legs a little for me?” Wow, smooth.

He waited with a heavy breath for her to call him a pervert and storm out, but instead, she simply spread her legs as asked. He let out the breath softly and repressed a smile at the development. She was displaying a whole new level of trust with him and he didn't want to do anything that would make her regret that. He worked on her legs in the same way that he had with her arms, one hand on either side of her leg, making his way down. Except, he started a little farther down, below the hem of her shorts, as to avoid touching any of the intimate areas he was only acquainted with in his dreams. Regardless of where he started, he couldn’t help but revel in the fact he was palming Dana Scully’s inner thighs. The same thighs he spent countless nights imagining on either side of his head or wrapped around his waist or quivering from- too much, too much.

He wanted to slap himself for packing running shorts and just wished for her to remain face down in the bed because there would be no way he could hide his erection tenting in his pants. He worked on the other inner thigh before going past the knee, just so he wouldn’t have to go through that again. When he was finished, he resumed rubbing down her calves and feet one at a time. When he was on the tiny toe of her last foot, he felt himself not ready to give this up yet. Physical contact between them wasn’t necessarily rare, per se, but never had it been this intimate and for this long of a duration.

In a moment of surprising boldness, he moved the chair so he was back near her head and he gently commanded, “Roll onto your back.” He hunched over once more so as she transitioned from her stomach to back, she wouldn’t accidentally catch sight of the front of his pants. Within a few moments, she was on her back with her limbs sprawled openly beside her.

He had to take a moment to build his confidence, but he moved his fingertips up to her hairline and started brushing her hair back. She was so peaceful and still that, had he not been able to see her eyelids fluttering under her eyelids, he would have assumed she had fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember a time where he had been so gentle and through with a task. His hands were practically ghosting on her skin. After touching the length of her hairline, he moved to her temples, gently rubbing circles with the pads of his thumbs along the pressure points. He couldn’t remember what the specific name was, the sight in front of him was more than slightly distracting, but she looked like a model from an old painting, Like an angel on the Sistine Chapel.

He continued his exploration of her face by running his index fingers over her brow bone and  going down the slope of her nose. He never expected she would allow him to do this, and was happy to see this was actually relaxing her. He ran the backs of his fingers along her strong jawline before running them up her smooth cheeks. There was one last place on her face for him to explore and this would really make or break the tranquility of the moment. With one tentative hand he placed his palm against her cheek, so that he was cupping it, and started moving the pad of his thumb to outline her lips.

Her lips were the first thing he had noticed about her all those years ago. “Agent Mulder, My name’s Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you.” She had on a reddish coral lipstick and it suited her beautifully. He had spent years watching those lips. As she talked, as she ate, as she breathed, they were mesmerizing. Now they were under his touch, and they were fuller and softer than any fantasy could have imagined. He traced the outline first, then ran the digit over her top, then bottom lip, relishing the slight tug from the friction of the contact.

He almost jumped out of his seat when he felt her lips press against his thumb in a kiss. His eyes darted up to look at her eyes, only to see that they were hooded, and watching him intently. He had been so focused on his own ministrations, that he had no idea how long she had been watching him. While he was making eye contact with her, he felt her lips part and her tongue dart out to lick the pad of his thumb, then gently suck on the surface.

Now it was his turn to have his breath hitch. His eyes kept darting back and forth between her sensual gaze and the sight of her mouth working the tip of his thumb. Her lips were coated with saliva and she placed one last kiss to his thumb before whispering in a husky voice, “Keep going.”

Holy fucking shit.

He drug the saliva coated thumb down her chin and along the expanse of her exposed, creamy white throat. She tilted her head back to give him better access, and in a moment of intuition, he blew a stream of cold air to her throat and watched her eyes close and goosebumps spread across her skin. He took a few moments to massage her clavicle, which had been hidden in her previous position. He still didn’t know how far she wanted this to go, so using only one hand and two fingers, he rubbed his way down her sternum, in between the valley of her parted breast, taking great caution to avoid touching either mound. He didn’t know if he was hearing things, but he could have sworn he heard a sigh of frustration when he got passed her chest and was in the safety of her rib area. He added his other hand back in and used the palms of his hands to rub down both her sides and abdomen, stopping at her hip bones, which he circles tauntingly.

He didn’t know where to go from here and he felt like an awkward teenage boy again. He already got all of her legs, he didn’t know if it would be creepy if he went back to an area already covered, and he wasn’t going to touch her in the areas left undiscovered until he got her explicit permission. Oh yeah, and his cock was still rock hard so he didn’t quite feel like calling it quits right now. He glanced back up and gulped when he saw she was still staring at him, that mysterious look still behind her heavy lids.

“You’ve been missing some major areas. If you need to take off my clothes to get to them, you’re more than welcome to,” her words were coy but her tone was beyond suggestive. She had made his choice for him and he was more than willing to oblige the request. His hands, which were still moving on her hip bones, slid up so his fingers crept under the hem of her shirt. In one of the most arousing gestures he had ever seen, she arched her back so it came off the bed, which allowed him to slide her shirt up and over her head. As soon as they were revealed, his eyes were glued to her breasts. He licked his lips unconsciously and he instantly recognized she laughed lightly at the gesture.

He looked in her eyes one more time for permission, still not believing this could possibly be true, and she gifted him with a coquettish smile. That’s all he needed before raising his hands and cupping her breasts in his hands. They were ample and firm, and everything he had dreamt of. As soon as he made contact, her eyes fluttered shut. He started experimenting with her as if he was playing an instrument, a pinch of a nipple made her bite her lip, a blow of air made her gasp, a firm squeeze made her eyes flutter, cause and react in full effect.

After a few moments, when her gasps started to become more audible, he decided to continue exploring. He snaked his hand down her smooth stomach until he reached the hem of her shorts. In an opposite arch to before, she lifted her hips up and helped him slide her shorts down her creamy legs. She had only been wearing shorts and his erection appreciated that heartily. When she lowered her hips back down and let her legs sprawl out, he got to fully appreciate the sight in front of him. Dana Scully was lying naked and wanton on his bed right now and if he died right now, he would die the happiest man in the entire world. His hand continued downward and it quickly started raking through her soft auburn curls. He knew she was a real redhead, but having the evidence right in front of him made him inexplicably happy.

Moving one final inch, he parted her fold and was immediately met with what would become the biggest source of pride in his life. Scully was soaking, correction dripping wet, and it was all because of him. He was almost shocked when he felt it, but it just fueled his desire more. Using one digit, he swirled his finger around her aching bud and relished in the sound of her hearty moan. It was his turn to watch her, and he was pleased to see her head lolling back and forth as her hips gyrated against his hand. After a moment or two, he felt her dainty hand reach down to grab his wrist.

He was initially afraid she might have regretted it, that she was going to say this had gone too far, but all fear was replaced with unrepentant arousal when she throatily groaned, “Let me make you feel good too. Join me.” After the words left her mouth, she moved so she was on the bed on her knees in front of him, pulling him into a standing position in front of her.

He was mesmerized by her poweress in this moment, he could see her arousal coating the insides of her thighs, but she was still so in control of her actions. She quickly grabbed the hem of his shirt and he was all too ready to help throw it over his head. With another fell swoop, she shoved his shorts to the floor and took in the sight of his exposed erection with greedy eyes. She leaned back so she was on her butt with her legs wide open as she grabbed his arms and pulled him on top of herself, her enthusiasm earning a hearty chuckle from both parties.

Laying on top of her like this was pure bliss, the complete skin-to-skin contact of their bodies was almost too much to take. He looked down at her and was speechless at the woman laying underneath him. Her eyes were filled with mirth and longing and he was so overcome with emotion that he closed the distance and pressed a searing kiss to her lips. His heart leapt once more when he felt her return the kiss with equal vigor, opening her mouth so their tongues could play with each other. He felt like he may never sleep again, what was the point of trying to dream when reality could provide such perfect moments like this?

She pulled back for air with a laugh and his lips quickly sought to keep their connection in a different area, landing squarely on the pulse point of her neck. He moaned deeply against her flesh when he felt her hand snake in between them and take his length into her grasp. She stroked his tip along her folds, coating his length in her arousal to lubricate him before easing him into her. She moved her hand away and wrapped her arms around his neck, tandemly wrapping her legs around his waist, beckoning him to continue.

He kissed her on the lips one final time before plunging into her. Their moans were in perfect harmony and they quickly found their pace as they started thrusting against each other. Their were many moments in their partnership that contributed to him considering them to be a perfect match, but none compared to this. She felt like home, her smell, the feel of her body against his own, the music of her moans, everything made him want to live in this moment forever.

They had been going at it for maybe a minute or two when he felt her freeze. He was about to ask her what was wrong until he felt her vaginal walls clamp painfully tight against him and she cried out his name in a breathy whisper. He thrusted in deeper, grinding his pubic bone against hers to prolong her orgasm and he could swear he felt her heartbeat in his cock. She released her grip on his neck and fell back onto the bed, bucking against him in spasms, her eyes fluttering and her lips curled into a sweet smile. He just made Scully’s eyes roll from a powerful orgasm. This was undoubtedly the best day of his entire life.

He looked down at her with a proud smile, trying to commit the image of her underneath him naked and sated to his memory forever. She returned his smile with a shy one of her own and melodically laughed, “Usually I last longer, you just did such a fantastic, through job before.” It had to be impossible to love someone this much.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that. Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered. She blushed and averted her gaze in shy embarrassment and it made his heart hurt. This woman was practically Aphrodite reincarnated and he didn’t like the idea of any self-doubts or insecurities making her question her beauty and skill.

“Scully,” he prompted, waiting until her eyes flitted back to him to continue, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and probably the smartest person I’ve ever met. I adore you and I love you.” She was openly smiling and beaming up at him and he could have cried from the unyielding trust that was in her gaze.

She snaked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him sweetly. When they parted, she looked up at him and whispered, “I love you too, but we’re not done yet.” To emphasize her point she thrusted against him again, re-sheathing his arousal deep into her head. His moan reverberated around the room and he started thrusting into her continually, fascinated but the sight of her panting mouth and her breasts bouncing up and down on her chest.

Watching Scully cum was like a drug, he had seen and experienced it once, and he would be chasing that high for the rest of his life. He just wanted her to be encapsulated with pleasure and he wanted to be the cause of it. He put his hand at the apex of her thighs and found her swollen clit, playing with pinching it and rubbing it. From the sounds coming out of her mouth, she was more than appreciative. After a few moments, probably since she was already sensitive from her last orgasm, another came rippling through her body, clenching around him like a vice, this time taking him with her over the edge. They stayed joined for a while afterwards, relishing in the sensation of each other’s pleasure.

“To repeat your eloquent sentiments from earlier; wow” he teased, breaking the silence.

She laughed heartily at this and rolled onto her side, into her arms, “I stand by that, and I’m still impressed,” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his temple.

[thetravelerwrites]

Declan (Part 2) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Reader x Male Bat Monster Additional Tags: Bat Monster, Monster Lover, Sex, Oral Sex, Mild Language Words: 4183

The Traveler's Masterlist 

(Declan’s Kin Character Reference Guide)

The year was just at the line of middle spring, which was the perfect time to start planting. Declan took you to the edge of a different, far away town, where you purchased as many seeds and saplings you felt comfortable enough to carry, plus some small comfort items you didn’t take from your old cottage.

