#we always compare his height to link which gets me every time

[yuhlmaooo]

bro's a menace, actually

[myfictionaldreams]

Don’t Touch What’s Mine // Biker!Bucker x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're working your usual Friday night shift at Bucky's biker bar when a group of men come in and start harassing you, what happens when one of them decides to lay a hand on you?

Tags: 18+ readers only, biker au, creepy dudes, sexual harassment, violence, reader gets hurt, protective bucky barnes, hurt/comfort, oral sex (f receiving), smut, fluff, multiple orgasms, intimate sex

Word: 4.2k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

You pulled the last of the stools from off of the tables, leaning over to wipe the table over as the door to the bar opened. Smiling, you turned to see the flurry of men and women that you call family as they strolled in, “how is it you boys always arrive the second we open but can't turn up to mine on time when I cook you dinner.” You were met with sarcastic gasps as they started to blame one another for every occasion they were late to yours, throwing money onto the bar as they did so, helping themselves to their drinks, and spreading themselves out around the room. Rolling your eyes playfully, you collected the money and moved towards the back, taking out the trash that had been left from last night.

As you swung the black bag into the taller bin, a pair of hands grasped your hips, pulling you flush against a leather-clad body, lips leaned into to kiss your cheek as the aroma of firewood and leather took over your senses. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone, in a place like this?” His kisses moved down your neck, muscular tattooed arms wrapping around your waist. You melted into the touch, smiling as you tilted your head towards your boyfriend and kissed his rough lips back, hand resting on his bearded cheek as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, moaning loudly as you pulled away from his touch.

“Stop trying to distract me at work, I need to get back inside no ones watching the till and I know how sneaky Nats fingers are,” you groaned as Bucky only looked you up and down, biting his lip and you had to physically force yourself to close your eyes, one more second of him looking at you like and you’d be damned with work and let him has his way with you.

“You know I’m your boss right, I can just get you to close the bar?” Bucky huskily said into your ear as you both walked through the kitchen.

“I know that but how will that be any good for business,” you turned as you reached the door into the bar and quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a passionate kiss. His hands were instantly on your hips, tugging you closer until you stood on his steel-toe capped leather boots giving you some extra height that you desperately needed compared to Bucky’s tall stature. Your tongues danced together as you both moaned into the kiss, his ringed hand closing around the back of your neck as he pumped his hips into your stomach, showing off his tented cock but that only snapped you back to reality. Pushing off of his shoulders, you stepped back into the door, pulling on your dress to straighten it out as you playfully re-entered the bar, Bucky following after a few moments.

“Why do you two always look like we’ve caught you in the middle of something,” Sam commented as he looked between the two of you as he took a swig of his beer.

“I don’t know what you mean, Wilson” you answered innocently as Bucky sat at one of the barstools in front of you, liking to stay close as you worked which you were grateful for. You passed him an open beer as he turned to his friend.

“Mind your damn business” he smiled coyly as he shook off his leather jacket, taking a sip of his drink.

The hours of the afternoon passed by as the sun finally set, beers turning into whiskey as everyone laughed, played pool, fought over the jukebox, it was turning into a nice Friday night when the front door opened, a group of five men stumbled in, talking loudly between themselves as they approached the bar, not noticing the looks the bikers were all giving them. You quickly glanced at Bucky who was watching them out of the corner of his eye before putting on your best fake smile. “What can I get you, fellas?”

The one at the front looked you up and down, his greasy black hair falling into his eyes, wiping the corner of his mouth as he leaned across the bar closer to you, “well aren’t you a sexy little thing, you can give me anything you want, sweet pea.” Disgust settled in your stomach but you were used to people behaving like this in bars, thankful to be working for Bucky so you didn’t have to deal with it as much anymore but on the odd occasion strangers would stumble into the bar. Your smile didn’t falter as you looked around at the men behind the one who spoke, waiting for someone to give you an actual answer. The man leaning on the bar sighed, standing back up he looked around, noticing a table towards the back that was free, “bring us over five beers, won't you sweet pea?” The group moved towards the table, not waiting for your answer as your smile dropped, rolling your eyes as you uncapped five beers, placing them on a tray.

“Want me to take them out back?” Bucky asked, he was calm as he watched you prepare their drinks but you knew beneath the surface his blood was boiling.

“No it’s ok, let them spend more of their money first.” You carried over the beers, taking less than a second to place the bottles on the table before moving back towards the bar, ignoring the looks the group was giving you. In truth, you hated when there were bar fights, mostly because you were worrying about Bucky but the brutal violence that usually occurs always left your nerves wrecked so as much as you hated serving people like this, it was better than a mass brawl. The night proceeded on, you kept topping up the group at the back with beers as they kept shouting at you, ogling at your body as you walked past. You could sense the tension in the air from the bikers as they watched the group, all of them walking up to Bucky, whispering something before storming back to their seats. You smiled at Bucky, hoping to convince him that you were ok as the man who spoke to you earlier snapped his fingers at you, calling for five more beers.

Bucky swirled his whisky around his tumbler, jaw clenched as he spoke through gritted teeth, “please let me fuck them up, I want to kick their teeth down their throats”. He swallowed the rest of his drink as you started to walk around the bar, his eyes on you the entire time, not trusting the men you were serving.

“Please don’t, you won’t be the one cleaning up the mess.” You made it to the table and started to unload the beers from the tray and held your hand out to take the money but as you reached for it the greasy-haired man held it out of your reach. “There’s a lot more in my pocket if you let me get a bit of that” he leaned back and stared at your arse.

“I don’t think so pal, now please,” you shook your fingers for the money, “I need to get back to work.”

“Oh come on sweet pea, we could have some real fun, what’d you say?” You were so distracted with getting the money that you didn’t notice his hand slip under your dress, grazing your inner thigh. As you reeled back, bumping into the table, it was like a stampede as everyone descended on the group. Even though the strangers were outnumbered they fought back hard. You weren’t sure who was who as bodies were flying everywhere, you threw your hands over your head to protect yourself as a strong hand gripped onto your upper arm, pulling hard so you were out of the way but they must have been punched as they released their grip on you so you had no choice but to drop your arms to see which way to escape but a hard force collided with your head, knocking you to the floor.

The glass that had hit your head smashed as it fell to the floor making your landing even more painful. You didn’t lose consciousness but you were unsteady, a strong pain radiating from your forehead to your jaw as warm liquid started to trickle down your cheek but you didn’t have time to think about it as feet were stomping all around you. The pain in your forehead overwhelmed any pain in your hands and knees as you crawled over the glass that covered the floor as you finally made it behind the bar, wrapping up into a ball to protect yourself.

You weren’t sure how long the fighting went on for but you definitely heard a stool or two breaks but the longer it went on, the more pain sparked throughout your body, your hands stringing as trickles of blood dripped down your quivering wrists. Finally, the door to the bar opened a few times as the noise calmed down, the sounds of bodies being dragged outside. “Where is she?! y/n?” Bucky’s gruff voice shouted but you were stuck in your protective ball, too afraid to move in case the wrong person saw you. “y/n?” his voice was closer now as he found you behind the bar. “Hey hey hey, it’s ok” his hands lightly touched your forearms but you batted him away, jerking back in fear, not from him but you were on the verge of a panic attack. His hands were gentle with you as he held your wrists in one hand, the other cupping your cheek to fully look at him, soothing you but that's when he realised the blood covering you, wasn’t someone else’s, it was yours, “fuck”. You looked like a frightened animal as you looked around with wild eyes, still struggling to pull out of Bucky’s hold so he pulled you forward lightly, “it’s ok doll, it’s just me, just your Bucky.” He sat back on the floor so he could pull you into his lap, tugging your arms around his neck, legs around his waist as to not lean on the cuts, you started to calm, smelling his recognisable scents that always felt like home, it took a few deep breaths before you finally collapsed against him.

His hands rubbed gentle circles over your back as you closed your eyes, mumbling his name a few times before it truly dawned on you the situation. “Bucky! Oh gods, are you ok? Are you injured? Is anyone else hurt?” you sat bolt upright as questions came tumbling for your lips and Bucky had to grab your face gently between his palms, turning your worried eyes to his. His knuckles were split, dried blood on both hands and splatters of it over his shirt, face, and shaved sides of his head but otherwise, there didn’t seem to be any other injuries on him.

“Shhh, I’m ok, everyone’s fine, well not everyone” his eyes drifted from your head to your knees, “fuck doll, we need to get you cleaned up, come on.” He was able to hold you to his chest as he stood, your arms wrapped around his neck, forearms holding you to him as his large warm hands held your thighs so you didn’t fall. Bucky carried you to his office that was above the bar, and you were briefly able to spot the destruction the fight had caused, tables, chairs, and glasses were in ruins and you briefly noticed the large bloodstains that covered the wooden floor.

The office was dark as you entered, he moved further into the room before placing you in the dark blue leather chair behind his desk, turning the desk lamp on and looking you over. Reaching into the second draw at his desk he pulled out his well-used first aid kit, pulling out some tweezers as he explained, “I need to take the glass shards out of your hands and knees”, but his hands shook with adrenaline and anger as he looked down at your shredded palms.

A knock snapped both of your heads up to look at the door as Nat stood leaning against it, a sly smile on her face as she sauntered towards you. You looked over at her and noticed spots of blood on her shirt and a split lip but otherwise, she looked perfectly normal. “Boss, the boys need you out back and from the looks of things, y/n would benefit from my steady hands.” Bucky nodded, looking back towards you, waiting to see what you thought of him going.

“Go, it’s not like I’ll be going anywhere soon but please, be careful”, leaning forward you kissed his lips softly, watching as he stood, thanking Nat and leaving. 

The red-haired biker spent the next half an hour slowly pulling small shards of glass from your hands and knees, each piece causing shooting pain through your limbs but nothing compared to when she poured hard alcohol over the wounds to clean them, not being able to hold back the shout of pain. She didn’t wrap your wounds though, explaining it's better for the small cuts to have air to them so they could scab over and heal but you were happy about that, wondering how you’d wipe yourself after using the toilet if both hands were covered in bandages. Eventually, she was able to check the cut on your head and you audibly sighed in relief as she revealed that you wouldn’t need any stitches but the relief was short-lived as she cleaned the wound out, hot burning pain caused your face to scrunch up. At long last, however, she placed two small butterfly bandages over the one-inch cut and cleaned the dried blood from your cheek. Throwing the blood-stained rags into the bin, Nat lightly tapped your cheek saying “all done, peaches.”

“Thank you, Natasha.” She started to pack away the first aid kit as you asked, “were those men killed?” Nat stopped moving, contemplating her next words.

“Would you like the truth or a lie”, that sentence was enough for you to know that they were most likely dead, not that it truly surprised you, having seen members of the biker gang kill for much less but it hadn’t been because of you before. Your head dropped down as you stared at your painful, swollen fingers. Nat crouched down in front of you, “they deserved it y/n, those douchebags would have done so much worse if we weren’t all there and you know we would all do anything to protect you, you’re a big part of the pack now peaches.” Her words made you smile.

“She’s right you know” Bucky's voice echoed from the door, your eyes meeting him instantly as he walked into the room, he was now in clean clothes having cleaned himself up. “You’re part of our group and we protect what's ours, what's mine.” His words made your stomach flutter as he didn’t break the intense eye contact, walking until he was next to your chair, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “You did a good job Nat, I owe you one.”

“No you don’t boss, just look after her alright?” She gave you a smile before taking her to leave, shutting the door behind her.