Arriving back at the cave, you began to clear some of the land surrounding it and showed Declan how to hand-till the earth. Declan’s fingers were long and held up his wings, and he was unable to grab or do much of anything with them besides fly and create shelter. Luckily, his long, lower limbs seemed to possess articulated feet with two thumbs. He did most things with these appendages, including feed himself.

It took a few days of hard work, but a good chunk of land was now separated out into neat rows. Declan also took the axe and cleared some of the branches from the canopy so that sunlight and rain could reach the crops.

Once that was done, you instructed him to start laying the trees six feet apart while you started planting the rows. Each row was a different crop; carrots, turnips, beans, etc.

You planted nectar flower bushes and berry bushes along the border of the giant hollow log for Declan, as well as some different types of melon and a tomatoes, which was one of the few savory things he could eat. It was shaping up to be a decent sized garden that could feed the both of you with plenty left over, provided you kept it up well.

As you finished planting your seeds, you went to help Declan place the last few trees down. When you finished, you looked over your work with a satisfied sigh.

“This is going to be great,” You said.

“Yes,” He agreed, smiling. “I may not even need to hibernate this year.”

“You hibernate?”

“Only when food is scarce, during winter. I’d starve otherwise.”

“Well, we won’t let that happen,” You said, patting his arm. “Unfortunately, these trees won’t bear fruit for at least five years. We’ll have to look after them closely until then.”

He blinked, looking at you with one of the strange expressions he got sometimes when you said nice things to him.

“What?” You asked him.

“Do you plan to still be here in five years?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” He said, shaking his head fervently.

“Then I plan to be here,” You said, grinning at him.

The sweetest, softest smile spread across his features slowly, lighting up his eyes and making his ears twitch. You giggled and rubbed them, making him chirp in delight.

Declan was a wonderful friend and a good listener. You spent your days tending the garden together, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about his life, which had been a struggle from the start, and he asked about yours. He even help you hunt; he would scale the trees and look out for game and making his soft chittering noise so as not to spook them. He may not have eaten meat, but he didn’t begrudge you for doing it.

He had seen to your every comfort, even going so far as to carve a bathtub out of a huge fallen tree so that you didn’t have to bathe in the cold river. He was more than happy to haul the water up for you and give you your privacy, sitting outside the cave every time you took a bath.

The summer passed in bliss, and harvest time came. Declan helped you pull up the crops and took you to the far away village for jars and canning supplies so you could store for the cold months, trading some of your produce in exchange. Declan seemed excited to stay awake with you for the winter, telling you he hadn’t seen snow since he was a very small child. You smiled at his enthusiasm, looking forward to it yourself, even if it was just to see his reaction.

You spent the next few days making and saving, though you had to keep him from eating his weight everyday or you’d have nothing for winter.

“Sorry,” He’d say. “Force of habit. I’m usually bulking up around this time, preparing to hibernate. My body’s is still in self-preservation mode.” And then he’d steal a handful of berries and run off laughing.

You had to admit, you’d come to care deeply for Declan. You though he might care for you, too, but he had been a perfect gentleman in the months you had stayed with him, never touching you unless you touched him first, always sleeping away from you on the ground.

Mid-autumn, the temperature began to drop significantly at night, and you wondered if Declan was cold. He had given you every soft, warm thing in his cave to sleep with, so he had nothing to warm himself, caring only for your comfort. He assured you his fur would protect him, but you still worried.

Once particularly cold night, you got up to throw a log on the dwindling fire and raked the coals back to life, and saw him shivering in the renewed firelight. You frowned, going over to wake him.

“Declan,” You said softly, waking him by shaking his shuddering shoulder gently. “Declan, wake up.”

His head popped up, the fur on the left side ruffled a bit from sleep. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Yes, but you’re freezing,” You said, taking one of his chilled arms and rubbing it to get some heat back into it. “Come to the nest and sleep next to me. It’ll be much warmer.”

He sat up, looking from the nest back to you. “Are… are you sure?”

“Yes, come on,” You said, pulling him to his feet. “What’s the point of staying awake to see the snow if you freeze to death first?”

He followed you to the nest and you motioned for him to step in first. The blankets were still warm for where you had slept, and he moaned loudly. You stepped in after him, careful not to step on his wings, and lay down next to him, putting your hands in the velvety fur of his chest.

Slowly, as if testing his boundaries, he wrapped his arms and leathery wings around you, pulling the blankets over both of you. You sighed and snuggled in.

“See?” You asked, muffled by his chest. “Isn’t this warmer?”

“Immeasurably,” He replied softly, his muzzle buried in your hair. He was asleep in seconds.

Autumn turned to winter, and you spent more time in the cave with Declan. The trees and bushes shivered in the cold, but no snow had fallen yet, there was just a lot of wind and freezing rain.

Declan continued to sleep in the nest with you, both of you sharing heat with each other, and he was never once inappropriate with you, though sometimes you kind of wished he was. Still, perhaps there was a good reason for why he didn’t try to engage with you and you were hesitant to push him. He had been through a lot, after all.

One morning, though, you woke up to the sound of Declan panting and grunting in your ear. Your back was against his front, and he was curled up around you. You suddenly noticed you felt movement; his hips bouncing against your clothed bottom over and over at a quick pace. You felt something nudging your thigh from behind. You turned your head and looked at his face, eyes closed, features relaxed, and you realized he was still sleeping.

A startled smile split your face and you wondered how long he was going to go on like this. After a minute, though, you called out.

“Declan. Declan, wake up.”

“Hmm?” He said, not quite waking. The motion of his hip continued.

“Declan, you’re dreaming,” You said, patting his cheek. “Wake up.”

His eyes opened, and the motion ceased. Suddenly, as if realizing what he was doing, he jumped up and pressed himself flat against the wall, his wings covering his body.

“I’m so sorry!” He cried. “I--I didn’t mean… I’m so ashamed… forgive me…”

“It’s all right, Declan,” You said.

“Oh, gods,” He moaned, covering his face. “You must think I’m disgusting…”

“No, really, it’s all right,” You said, taking hold of his arms and pulling them down so you could look at his face. “Really. This happens to humans all the time. Men and women and everyone in-between.”

“It does?” He asked, and you nodded. “It’s never happened to me. I don’t know what to do to make it go away.”

You swallowed thickly, took a breath, and said, “I could… help… if you like.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at you and panted, his eyes wide.

“But if you don’t want to, it’s all right, I just--”

“Yes!” He said loudly, before modulating his tone and breathing, “Please.”

You pulled down his wings and looked at his body. At the apex of his legs, there was a large, bright pink organ sticking straight up out of a sheath. Warmth pooled at your midsection, and you flicked your eyes back up to his.

“Lie down,” You said.

He complied, laying in the nest propped up against several pillows so that he could watch what you were doing. You went to kneel between his legs, shucking off your nightgown and underwear as you do so. The chill made your nipples harden instantly.

He stared at your body reverently, his panting becoming frantic.

“Calm down,” You said softly, petting the fur on his stomach. His breathing slowed by a mere fraction. You reached up and took his face in your hands, kissing his muzzle. “Calm down, Declan. You’re too worked up.”

“I’m sorry,” He said, pulling your naked body close, nosing your neck and inhaling. “I’ve never done this.”

“It’s all right,” You said softly. “Kiss me.”

He does, the kiss sweet and gentle, the wings on his arms fluttering softly around you. You can feel him twitching underneath you, but his breathing calms and you pull back. He moans in dismay.

“Don’t worry,” You said, running your nails over the fur of his inner thigh. “You’re going to feel great in a few minutes.”

“What do--ohh!” He groaned long and loud as you let your fingers wrap around the head, slowly working your way down to the base. The panted started again and he spasmed underneath you. You pumped him slowly at first, letting him get used to the feeling, before lowering down and swirling your tongue in circles on the head.

His upper torso lurched forward with a gasp, his thumbs tangling in your hair, careful not to be too rough or stab you with his claws.

If this was indeed his first time, you knew he wouldn’t last long. It took some time to develop self-control in this situation, but you didn’t mind. You were just happy this was finally happening.

You had been right. It had only taken two pumps down the shaft into your mouth before he released down your throat, grunting loudly as each spasm shook his body, legs trembling.

Finally, when he was spent, he collapsed backwards onto the blankets, breathing heavily. You gently moved his wing out of the way and lay down next to him, waiting for him to settle.

When he did, he turned on his side to stare at you in awe.

“That was incredible,” He breathed onto your skin, nuzzling your breast with his muzzle, sniffing. “Thank you. Is is supposed to happen so quickly?”

“For men, it can sometimes, especially if they’re inexperienced and over stimulated,” You said, chuckling. “We can work on it.”

“We can?” He asked brightly, his ears perking up.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness. “Of course we can, love.”

His smile slipped and he stared at you with his mouth open in shock.

“Say that again,” He said in a whisper.

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“What, love?”

He nodded, taking in long, slow breaths. “Did you mean that?”

Realizing what he was trying to ask, if in a roundabout way, you rolled your eyes, smiling at him tenderly. “Yes, Declan. I love you.”

He fell upon you with a pleased chirruping noise, kissing your face and neck and chest and any inch of your skin he could reach.

“Oh!” He exclaimed. “I’m so happy! I love you, too! I love you so much!”

You laughed as his fur tickled your skin.

He stopped and looked at you with endearing earnest. “I want… to… I don’t know… what can I…?”

You understood. “Let me lay on my back, all right?”

He obliges, moving so that you can take the position he had before. He mirrored what you had done, kneeling between your upraised legs. You opened them wide, moving your feet on either side of his hips. He stared at the space there in something like surprise.

“What is it?” You asked, slightly concerned.

“It…” He started, grasping for words. “It looks like a flower… like an orchid…”

You covered your mouth and laughed a little self-consciously. Reaching down with your hand, you touch the sensitive bundle of nerves under it’s hood.

“Remember how I used my tongue?”

He looks up at you and nods.

“Do that here. Like this.” You circle and stroke it, demonstrating for him.

He didn’t hesitate, bending down and flattening his belly against the nest, holding your hips with his long digits. His long tongue flickered out and he touched it to the heat between your legs with a soft moan. Your breathing caught in your throat and he looked up at you, questioning.

“It’s good,” you gasped. “Keep it up.”

He smiled with his tongue still pressed against you and continued to swirl it around the bud. You touched your breasts and kneaded the nipples hard like dough, moaning softly at first.

You told him exactly what you needed to get to your peak, and he followed you every instruction with great fervor. He was very receptive to direction. He touched what you asked him to touch, he sucked when you asked him to suck. When you begged him to go faster, he was only happy to comply. He watched your face closely the entire time, gauging your reactions and your twitching body.

It wasn’t long before you were a shaking, screaming mess. You showed him your entrance and asked him to press his tongue into that sensitive hollow. He did so immediately, moaning loudly, the vibrations of which pushed you closer to your edge.

You reached down with your hand as he did this and massaged the nub. He watched you do this, all the while his tongue was buried inside you, contracting and slurping at you. At some point, he gently nudged your hand out of the way and took over, observing you writhe and cry out under his touch. You used both hands to hold his head, locking him in place. He didn’t complain.

As your cries intensified, he withdrew his tongue and placed his mouth over the nerve cluster, sucking hard.

You crashed into into your peak with a loud scream, thrashing and twitching in his grasp, feeling a gush of fluid come out of you that he pulled back to observe with obvious interest, still touching the nerve bundle gingerly. When you finally came down, laying limp and sweating on the nest, he chuckled a breathy laugh.

“That was beautiful to watch,” He said, pulling himself up along your body, kissing as he went. He met your lips, and the kiss was no longer gentle. It was hungry, desperate. He kissed you so hard that you both had to stop to catch your breath, lest you smother each other.

You peeked down and realized he was hard again. You reached for it and touched it. He gasped and shuddered. You slid down and tilted your hips upward, leading him forward against your entrance.

The look on his face was wild and tense, his eyes questioned you. You raised up to kiss his lips, and nod. At your urging, he begins to press into you with a long groan of pleasure. You moan against him as he slides into you slowly, carefully, inch by inch. You loved the feeling of heat insides you, a degree different than your own, the delicious pressure opening you up wide. Your fingers tangled in the soft fur of his neck, his forehead pressed against yours until he had seated himself completely inside you and growing still, panting.

“Give yourself time,” You purred to him as he began to buck against you erratically. He stilled, his muscles quivering and ticking uncontrollably. He was gasping, struggling to maintain control. Inside, he pulsed and jumped in wondrous ways, and as much as you needed him to move, you also wanted him to enjoy the experience and not rush.

After a few minutes of stillness, during which time his muscles stopped jumping, you urged him to move slowly. He obeyed, pulling himself back until he was almost out and then thrusting back in again slowly.

“You all right?” You gasped as the sensations blotted out your brain.

He nodded. “Yes,” He said, opening his eyes to gazed down into yours. “Are you? Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t. It feels so good.” You clenched your inner muscles around his shaft as proof.

He huffed and picked up speed, still relatively slow but a little more intense. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He thrust deeper, hitting that amazing sweet spot deep inside, and you moaned into his mouth. His movements were erratic again, but this time he stopped on his own and got his bearings back before he could lose himself.

“Good,” You said encouragingly.

He smiled down at you. “I’m a fast learner.”

You grinned wickedly back. “I can tell.”

He was, indeed. Now that he had a rudimentary understanding, he began to experiment a little, trying strokes and positions that you might like, pleasuring you beyond rational thought. You were so caught up in the sensations that you lost all sense of time. It felt like he had been pounding away at you for days, and you loved every second of it. Whenever he would get too close to his peak, he would pull out and suckle at you, licking and nipping until you were unable to speak, and then plunge back in.

Finally, once he sensed you were rapidly losing your ability to move, he gripped your hips tightly and thrust so hard and so fast that you literally couldn’t feel anything else. It didn’t take long for him to reach his limit, and he released again with a loud shout. You felt the hot, wet fluid shoot into you at speed.

You had orgasmed so many times that day that you could barely feel them anymore, but the feeling of him hunched over you, shaking and snarling, as he emptied everything he had into you was a whole other thing. It set off bells in your head and make your vision go black for a moment. You would have cried out from the heat, but you had lost your voice a while ago.

He collapsed onto you with an exhausted grunt and you felt him exit your body and grow limp on your stomach, slowly sliding back into the sheath. You both lay motionless for a long, long time, unable to muster the strength to disentangle yourselves from each other.

After what seems like a year, he finally lifts his head and stares at you blearily.

“I made a mess,” He said.

You huffed a laugh through your nose. “Yeah.”

“Do you enjoy that?”

You nodded sleepily but enthusiastically. “Very much so. But I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a week.”

He laughed gently and tried to stand. It took a couple of attempts, and when he managed to find his feet, he staggered a bit. There was pearly white fluid clinging to the fur of his stomach and down his legs. You snickered a little.

“I’m going to go get some bathwater,” He said, stumbling to pick up the pails and yoke.

“But it’s freezing outside,” You protest. “Take the cloak and scarf I made you.”

He smiles at you brightly, putting both on. Shouldering the yoke, he stepped into the darkening world outside. Gods, you had been at it all day long. No wonder you were exhausted.

You moved the blanket that had been under you, now messy and sticky, and used a clean bit to wipe yourself then set it aside to wash it. You tried your best to stand up, but gave up after the fifth attempt.

Declan returned promptly, setting down the full pails and the yoke, bouncing excitedly. He handed you a dress and your cloak.

“Come and see! Come and see!” He said energetically, running to you, and back to the entrance, and then back to you.

“What’s going on?” You said, chuckling at him.

“Just come! Hurry!”

You made another attempt to stand, and immediately fell, your legs little more than wet noodles. He laughed boyishly and helped you to your feet, pulling the dress over your head and the cloak around you shoulders. He pulled you insistently toward the doorway.

“Let me put on my boots!” You protested, giggling and stepping into them. He took your hand and led you outside. You gasped.

The ground was glistening, and all around you, fluffy white snow was falling gently. It landed in your hair and on Declan’s soft shoulders, speckled against the dark fur. It danced in the air like a ballet, all delicate and dreamlike. Like you were in a different world. A better one.

You looked at Declan and he’s smiling so hard that he’s liable to crack his face.

“It’s amazing!” He breathed. Opening his arms wide as if to catch as many of snowflakes he could. He laughed openly, happily, warmly. Like a person unburdened by heartache, free of any hardship. You loved seeing him like this.

“You look happy, sweetheart,” You told him, and he swung around to snatch you up into his arms.

“I am,” He whispered into your hair. “I’m happier than I have ever been in all my life. This has been the best day and it’s all thanks to you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You pulled back to look at him, smiling sweetly. “It’s just the first of many, my love, and there is so much more to come.”

He kissed you with a fierceness he hadn’t yet displayed, and it left you breathless. “I can’t wait.” He said against your lips, and the kiss resumed with vigor.

It seemed like the two of you wouldn’t have any trouble staying warm this winter.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[akaluan]

When All Is Known (Nothing Is) Pt6

Prequel | Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

((I feel like this bit drags a bit, because I sorta lost track of what was going on and where I was going for a while, but... I think it’s straightened out now. Maybe I can finish the basics of this AU in another two or three parts?

Which the “basics” just covers up to killing Yhwach and going back to Kisuke and being like “Hey, its all over, we’re going to sleep for a day or three now, bbl”.

So like... there’s certainly more possible beyond that, because there’s the recovery stages and integration into the new timeline etc, and maybe I’ll spend a bit of time fleshing out the old timeline a bit more, but I’ll probably take a break from the AU after portion 1 is done.))

Uryuu hated to admit it, but Aizen was right; it was /horrifically/ boring to fight the Quincy of this era. They had no skill, no expertise, just the trained reflexes of those who spent too much time practicing and too little time gaining real experience. Cutting them down was as easy as a training exercise, with many of the lower-ranking Quincy only having enough time to notice them before dying.

They charged through the white fortress, while Uryuu tried desperately to remember the paths they needed to take. Yhwach had abandoned the ruins of the fortress in favor of the Soul King’s palace, and Uryuu’s memories had faded in the intervening years.

(He’d never thought he’d be back here, back in the pristine white halls and maze-like corridors of the hidden fortress of the Quincy.)

(Back in a time before the world fell to ruin.)

“This place is a goddamn maze,” Ichigo grumbled, scoring a jagged line across the wall. “How the hell did you tolerate it?”

“By remembering what was at stake,” Uryuu admitted wryly, glancing down each hall and scowling. Everything looked the same, of course, and he couldn’t remember the little tells that would let him know which way to travel.

“Why don’t we simply ask someone?” Aizen asked idly. “I’m sure they’d love to tell us which way to go.”

Uryuu rolled his eyes and absently flicked a reishi knife over his shoulder at Aizen. Not that it would do anything, sadly; if he ever managed to catch Aizen with such a simple thing, then the man was probably almost dead already.

“No, hang on. Wasn’t there at least one Quincy in this group that actively wanted to kill him?” Ichigo asked. “The one with the mohawk.”

“Maybe?” Uryuu flipped another reishi dagger into the air and watched the way it fell. With how little he remembered, luck would have to do. “But I think that was only because he tried to use Auswahlen on them? Which hasn’t happened.”

Ichigo made a thoughtful noise and followed Uryuu down the hallway he chose. Uryuu didn’t however, hear Aizen’s footsteps, and turned back to see what the man was up to.

“Well fuck,” Uryuu said, taking in the lack of Aizen anywhere in sight. “And he has the nerve to complain about /us/.” Not that he was worried; they could all take care of themselves, and Aizen knew Ichigo was his best bet at removing Yhwach from existence.

Self-preservation would have Aizen fetching them if the man found the way to Yhwach’s sanctuary.

And in the meantime, Uryuu was going to enjoy the lack of Aizen’s company.

(Asshole.)

(If Aizen thought Uryuu would give in and go to /him/ for a spar, the man had another thing coming.)

Ichigo laughed, then raised his hands in surrender when Uryuu gave him an annoyed look. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, without an ounce of remorse that Uryuu could spot.

Uryuu scowled at Ichigo, then turned and pointedly continued stalking through the white, maze-like hallways. Ichigo left scars on the wall at every turn, his daito scoring deep without a hint of effort. It wasn’t much, and it was most assuredly leading their enemies /towards/ them, but it did help whenever they had to backtrack.

(Besides, it wasn’t like any of their enemies were a /challenge/.)

Uryuu lost track of time, between the monotonous hallways without a view of daylight and the fights that rarely went beyond the materialization of a brace of daggers to skewer his enemies.

Ichigo didn’t bother helping, just sighed and scratched at the base of his broken horn. Until they found the Sternritter, there wasn’t much point in his involvement unless he spotted their enemies first.

Uryuu scowled up at a small insignia near the ceiling, then reached out with his senses. He could feel stronger enemies not too far away, and whatever Aizen was up to was certainly causing chaos and riling the Quincy.

“Well, maybe he’s being useful after all,” Uryuu muttered, then waved off Ichigo’s amused glance. “I think we should be able to get closer if we head… that way?” he suggested, pointing in the direction he could sense the stronger Quincy. “Maybe things will start looking familiar soon.”

“We can only hope,” Ichigo agreed, leading the way down the hall.

Two more turns, and Uryuu swore he could almost place himself at last; there was just something about the area that felt familiar, even if he couldn’t quite pin it down.

“Woah! Aww, man,” a mostly unfamiliar voice complained, pulling Uryuu’s attention away from the wall. A Quincy with a bright, florescent pink mohawk stood at the end of the hallway, scowling at them in frustration. “You guys are /this way/ too?”

Ichigo and Uryuu shared a glance, then turned their attention back to the Quincy.

“I’d have thought you wanted to get rid of the invaders,” Ichigo said dryly, gesturing between the two of them. “After all, we’re out to kill your boss and everyone that gets in our way.”

Interest flickered across the Quincy’s face, and one hand settled on his hip. “Out t’kill my boss, huh? Which one.”

“Which… one?” Uryuu repeated in confusion, fidgeting with his glasses. “Yhwach? Isn’t he..?”

He gave them a considering look, fingers tapping against his hip. “You really think you can do it?”

“We know we can,” Ichigo answered confidently, raising a hand and wriggling his clawed fingers at the Quincy. “And if you don’t either help us or get out of our way, I’ll show you exactly /why/ I’m so confident.”

The Quincy tossed his head back and laughed. When Ichigo took a step closer to his, daito raised to strike, the Quincy’s laughter died and he bared his teeth at Ichigo in a parody of a grin.

“Why the fuck not,” the Quincy said, eyes gleaming with a need for revenge that Uryuu knew all too well. He spread his arms and gestured back the way he came. “You got guts, that’s for sure. I’d like to see how this ends. And if you can kill him… well, that’s certainly something I’d love to see.”