Leaning into Bucky’s touch, you closed your eyes, exhausted for the day's events taking over. “Do you want to stay here tonight? Saves you the pain of walking with those scratches on your knees.” He moved to stroke your jaw delicately as you agreed with him, having spent many nights in the bedroom here that usually was for members of the gang that passed out in the bar. You moved to stand but Bucky was quicker, gripping under your thighs once more and hiking you up until you were chest to chest, legs wrapping around him. You led your head on his shoulder as he entered the bedroom, placing you softly onto the edge. He helped you to pull your dress over your head, being careful as to not hurt you, until you were just left in your panties, shivering from the slight breeze in the room. Bucky noticed this and took off his shirt in one swift motion and helped you to pull it on, it being nearly as long as the dress, hitting midthigh you savored in the warm material, loving that it smelt like him.

Bucky pulled a chair to sit in front of you by the edge of the bed and held both of your hands in his, his palms connecting with the backs of your hands so as to not hurt you, he stared at all the small cuts. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise James”, he looked up at you when you used his first name, a name you didn’t use often, “I know you were itching to do something before it all kicked off, but I really can’t thank any of you enough for saving me.” You leaned forward to kiss him, taking it slow, adoring the feeling of your lips locking together, breathing each other in, feeling his rough beard against your delicate cheeks. Bucky was the one to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth slightly to taste more of you, your mouths moving in unison as you turned your heads to get better access. A small moan escaped your lips and Bucky used this to slip his tongue past yours and now it was his turn to moan, the warm and wet muscle twirling with yours.

The biker's hands traveled up your arms, over your shoulders, and down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps from his light touch. Being lost in the throes of passion, you reached towards the waistband of his jeans but pulled back, breaking the kiss as you hissed in pain as the scratches on your hands brushed the rough material. Rolling your eyes and huffing already feeling frustrated from your injuries, “great, now I can’t even undress my own boyfriend.”

Bucky chuckled, holding the back of your hands once more, kissing your forehead next to the cut as to not hurt you, he whispered, ”you don’t need to undress your boyfriend because it’s his turn to take care of you so keep your hands to yourself and let me make you feel good.” He kicked his chair back as he dropped to his knees, keeping his eyes on yours as he leaned down to kiss the top of your thigh, he moved both of your wrists back into one of his own as he eased your legs open with his metal hand. You swallowed audibly, mouth hanging open as you watched Bucky on his knees before you, leaning down he left a soft kiss to your inner thigh, over the spot that the greasy haired-stranger had touched you and a shiver ran through you. “No one is ever going to touch you again, I promise you that, doll.”

Bucky's lips inched up your thigh, your breathing coming out faster as he stopped as he reached your clothed centre. His metal fingers grazed over your hips but in a blink he had effortlessly ripped your underwear, pulling it away from your centre and you flushed feeling it peel away from you, your juices soaking the material but as you looked into Bucky’s eyes, he only blazed with hunger as he leaned forward, his hot breath hitting your slit until finally, his tongue pushed through your folds. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, wanting to move your hands to grip onto the back of his head but his hands held you easily. His tongue moved up and down your centre a few times, lapping up your juices before he swirled around your clit, relishing in the moans that you were making as you rocked your hips against his face trying to get more friction but Bucky was taking his time with you. His tongue moved down, circling your entrance before entering as far as he could, trying to reach every crevice possible. Bucky started to tongue-fuck you, moving his head back and forth, feeling your thighs start to shake as pleasure was building in your belly, his facial has was scratching the tops of your thighs, only adding to the stimulation. You looked down at him, moaning even louder at seeing him devour you, knowing all of your favourite spots, you felt the tingling start to spread over you and Bucky noticed too, as he pulled his tongue out of you and started to suck and nibble on your clit which was all you needed to gasp his name as your orgasm trickled over you, legs clenched his face harshly as your wrists continued to tug so you can touch him in any way.

After a moment of catching your breath, Bucky released your clit to kiss the inside of your thigh again, your juices covering his cheeks and chin causing your face to flush even more than it already was. The hand that rested on your hip wrapped behind you and Bucky easily picked you up, placing you into the middle of the bed, your legs on either side of him as he knelt over you. Your boyfriend eased you backward until your head hit the pillow, pushing your arms until they were both above your head where he held them down softly with his warm hand. His lips reconnected with yours, you moaned tasting yourself on his tongue as his cold metal hand trailed over your t-shirt covered breast, your nipple pebbled beneath as he lightly twirled around it. “Bucky please, I need you.”

Bucky chuckled lightly at your desperate pleads, loving hearing how needy you were for him, only making his cock hard in his jeans. Stopping his teasing of your breast, he sat back kneeling before you, pulling your hands until they rested on your stomach. “How can I deny my girl when she asks so nicely.” He started to undo his buckle and jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers until they rested halfway down his thighs, his cock sprung free, thick and hard, the veins bulging up the length and seeing him over you, the look of lust over his face made you shiver and want him even more. Buckys eyes traveled down your body, seeing your chest rising and falling quickly, your erect nipples peeking through his shirt that was bunched up by your hips revealing your slick centre, “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” His words made you even more flushed, trying to shift your hips closer to his cock.

Bucky shifted forward, gripping the base of his cock he swiped it up and down your folds, teasing your clit, making you whine with need until he lined up with your entrance, pushing the tip in slowly, wanting to stretch you out. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as you both looked into each other's glazed-over eyes as he finally was fully inside of you. Your arms were moved back above your head once more so Bucky could lean down and kiss you, the other hand cupping your cheek. He didn’t move in you as he kissed you and it was driving you insane so you started rolling your hips, so Bucky moved off of your lips, kissing up to your jaw as he pulled out halfway and thrusting back in. His pace was slow but deep, hitting every nerve as he went, his teeth nipping at your pulse point on your neck as you moaned his name into his ear, loving the feeling of him holding you down, covering your body with his own. You both absolutely loved rough fucking, one that left you stiff when walking for a few days but when he had you like this, taking his time, showing his love and appreciation for you, it only made you love him even more. His thrusts started to increase in speed, his curly mound brushing against your clit with each movement only making your thighs clench him closer to you his lips left your neck to moan in your ear about how good you felt, how you were his and would always be his and, you had to close your eyes to stop the tears from falling, loving this man with everything in your body.

Leaning on the arm that was holding your arms up, he shifted his hips slightly and it turned your body to mush, “fuck, Bucky right there, please don’t stop, right there” your words trailed off as he kept up the pace, his strokes hitting that spot each time and tension built within you. His spare hand gripped your jaw, his face hovering above yours as you watched each other approaching your orgasms, his grunts sounding more desperate, and finally, he shouted your name, his seed filling you up and spilling out and a few thrusts later you joined him in bliss, not being able to catch your breath as waves of pleasure flowed through you.

It took a few minutes for you both to calm down from your peaks of pleasure, he kissed your cheek before shifting your thigh over him until he was spooning you, releasing your hands to collapse to your side he held you to him, his cock still inside of you, something he liked to do so you could both still stay connected as sleep encased you both.

[therandomficwriter]

Twilight Wolfpack with a short S/O

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to come out with something! But I had requested this kinda prompt for a different imagine account but idk if they’re gonna do it,,, so I decided why not and give it a try myself! Like I am super short (like 5’0) and always wonder what it’d be like to be with the Wolfpack. Anyways, I hope you guys like it!

A/N 2: None of the gifs are mine so credit to the original owners! Also I didn’t edit it so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes! Feel free to check this link out also⇒ ( ◠‿◠ )

Sam Uley

First of all I don’t think he would tease you as much as some of the guys would

He would be extra protective since you’re smaller as it’s easier for you to get hurt

And if you are clumsy like me I don’t think that would help to ease his concern lmao

N e ways, I feel like he would have a cute nickname for you, something along the lines of shortcake or something cute like that

If you ever lecture the pack if they’ve done something wrong (or stupid) he has to hold in a laugh cause its funny to see a bunch of huge guys scared of little bitty you

Omg imagine him pulling you into a hug and your face is just buried in his warm chest and he just lets out a deep chuckle cause you’re just so tiny compared to him

Pls sir spare me for I am about to cry thinking about it

But overall he loves you no matter what size you are. Y’all are still the mom and dad of the pack and everyone respects you cause even small you still hold your ground

Jared Cameron

HE IS THE #1 TEASE

He literally has so many nicknames for you and a lot of them are different ways of saying you’re short but his favorite to call you is munchkin lmao

Likes doing that thing where if you’re next to him he’ll use your head as an armrest

Also likes to randomly come behind you and lift you up to scare you

Will sometimes jokingly place you on the counter to talk to you so he won’t have to look down or as he says “so you won’t hurt yourself look up at me shorty”

He may tease you a lot about your height but if anyone were to make fun of you or tease you about it,,, oooh boy he is on them like nothing

Only he is allowed to tease his little munchkin

Y’all just have a very fun and loving relationship and you guys are literally thick as thieves and nothing could change that

Paul Lahote

TEASE #2

He won’t tease you as much as Jared does with his s/o because he is soft for you

He probably also has a cute nickname for you probably also something to do with being small

Probably calls you princess most of the time tho

Whenever you’re trying to get something that is high up where you can’t reach he’ll come behind you and put one hand on your waist and grab whatever it is you needed

He’ll probably ask for an kiss in return for being, and I quote, “your knight in shining armor” and he’ll bend down a bit while you tippy toe to reach and give him a small peck

It really boosts his ego every time lmao

Like Jared he is the only one allowed to tease you cause knowing him he’ll probably try to kill the person making fun of you

We all know he is the type to pull you into his lap whenever he’s sitting cause he loves holding on to you since you’re so tiny

Overall he is also very protective of you and loves having you with him and he wouldn’t want anyone else

I need a Paul in my life

Embry Call

You get teased by him quite a lot too but not to the extent of the other 2 teases

I feel like he calls you lovebug as a joke but it stuck after a while lmao

He probably makes you help him prank the others by hiding you somewhere (since you fit almost anywhere) and then you jump out and scared them

Which in hindsight was a bad idea cause y’all got a lecture from Sam after it happened a couple times and it was not fun

Besides that he also likes to give you piggyback rides whenever your legs get tired or you’re having trouble keeping up with them (or just for fun)

He is very attentive tho and he will help you out without you having to ask cause he loves you and is constantly watching you

But not in like a creepy way sorta like a ‘I want to make sure you don’t hurt yourself’ kinda way

Y’all’s relationship is also very fun and you guys are very relaxed with each other cause you trust each other with your lives

You guys are like 2 peas in a pod and you wouldn’t have it any other way

Jacob Black

Honestly at this point I should just say all of them have a cute nickname for you

I feel like he calls you either beautiful most of the time or smalls when he’s feeling playful or just to tease you

You already KNOW every time he hugs you he lifts you up and spins you around then when he puts you down he holds on for a little longer cause he doesn’t want to let you go just yet

Pls lord I am in need of a hug from Jacob

When he’s on the couch I feel like he’ll be sitting there and you just come up to him and crawl into his lap and you’ll just have a koala hold on him and he just simply holds you (and you probably pass out from how warm and comfy he is)

Omg when y’all sleep together (not like that ya nasties) he will have you lie down on top of his chest and he’ll have his arms wrapped around you

He’s another one that will pick you up and carry you if you get tired or if you can’t keep up

He’s also another one who is super protective of you and will constantly have you near him

Also he’s the type to walk you all the way to your front door when it’s time for you to go home and he won’t leave till he knows you’re in your room

Overall you guys have a very loving relationship and I just know when he loves someone he loves with his whole being and the same goes for you and it shows throughout your whole relationship

Quil Ateara

I feel like he calls you something cute and small related like cutie pie or button

When he’s more on the teasing side he’ll call you pip squeak

He loves to rest his head on top of yours whenever he hugs you

Sometimes when he’s bored he’ll go and flop on top of you but he’ll try and hold himself up a bit and won’t put to much pressure on you cause he’s scared of hurting you

He likes to move your stuff where you can’t reach it so you’ll ask for his help and he thinks you look so cute trying to reach it

But if he knows he won’t be there to help you he will try and put whatever you might need within your reach

He likes it whenever you go and sit in his lap when he’s playing video games with the guys whether you’re on your phone, taking a nap on him, or just watching him play he’ll encase you in his arms and he likes the company plus the feeling of you being there (he love how tiny you feel against him)

He also likes to hold your hand cause he likes how small it feels and he likes how it fits in his hand

He is so very sweet and your relationship is another very funny and goofy one but it’s is still very strong none the less

Seth Clearwater

A/N: I know this gif isn’t from the movie so sue me

He is the sweets boy ever omg

He would find you so adorable and would constantly gush over you

He would probably call you something like kitten cause you’re “small and cute like one”

He absolutely loves hugging you especially back hugs (he just loves to feel you in his arms)

That’s why he loves to cuddle with you and he likes to be the big spoon cause you fit nicely encase in him

He also likes it when he has his head on your chest and your fingers are running trough his hair and you legs are wrapped around his waist (cause that as far as your legs can reach from this position) he finds it kinda funny that you can’t completely wrap around him

When you’re talking to him he tries to kinda lean against something or sit down cause he thinks it’s rude for him to look down on you while you talk but also so you don’t strain your neck trying to talk to him

He’s another one that likes to give you a piggyback ride so your legs don’t get tired or he’ll just try to slow down his walking to accommodate to you

I could go on forever because he’s just so in love with you and absolutely adores your small stature

Your relationship is just so loving and he is so very caring and has such a big heart and I know you return that love just as much if not more

I needs me a Seth Clearwater plssss

Leah Clearwater

A/N: It’s so hard to find a gif of her smiling in the movie she deserves all the happiness in the world

First of all of course I included her cause how could I not,,, she deserves the absolute world!

Pls wreck me queen

N e ways I feel like her nickname for you is not as embarrassing or outlandish as the guys names it’s probably something like angel or baby

If she’s feeling playful she calls you tiny

Fun fact when y’all cuddle she likes being the small spoon! She likes the feeling of you holding her even though she is a lot bigger than you

She’s also one of the ones that like to help you if you can’t reach something it makes her feel needed and she’s just glad she can be there for you cause she knows you’ll be there for her

When hugging you she likes to lift you up and bonus points if you wrap your legs around her waist (it makes her instantly melt)

Off topic but y’all like to make snarky comments about the guys or at them and it just makes y’all laugh and if you make a sarcastic comment to Sam when he tries to lecture you guys about something she gets mega heart eyes for you and is super proud to call you her s/o

Getting back on track but she of also very protective of you like the rest of the guys but she knows you can handle yourself well but she can’t help but worry because of your small size

Besides that y’all’s relationship is really one of a kind you guys have built up a lot of trust with each other over time and y’all’s bond is as strong as ever and I just know she loves you fiercely

[benignbucky]

Whiplash Pt. 2

Based on THIS REQUEST

PART ONE

AN: (MINORS DNI) This is probably gonna be the final part, I'm not super feeling this series anymore in all honesty so I'm gonna leave it as a mini series so we can get that resolution. I may come back to it later but for now I am happy with this ending. This could honestly be a standalone but the first part is linked above. Thank you for being so patient with me while I got this out, last weekend was stressful but this weekend is so much better. You may need a fan for the last half of this. ♡

PAIRING: stucky x reader, john walker x reader briefly

Word Count: 2.4k

WARNINGS: John Walker is the ex because absolutely no one likes him and we all know this man radiates tiny pp energy and would be the worst in bed, fighting, minor angst, mostly fluff and smut, unprotected sex (wrap your wang before you bang), threesome, overstimulation, squirting, HELLA praise kink, pet names (baby, peach, good girl), brief mentions of dub-con/non-con with ex, unbeta'ed (all mistakes are my own)

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The memories of that night were burnt in the back of your eyes. Seeing your ex, John, for the first time in 6 months and he still had so much power over you.

The second you opened the door, tears sprung to your eyes as a barely audible 'w-what are you doing here?' escaped your mouth before he was walking in, clearly not noticing Bucky and Steve walking over with fury in their eyes.

"You need to leave before this gets messy." Steve and Bucky were easily twice his size, not so much in height but in pure muscle.

"Oh, so you're moved out and fucking both of your roommates. A whore like you would do that, huh?" John

You backed behind Bucky as Steve took the lead. "Listen, I don't care who you think you are but you don't just get to come back around after how you treated her. Let alone call her something she most certainly is not seeing as you're the one that cheated on her with how many women?"

"You may look all big but I doubt you even know how to fight. Useless muscle if you ask me." Little did he know that both incredibly skilled in combat, especially hand-to-hand combat. And that's all it took for Bucky to leap forward and land a bone breaking punch to John's jaw, almost knocking him out cold. This had him backing out the door, learning his place.

"And don't even think about coming back here because next time you'll have to be dragged out," The tone of Bucky's voice was firm and aggressive but only until John walked out of the building before he joined Steve in comforting you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been three hours since John tried to pry himself into your life again. You were still trembling even though you were in the arms of the two people you trusted most. The idea that John could just show up again out of nowhere terrified you more than anything. You were well protected by Steve and Bucky but just having John in the same room, no, same building as you brought on heart shattering fear and anxiety.

You had all migrated to your room, the three of you barely fitting on your queen size mattress. It really showed off how much bigger they were compared to other guys, especially compared to you. Both of them were easily at least a foot taller than you. Their biceps easily closer to the size of one of your thighs than your arms.

Around you, they were gentle giants. That was until they needed to protect you. And they would, with their whole being. They just wanted to show you how much they valued you, how much you lit up their lives. They wanted you to know that it wasn't one sided. The two of them were pampering you in kisses and praise, gentle caresses, doing everything they could to make you feel safe and loved.

Eventually your breathing and heart rate had calmed, turning on your back so you could look at the two men. Their overwhelming appreciation towards you made you want to show your appreciation for them but you were mustering up the courage. You hadn't been intimate with anyone, let alone with yourself since before you moved in. Any experience with John had been too rough, basically forced from you but you didn't know any better.

This one moment with Bucky and Steve, everything felt different. They asked if they could play with your hair, caress your face in their hands, or even to soothingly rub your back. Every touch required you to tell them yes. If it made you even the slightest bit uncomfortable, they would stop and move back to something else you had already agreed to, which only made your core dampen more than it already was.

Fighting the nerves, you kissed them both with nothing but love and passion, hinting for something more. It took them a minute to take the hint but when they did, their actions only got softer.

"Are you sure? You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with." Steve whispered. His and Bucky's eyes had darkened, pupils blown out. This only made you want them more.

You nodded at them both even though you knew they wanted a verbal answer. You gulp before mustering up a soft, "Yes, I want this. Want you. Both of you."

Slowly, you sat up, starting to tug at the hem of your oversized shirt before you felt one metal and one flesh hand move your hands away, removing your shirt for you.

"This is about you, peach. Don't worry about us. We want you to feel good." Bucky whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine but in the best way possible.

Steve was behind you, rubbing circles into your back as Bucky trailed kissed down your jaw and neck. You leaned back against Steve's chest as Bucky's kisses went lower to your chest. "Can we take this off?" Looping his flesh fingers under the strap of your bra.

"Please…" You breathed out your answer, feeling Steve's hand loop under you to unclasp the article of clothing. You gasped at the cold sensation of Bucky's metal hand brushing over your hot skin and he chuckled softly. "You're so fucking beautiful, you know that? Isn't she, Steve?" You leaned back once more only to gasp again at the light flick that Bucky gave to your nipple. "Absolutely gorgeous." Steve hummed his answer, you could feel his length growing underneath you.

The moment you felt Bucky's mouth over your chest left your mouth agape, your back arching at his touch. His mouth didn't linger long as it started moving lower and lower until he was in between your thighs, kissing over your biker shorts but not over where you wanted him the most.

Out of instinct, you reach down to pull off your remaining clothing but Bucky just shakes his head and replaces your hands with his. This time it's him gasping at how absolutely dripping you are. "Oh you poor baby, probably haven't had someone focused on your pleasure in so long."

Steve's hands moved up to tease your chest, massaging and caressing everything he could reach before pulling his shirt off with you still on top of him. Bucky did the same before placing your thighs over his shoulders, looking for any sign of you being uncomfortable but only saw your eyes shut in pleasure.

Dipping his head down, he licked a broad stripe up your dripping cunt, not even giving you time to be shocked as he got to work. Your sounds were only making him work harder as you took his hands in yours at your side.

John only went down on you once and that was after begging him because it was 'only fair' seeing as you had always done it for him. Steve and Bucky didn't even ask, didn't want you to because unlike John, they cared more about your pleasure than their own.

"Such a good girl," Steve mumbled in your ear before leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. This only fueled your needs.

"More, Bucky. Please…" You had let go of one of his metal hand only to tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing him even further into your core. He was groaning against you at your neediness, which sent vibrations throughout your entire body.

You were about to beg again but before the words could even come out, you felt two cold fingers at your entrance before they slowly slid in and bumping into your g-spot, which wasn't something you had ever experienced before.

"B-Bucky… oh my god! What was that?" You were a blubbering mess at this new found sensation.

Looking up at you and only moving his mouth away to say, "You can't tell me no one has ever?-" His fingers were curling up at an agonizing pace, your hips bucking on his hand was the only response he needed before he started moving at a faster pace. You were almost at your peak, legs trembling, as he put his mouth back on you and sucked your bundle of nerves into his mouth.

You had never felt this much pleasure before in your life. Only a few more strokes of his hand left and you felt like you had exploded, seeing stars. The sounds you were making and your grip on Bucky's hair had him groaning against you, only heightening your peak and making it more intense. Bucky wasn't done yet though, he was going to drag out your high until you couldn't take anymore, Steve nearly forgotten behind you.

Any words you tried to make were incoherent as Bucky finally slowed down and kissed back up your body. "Such a good girl for us, aren't you, baby?" Chuckling at how you could only nod as a response. The two men would have been happy with at that but you were already sitting up and turning around to give Steve attention, which took them both by surprise.

You were a shy person in general let alone during a situation like this but your orgasm only gave you more confidence. Bucky laid down as you crawled up and straddled Steve. As much as he would love to watch you ride him, you were spent. You looked it to. With a swift motion, you were back on your back, legs spread again as Steve pulled down his pants and his briefs, Bucky following behind shortly.

You knew both of them were packing at the one too many times you had walked in on one of them getting out of the shower so you weren't that surprised to see how big they were in the moment. "I would love to taste you but I can't wait any longer, needa be inside you. Is that alright?" Steve accepted your whimper of a yes and draped his body over yours, giving you a tender kiss before reaching down and running a finger in between your folds and lining himself up to your entrance.

He didn't even need to look up at you for approval, you were already snaking your legs around his hips. "Eager girl, aren't you?" Steve smirked before pressing into you slowly, earning a soft moan from you before rocking his hips slowly as you got used to his size before working up to a faster pace. Both of you moaning and groaning as you raked your nails down his back.