Ichigo huffed and lowered his blade. “Got a name? I’m Ichigo, and that’s Uryuu.”

“Bazzard Black. Call me Bazz,” the Quincy answered easily. “Come on, his majesty is sleeping back this way. Hope ya can handle his little guard-dogs, though.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Uryuu answered with a shrug. “And neither will be dealing with /you/ if you decide to trick us.”

Bazz laughed and ran a hand over his mohawk. “Nah, just keep your promise, and we’ll be all good.”

“We can certainly do that.”

“Alright then,” Bazz said with a smirk, stepping back and gesturing for them to follow him. “This way then, murderous brats. Let’s see how good you are at killing a sleeping god.”

Uryuu exchanged incredulous looks with Ichigo, then smiled wryly and shrugged. He hadn’t expected any of the Quincy to /actually/ turncoat that Bazz appeared to be doing, but… he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

(He almost wondered what reason Bazz had to hate the man he followed, to the point of turning traitor at the first opportunity.)

Either way, things were finally starting to look up at last.

(Over before it all began, and a peaceful future guaranteed for their past selves.)

(It seemed so unreal.)

[thegreymoon]

Sorry, You didn't really say or do anything to make me think that you are Asian. I thought that I read sth in your lj where u said that you were and just run with it. It was a long time ago and I must have misread. Also, you don't really post a lot political stuff, it is more like I notice it more because when I visit your page I skip all Merlin related stuff and am interested in the rest so again my fault. As for my ise of imaginary- yeah, it was passive agressive, altough not intentionally so

… my bad. I rarely engage in political conversations online because it never ends well, especially when my views clash with 90% of tumblr users so I am used to combative tone and it was unnecessary.. As for SJW I am not sure if that is dissmissive term as it discribes the “movement” well? I am not native speaker and am aware that it can be used as derogative term, but was also convinced that it is used by people on the left if political spectrum. I asked you why you are mainy interesetd in USA because I was working under the assumption that u are Asian it seemed to me weird that a person coming from China/Japan etc would be championing social justice in USA when it not that big of a problem(or at all IMO) whie ignoring very real problems in their own country. But since you are not Asian and you post political stuff rarely you are right it is a silly discussion. The fault is completely on my side. I am allergic to these kind of stuff and you are one of my favourite writers so I exaggerated. Once again sorry.

As for the rest of your response: I also come from relatively poor country that was screwed over by both Britain and USA and many other countries, and I don’t agree with many of their policies (or most) but I don’t hate them and believe that as much as people like to say they start wars for the oil etc it is not really true. There are many political and global players and everyone single country is motivated by greed it is only that not every country can exercise their power.  

Relatively they are not the worst, it is just that since USA tries to paint themselves as heroes they are held to different, much higher standards than other countries. To sum it up, I am not defending their foreign policies, they have done a lot of wrong and are shortseighted but I still think that are better than other superpowers that will soon take over like China or maybe India. Also, I don;t understand why would you include global warming in your answer?why do you believe it is their fault

I am trying to leave as “green” as I can, I am a vegetarian and I believe we should do everything to preserve environment, but I wouldnt want my country to sign any deals concerning CO2 emission as long as other countries do not do the same. Otherwise, they would just cripple their economy and not help the world? As for Trump(if you are still interested) I find him the epitome of self-important, conceited stereotypical american but still so much better than alternative and despite distaste. would still vote for him. Because he at least apppears to be anti globalist and has a much higher moral ground than Hillary. what are his SPECIFIC actions that you find so abhorrent? Anyway, what I alluded to in my message was not politics of USA but the social justcie issues, like support BLM or me to movement(I am not sure if you posted enything regarding that, so srry if I presume wrongly) which I find are absolutely not based on facts and despite that people still perpetuate that, and if u don’t agree you are racist and sexist. No arguments whatsoever. It is also silly to me when I see the posts about the West being this cesspool of sexism while honour killings or FGM is nearly a non issue on social media or racism when considering the West is still the least racist place in the world when you compare it to China/India/SA or any other place. So, I find the social media effort to be misdirected and controlled by emotions. Even the indigineous people issued you mentioned. Americans get so much shit for their history, while pretty much every single country that exist was created by conquering or displacement of the previous population(u just have to go far enough down the history). So, yeah wht happend to Indigenous people and dissappearance of their whole civilization is a great tragedy but not the first and unfortunately not the last in human history. Why are we hearing about it but not about Anuit people or Persian or Byzantians? it is so imbalanced. Ok, anyway, sorry for the rant it shouldn’t be directed at you and tumblr is definitely not the place for it. Sorry if I offended to you. As I said I love your writing, “DC” is my all time favourite fic, and because I creepely once read through all of your lj(including asks and responses) I(like an internet creep and stalker)liked you and thought you seemed smart, well balanced and knowledgeable so I guess I felt entitled to to make the ask. Wish you all the best in life. 

No worries, I’m sorry I came off so aggressive in my answer. I did actually live and work in China for a while during my LJ days and it’s entirely possible I may have tagged myself as being there on my fandom profiles at the time. It was a happy period for me and I talked about it a lot to anyone who had the patience to listen, so it’s very plausible that you have read something about it on my LJ! I’m very sorry if it was misleading, but I was only ever an expat there!

I used to be a lot more open about my real name and real-life dealings in fandom communities, but that almost backfired spectacularly, so I locked down a lot of stuff because it could do me quite a bit of damage. 

OK, I concede your point that if you remove the Merlin stuff, a lot of what is left on my Tumblr is going to be either me reblogging cats or raging about social injustices (oops) 😅

I’d just like to make it clear that I absolutely do not hate either the USA, the UK or any other country in the world. Like I said, people are people, and disgusting policies are disgusting policies and every single country is guilty of them. It’s just that some have a bigger impact and are more visible. My own country is a source of so much shame and anger for me, it far outweighs anything the UK and the USA could have ever done because it’s personal, but our nonsense is just not something that I come across when casually scrolling through Tumblr, so I don’t reblog it. It’s possible to love a nation and its people and still be critical of the evil they have done. 

Also, let me just clarify that I’m bothered by all injustices and human rights violations everywhere, but usually there isn’t a post about them when I’m scrolling at 2 am at night that I can reblog. The USA is just… low hanging fruit, and let’s face it, from where I stand, hating on their president, the white supremacists, the Nazis, fundamental Christians, racists and the Republicans in general after what they have turned into is not hating on the USA, but rather cheering on the sane part of the country to get rid of this toxic waste ASAP. The same goes for Brexiteers in the UK and I am so, so sad for all the people that are going to suffer because of it. 

Of course, I’m aware that China and Japan have issues and human rights violations that are mind-boggling, but again, they just don’t appear on my dash very often, or at least not in English or from a source I can easily fact-check. The Japanese and Chinese stuff I follow is mostly art, nature and pictures of pretty clothes. My knowledge of either of these countries is very superficial compared to Western countries, which impact me directly, so it really isn’t my place to appoint myself as a champion of human rights in the Far East when my own country and continent are a growing dumpster fire that cannot be contained.  

On the subject of global warming, I’m not blaming the USA (entirely, because they, of course, played their part, but so did the rest of humanity). I’m enraged by their governing body’s rhetoric as of late, the denial of climate change, every single action that Trump took since taking office (such as withdrawing from the Paris climate agreement), him making ignorant, snide remarks in the middle of the polar vortex just days ago while people were suffering, deliberately sabotaging scientists and spreading dangerous, false information when each and every single country should be all-hands-on-deck if we want to avert a disaster of global proportions (especially with all the signs pointing to us being too late already). Nobody is suggesting that the USA should unilaterally reduce carbon emissions, all countries in the world must do it and develop the technology to make it feasible to convert to clean energy. And yes, the USA, China and other giants have to lead the way because they are the ones with the power! My poor, tiny country is not the one that can impact anything, so yes, the USA is absolutely more responsible to lead the way forward, but instead of at least moving in the right direction, Trump is deliberately lying and sabotaging all effort because he likes the money he gets from Big Oil companies, and he’s giving a platform to religious nutcases for votes, who think that there won’t be a global disaster of epic proportions in the near future because God promised Noah he would never again flood the entire Earth in the Old Testament. It’s not even the outright evil that is bothering me the most right now, but the mind-numbing stupidity. 

I have nothing but loathing for both of the Clintons. They have caused so much destruction in my country and I do not want good things for either of them, ever. I will never pretend that Hillary Clinton is anything even resembling a good person because you do not reach that level of power by having a conscience, but at the very least, she is not a rapist and paedophile that the general public knows of (which is more than we can say for her husband, btw). Trump has no moral high ground whatsoever, IMO. He has done everything imaginable, from scamming charities (this was proven in court) to raping minors (see Epstein). He has no redeemable human characteristics and is not even intelligent enough to pretend that he does, which is at least one thing that Hillary has going for her. I’m not going to sit here and list all the reasons why Trump is abhorrent because a) it cannot fit in a Tumblr post b) I would be sitting here for years. 

I will also not engage in discussion about whether or not BLM is a valid movement, ever. I don’t understand what you mean when you say it isn’t based on ‘facts’. Which, facts are in doubt, exactly? It’s based on multigenerational, still ongoing trauma and persecution of an entire race of people! I’m neither black nor an American, but I believe African-American people when they talk about the terror they experience on a daily basis in their own country. I have eyes and I have ears, I know plenty of white people and have insight into how they think because I too am white and have been raised with similar bullshit. I have lived in Africa for years and seen things with my own eyes. I will never not take the side of black people when they protest racism anywhere and I will never not believe them when they talk about police brutality, race-based violence and systemic racism in countries built on slavery. 

Of course, I’m not saying racism doesn’t exist in other places and in other forms, but talking about one does not negate the other. 

Also, I don’t understand the point you’re trying to make about the West not being sexist because other places have it worse? I’m sure I misunderstood this, so forgive me if that is the case. FGM is terrible, yes, but that in no way invalidates other types of gender violence that still ruins the lives of countless women. Just because the women in, say, Saudi Arabia have it worse, that doesn’t mean that the women here or in the USA should not talk about issues that directly affect them (and, btw, I have absolutely been outraged about Saudi Arabia and FGM and shared posts about both). All are bad! This is not a competition. 

On the topic of you saying that America gets so much shit for its history, which you think is unjust, I have to mention that European settlers killed up to 95% of Native Americans in some areas in relatively recent history. Just days ago, I was reading an article about how they killed so many people, it actually changed the global climate! This is genocide on such a massive scale, my brain can’t even comprehend it, and yet here we are today, with Columbus Day and Thanksgiving as holidays while the surviving Native Americans suffer all kinds of indignity and discrimination, so no, I don’t think we are talking about it enough and I feel that America deserves all the shit it gets for its history. IMO, it is not getting enough shit! The fact that there are other issues out there that need to be talked about too and are being silenced does not in any way take away from any of this. 

Anyway, let’s not argue about which country is The Worst™ and which human rights issues are more worthwhile than others because that is pointless. We already agree that all governments are corrupt, that evil happened and is still happening all over the world and that all human rights issues are important. I firmly believe that if they were to be evaluated by a psychiatrist, 99% of all high-ranking politicians would be diagnosed with serious clusters of antisocial personality disorders. Most of them would do anything and the only thing stopping them is whether or not they can get away with it. The remaining 1% cannot really do much and keep both their conscience and political power intact. 