"Fuck, so tight. Don't know how long 'm gonna last." You were already squeezing around, trying to milk him for everything he had.

"F-faster… harder…" You begged and he happily obliged. You didn't care if he didn't last much longer, you knew Bucky wanted a turn and you wanted to give them both a chance at you. "Oh my god, Steve. I'm gonna cum… please." Your begging only made Steve's release come sooner, only letting go when you had reached your peak as well, pulling at his hair as he groaned into your neck before his thrusts slowed to a halt.

You were still catching your breath before the two men swapped places. "Think you can handle one more, peach?" Bucky hovered over, looking for any sign of you wanting to stop. "I sure hope so." You chuckled out of breath still before gasping as Bucky flipped you over onto your stomach and pulling your hips up to meet his, his hands resting at your hips.

"That's a good girl," lining himself up, Bucky groaned at the wetness that was Steve's release mixed with yours as he pushed in. Steve was longer but Bucky was noticeably thicker as he pushed into you. "You weren't kidding, Steve. So. Fucking. Tight." Bucky growled out. Steve reached over to moved your hair out of your face before Bucky started thrusting into you.

"If it's too much, just say and we'll stop and take care of you." Steve reassured you before nodding to Bucky, encouraging him to pick up the pace.

And he did, his thrusts were relentless but were all for your pleasure. Neither of you would last very long but he wanted this one to be the best orgasm of the night. "Steve," Bucky managed, nodding his head to Steve, motioning for him to touch you. The whine you let out when Steve scooted down to rub feverish circles around your clit which was only bringing your third incredibly intense orgasm of the night only moments away.

"Oh god… of fuck fuck FUCK…" amongst another string of curses cam out of both you and Bucky's mouth as you came, covering Bucky's thighs, Steve's hand, and your comforter. It only took that sight and a couple more thrusts as Bucky was filling you to the brim. "Fuck…." He groaned, "Can't say I've ever had that happen before."

You drop to lay flat on your stomach on the bed, clearly oblivious to you squirting all over the two men and your blanket, only humming in response. "Did you know that you could do that, baby? Did you know you could squirt?" Your eyes widened at Steve as he asked, he took that answer as an obvious 'no' and chuckled softly.

You wished you could move but you were so fucked out that your limbs were limp. Steve got up and grabbed a new t-shirt and underwear for you to put on as Bucky eased out of you, causing another whine from you at the sensation. Steve left the room temporarily just to get a warm washcloth and a different blanket for the three of you as the other one was deemed in need of a wash.

The two cleaned and dressed you before laying out the new blanket over you. Bucky laid down first, pulling you to lay on his chest before Steve crawled behind you, spooning you. You were barely conscious but you heard the small I love you's and praises from them about how good you did. You breathed out a small 'love you too' before falling asleep.

[4dtk]

hi! i love your writing but couldn't find anything for taeil so could i request a make out session with 45 in hand holding (comparing hand sizes and then linking them), 26 in kisses (giggling in kisses) and 24 in touch (lips whispering and touching the ear) thank you !!

thank u for waiting TT i hope u like this!!

hand-holding, 45: comparing hand sizes and then linking them

kisses, 26: giggling in kisses

touching, 24: lips whispering and touching the ear

taeil only raises an eyebrow, a clear lilt in his voice when he questions you about the empty ice cream tub in the freezer. the only reply you can muster is sewed lips, closed tight in fear of admitting your mistake that you were making out to be more obvious than you thought.

“(y/n)...” he only frowns, a little disappointed that he couldn’t get a bit of ice cream that he was looking forward to even before dinner, but the pout you don has him melting like always and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes before he’s stalking over to you, purpose in his eyes.

“you’ll be paying for my ice cream next time we go grocery shopping,” he grins, plopping his body weight onto you where your body suffers under his weight, trapped uncomfortably in an undesirable position. from here, you can see every ray of light in his eyes, the shine even if you’ve dulled it down with your lonely movie night days ago.

to be fair, that strawberry ice cream was really good.

silently, he grabs your hand and puts it up against his own, muttering something to himself that you can’t quite get until you ask him to which he mumbles, again, “how do you manage to eat so fast when your hand’s so small— ack!”

”my hand is not that small!”

“totally is,” taeil grins, observing how your hand stretch more and more to reach his fingertips, entranced by how much smaller you are than him. it fills his heart up with joy, because even despite not being one of the taller members, he’s able to baby you and tease you for your height, something he doesn’t usually have the luxury of doing.

“next time you gotta get me some expensive flavour, ’kay? i want those stupid weird flavours like-” taeil doesn’t notice your lovesick smile as he rants on, fingers now linked with yours as it comes naturally, a gesture that your boyfriend adores as he loves the feeling of your hand in his.

“why’re you staring at me like that?” you shake your head, not trusting your voice, but the other only takes it as an invitation to lean forward, capturing your lips with his that it makes your heart set off into fireworks.

your chest hurts and taeil is absolutely the cause of it, wrapping a secure but cold arm around your waist that has you squealing into the kiss. the other is affected by your sound, giggling right into the kiss where you can feel his smile against your lips and the eagerness behind it.

taeil manages to move you slowly where you’re now on top, and he tries his best not to pull away and put his hand over his heart where it beats a thousand miles per second. instead, he smiles deeper onto your mouth, sitting up where your arms roam over the expanse of his back.

the kiss switches to an open-mouthed one before the other slips his tongue in, feeling and pressing against yours needily that you can practically hear the shaky huff let out by your nose. his hands leave goosebumps even if you were clothed, occasionally travelling down to your ass to give it a little squeeze. it’s easy to get carried away when it’s taeil.

with one last smile, taeil then pulls away with swollen lips and dilated eyes, sparkling with love for you that you nearly fail to catch what he whispers to you. with hot breath and a teasing tone, it leaves you flustered and jittery.

“i think you’re becoming a little bold there, love. want me to put you in your place?”

with a grin, you’re replying him in the form of another passionate kiss, that sends taeil right back down to the sofa with laughter in his throat and you snug in his arms.

[violettelueur]

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || HIS LITTLE SONGBIRD

| featuring : ryōmen sukuna ft. itadori yuji and fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors and light mention of alcohol  

| form : imagine (with she/her pronouns)

| word count : 2411

| published : 02 december

| request : I just finished reading Sukuna with so who good at singing and I love it❤️ After reading this, it makes me think of another possibility for reincarnation au. What if the so got reincarnated but instead of Sukuna actually met them in person, he found out that the so is now a famous singer, so their songs can be heard all over japan. Itadori went a store and their song was played which Sukuna realized it was his little song bird’s voice

| barista’s notes : hi hi guys~ sorry for the really late update today and that is because i fell asleep the second i got back home from school ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ classic barista violettelueur and what makes it lowkey worst is that it’s 2:20 am right now.....for a little information that might be helpful while reading this, i was listen to BLACKPINK - Don’t know what to do (JP Ver.) while writing this, so that is going to get a little mention on this imagine ʕ·ᴥ·　ʔ other than that, i hope you enjoy you cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) have a wonderday day and please come back soon!

The sounds of the strings being plucked to construct a beautiful melody filled the spring air with its euphoric sound as the pale pink cherry blossom petals graceful fell from its branches giving a beautiful sight to behold, while the crowds of men in the garden celebrated with red sake plates in hand that was filled to the brim with the sweet alcohol that was being consumed in a rapid rate.

However, as much as the King of Curses wanted to disrupt the little gather for his own sadistic pleasure, the melody that was playing in the air captivated him to pause his wicked thoughts and desires and demanded him to appreciate the music the was being created by the lone female that was at the centre of the ocean of men - who were laughing drunkenly while some observed her from afar.

The lone female on her knees, while her eyes were set on the musical tool that was set in front of her, was delicately but masterfully plucking the thin transparent stings to create a tune that no other person within the gardens could recreate - not even the other talented musicians that were also present within the large garden. Eyeing the beauty that was charming almost everyone within her presence, the King of Curses slyly came closer (but out of sight) to gain a closer look at what was going on.

“Who is she?”

“She’s the only daughter from the prominent L/N family, they’re are known for their musical talents and from the rumours, that is certainly no lie,”

“Is she married? I can imagine having her playing for me every day with that beautiful melody,”

However, before one of the males of court nobility could even answer the question, an elegant but powerful voice echoed throughout the garden causing everyone to swiftly turn to the direction of the angelic voice, only to suddenly find that it was that lone female in the middle of the garden singing with the alluring tone that she had created herself - leaving everyone in a trance to the grace that was beautifully presented to them.

“I need to make her my wife,”

“I’m afraid that is easier said than done, my lord. From what has been going around, she has refused all of the men that have proposed their hand in marriage, there isn’t a reason that is known for this that can answer everyone’s confusion,”

“What do I need to give her? Money! Power! I have plenty of that,”

“She has rejected all of the noblemen that have come her way, no riches could ever convince her and I’m surprised that her family also agree to her antics”

Listening from a distance, Sukuna couldn’t help but become intrigued by what was being said. Many women in this time would have jumped on the chance to marry someone from a higher status let alone be married off quickly, yet here you were singing and playing like you have all the time in the world with no worries or fears that could distract you. You were at peace, while he was the destruction.

Somewhat still in a trace, it was suddenly cut off once the final string was pulled causing there to be absolute silence to fill the space leaving only the wind to cover the lack of sound before a loud parade of claps were heard as the emperor - who hosted the party - stood up with pride written all over his face. Standing up from your position, you have a light smile before bowing to show your gratitude to being allowed to play in such a prestigious event as you then made your way to the other musicians to pass them on for the next performance.

“Y/N! That was amazing, you never disappoint,”

“I have no idea what you saying, I messed up on the second to last note when I hit the wrong string, ha what am I doing to do? That is going to extremely bother me for the time being,”

“Stop being such a perfectionist! None of the sorcerers, noblemen and emperor knows that, so you’re fine,”

“Thank you and shouldn’t you really go, is it not your turn?”

“Oh! My apologies, I’ll meet up with you later,”

With your friend running off to continue with musical performance, you stood in your spot as you watched her go further into the distance leaving you to soak in the sunray that was gently providing a warm glow to your complexion as the deep purple of your kimono also brightened up leaving it somewhat of a lavender shade. Taking a deep sigh, you looking up to admire the cherry blossoms that were in bloom, only to see a figure settled on one of the branches with his ruby eyes set upon you, even though the man was hidden very skilfully within the plethora of petals you could sense him from a while away, but before you could even voice out your confusion.

“Ah, there she is! Miss L/N,”

Displaying a face of irritation on the rude disturbance - leaving Sukuna to display a face of amusement instead - you turned around to find two men standing in front of you with one that seemed to be of younger age compared to his counterpart making you come to the realisation that it was a son and father - leaving you to mentally groan in annoyance as you instantly knew where this little conversation was going.

“I want you to met my son, he is -”

“I’m sorry, but I am not interested in his hand in marriage nor his companionship” you immediately interrupted the noblemen, causing both of the men to look at you in complete shock as they didn’t expect you to figure out their intentions so soon after only a few words exchanged.

“But my dear, this is an amazing opportunity for you to-”

“Become someone with a higher nobility? Don’t make me laugh, I rather become a peasant then spend the eternity of my life bound to you,”

“What is it that you desire for your hand? Wealth? Power? Prestige? You name what you desire and we will provide!”

“I’m afraid that what I desire is impossible for you to provide me, my apologies”

“What is it that you want, woman?! Who doesn’t want what I can give you within an instinct?” the son soon erupted in anger at this rejection, still in utter confusion on why you were so adamant on not wanting to wed him.

“Entertainment? Can you provide that? You see, you noblemen always offer what you have already stated to me and that may sound very enticing to another but, you all are so boring,”

The two noblemen looked at you with astoundment in their eyes as well as Sukuna, who was cunningly listening from above on where you found him - the King of Curses didn’t want to confess this to himself but he was confused on what you trying to demonstrate here with you little speech.

“You are so so boring, you men expect me to play and sing for you every single day like a bird in a cage, yet I get no entertainment in return from you? Isn’t that quite unfair? You have no talent yet you want to be greedy, what ridiculous idea is that? It’s almost laughable in my opinion,”

Sukuna almost burst out laughing from what you artfully expressed to the two men that were in front of you as he also could relate to what you were saying. The sorcerers that he had fought and killed with his bare hands were all boring with no hint of excitement from any of the battles he had faced and here you were expressing the same distaste - they were boring. All of them.

‘Well, well little songbird, I got your attention, now you have mine,’

                                        ꕥ

“Sukuna?” you called out in a hushed surprised tone, as you unexpectedly found him sitting comfortably on the wooden corridor outside your room. Even since that little encounter back at the garden party, you have been seeing the special grade curse looming about here and there within your personal space, causing you to one day to finally acknowledge his presence that was constantly around you, only leading up where you both were now.

The excitement of these secret meetings that you both had late at night was the entertainment that you were looking for. The excitement of being so secretive with the man you desired to love but couldn’t to the outer world was the entertainment that no nobleman would ever provide you. It was the fact that this romantic link between you and Sukuna was forbidden that excited the both of you. This was the entertainment that you both desire.

“Hello, my little songbird,” Sukuna greeted you with a smirk before gently grabbing your hand to pull you down to his height - well more rather below his height - to meet eye to eye with you. “Didn’t you miss me?” he then teasingly asked, causing you to look away in a bashful expression because you knew that he knew what your answer was going to be. However, pushing your pride aside, you slowly wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace which then led him to place a hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place as he savoured the warmth that you were providing him.

“Where have you been? I was worried,” you stated to him, and even though it was a laughable comment to him since what was the point in worrying about him, he couldn’t help but appreciate the foreign concern that you had for him - it truly warmed his heart that you were here with him. “I was busy, now why don’t you sing for me, my little songbird, I do miss the sound of your sweet voice,” he declared to you before placing a few light open mouth kisses on your neck leading you to let out a soft moan of pleasure which seemed to put a smile on the curse’s face.

“What would you like for me to sing to you then?” You asked as you used your hand to gently run your hand through his hair which caused Sukuna to become relaxed and lower his guard within your embrace - the only time he allowed himself to do so and the only person that was allowed to see him in this state.

“Anything. Anything that you sing for me is enough”

To be held in your arms was what Sukuna always wanted and desired every day of his life, to hear your voice was something that made him forget about the world just like back at the garden party and the elegance that you embodied while playing the Koto was something he could never get out of his mind. You were his safe haven. His little songbird. However, that was 1000 years ago.

                                          ꕥ

Residing within his vessel, Sukuna began to wonder what could have caused him to start to reminisce about the past when clearly he couldn’t do anything to bring you back with him. You were gone. You have passed. There was nothing he could do even as a powerful curse himself to bring your back onto his arms and let you sing to him.

However, what could make do for now was the song that was annoyingly playing within the music store that his vessel - Itadori Yuji - decided to visit as it seemed like he was interested in what was new with his friend Fushiguro Megumi. Slowly, the King of Curses could hear the music beginning to fade, indicating that it was the end of it before another quickly began to play to replace the ending song.

Unlike the other song, this one was softer in tune with something being strummed in the background - just like how you would strum the strings of the Koto when he would ask you to play it for him to admire - to which was then sung on top with a female voice. Disinterested, Sukuna began to dissociate himself with the song that was now playing until another voice came in with the song, suddenly leaving him in a trance like the one he was back 1000 years ago at that garden party.

Sitting up from his position, he intensively listened closer making sure that his ears didn’t deceive him from what he thought he heard.

“Oi brat! Who is singing that song?”

“Ha? What do you want now?” his vessel replied, surprised and annoyed at the sudden appearance of the curse that was inside him. 

“What does Sukuna want now?” Fushiguro asked, slightly worried about what was happening and what could happen at this moment and time since they were in a public place filled with people.

“Answer the question before I rip your heart out again,” Sukuna threatened, slowing becoming impatient and desperate for an answer leaving Itadori no choice but for once cooperate with the special grade curse.

“From what I believe, it’s a group song called ‘Don’t know what to do’, I believe there are five girls within that group,” Itadori explained before he quickly stopped within his track to see a screen playing a stage performance of the exact same song being played in the store. “Yeah! There is the group, they are really well known in Japan since they’re are touring there, I think the youngest is the same age as me and Fushiguro” to which he pointed at a girl that he was explaining about.

Looking at the scene through Itadori’s eyes, Sukuna began to observe each and every single girl that was dancing on the stage before he paused his view on a certain girl that Itadori pointed, who was dressed in a white off the shoulder crop top that was long-sleeved with a white skirt paired with white trainers that matched with the rest of the girls within the group.

“Little songbird?” he quietly muttered, not believing what was presented in front of him at this current moment in time.

There was no doubt about it, that was you on the screen singing and dancing to a song that he slowly began to love once he heard your voice. You truly looked angelic as you gracefully danced across the stage somehow managing to maintain a stable singing voice that never disappointed him. You were back.

His little songbird.

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra. 

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too. 

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined. 

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation. 

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. 

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact. 

But I know those words were written for him all the same. 

Notes: 

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles​

[doublerainebow]

Artist Resources (Part 1?)

This is basically just going to be a bunch of resources I have found to be useful. I can’t say that I’ve used all of them, but I’m sure they’re all worth checking out.

I’m also gonna try to put a detailed description for most of the links so you have a better idea of what you’re getting. I apologize in advance if some of them are redundant lol

(I put “Part 1″ if in the case I make another one)

~Links to Tutorials, Tips, Resources, etc~

Another Resource List -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Apparently, the post isn’t mobile-friendly, so it’s suggested to view this on Tumblr browser. Has a bunch of other links. I’ve checked out a few of them (mainly the copyright stuff lol), and it seems that some of the links may be a bit outdated. Still, it doesn’t hurt to check out the links.

Arms and Legs -- Leads to another Tumblr post. A handy tutorial on elbow and knee placement.

Art & Game Dev -- This leads to my personal playlist of a bunch of YouTube videos. Has a bunch of tutorials and interesting videos that I’ve collected over the course of a few years lol.

Blamblot -- A website that contains resources and tutorials on comic lettering. This is primarily in reference to western comics, but it doesn’t help to take a looksie.

Commission Calculator -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Helps artists to stop selling themselves short.

Comparing Heights (hikaku-sitatter) -- A height comparer for centimeters.

Comparing Heights -- A height comparer for feet and inches.

Mouth Shapes and Lip-Syncing -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Useful for... drawing mouth shapes.

Reference Angle -- Useful for when you’re trying to map out a face from an odd angle.

Soft Proofing for Printing -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Helps when you’re trying to make prints of your artwork.

Textures -- A website full of different and mostly free textures. While this website is made for 3D texturing, it can also be useful for 2D drawings. Signing up gives you 15 free credits everyday, and you can use those credits to download some textures for free.

The Models Resource -- A website of models ripped from a wide array of games.

The Spriters Resource -- A website of sprites ripped from a wide array of games.

The Textures Resource -- A websites of textures ripped from a wide array of games. 

~Links to Stock Images~

Please check out whatever policies they may have for their images before using them!

(not sure if any of them are active anymore as I followed some of these accounts a long time ago when I used to be more active on Deviant Art lol)

adorkastock (formerly senshistock)

anatoref -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Has a bunch of hand photo references

charligal-stock

HumanAnatomy4Artist -- Does contain nudity

null-entity

PhelanDavion

RobynRose

~Links to Other Artists~

Akihito Yoshitomi -- Yoshitomi is a mangaka who has tutorials on manga making. He also has an insightful series in which he drafts and draws a 30-page manga in 18 days. Remember that every artist works differently and his process may be different from another’s.

Drawfee -- Drawfee is an improv drawing show of four artists: Nathan Yaffe, Jacob Andrews, Julia Lepetit, and Karina Farek. While they don’t have tutorials in a sense, their videos explain the different processes they go through as they draw. They also occasionally provide tips, tricks, and resources in their videos. They do have another channel and a Twitch channel where they host drawing classes in addition to other fun shenanigans.

EtheringtonBrothers -- Has a bunch of useful and eye-catching tutorials called “How to Think When You Draw”.

Mark Crilley -- Mark is a comic artist, specializing in manga, who has a bunch of tutorials about anatomy, perspective, comic making, and other things.

Miyuli -- Miyuli is an artist who posts tutorials on their Twitter. Their tutorials range from anatomy to clothing to other things. They even have a few books of art tips. Currently (as of the time of posting this), their 2018 version is free for download, so I highly recommend you download that. Some tips may be outdated, but they should still be helpful.

Whyt Manga (Twitter/YouTube) -- Odunze is a comic artist, specializing in manga, that has a bunch of tutorials on manga making and drawing characters of color.

~Links to Free Programs~

Blender -- A free 3D program if you’re into 3D modeling and such. I also personally haven’t used Blender (I use Maya lol), but I know it’s a respectable program.

Krita -- A free painting program if you can’t afford Photoshop or Clip Studio Paint. I personally haven’t used Krita, but I have recommended it to a few friends and they have positive reviews about it.

Paint Tool SAI -- Okay, this one isn’t free, but it’s a significantly cheaper painting program where you don’t have to pay a subscription. It’s 5,500JPY (~50 USD). I’m not sure how well it still works on modern computers (the last update was 2016), but I still use it here and there because I love the pen tool feature it has, and it still works like a charm for me.

~General Tips From Raine~

Raine admits that she’s guilty of not following her own advice, but Raine hopes that the tips that she does know will be beneficial to someone who will follow them. She’s also going to keep all her tips under the cut so as to not make this post a huge wall of text (even though it technically already is lol)

Also, if you have some resources, tutorials, tips yourself, please feel free to send them to me and maybe I’ll make a part 2 to this post!

ALWAYS LOOK FOR REFERENCE. This should really go without saying. You can’t draw from life if you refuse to observe life itself.

If you can’t find the exact thing you need, MAKE YOUR OWN REFERENCE. Time and time again, I can’t find something exactly that I need. So instead, what I do is that I take pictures of my own reference. Sometimes I even grab a friend and take pictures of them doing whatever it is I need.

Have a mirror handy when you’re drawing. Sometimes what you need is actually right there in front of you.

Having trouble drawing something? Do some studies. Take the time to understand what it is you’re drawing. I can’t remember the exact story, but I heard that the people who were working on Tarzan were having a hard time drawing his hands. So, what they did was spend a few hours looking at hands to try and understand how they work.

IT’S OKAY TO STUDY THE ART OF OTHER ARTISTS. Just as we look to the old masters as a reference, it’s definitely okay to look at modern-day artists for reference. Just don’t go copying exactly everything that they do, or worse, trace what they do. Just don’t do it... at all.

Not every line needs to be realized. The viewer of your work will automatically connect the dots.