In any case, the last thing I want in life is to get into Tumblr discourse with LJ people, so how about we just put this behind us? Let’s agree to disagree on who is worse, Trump or Hillary, because that is a pointless disagreement, especially since neither of us is an American and this is getting out of hand. I feel like we are actually miscommunicating and talking about different things. We seem to be arguing different points, so all of it is coming off worse for both of us than it really should be. Also, I wish you hadn’t sent me this ask anonymously, because I now have no way of responding to you except publically, and Tumblr is seriously not a good place for this. 

On a happier note, I’m very glad that you enjoyed DC! I’m very sorry for the extremely long hiatus! Unfortunately, I’ve been going through things that stopped me from writing for a long time. I hope that one day I can still come back and finish that story, in spite of everything! Have a good day/night! :)

*hugs*

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 31

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 31 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: Special treat extra update this week, since it's a holiday and I have time :)

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"So, which one of us is it?" Len asks Sara as their driver transports them into the prison.

"What?" she asks.

"Which one of us is it?" he repeats, knowing as well as she does that she heard him the first time. "Stein, perhaps? Me?"

"Why would it be you?" Sara asks, surprised.

"So, Stein, then," Len says with disgust. He's not sure why Rip has gotten it fixed into his mind that Savage is after Firestorm, but he's been willing to operate on that basis – after all, while Len is fairly sure the trap is for him, he doesn't actually know that for certain and Rip's got more experience with all things Savage. And, sure, Len would be willing to sign up for the risk of a bullet to the head as a last ditch resort to preserve the world.

Somehow, though, he doesn't think last ditch is what Rip had in mind.

They haven't even tried a rescue yet, damnit!

Sara presses her lips together. She puts on a decent front, but her stress is showing. "Snart, I don't know what you're talking – "

"Cut the crap," Len says pleasantly. "I was under the impression you signed up to this gig to be a hero – not someone's pet killer."

"It's not like that!"

"No? If I had to guess, Rip's feeling a little antsy about our chances of success, and he'd like you to get rid of Stein to make sure no Firestorm is created. If you don't, the future is in danger, etc., etc., something like that?"

Sara is silent for a few moments, so Len knows he's right.

"You know, I'd criticize the man for using the same card over and over again, except it seems to keep working on you," Len says.

"It's not – "

Len holds up a finger. "Join my mission or the future is doomed." Another finger. "Stop this nuke sale or future is doomed." Another. "Rescue the ATOM suit piece or future is doomed."

"I get your point," Sara snaps. "It doesn't mean he isn't right, though."

"Sure, it does," Len drawls. "Future was gonna be doomed if we didn't get to that ATOM piece, right? But we did get to it, so the world didn't end up being doomed. Meaning, of course, that if we rescue Stein, the future won't be doomed, either."

"But – "

"Who's it gonna be next time?" Len asks her. He can't afford to be nice about this, not when Jax needs Stein to maintain the triad bond, not when this is the last step Sara needs to take before she lets go of what's left of her conscience. He's spoken with killers-to-be before, scared kids trapped in prison; he knows what they look like if they don't listen to him, after they've taken that final step that goes beyond what their souls can handle - uncaring, indifferent. Ultimately suicidal. He can only imagine how much worse it will be with someone who bound up their identity with heroism. Honestly, Rip should never have asked this of her; he should've known better. There are some things a person can't do and survive intact, and Len's guessing that this is one of them, for Sara. If there's anything Len can say to stop her from even trying to take the shot that she'll torture herself over for the rest of her life, he's going to say it. "Who's it gonna be? Me? Jax? Not Kendra, not until she does what Rip needs her to do. But once you have a killer card in your deck, it's so easy to keep playing it – it's just in case, you know, just so much easier to be sure – "

"It's not like that," Sara insists through gritted teeth. “You don't understand - Rip said –”

"Sure it is. It’s exactly like that," Len says brutally. "And then one day will come the day when he tells you, 'I'm so sorry, Miss Lance – no, Sara. You've come with me through so much. We've achieved so much. But there's a time aberration that you caused just by being here, where I brought you, a really bad one, so I'm going to need you to turn that shooting hand at yourself to preserve the timeline. Don't worry, I'll tell your family you died a hero –'" Len smiles bitterly. "'Right around the time I get around to burying Carter's body.'"

Sara flinches at that last part. "I'm no one's pet killer," she says, her voice low and furious - but better furious than numb and dead and preparing to do a terrible thing. "I make my own decisions, even if you disagree with them."

"Thought your decision was to become a hero," Len drawls. "Guess I was wrong."

"I have no choice, Snart," she says harshly. "I have to do this. Rip showed me – "

"A future that won't happen if you actually put some effort into trying to get Stein out of here instead of into a grave," Len says. "I don't think you get that I'm being nice here, Sara. Nice to you, nice to Rip, too, because he's gonna regret ordering you to do this later on, too; he's going to regret all of it once he's back with his family and trying to explain to them what steps he took to save them, when he's facing up to the fact that they would never be okay with what he's done - to other people. To you. See, I'm trying to talk your language, about heroes and morals and not going back to your little bloodlust addiction the first time someone says the word 'risk'."

She glares at him. "Oh, yeah?" she says challengingly. "And how's it sound in your language, thief? You're a killer yourself, aren't you?"

"Used to be," Len says mildly. "I've stopped doing that sort of thing, now; don't want to add to the number of ghosts in the world."

"Answer the damn question, Snart."

"Fine," Len says, crossing his arms and leaning his head back. She wants to play hardball? He'll play hardball. "Here's how it goes in my language: Stein's part of Team Flash and a member of my crew long before you were. You know what happens if you decide to follow Rip's orders to off him like the worthless assassin you apparently really are at heart once we scratch off that hero veneer?"

He watches her flinch at that one.

"Well, then, Sara, if you do that, you're not going to have to worry about the timeline," Len continues. "Because I'm gonna kill you myself, and after I do, I'll tell Barry Allen to pass on to the Arrow exactly how and why of it, and I'll tell him to spread the word to make absolutely certain that your family knows for a fact that you didn't die a hero. I'm gonna let ‘em know - let 'em all know - that you died gagging on the bloodlust you came back with, instead. I'm gonna make sure that’s the last memory they have of you – covered in blood and death, their little white canary gone wrong. Gonna let 'em know what whoever it was that brought you back that last time should have Stein's death on their conscience, make so they know it's all their fault, too. I'm gonna make this so goddamn clear for them that they'll regret that they didn't pray for you to die in that boat you got yourself lost in, ‘cause it would've been better than seeing what you turned into."

She turns to him, furious, her mouth opening and closing in horror and despair.

"Of course, you could kill me to stop that," Len says thoughtfully. "What's another teammate, after all, if you're committing to doing it already?"

"Don't you dare," she whispers. He sees her eyes: they're filled with tears. He's getting to her. "I'm not – I'm not like that. This – this is for the greater good, damnit. It's necessary. The risk to the future, to the world - it's too great. This is necessary. A necessary sacrifice."

She's trying to talk herself back into it - good. That means he's convinced her out of it, if only a little bit, and now he's got the momentum. He's going to save the goodness in her soul whether she likes it or not, and whether she hates him for doing it afterwards.

Time to play his trump card.

"So why not just kill Jax now and be done with it?" Len replies, arching his eyebrows at her. "Firestorm requires regular merging to survive, and we're pretty far away from Ronnie. We can kill Jax right now and Stein'll be dead in a few hours. No harm, no foul, no risk.”

He watches Sara’s jaw clench.

“No?” he asks sardonically. “But I thought this was about the greater good. And, hell, why not? I'm sure we can rationalize that killing a twenty year old with his whole life in front of him is, how you put it, for the greater good. Hell, maybe we should suggest it to Rip – spot of euthanasia back on the ship, and Stein'll start dying right away, no risk or infiltration needed. I’m sure he’d agree."

He wouldn't, of course. For all his faults, Rip's not a cold-blooded killer - even this play he's pulling now, with Sara, is more desperation than it is well-thought-out. But Sara needs to see where the road of ruthlessness ends, or else she'll keep walking it.

"Damn you," Sara whispers. "Damn you, Snart – "

"Just to remind you: I went with the hero argument first," Len says with a shrug as the truck pulls into the prison. He's done what he can. The rest of it is all up to Sara. "You can say that was what convinced you, if it makes you feel better."

He climbs out of the truck in his guard's uniform. His job, self-assigned, is to find and break the circuit holding the ghosts in. As far as Rip is concerned, Len's just going to go to the prison cells to pop Mick and Ray out the old-fashioned way, and that's how Len likes it. Normally he prefers to work with his crew rather than around them, but he doesn't want any interference.

Sara gets out, too, but she looks pretty shaken. There's a chance Len's words have had an impact.

If not –

Well, if not, Len had better get to that circuit before Sara gets to Stein, or else they'll have two dead teammates – since he was entirely serious about killing Sara in retribution – and Clarissa is going to yell at Stein's ghost forever, assuming he can get Stein’s ghost back on the ship through that ghost-repelling field. Not to mention the potential need for a mutiny to get the Waverider back to 2016 as soon as possible for Jax to merge with Ronnie quickly enough to save his life, in the event that Rip wouldn't agree...

Lots of unpleasant alternatives down that path. Best that Len focus on getting Mick out of this place fast enough to help Len stop Sara, if the need arises.

Yuri showed Len the electricity plans and, as he’d expected, there is a circuit running through the entire building. Len isn't sure when Savage figured out how to make a medium's circle work through electricity, which is a clever trick, but then again, he is immortal. Savage has had time to learn all sorts of medium's tricks and probably invent a whole new set of them.

And he has Mick.

Len grits his teeth and heads in.

There aren't any ghosts; that's the first thing he notes. There should be a lot – prisons are violent places, filled with death and despair, and Len can't imagine maximum security gulags are noticeably better. That means they're keeping the ghosts somewhere further inside.

Unfortunately, Yuri's information showed that the main control panel is further inside, too.

Len wheels in a fake hospital bed as his cover.

"What's wrong with him?" a guard grunts.

"Smallpox," Len replies.

"What?" the guard asks, frowning at him.

Len consults his mental watch and mentally curses. This is a great time for the babelfish's timer to run out – either Gideon or Rip ought've reminded him, but, of course, they didn't.

It’s fine, though; Len can speak a bit of Russian, albeit with his usual Central City accent making it very clear that he's American. Thank heaven for a well-rounded prison education. Old Vanya from Iron Heights is probably grinning at Len from wherever he'd long since passed on to, happy that his lessons are finally being used. He'd been alive when he'd taught Len, and had been almost entirely unsurprised about Len's abilities for the exceedingly brief period he'd been a ghost afterwards.

Ray expressed surprise at Len speaking more than one language, when they'd argued over whether or not Len needed the full-out babelfish verion, wondering at how Len had learned something like additional languages when he'd dropped out of school so early, but honestly Len is starting to get used to Ray's clueless knee-jerk classism by now.

"Smallpox," Len says, in Russian this time. He keeps his voice raspy to try to hide the American accent. "You stupid or something? You don't know what it's called in English? Everyone should know what it is in case they start dropping bombs with it. Isn't that why they want the body?"

The guard looks alarmed, but he lets Len pass through without paying too much attention, clearly far more intent on passing on gossip to his fellow guards about what the prison's mysterious facility is actually being used for.

Ah, prison gossip. Never changes, no matter what nation.