DO NOT TRASH YOUR OLD DRAWINGS. Please, never ever do this. Your old drawings have value to them, even if they look terrible to you. Old drawings may hold ideas for things you could do for the future. They also serve as a way to see how far you’ve come as an artist.

GETTING BETTER AT DRAWING TAKES TIME AND EFFORT. You’re not gonna get better overnight. It’ll take months, or even years, to feel like you’re a competent artist, and even then, you’ll still have room for improvement.

DON’T LOOK DOWN ON YOURSELF IF YOU’RE TAKING A LONG TIME TO GET BETTER. It’ll be better for your mental health in the long run.

Alternatively, DON'T LOOK DOWN ON OTHER ARTISTS EITHER, ESPECIALLY TO MAKE YOURSELF FEEL BETTER. You know the struggles it took for you to get where you are, so don’t go putting down other people when you’ve been in their shoes once.

KEEP DRAWING. If you’re not making an effort to get better, then you’re not going to be better. I get that it’s hard to find the inspiration to draw (I’m very guilty of this), but just keep trying. It doesn’t have to be big or spectacular. You don’t even have to post it if you’re the type who likes to post their art stuff.

Try to find references from real-life. It’ll help you better understand form, lighting, shadows, etc., especially if you’re going for a more realistic kind of art style. Otherwise, finding reference from things like cartoons, anime, comics, etc. are just as good.

Try new things. Try new art mediums. Try a different art style. Switch up the way you do things. Maybe you’ll hate it, maybe you’ll like it. Who knows if you don’t try.

Watch time-lapses (or speed draws/speed paints) of other artists!

Pinterest and Google are your friends if you need tutorials or references or whatever.

If you’re offering commissions, DO NOT WORK UNDER YOUR LOCAL MINIMUM WAGE. You are literally devaluing the work you actually put into a piece.

I like to think I’m an aficionado of Photoshop, so feel free to ask me questions on how to achieve something! I’ve used Photoshop for about 11 years now and know my way around the program. On another note, I do recommend setting custom keyboard shortcuts in Photoshop because the default shortcuts are terrible (in my opinion), and because having custom shortcuts increases the speed of your workflow.

Because I’ve been seeing this a lot lately in Twitter, you’re never too old to start in art. Art is just one of those things that anyone can pick up at any age because the only thing you really need to get good in art is time, diligence, and patience.

Try not to post hi-res images of your artwork to prevent art stealers from selling your artwork in high resolution.

Always, always, always add your signature and watermark on your artwork. I like to add my signatures and watermarks in places that’ll be hard to erase or crop out. I’ve also seen people add their signatures and watermarks in creative ways (ex. on a character’s shirt). You need to protect your work in an era where people will just blatantly steal it and make profit off your work.

Tag List

@reality-is-often-disappointing

[doexoeyes]

Of Finches & Firsts

Ok so here’s a fic I actually have on Wattpad and AOO3 but I decided to bring over here. On those sites I wrote a character for this story, but on here it’s gonna be Draco x Reader ♡ Only thing to note is that your last name in this story would be Finch (so to make sense of the title and some other little parts of the story) as well as you’re a Hufflepuff. Sorry to the other houses,I adore you all but Draco and a Hufflepuff is just to juicy to pass up (in the first book he literally say’s they’re the worst) so just trust me when I tell you that it’s all for the story. Anyways I hope you enjoy and if you’re interested in reading the original, here are the links:

Archive Of Our own link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707513

Wattpad link:

https://my.w.tt/ZoUHpu1e59

Summary: "A Hufflepuff? Crushing on a Slytherin? Sounds like the start of a terrible joke to me, but ok." You’ve harbored feelings for Draco Malfoy since your first year at Hogwarts. Secretly, of course, and very much from afar. But when you’re finally taken out of your role of being a background character in his life, will it be what you always wanted, or what you wish you never knew?

         Chapters

Chapter 1 ♡ Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Firsts Of Many

The first time you ever saw Draco Malfoy was at the sorting hat ceremony your first year at Hogwarts. You thought he was striking upon first sight, with his silver grey eyes contrasting with his nearly white hair. You knew he would leave a lasting impression upon whoever looked at him, and you very much envied him for it. You felt like you were as plain a Jane as they came, especially when compared to him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him for the rest of the night, drawn to, not just his features, but the mysterious aura that surrounded him.

When your name had gotten called for the sorting, you were incredibly nervous for many reasons:

1. For the house you were going to be sorted into that would shape your life for the next 7 years.

2. For the several hundreds of eyes watching you go up the steps.

3. For the white haired boy who you seemed to have developed the tiniest little crush on.

Thankfully, you made it up without tripping and making a complete fool of yourself and were pleasantly surprised to find out that the house you'd be sorted into was:

"Hufflepuff," the storing hat declared, and a thunderous applause followed suit.You smiled, looking towards the table with the yellow cladded students as they cheered and waved you over. You couldn't wait to tell your father, who was a proud Hufflepuff himself, that you were now one, too.

When it's Draco's turn to be sorted, you made sure to pay very close attention. A small silly part of you wanted to cross your fingers and hope that he'd somehow be sorted into Hufflepuff just like you.

Of course, that was a very optimistic wish.

"Slytherin," the hat announced, and all those hopes quickly came tumbling down because if there was one house you knew you weren’t going to be able to fit in with, it was Slytherin.

There went your chances of being potentially noticed by Draco Malfoy.

Letting out a sigh, you were able to manage a small smile as you clapped for the boy along with the rest of your fellow schoolmates.

You spent the entire year making new friends, learning spells, studying up for exams, and never having the opportunity to talk to Draco, your only regret of the year.

For Draco, his first year at Hogwarts consisted of him developing the reputation of being the school's bully. Most of his antics we concentrated heavily on Harry Potter and his friends, but he truly didn't spare anyone that wasn't a part of his Slytherin crew.

Still, this didn't lessen the small crush you had on him since the day of the sorting. Despite his actions, you really felt that the boy was much more than what he projected to the world.

The first time you ever got to talk to Draco Malfoy was during your second year, when you had accidentally run into him as you rushed to your potions class.

You were too busy worrying about making it in time to class, really not wanting a reason to make Snape chastise you, that you had forgotten to pay attention to your surroundings. A disastrous recipe for running into someone, which was exactly what ended up happening.

"Hey!" he said with a grunt as his books fell from his hands.

You, mortified, hardly even noticed it was Draco at first, as you immediately leaned down to pick up his books.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I'm a complete klutz. I should've been paying more attention, I just-" as you got back up from the floor, books recovered & in your arms, you froze as your eyes made contact with his striking silver ones.

"Yeah, you definitely should have! Next time, try not to run into your superiors, first year," he said in distaste, brushing off the sleeves of his robe.

You stood there, shocked into silence, feeling your cheeks warm and mentally trying to coach yourself through the moment.

Take a breath, don't sound so nervous.

"A-actually, we're in the same year. I...umm...I first saw you at the sorting, but we had History of Magic together. I sat a row ahead of you," you corrected, biting your lip.

He tore his gaze away from his sleeves and locked eyes with you again, a chill going down your spine.

"Really? Strange. I don't remember you. Then again, you Hufflepuffs are so forgettable," he stated with a roll of his eyes. 

"I'll take those," he said as he grabbed the books from your hands and walked off.

Just like that.

 No 'thank you', no apology. Not even an offer to walk you to class which you happened to share this year as well.

You watched him walk away, cheeks definitely as red as Gryffindor's robes at this point, feeling dejected and absolutely embarrassed. You always imagined what your first conversation with Draco would be, as pitiful as that sounded, but in your head it definitely never went like this.

You ended up late to potions class and got lectured by Snape in front of the whole class, including Draco himself and wondered if he remembered who you were, or if he once again erased you from his head and permanently labeled you as a 'forgettable Hufflepuff'.

The rest of the year went on as normal after that, nothing too special.

The first time you really understood what your feelings for Draco Malfoy were was in your third year, on the train ride to Hogwarts.

You watched from the window as the train passed through the lush scenery of grand trees & clear blue skies, hands fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. Your best friend, Mauve Ambrose, was seated beside you, gossiping about potential romances ("I think Ginny is head over heels for that Harry Potter kid and everyone knows it. Except, you know, that Harry Potter kid.") and who was to have the 'biggest glow up' of their entire year group ("My money is on Longbottom. Remember that I called it, ok. I want a witness to prove that I said it first.").

Hearing the candy trolley pass by, you perked up and politely excused yourself from your friend, walking out of the compartment. Your eyes searched for the trolley, determined to make it to it before the last of the chocolate frogs were taken, and caught it making its way towards the back of the train.

When you approached the trolley, you waited for the attendant to continue on along with one of the students as they picked out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Once the attendant turned towards you, you smiled wide, ready to request a chocolate frog, when you felt someone approach from behind you.

"A chocolate frog for me, yeah? And make sure it doesn't have Dumbledore's card. I have like 10 of that old bat," said a familiar, snarky voice.

You turned and your breath immediately caught in your throat; it was Draco Malfoy.

"You're in luck, there was only one left. Although, I can't really confirm if this one has a Dumbledore or not..." the attendant said, handing him the box.

You frowned a rather sad frown, disappointed. Perhaps one would blame the Malfoy boy for taking your turn (you did get there first after all) but in truth, he wanted what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to get it.

In your mind, all was fair in candy and war.

"Hey, aren't you the girl who ran into me last year? The Hufflepuff?" he asked, eyes looking you up and down.

You felt so small in his presence. Although you were both about the same height your first year together, he towered over you at this point in time.

"I...y-yeah. That's me. Umm...my name's Y/N, actually. And congrats on the frog. I came to get one but you managed to get the last one," you said, trying to keep it cool on the outside when on the inside you were a mess of nerves.

You really wanted Draco to like you. Not in a big, important way, no. Just enough to remember your name, at least.

He continued on staring at you silently, even when you finished talking. His gaze felt like a microscope on you and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

"You have weirdly shaped eyes," he says bluntly after a moment and you really wished you knew a spell that would have the floor swallow you whole.

"Umm...." you were unable to come up with a response.

You wish you were witty or funny or charismatic, but socializing did at times become quite difficult for you, and you weren't gifted with a quick mind or a sharp tongue.

"Anyways, I'm gonna go enjoy my frog now," he said as he walked away.

You were not surprised to feel the slight sting of tears forming in your eyes. You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down. You hated the fact that you were actually so sensitive. Your parents tried to make you feel better about it, stating that it just meant that you had a big heart.

“Well,” you thought, “if having a big heart meant it was easy for me to cry, then it didn't seem like a very good thing to have”.

Keeping your tears at bay (at least until you could sit down and put your sweater over your head so no one could see), you walked over to your compartment.

It was when you were nearly there that Draco's head popped out from his compartment's sliding door, startling you. You let out a small yelp, putting your hand over your mouth almost immediately after.

"Here, have this," he stated simply, as he reached his hand out towards you.

To your surprise, it was the chocolate frog box Your eyes widened, staring at it before cautiously retrieving it from his hand, switching your gaze back to him.

"I only wanted it for the card, and it's another stupid Dumbledore one" he claims, and before you could say anything, he slides the door shut, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the walkway, chocolate frog in hand.

It was then that you noticed that the box had its wrapping still in tact, meaning it was never opened in the first place.

Once you made it to your compartment and sat back down in your seat ("Nice! You got Celestina Warbeck," Mauve stated excitedly as she opened the box for you), You realized that your little crush on Draco Malfoy had turned into an actual one.

The first time you ever got to experience what it was like to fall in love with Draco Malfoy was in your fourth year at Hogwarts, a few weeks before the Yule Ball.

[vocalyunho]

Skilled.

pairing — Yunho x reader (fem).

genre — smut [hand kink]

word count — 1.9k

warnings & tags — clit play, digital penetration (fingering), cum eating

synopsis — Yunho’s hands were always your biggest weakness… and now that he’s aware of it, writing isn’t the only thing he’ll be using them for.

(a/n — fellow Yunho’s hands enthusiasts, I’m sorry)

“Pleeeease, tell me and I’ll tell you mine”

“No”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, we all have one or more”

“Not everyone does”

“I’m sure you do, though”

Yunho has been trying to make you talk about your kinks and seems like he won’t give up easily on that... It’s not like you’re ashamed of yourself for having them, but speaking to him about a particular one makes you really shy, especially because it has to do with him.

“Come on, babyyyyy”, Yunho spoke from the middle of the bed as he faced you.

“Yunhooo”

“okay here, I’ll start...I like having my hair pulled”, he’s looking at you intensely but his gaze got softer at the end, like he got embarrassed of you knowing that.

“really?” you shifted in your seat against the headboard and your eyes got wider.

“yeah, I mean kinda”

“I... always pull your hair”

“I know” he spoke softly, looking everywhere but you.

How could you not realise this is a kink of his? He always moans against you when you pull his hair as you make out or when he bites on your neck hard.

“I’ll keep doing it then”, you said softly and he glanced at your lips for a moment before bringing his eyes up to meet yours.

“your turn, let’s go” his voice, suddenly, got higher.

“I never agreed to that”

“I told you one of mine!”

“okay and?”

“Come ooon, that’s not fair...I can’t be the only one exposed here”, he pouted like this really hurt him.

“oof oKAY big baby”

“yayy”

“okay, I like...you”

“you better”

“No, I mean I like the way you look, your height and your hands”, you’re trying to look at him, but gradually your eyes fell on your lap. That’s so awkward and your heart’s beating faster.

“what about them?”, you don’t look at him, but a smile has creeped on his lips.

“how they’re so big compared to mine and how they...feel and look on me”

“how they feel on you?”, he moved closer to your side.

“y-yeah...like, how they make me feel small under your touch and how I can hold one of your fingers with my entire palm”

“and what else?”

“and how you caress my skin softly and then grab me harshly by the sides or my thighs and the veins pop out”. At this point, your mind’s travelling to these thoughts as you’re looking at your lap, without noticing that you keep talking until...

“...and how I want them inside me so bad”, your head snapped when you realised what you said and your hand covered your mouth fast.

“I...didn’t mean that”

“which one?”, he cocked a brow.

“the—last part”

“the part about you wanting my fingers inside you?”

“y-yeah”

“So...you don’t want me to do this?”, he came closer to your body as you sat against the headboard and slowly pushed your knees down to the mattress.

“n-no”

“not even this?” he sat on his heels, looking at your face but his hand came in contact with your covered clit and rubbed it softly. You bit down on your lip trying not to let the strangled noise that creeps up your throat to come out.

“answer me” he whispered.

“y-yes”

“yes what?”

“yes I want”

“and what else?”

“Yunho, p-please” your head dropped to the headboard as the bundle of nerves started getting aroused.

“what else, baby?”

“I want them b-buried inside me”, your eyes feel heavy and your eyebrows furrow and unfurrow like they have a mind of their own.

“as I do what?”, he’s circling faster.

“as you...mphp-”

“as I?”

“shit Yunho, just finger me!!”, you whined loudly.

“what my baby wants, she gets”

He parted his hand and took your pyjama pants off with a smooth move before dropping them somewhere on the floor. Just like you realised what you’ve asked him to do, your legs closed fast but he pushed them open again to fit his body in between you and kiss you soflty.

“how long have you been thinking about this?” His lips hovered over yours, your noses touching as his hand went on the side of your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Since the first time you touched me”, you whispered and he locked his lips back onto yours in a hungrier kiss. His hands travelled around your body, caressing every part softly. From your neck, to your shoulders and then your sides, until he reached your thighs where he grabbed one of them harshly from the inner part. You moaned and he took the chance to slip his tongue in your mouth, swirling it around and feeling yours. He squeezed your thigh and you let both your legs hit the mattress completely, before biting his lower lip as your hands found their way to the back of his head, grabbing his hair harshly. It’s like his previous words triggered you more and you pulled his hair harder than other times, not enough to hurt him though. A guilty choked moan filled your mouth and you giggled against him...who would have thought that just some pulling would have such an effect on him? His body’s so close to yours, you’re feeling his dick hardening against your panties and you keep getting wetter and wetter by the second.

Suddenly, he parted from your lips and looked down as his fingers played with the little bow on the hem of your underwear, “that’s cute”, he chuckled and shoved his hand under it. His palm rested on you and you noticed how his size covered your sopping wet core all the way from your clit to your entrance. He’s looking at you and when you felt the tips of his fingers muffle around your hole, you flinched visibly but he only laughed. You need him right now, “Yunho, please” your mind took over you, already imagining how he’d feel inside you “I’m begging you”, your voice came out in a whisper until he slid two fingers effortlessly in and you whined at the sudden stretch.

“ohmygod-”, you grabbed his shoulder and your head fell forward looking how his fingers disappeared in you.

Letting them go only halfway in, he rested them for a while and then pumped them in and out slowly, adding pressure with his palm on your clit as he did. The wetness made his actions smooth and easy, and just that made you tense up.

“You’re so wet” he said and the muscles on his arm flexed as he quickened his pace sensibly making the veins pop out at the effort. You body moved to the rhythm of his pumping and his free hand grabbed your shoulder trying to keep you steady.

“g-give me more”

When he added a third finger and pushed them all all the way in, you suddenly regretted asking him for more, but feeling him deeper now only made you more desperate. The thought of Yunho making you come only by his fingers, made your mind hazy and bringing your hand up, you grabbed his, that held onto your shoulder and guided it around your neck. He met your gaze fast, like he didn’t expect you to do anything like that, and wrapped his fingers around your throat firmly.

“a choking kink too, huh?” he chuckled and squeezed the sides of your neck.

A knot appeared in your stomach and the wetness from your cunt increased making the pumping of his fingers squelchier. Both of his hands are on you, in you, driving you to your climax, like it’s nothing. “Yunho- ohmygod” your eyes rolled back when he pumped faster and both your hands wrapped around the one that’s on your neck. “I love your—hands so much-”,feeling his thumb pressing on your clit, you gasped and your hips backed up in an attempt to make him do it stronger. Your lips parted in a silent scream as the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter by the second and he pressed the sides of your neck harder cutting the air inflow slightly. He’s thrusting his fingers faster than he’s ever thrusted his dick in you and stars appeared in front of your eyes.

“fu-uck you’re so skilled-”, you cried out but a small smile appeared on your lips instinctively.

“Come on my fingers, baby”. The effort made him groan before closing the remaining gap between your bodies as he kissed your lips hard. He shoved his tongue in your mouth and swirled it around. “shiit-right t-there”, you backed out but he didn’t hesitate to link your lips again and drink your moans like they’d get him drunk in you. Your whimpers controlled you and your eyebrows furrowed, only for him to curl his fingers in your hole sending you in another dimension.

“fuuck mpph-”, your walls clenched around the tiny muscles and he opened the space between your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful baby”, he whispered taking in your fucked out features.

“fuckin’ Christ YUNHO” he circled them around and pumped them fast.

“ohmygod I’m gonna co-ome”

“that’s right baby, come for me”

It felt like there was nothing better than this moment, all your senses are focused on him, on how he finger fucks you leading you to your climax only with his hands.

Your own hands around his wrists travelled up, feeling every vein popping out as the hold on your throat got looser making it easier to breathe. You’re so close, but you need more, just a little more...your hips started grinding against his fingers to feel him deeper and the sound of your wetness getting fucked back into you only made your thighs and upper body tremble more now.

“I’m co-ming ” you can’t keep your hips up anymore, he’s just fucking you fast and sloppy.

“give it all to me, baby”

“Oh my go-od ”

You hands left his arm flopping on your sides as you came on his fingers, still being inside you. Cries left your mouth and your head would’ve hit the headboard if Yunho hadn’t grabbed your nape to keep you up. Your body’s spasming on its own and incoherent words make their way out of your parted lips as Yunho pulls out slowly letting your cum drip on the sheets under you. He came closer to your face and kissed you before bringing his fingers in front of you “suck them” you took them in your mouth, tasting yourself “that’s it...nice and slow”, the taste’s bitter but leaves a sweet aftertaste in the back of your throat. You swirled your tongue around them, not leaving his eyes for a second. Just the thought that they were in you moments ago and now in your mouth gets you high. His lips are parted and his eyebrows furrowed, just like when you blow him. Except now it’s the complete opposite, you’re the one receiving, but the fully erected dick in his pants seems demanding.

You left his fingers with a pop and licked your lips for any remaining juices, always looking at his eyes and him at yours.

“Fuck, I think I came just by seeing you sucking my fingers dry”

You rested your head back, laughing at his statement “I think I come everyday just by looking at your hands”.

[crab-in-a-pocket]

#2 w/ farmer/elliott perhaps?

thank you!! damn that was fast, haha. so, since i'm writing this as a little drabble/super super short fic, let me introduce to you my farmer, nick. three essential things you must know about her: she's tall, she's got light feet, and she has a source that tells her almost everything she needs to know about the town. by tall i mean 5'11 which isnt too far off from elliott's height acc to this guide:

so many of you guys are asking for elliott content and another person asked for the same prompt but flustered elliott so i'll respond to that with a link to this :) this is adorable and so cute so here ya go:

2- “No no no, sorry! I just-… I honestly didn’t think you even knew my name.”

Elliott stretches in his seat, his joints popping with disuse. It's nearly the afternoon and he needs a change of view-- his inspiration's dragging at the sight of the worn plank walls and the atmosphere in his rather cramped cabin. In fairness, it's cozy when he returns home from the crowded saloon, but right now, what he really needs is a healthy dose of sea air.

Elliott rises and leaves his desk as it is, taking his coat off the back of his chair. He pushes it back with a scrape and turns to the door, pulling it open. A creak echoes through his tiny shack, but it's drowned by the sudden sound of waves crashing on the shore and the calling seagulls.

He locks the door behind him and admires the view. He had been so enamored by the view that he didn't hesitate to lease the cabin from its previous owner when he first came-- then, regret set in when he realized that the owner really meant shack. The view always made up for it, though. It's a world of difference compared to Zuzu City and that just made it so much better.

"Oh, what's that?" Elliott says to himself, noticing something strange. He quickens his strides and inspects the oddity-- the broken plank bridge is no longer broken. His lips quirk up into a smile of delight and bemusement. He had always wanted to properly explore the other side of the river's mouth but who had fixed it...?

He tests the bridge with a foot. He can swim and the river isn't too large, but he's not aure how deep it is. To Elliott's astonishment, the bridge doesn't wobble under his weight. It's structurally sound-- did Robin fix it?

Elliot hurries across the bridge and catches sight of the tideland. He heads towards it and grins when he sees the little creatures and the crabs scuttling around, careful to avoid disturbing them. He looks at each and every tidepool and only then does he notice the footprints in the sand, shallow and barely noticeable.

Elliott turns to look at the old docks and he's surprised to see the silhoutte of a person fishing-- and evidently struggling. Elliott considers going to see who that mysterious person is (clearly not Willy, the stranger's not nearly as scruffy) but he takes another look at the rotting wood and changes his mind.