Len can hear the ghosts, now, as he gets closer. The background hum never faded away entirely, not like it had with the glass in his head, but it'd been quieter than he'd liked it to be. Either way, the quiet is gone: somewhere up ahead there are a lot of ghosts.

Len reflects momentarily on his mother's advice that he avoid large groups of ghosts and his apparent inability to do so, but puts that aside. He's got Mick to rescue; that trumps everything.

He makes the next turn.

"Snart?" a familiar voice asks, far too loudly. "Is that you?"

Ray.

Len risks a glance. No one else around.

He turns. Ray's in a cell, looking excited to see him, albeit still mostly reclining. He's fine but for a few bruises – a fairly standard welcome-to-the-yard beatdown, if Len knows his prison beatings (and he does), something more intended to humiliate than to seriously hurt. They must not have started in with the serious torture yet - that, or they decided that Ray wasn't necessary for it.

"It is you!" Ray exclaims, clearly delighted.

"Shut up," Len hisses. "Where's Mick? And Stein?"

"They took them to the main room," Ray says. "Stein because of Firestorm, and Mick – I don't know why. It was after they drew blood from us."

Len's never seen Mick's blood under a microscope, even though he knows Mick can summon up a blood splatter like a pro. Ghosts, especially powerful ones, can mimic blood anywhere they want – on walls, in mirrors, and, in Mick's case, to pretend they're human.

Still, there must have been some sign in the blood that identified him. Len will have to take care of that in the future when Mick is back by his side.

He refuses to think of that as an 'if'.

"Here," Len says, pulling Ray's shrunken armor from his pocket and tossing it over. "Put that on. I need you to go back to the ship and bring Jax and an EMP – it's my fall-back plan if I can't cut the lights."

"Got it," Ray says, nodding. "Uh – why are we cutting the lights?"

"We need to escape once we're all free," Len explains, glad he'd thought of a cover story that wouldn’t involve needless amounts of explanation. No way he's mentioning ghosts in the middle of a prison, with all of its superstious inmates potentially eavesdropping. He can explain the whole medium's circle thing when they're back on the ship. "Cutting the lights will cause chaos and help cover our tracks."

"Got it!"

"Oh, and once you've alerted the ship and gotten what we need –" Len already told Jax about the EMP, but Ray stands a better chance of convincing Rip about the necessity. "— you should go find Sara. She's in here, too, looking for Stein and Mick; she'll appreciate the back-up."

Be less likely to murder in front of an audience, Len means.

Ray nods seriously. "Good luck and be careful," he says. "One of the guys was talking about stringing us up and hitting us with bats until our ribs broke, earlier on, before Savage arrived and decided to do something different."

"Glad we made it here first," Len says, and continues on his way.

"Hey, you," a big guy from a few cells down – one of the few still alert at this hour. His accent is deep, but he's using English, just like Len and Ray had been. "Amerikanski. You letting your friend go? How about rest of us?"

Len looks at him. Big, alert, possibly smart, but there's no way to tell his position in the prison hierarchy at a glance. Still, worth a shot. "I'm going to cut the power," he says. "The doors are wired; they ought to open when that happens. If you could see about some people raiding the interior, where the scientists are – "

"They experiment on inmates," the guy says. "We will be happy to help."

"Make sure there aren't any circles painted anywhere," Len advises him. "It's their leader's symbol."

The guy growls. "We will destroy," he promises. "How did you come in?"

"Bratva. Yuri, third precinct."

"He is good man," the guy says. "What is your name?"

"Leonard Snart," Len says, figuring there's no harm in getting some points in while he's at it. "Not Lewis; he's my good-for-nothing brother and a rat. Central City, US. His kid's good, though; same name as me."

The guy nods. "We will owe you if you release us."

"I promise nothing," Len says. "But I'll aim to."

With that, he continues forward.

He's just ditched the cart and ducked into the electricity control room when he hears them.

"— certainly less useful than we might have hoped." It's Savage.

"You still should have told me!" Vostok exclaims. "You led me to believe that the man on fire was our target – all of my work has been focused on replicating his abilities –"

"Yes, it has," Savage says, indifferent to her annoyance. "And correctly so. I knew it would either be a scientific marvel or a unique expression of necromancy, and it would only be possible to recreate it even in part if it was the former. When I first saw him, for a brief moment I thought that the spirit of vengeance had crossed the barrier to take form once more – but no. Merely a man, albeit an unusually stubborn one."

She snorts. "Oh, indeed. And what of other one? There is something off about him, other than the fact that his blood type is chimerical."

Savage laughs. "Oh, yes. The other one. The other one you are to leave to me..."

There's a muffled sound.

Len's need to know overwhelms his good judgment and he sneaks out for a look.

There's another containment unit, this time even more filled with ghosts, whirling with rage so thick that Len can see nothing but white lightning inside the glass. The unit has no markings, Len notes distantly; the ghosts are being held in by the electric circuit, magically enhanced. He'd assumed as much, but this is far, far worse than he'd ever thought. Savage and Vostok are shoving them in without the slightest care for space.

He doesn't really pay much attention, though: his attention is capture by a second circle, drawn in paint on the floor.

Mick is there.

Mick is chained down in there, snarling viciously as he can through the gag they've put on him.

Savage reaches into the circle and strokes Mick's cheek. "Now, now," he croons. "My little savage one, don't tire yourself out so much – or I will press these accouterments onto your very soul, and you will bear them for the remainder of your miserable existence."

Len, safe above, shudders.

Mick, captured below, merely snarls.

"Once your will is broken, you will be a fine addition to my collection," Savage says thoughtfully. "I have never seen a spirit as strong as you – tell me, what special use does the necromancer get out of you, that he empowers you so?"

Mick manages to convey, through the gag, his opinion of Savage's lineage.

Savage laughs. "You think you will not break? Oh, but you will – and even in the unlikely event that you do not, I will merely devour you." Then he smiles. "But not before you have lured in my dear Chay-Ara – and your necromancer."

Len is not a necromancer, damnit.

Mick rolls his eyes and garbles something that sounds remarkably similar.

Vostok has been busy in the meantime with Stein, who is handcuffed to a chair. "This one still refuses to talk," she says, nodding at the barely conscious man. They haven't let him rest; that much is clear - he keeps blinking his eyes as though falling asleep. "But no matter – the results of my test of his blood have shown me much. I may have a workable prototype within the hour."

"Do not give me your scientists' estimate, Valentina," Savage replies. "I know they are padded. Do you have the serum ready?"

"Soon," she says, but she's not looking at Savage when she says it. She does have it ready, and she plans to use it soon, too. She was offended by the revelation that he kept information from her, and she's responding by keeping information from him - she intends for the new Soviet Firestorm to be her victory, not his.

Great. Now it's up to Len to fix the future.

Luckily, he has a plan.

Len creeps back to the electric controls. He'd been planning on a staggered breakout – Mick first, then ghosts, then the prisoners for an added bit of chaos – but Mick's circle is paint, not electricity. He'll have to go in personally to break that.

Great.

Len activates the comms. "Jax, you copy?" he asks.

"Loud and clear, boss. What do you want me to do?"

Len smirks, and tells him.

It takes him about ten minutes to get into the controls. During those ten minutes, Vostok goads Stein and Savage does something to Mick, something that makes Mick roar in pain – actual pain! for Mick! – but Len can't think of that now.

He stores it in the back of his mind for later, once they have a satisfactory plan to kill Savage and make him pay.

For now, he thanks his eclectic education for teaching him all about electric circuits in the 1980s – and about how fragile they could be if you treated them just right.

Len sets them to overload.

“I have the shot,” Sara says through the comms.

Len snarls and sets his comm to a wider frequency – one that includes more than just him, Rip and Sara. “Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he lies.

“I have the shot,” Sara repeats.

“Good,” Rip says. “Good luck, Miss Lance."

“Wait, what shot?” Kendra asks, just like Len’d hoped she would. “Who are we shooting? Savage? Does that make sense if I’m not the one doing the shooting?”

“Uh,” Sara says.

“Don’t do it, Sara,” Len says. “You’re not a killer, right? You’re a hero. Isn’t that right, Kendra?”

“Of course she is,” Kendra says, puzzled. “Sara’s a great hero – and I’ve met Barry and Oliver.”

“Shit,” Sara says. “I can’t do it.”

“Miss Lance!” Rip exclaims.

“No, Snart's right. That’s not who I am anymore,” Sara says. “Snart - Leonard. Tell me you have a plan.”

“Ray and Jax are enacting it now,” Len reports. “All I need is for you guys to cover our exit.”

“Miss Lance –”

“I’m on it. Shut up, Rip; I can always shoot ‘em later.”

“I think I missed something,” Kendra says.

“Don’t worry about it.” Len says soothingly. “Kendra, can you fly by the right side of the building, as close as you can to the wall?”

“Sure. Will do.”

As Len had hoped, Savage’s head jerks up when Kendra does her fly-by. “She’s near,” he says, “Chay-Ara, my love…”

“What are you talking about?” Vostok asks him, turning to face him.

Turning, just as Len had hoped, away from the stairs – and the increasingly urgent flashes on the computer screen indicating an imminent overload.

The first transistor blows – literally – as Len creeps down the stairs.

"What's going on?" Vostok demands, spinning around and rushing to the computers.

"This is a rescue attempt," Savage says with satisfaction. "Soon, our necromancer will come to us -"

There's a roar of noise that doesn't come from electricity, making Savage frown. "What's that?"

"The prisoners!" Vostok gasps, recognizing the sound of feet and fists and angry voices faster than Savage. "He's released the prisoners!"

"No matter – they will head outside and scatter –"

There's a banging on the door to the lab.

Savage frowns deeper. He wasn't expecting them to be angry enough to attack - clearly, he's been spending too much of his immortal time shadowing powerful men, and not enough time studying mobs. “How secure is that door?”

“It has an electric lock –” Vostok starts.

Len grins. “Now, Ray,” he mutters into his comm.

The skylight crashes as something is dropped from a height.

Savage and Vostok spin around to look, only to spin back around as the EMP blast from the falling bomb shorts out everything in the room, sending it black for a moment.

That's when Ray in his suit comes flying down through the crack in the skylight, Jax in his arms.

The lights, now powered exclusively from the back-up generators Yuri mentioned as being too deep down to be affected by an EMP, flicker back on when Ray’s already half-way down from the ceiling.

"Don’t let him get close to the professor!" Savage roars.

Vostok grabs a gun and shoots at Ray. Ray promptly drops Jax.

Gravity does what gravity does, and brings Jax down right where his partner is sitting.

They merge in mid-air, the show-offs.

"Get them!" Savage shouts.

"Screw you," Jax says, and throws a fireball at him.

"Get the door open," Len hisses in to the comms, slithering through the lab to get to Mick. "Ray!"

"On it!"

Ray blasts the now-unlocked door open, and suddenly there's a lot of prisoners. Very angry prisoners.

"No!" Vostok shrieks.

Len makes it to Mick. "Want a ride out?"

Mick's eyes flare white and the gag around his mouth dissolves in flame. He could have done it the whole time – damn overdramatic poltergeists. "You can't break the circle," he says. "It's designed to trap a ghost inside and to drain life from any living person who enters or tries to break it except Savage."

"Shit. How quick does it drain life?"

"What do you mean?"

Len looks over at the containment unit, where the ghosts are raging.

Mick follows his gaze. "Uh," he says, abruptly realizing what Len's thinking. "Yeah, that might work, what with them being unliving but on the outside of the circle and all."

"Good."

Len uses his cold gun on the door, then throws a nearby book at it, shattering it.

And then the ghosts are free – unbound by electricity, unbound by the unit, and backed by Len, who's handing out life left and right. They howl as they rip through the building.

"Holy crap!" Ray shouts as the whole structure of the prison starts to collapse around him.

"Evac time! Everyone!" Jax shouts.

The prisoners don't see the ghosts – Len hasn't given them enough to be visible, since he needs them to focus on ripping things to shreds – but they see the walls collapse. They just don't care, their angry hands grabbing at the guards, at the doctors, at Vostok, pulling them down into the mob.

"Some of you, come here, wreck this circle on the floor," Len commands, his back straightening, his shoulders loosening, his voice echoing with reverberations in the air. He's calm, now; he doesn't even know why he was so stressed and worried before. After all, the ghosts are with him, the armies of the dead – what has he to fear?

None can stand against him, with them on his side.

"Well done," a voice gurgles from behind Len, causing him to spin around, gun at ready.

It's Savage, his face half-burned from one of Firestorm's blasts.

Len hopes it hurts, even if though it might not kill him.

"You got through my traps," Savage continues, eyes fixed on Len. "You are more powerful than I believed."

"Smarter, too," Len drawls, taking a step forward. "Don't forget that. If you ever take any action against me and mine, you'll pay for it in pain."

"Brave words," Savage replies mockingly.

"Hardly brave," Len scoffs. "The armies of the dead stand with me. And I'll turn them against you, medium – "

Mick's hand closes over Len's ankle. He's saying something, but Len can't hear him, he's too busy staring at Savage. At the man who dared to take Mick from him, dared to trap Mick somewhere, when Mick should always fly free, free and at Len's side – oh no, whatever Mick might have to say about it, Len is going to hurt this man – he's going to make sure that no one ever thinks to do anything like that ever again -

"Oh, yes, hate me, loathe me," Savage crows. "Do your worst against me, and I will live on, unlike any of your precious dead – so just try it on me, necromancer – "

Len's lips pull back into a snarl and he reaches inside of him for life, for the power to –

Wait.

"For the last fucking time," Len snaps, his voice abruptly back to normal. "I am not a necromancer!"

"Oh, thank god, you're back," Mick says, audibly this time, and throws a crate at Savage, knocking the other man ass over elbows back into the mob as the building falls on them.

Len blinks, feeling strangely disoriented all of a sudden. "Mick," he starts. "What happened -"

"Not now," Mick says. "Ray! Get Len back to the ship! He hit his head!"

Len did not hit his head!

Ray swoops down and grabs Len into his arms, damsel-in-dress style, before Len can properly protest.

“I’ll meet you at the ship!” Mick shouts. “Go!”

“Wait, but –” Len starts

Ray goes, and Len unwillingly goes with him.

Len scowls.

He’s going to get Mick for this one.

[inkxlenses]

What do all the letters and numbers in your description mean? LOVE ur blog 💙

Thank you very much for the compliment, anon! As to your question, these terms refer to different personality theories that I’m extremely obsessed with (my obsession is a bit embarrassing tbh lmao), that I could readily write extensive analyses about them. But I’m sure that you’re just curious to know what those letters and numbers refer to, so I’ll try my best to give a not-so-wearisome answer without adding much confusing jargon. However, if you are interested to know what they actually mean, you may access the links that I’ve provided by clicking the first character of each *term* in my description.

INFJ is one of the sixteen types of Myers–Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), a typological theory created by Katherine Briggs and her daughter Isabel Briggs-Myers based on the psychological types theory that was proposed by Carl Jung. Unfortunately, a lot of faux-MBTI tests available online (*cough* I’m talking about 16personalities and humanmetrics *cough*) determine people’s types based on outward behaviours or personal preferences alone, and suggest that types could simply be defined by letter dichotomies (e.g. I vs. E, N vs. S, etc.). Contrary, MBTI actually focuses on a person’s cognitive process; it analyzes and explains how a person thinks. When you study the theory comprehensively, you would learn about cognitive functions and “function stack”—this determines how each type processes information and makes decisions. Basically, this describes the “position” of the cognitive functions in the type’s cognitive process, and a person’s natural inclination/ preference to use each function. Each type has four primary cognitive functions in their stack: dominant, auxiliary, tertiary, inferior. I dare not make this response a more verbose read (as it probably already is) by giving a more thorough explanation, but the gist is, the theory is a lot more complex than letter dichotomies. That said, each type is defined by a unique functional stacking, and INFJ is defined by its functional stack: introverted intuition (Ni), extraverted feeling (Fe), introverted thinking (Ti), extraverted sensing (Se).

5w6 512 are terms that pertain to the Enneagram of Personality, a typological system which explores nine different patterns of thinking, feeling and acting that arise from inner motivation, fear and desire. 5w6 means that its core type is Type 5 and has a Type 6 wing. I know that it might sound totally baffling, but, those who assent to the “wing theory” suggest that “wings” do not alter core structure, on the contrary, “wings” add potential characteristics to one’s core type. Like MBTI, Enneagram could initially be a daunting theory as well with all the stereotypes and deviations propounded. However, the most basic principle of the theory is understanding one’s core motivation, fear and desire. Hence, an Enneatype 5’s basic desire is to be capable and competent; and with direct opposition to that, its basic fear is the state of being useless or incapable. Type 5s are usually referred to as “The Thinker” or “The Observer”. General descriptions typically associated with the Enneatype 5 are curious, detached, focused, observant, insightful, studious, complex, perceptive, profound, unsentimental, exploratory, cerebral and independent. In addition, 512 is an Enneagram tritype. Tritype theory explains that an individual employs one Enneatype in each center of intelligence: Head (Enneatype 5,6,7), Gut (Enneatype 8,9,1) and Heart (Enneatype 2,3,4) though the core type is inherently dominant in a person. I believe that Enneagram, again like MBTI, is a map towards self-awareness of one’s potential for growth and development.

sx/so means that an individual has an instinctual subtype stacking of sexual-dominant and social-secondary (and self-preservation blind). In addition to Enneagram types, the theory suggests that individuals had developed basic instincts which are of biological vital importance and aid in human survival. These are referred to as instinctual variants/ subtypes. At its very essence, sexual instinct does not refer to libido or sexual desire, and does not necessarily allude to romantic interests. According to the theory, sexual instinct craves for intense experiences and connections in order to “complete” the individual inside. Though this instinct is usually associated into searching for that “all-consuming” intimate relationships, I totally concur that a sx-dom’s flare to look for intense experiences or connections could not only be found and embodied by another individual—it could be manifested by an idea, hobby or any other personal interest. Personally, the words that I attach to the sexual variant are: fixation, intensity and intimacy. And despite the fact that I somehow agree with Type 5 sx/so’s general descriptions as the “intimate Five” who usually gravitate towards one-one-one relationships, my “search for an ultimate kind of connection does not only center on relationship with a lover or life partner”. (x) Thus, though I greatly value my attachment with people I genuinely care about, my fixation, intensity and intimacy does not only revolve around them, but I’m also deeply passionate about subjects and ideologies that I took an engrossing interest at.

RLOAI is one of the 32 SLOAN types according to the Global 5 adaptation of the Big 5 personality traits. Gah, I know that sounds quite taxing already if you’re not familiar with any of those. I believe that the Big 5 model is one of the most distinguished personality theories proposed and is widely accepted by professionals in the field of Psychology. The Big 5 describes five personality traits which are: openness to experience, conscientiousness, extraversion, agreeableness and neuroticism (OCEAN). Consequently, the Global 5 adaptation of the Big 5 consist of five elements, with each element having two oppositional type extremes: Extraversion (Social vs. Reserved), Emotional Stability (Limbic vs. Calm), Orderliness (Organized vs. Unstructured), Accommodation (Accommodating vs. Egocentric), and Intellect (Non-curious vs. Inquisitive). (x) I believe that similar to other personality theories, the factor called “Intellect” does not intend to measure one’s intelligence, but aims to assess one’s interest and/or curiosity to gain more intellectual knowledge. I’m RLOAI (with primary Inquisitive) so it means that I’m Reserved, Limbic, Organized, Inquisitive.

I really apologize for the lengthy (and possibly tedious) response. But thank you for your inquiry, anon!

P.S. Writing the Enneagram and sx/so stacking (ESPECIALLY the sx/so stacking!) parts made me feel like I wrote a critical hack for others to get pass my layers of vulnerability. Nope, I’m still very elusive™, sorry xD

[bartsugsy]

Oh Lo. Please teach me your ways. I mean I'm not even overly negative about everything, but how can you always be so excited./see the positives with each new spoiler/quote? I wish I could lol. Cos seriously, IM's definition of 'fun' and mine appear to be vastly different. This mainly boring scheming Robert plpt continues into next year? We're not getting a reunion til 2018 are we? Lord, they really want to test our patience don't they? Have we not paid are dues yet? haha! Who's exit you think?

do you know what anon, it’s weird, but i was actually thinking about what i would say to someone earlier today, if they asked me how i tend to stay positive???? it’s like our brains just know sometimes lmao - but that’s why you’re about to get a weirdly deep answer instead of what i usually say here

and honestly, i was thinking about this because i was thinking about life in general and how much i believe in the power of positive thinking? and how incredibly well it works? in fandom terms particularly, it’s a life saviour - in life it’s can be a lot more of a struggle to remind yourself but yk we’re not getting that deep we’re just talking about a soap

i get that it sounds like bullshit, but it works for me literally every single time. i’ve found that complaining about things is literally giving voice to negative thoughts and giving voice to negative thoughts is giving power so that they can breed more negative thoughts and before you know it, you’re sinking down this weird self-made hole of sadness - and not only that, but it spreads to other people, because humans are like feelings sponges and we feed off other people’s emotions a lot - it’s hard to be the lone person feeling one way in a room of people feeling the other. it’s like subconscious peer pressure.

but then the opposite - looking at the positives, being as steadfast and determined and strict with yourselves to look at the good sides of everything, is fucking life changing. there are like one thousand and one ted talks on this - like, you wouldn’t believe how many damn ted talks there are. anyway, because i was in this weird mood this morning and reflecting on it, i watched one that used a quote from wayne dyer - “If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

THIS IS SO EMBARRASINGLY DEEP FOR WHAT IS ESSENTIALLY A CONVERSATION ABOUT FLIPPIN EMMERDALE SPOILERS BUT IT’S TRUE OK 

it’s true. if i look at spoilers andlook for the positives and literally refuse to give voice to the negative, pullmyself back to the positives whenever i do, and beyond that encourage thatpositivity in others through humour or happy thoughts so that maybe it spreads - and if i do it enough times that it becomes natural to me, a natural response to anything and everything, then… well… everything gets a hell of a lot more fun and enjoyable and those things that maybe i once thought were negative and worrying somehow turn into positives. and that’s not me desperately trying to tell myself something is good - it just genuinely does become something that inspires good feelings in me, happiness and excitement and whatever. i can’t really explain how well it works - you have to experience it. but like now? now i literally fucking love that rob and rebecca had a one night stand lmao. like. i love that god damn story beat so much. it’s just about changing the way you look at things - so when i used to look at that scene, all i ever saw was jfc why i don’t actually want this - but after really and honestly thinking about it in every way, by about acknowledging that i can’t change it and then looking at it from every angle, i look at that scene now and i see the show committing to showing just how affect robert is about everything, and also playing out a soap trope in what is literally the most shippy way possible. i see a scene that is, perversely, entirely about robert’s love for aaron and also a scene that gives me a great look at who robert is as a character and the way he reacts in situations. 

it sounds ridiculous? like, it really god damn does, but like… actually, why does it matter if it sounds ridiculous if i’m having fun and hopefully making other people smile occasionally lmao

also, beyond this, i’m also all about accepting the things i cannot change - and the writing of emmerdale? that’s a thing i cannot change. so why fight it? why not just buckle in and enjoy the ride? what the hell else am i gonna do? 

so yeah, anyway, it’s not about paying dues or anything, it’s not about making us suffer for our crimes of loving too much lmaooo  - they’re just…. it’s a soap and they’re telling a story that ultimately has robert and aaron interacting regularly and still being stupidly in love and eventually reuniting properly. so all i can do and all i want to do is find ways to enjoy the journey - and this is true of every storyline ever. 

and the result of me giving as much voice as i can to the things i enjoy and literally just ignoring any thoughts i may have or thoughts other people have about what they don’t because i don’t find them helpful (sorry all other ppl i love you i just gotta do me) - is that what we’ve had so far has been so much fun for me. i enjoy aaron and robert interacting in a - in a way, very abuse era-esque manner, obviously in an entirely different context. like - they both want to be together but they can’t - and now the feelings are there but only tenfold and so their scenes always have that bubbling underneath. a little bit of subtextual love and angst is fun. yes i want them to get back together and make out and cuddle and all that good and lovely jazz but like… that’s not the only way to enjoy their scenes, i don’t think. why would anyone ever rewatch the lighter relationshippy aspects of the abuse storyline if it was?

like - the smitten kitten scene? maxine’s episode where they go to find sandra? rob dealing with aaron leaving to see family in ireland for a bit (#parallel) and literally just trying to get info about how he’s doing out of chas on a daily if not hourly basis? they weren’t together during any of that. so why do they need to be together as a couple to have amazing, wonderful scenes now? why does them being split up automatically mean we’re in for months of no robron at all? because that hasn’t been what i’ve seen so far and from everything that has been said, that isn’t what they seem to have in store for us going forward.

obviously, you know, you gotta do you etc etc but… yeah, this is literally my secret lmao. just… idk. it took me a long af time to learn this and i had to go through a lot of sadness to get there but… idk the idea of being sad about a soap all the time just isn’t something i’m interested in for a way to spend my free time. so i don’t spend it that way. 

basically, what i’m saying is, this isn’t just innately me, irrationally excited about all things ever. it’s something i learnt to do and it changed my god damn life for the better in every damn way.

(i think it does make me a horrible person to try and be salty with when it comes to plot or spoilers though because i will, with all the love and good intentions in the world, probably refuse to let a conversation wallow in that misery and probably change the subject to something happier in order to preserve the hard work i’ve done on myself)

idk idk hopefully this doesn’t sound like a flipping lecture or whatever but this ask just came at a hilariously appropriate time for where my head has been at this morning

[insidethecrack]

Spiralling loneliness : the art of cursed blessing and blessed curse

Don’t blame me for all the years that you were asleep [...] Last time was it a lost time ? This time you’re... Last time was a lost time This time you’re 100% fucked

Angelspit - 100%

It’s been a few sessions of therapy that we’re circling back to loneliness. It makes since I’ve experienced this feeling since the day I can breathe. To me loneliness is a burning part of life, something you can’t avoid, and barely reduce. We’re circling back a lot to it because my therapist is actually helping seeing where it comes from and why it’s going to be fucking hard to escape it. (yes, I just say a therapist is actually helping, everything happens)

Elle se dit que la la solitude c’est quelque chose d’un peu déprimant, que ça devient une habitude mais qu’on ne s’y fait jamais vraiment

Les Cowboys Fringants  (”she says loneliness is something quite depressing. It turns into some kind of habit but you never really get used to it”)

To properly explain, I need to take a step back to Chester Bennington’s death to suicide. You might not know him, he was (god this preterit is killing me...) Linkin Park singer. Linkin Park was a huge thing to the teenage me. And in a way, they still are. Even if I don’t listen much to them now, they open so many doors, their music heard me cry so much... And Chester was a huge part of all of this. (and you might have read this a lot... the world lost an amazing human being this summer...) He went through terrible shits. He had depression. His music, his voice, his lyrics, helped a lot of us surviving the worst times. He commited suicide this summer. I’m still grieving. But it took me two months to mention it to my therapist... Maybe because I didn’t want to admit how much I still care about a teenage band and how much it hurts when your hero dies and all the strange guilt around it. But still, that’s not the point today. I finally mentionned it because I was pissed at people looking for a rational reason. 

Don’t yell at me please. I know it’s human to search for reason to things that hurt, to things we can’t understand. And remember that I said nothing to these people. Everyone grieve their own way and who am I to judge ? So I let people who needed a reason looking for one. But it pissed me off, you can’t imagine how much... Because it would mean that everything has a reason. but it’s a lie. It’s a fucking lie. Especially in that kind of thing... And it feels even more like a waste of time that we will never ever know why he did it. We can guess and assume, but we will never KNOW. Maybe he killed himself because of all that happened to him that he never healed, or because of the violent critics about the last LP album which was very personal to him, or because he was drunk, or because there was no more salted butter in the house. (sorry, private joke for the French people...) Or maybe a bit of all of these. Or even something else. We will never know And this is it, more than the suicide itself, this is this uncertainty which is hard for all of us human being. The difference between me and the world is that I know this. So I don’t waste my energy on looking for answer that don’t exist. It doesn’t mean that I worth better or anything. That’s not my point. It means that this knowledge prevents me from properly grieving. People are looking for an anwser to Chester’s death, not because they want to know the right answer, but because this answer can help them better understanding, and therefore, feeling better. The way my brain works and the knowledge I have make it impossible to me. Once again, I insist : I am not better because of this. For what it worths, I even think it makes me worth less. Because here, people have a solution to feel better, even if it means using a half truth. I refuse this way to myself because half truth is no truth, therefore, it’s no answer. And Im left in pain. Unable to grieve my hero’s death. (he deserves better...)

This is a fucking long introduction, but this little story is very symptomatic of my brain. This is how I work. 

When I adressed this Chester’s suicide issue and my problems with this half-truth answer, I used mathematics analogy, which my therapist now uses to help me think (it’s the first time of my life a therapist is really making the effort of learning my language of metaphor and analogy to speak with me rather than forcing me into NT language...).

“I’m angry because they want an answer that can’t be made. They think people are fucking straight lines but it’s a lie. People are segments and segments have end. That’s fucking basic mathematics... _It’s true. It’s a very NT thing to think in terms of straight lines. They ask question, they have an answer. Straight line. Sometimes, the line even implies that they have the answer even before asking the question. _Sure, but we psychotic are more spiraling circles. So we can never walk together. I can’t walk with them. I’m trapped in a circle.”

And so by speaking about Chester’s suicide, we hit a nerve, we found something deeply hidden : loneliness. 

I told you the whole Chester’s story because this is how my brain works : it starts somewhere, then goes somewhere, then somewhere else, and else again, and again, and finally it comes back to the beginning, connecting the dots. I can’t know where I’m going before I’m there. That’s the circle. 

The other thing that makes me fucking lonely is that I’m probably too intelligent for my own good. Once again, I don’t say that it makes me better. I’m going to tell another story. Do you know the serie Scrubs ? It’s an hospital serie, a funny one you follow two best friends, a surgeon and a doctor. One day, a Super Doctor comes to the hospital. He’s a Super Doctor because he’s both a doctor and a surgeon. He’s like a fucking genius. At first everyone is happy to have him, but slowly, they hate him because he forces them to acknowledge their own limits and weakness. So they want to throw back their anger at him. But finally they understand : Super Doctor has OCD. He’s super skilled because of this : he had to work the hell out of him to surrender the OCDs, to be able to work. And he works so fucking hard that he went above all the others. Sacrifice being that he doesn’t really have a life outside work because he couldn’t do everything at the same time. 

That’s pretty much what I’m living. My brain never ever stops. My brain wants to know. Not like the end of the straight line. But really know. Even if it means it has to accept that there can’t be real answer, or not full answer. My brain never stops. Do you know why I speak English so well ? Because when I was 13, I bought Meteora by Linkin Park (circle, I told you), and there was a DVD. With no subtitles. I couldn’t understand. It pissed me off so much that I worked my ass out to learn better English since school was not enough. I spent my summer, alone in my room, working my English just because I wanted to understand that fucking DVD. Basically, today, I’m bilingual, I can write, speak, translate and teach English without having landed a single foot on an English-speaking country. And I’m probably about to do the same with German because there are a lot of books I want to read...

I’m not more intelligent because I’m some kind of natural genius. I’m more intelligent because I fucking never stop learning. I can’t stop.  When you do a PhD, people ask you what you want to do after. I have no answer. Because I’m doing a PhD to see where is my limite. How far can I go ? 

How far can I go ? I’m ready to burn myself to have an answer to this...

So what the therapist made me realise is that : if you never stop learning, then you’ll be alone sooner or later. Because people stop, they take break, they preserve their health, they don’t constantly put their vision of the world in danger just because they want to know. So if you keep going when people regurlarly stop, you end up alone. 

I’m alone because I can’t grieve Chester properly and I can’t tell other this because I know they would think I say their way of grieving is bad when all I say is it’s bad for me. So I’m alone. I’m alone because I can see myself being locked in the spiral and there is nothing I can do but wait for the end of the circle praying that I won’t lose too much this time.  I’m alone because now I know too much and even if I explain people won’t follow me that much. 

I’m alone in a circle of questions turning into a spiral because I know there is no way to fully answer them. 

The therapist says it’s a blessing and a curse. Due this constant movement of circle, instead of straight line, and to this thirst of knowledge, my mind is deeper, thicker, more complex and has a wider view on the world. But it also means I’m lonely because not much people can follow (once again, not because they’re stupid or anything, just because I don’t stop until I can’t stand anymore...). And the more the circle turns, the more I know about this. It’s a blessing, because it’s a rare quality to know so much, to develop such empathy. But it’s a curse because the price is fucking high. Two faces of the same coin. “You didn’t chose, you did your best with it” I didn’t chose, because I don’t think no one would ever chose this. What’s killing is that I’m not sure it’s worth it... all the pain and loneliness... I didn’t chose. And I wouldn’t have chosen my life if I had had a choice. How am I supposed to live with this ? Maybe there is an answer to this on a straight line, but not on my spiraling circle.

I have to be the referee of the war in my own head. One part wants to destroy us, actively, with self-harm, punishment, not turning on the heater until my body turns blue and my breats hurt, etc, or passively because it doesn’t care what happen to us anyway. The other part wants to survive whatever it takes, it wants to know and will do anything for that, learning new languages or a whole new scholar field if required. I don’t know which part I want to see win. But I still have to be the referee of a war between me and me. And I dont have time to decide. Because the circle is moving again into a spiral and I have to move. If I keep moving, I may survive. That’s all I know. The voics repeat themselves a lot. One of their moto is “marche ou crève” (”walk or die”). 

I’m alone. No one can walk with me. Because I walk in circles when people walk in straight lines. Our paths can cross, but we can’t walk together for long.

Speaking of Chester and circles, he wrote this amazing song. The lyrics are so perfect, I can’t chose a single line... Sorry, it’s not a great day / week...