He'll meet whoever it is if they come back to land soon. In truth, he's hoping that it's the newcomer-- the new granger living on the very nearly abandoned Salem Farm. Leah's offered him a fair amount of gossip that she overheard in the Saloon and presented it to him with a surprising eagerness.

"I didn't quite catch her name, I would've asked Marnie but she wasn't there. First, she's tall. I'm not quite sure how tall but Mayor Lewis said she's taller than him, which isn't really much, honestly, but she's supposed to be pretty tall. He vaguely gestured around here," she had said, making a cut movement somewhere around Elliott's chin. "She's also very nice but hard-to-read, which Mayor Lewis complained about. I don't think it's so much of a problem, personally."

Leah had carried on with more waffle but it sufficed to say that Elliott wasn't very intrigued with those pieces of information. It was only when he caught sight of her inside the Saloon just as she was about to leave and just as he returned from the loo.

He didn't quite catch the sound of her voice, unfortunately, but he did catch a glimpse of short, dark hair, deeply tanned skin, and one elegant, long-fingered hand waving goodbye. And that was it.

Elliott's got a thing for intriguing not-quite-meetings and airs of mystery, to put it lightly, and he found himself writing about this short-haired, nameless, faceless person.

"Hey, Elliott. How goes it?"

Elliott jolts, nearly falling into the tide pool as he whirls around and almost comes face to face with a stranger. His face has probably done that one comical expression of surprise that Leah never fails to laugh at. Oh, hell, he didn't even hear her come close!

"Oh, sorry about that. I didn't mean to startle you," the stranger says, taking a step back and holding out her hand. "Nicola Salem, local newcomer. You can call me Nick. You must be Elliott, you live on that old shack there, don't you?"

Elliott hesistantly takes her hand. His face feels hot with embarassment. If there is something he believes in, it's probably that first impressions matter and he's never going to recover from this encounter.

"I-- yes, I live in the shack. I mean-- yes, I'm Elliott. Pleasure to meet you, Nicola," he says. Much to his displeasure, it comes out in a slight stammer. Ah, fuck.

"I never did catch your last name, but it doesn't matter, there aren't many other redhead writers named Elliott living in dilapidated shacks on the beach, are there? And I said you could call me Nick. No formalities here, don't worry."

Elliott smiles-- she's rather cheeky. Nick's much, much prettier than he expected. And... much taller. Her eyes are large and a curious shade of what's usually called hazel-- instead, he doesn't limit her eye color to a word and tries not to stare at the brilliant shades of blue, brown, and green. She's as tanned as she last was-- oh, she has dimples.

His face is probably as red as his hair, an unflattering shade of pink, but he steadies his voice to maintain some semblance of dignity. He opens his mouth to speak when he realizes that he's been staring at her a moment too long.

"Say, I've come off too strong, haven't I? I'm terribly sorry, Elliott, I really must've startled you. If you'd prefer, I'm not too busy later and... we can properly introduce ourselves at the Saloon, what do you say? Drinks on me if you're going. And you don't have to accept the invitation either, I don't mind."

Nick winces and takes another step back, a disconcerted look on her face.

Elliott takes a step forward. “No, no, no, sorry, it's fine! It's fine. I just-- I honestly didn’t think you even knew my name. So, it's fine. You startled me, yes, but I'm perfectly fine, now.”

"Oh. Oh, well, then, I'm glad," she replies uncertainly.

"I think I'll take you up on that invitation, if it's still open," Elliot offers, finally recovering from his brief moments of awkwardness. "I certainly don't mean to impose."

Nick stares at him for second, and then two. Then, she smiles widely. "Sure, sure, eight o'clock, then! I'll-- I'll see you around!" She turns away from him, a hand up in goodbye.

"Yes, same to... you," Elliott replies, trailing off as Nick vanishes from sight.

He shakes his head he turns to leave the tideland. Cloth sticks to his ankle-- grimacing, he peels off the wet cuffs of his trousers and heads back across the river to his shack. He was so distracted he didn't notice!

Elliott enters his cabin again. It no longer looks cramped. Pulling the chair towards him, he revels in its clatter and scrape. He gets to writing, glancing at the clock to note the time.

Four more hours.

Elliott turns back to his papers, smiling to himself.

[pressedinthepages]

Relief

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Eskel

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n:  Reader Request: [Hiya! I’m not uh sure if your still taking requests or not and I’m not entirely sure if this is the place that I should be making a request? But uhm I had an idea that like Hurt +Comfort where Eskel is being held captive somewhere/ being hurt n stuff and like Geralt rescues his bf bc there really isn’t enough whump of Eskel and Geralt being the knight in shining armour we all know he is.or enough of Eskel being loved by his family ( also I just love the feels lmao) Take care! Dee xx] Ok first of all I am so sorry that this took so McFreakin' long to write. I just got a promotion at work recently (yay!) so my hours have doubled and there has been a bit of a...transition period that I've been stuck in (boo.) But! I really enjoyed writing this while I had a moment or two of peace, and I really hope you enjoy it :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, nameless mage being a Grade A Dick

Eskel finds himself in a bit of a bind without a soul nearby to help. Or...so he thinks.

    Eskel liked to think that he was a smart man. He trained hard, keeping himself in a state to face any foe thrown at him. His bestiary was filled with notes and addendums written in his own hand, filling in the blanks with more detailed descriptions from his encounters. 

    But, Eskel was still human. And, just like any human, could be taken down by a swift bonk to the back of the head with a big stick. 

    And that’s precisely why Eskel found himself, hours later, kneeling on the floor of some ancient ruins with his hands bound behind his back. His armor had been stripped away, leaving him in his tunic and trousers. His muscles strained as he twisted and flexed his arms to no avail, and he heard a voice filter in from the far corner of the room. 

    “Ah, ah. I’m afraid that struggling won’t do you much good,” a man with a voice that nipped at the ends of Eskel’s nerves stepped into the light, “They’re dimeritium. Quite expensive.”

    Eskel sighed to himself. Dimeritium severely narrowed his options for escape. Signs were useless, and the man had seemingly trapped Eskel within an invisible barrier that would keep him within the confines of the magic. Eskel took a cursory glance at his surroundings. A small table rested in the corner from which the man had approached, and atop said table were his swords and potion pack. Why would he keep those out? Eskel wondered, No matter. Can’t very well force my way out, guess I’ll have to outsmart him. 

    He focused his senses, attempting to quell the sounds within the tiny room to listen for others. Eskel couldn’t hear a thing lingering outside of the area, so either this mage had some very silent friends, or was an idiot who decided to take on a Witcher alone. 

    Eskel would put his money firmly on the second. 

    His attention was swiftly brought back to the mage by a faint jingling as he moved closer to Eskel. Oh, for fu- he didn’t even bother hiding the key. 

    The mage crouched in front of Eskel, resting on the balls of his feet just outside of the invisible barrier and looking Eskel straight in the eyes. “I believe you will serve my purposes well, Witcher.”

    Eskel cocked his head to the side with a scrunch of his brow. “Just what are you hoping to get out of this? You’ve already taken all of my stuff, can’t possibly be holding me for ransom. Nobody out there would want me that badly, hmm. Maybe-”

    “Enough.” The mage was curt as he spun back to his table. “Your voice is truly grating on my ears, Witcher. Though I must say that it matches the rest of you quite well.”

    Eskel narrowed his eyes, having found a way to weasel into the mage’s brain. If he could just keep talking... “I have heard that before, my young niece once compared it to that of a dog’s bark.”

    The mage hummed, glancing over his shoulder at Eskel before resuming his pilfering through Eskel’s bags. He knew that there wasn’t really anything of import in there, shit except for maybe-

    “Sweet Gods, is this a Greater Chernobog Runestone?” The mage breathed, pulling the dark stone into the light.

    Eskel sighed and cleared his throat. “That, uh, is exactly correct. I just recently stumbled across it and wanted to add it to my silver sword, but if you wanted to maybe trade-”

    The mage barked out a laugh as he stowed the precious stone into his robes. “Or,” he shrugged with a smirk, “I could just take it.”

    Eskel nodded, “Or you could just take it. That’s fine. You know, I could show you how to craft runestones of your own-”

    “I think that’s quite enough of that.” Eskel whipped his head around to find Geralt dropping from the top of one of the crumbling columns. A few stray pebbles tumbled to the ground as Geralt stood to his full height and unsheathed his sword. 

    The mage smiled just a little too wide, stepping forward in Eskel’s direction. He could hear Geralt’s heart, a slow and steady thrum beating across the room into his own chest. The mage’s heart, on the other hand, matched the nervous breaths spilling from his lungs, shallow and shaky. 

    As Geralt came around to Eskel’s front he subtly raised a brow, are you alright?

    Eskel winked and shrugged, been worse.

    Geralt’s hand tightened on his sword. The blade glowed bright blue with runes and inscriptions that flashed with the flex of his wrist. “What did you want with him?”

    The mage’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two Witchers. Eskel knew that it wouldn’t be too much longer now, but Geralt sometimes could be, well...dramatic. 

    Geralt, right on cue, hummed low in his throat as he took in the quivering mage. “Well?” He asked, “We’re waiting.”

    The mage stammered and glanced back to Eskel’s swords on the table. He suddenly reached out towards them and the steel sword flew across the room. The hilt landed firmly into the mage’s outstretched palm and his fingers wrapped around it, and then his shoulder dropped as the immense weight of the sword knocked him off balance. 

    “Melitele’s tits, why is this so heavy?” The mage grit his teeth as he tried to swing the sword up and around to meet Geralt, but he was already three steps behind. Geralt stood before him and swung high as the mage screamed, quickly lopping his head off and letting the ruins fall silent once more. 

    Eskel sighed as he felt the containment of the invisible barrier dissipate into the air. Geralt knelt at the mage’s side, searching his pockets and untying the key. “Guess we’ll never know what he wanted with me.”

    Geralt grunted as he stood back up and walked around behind Eskel. His fingers were warm on Eskel’s wrists while he unlocked the shackles and let them clatter to the floor. Geralt held them there for a heartbeat longer, feeling the blood pumping under his freed skin. Eskel held his breath, more scared now that he’d open his eyes and Geralt would be gone than he had been throughout the entire ordeal with the mage. 

    “You were wrong,” Geralt finally rumbled, the vibrations singing through Eskel’s bones. 

Eskel looked over his shoulder, “About?”

“No one wanting you bad enough to come and find you.” Geralt wouldn’t look at him, he just kept his eyes on where his fingers still rested on Eskel’s wrists. Eskel moved his hands up and slowly intertwined their fingers and he felt more than heard the hitch in Geralt’s breath. 

“I’d cross the Continent a thousand times over for you,” Geralt whispered, only barely more than a shaky breath. Eskel closed his eyes and exhaled, letting his body sink back against Geralt’s chest. 

“You shouldn’t have to-”

“But I would. In a heartbeat. I...I’d even go through a portal if it meant finding you again.”

Eskel chuckled at the pained tone in Geralt’s voice, “Never thought I’d hear you say that, Wolf.”

Geralt leaned his head down so that his forehead pressed against the crown of Eskel’s head. He smelled of stale blood and the granite stone beneath them, and orange blossoms and cedar. Like home. 

“You deserve it. Always.”

Eskel moved slowly, turning so that he knelt facing Geralt with their hands still clasped together. “So do you. Thank you, Geralt. For everything.”

He lifted one of his hands to cup the sharp line of Geralt’s jaw. He could feel the couple of days’ worth of stubble scratch his palm and the shiny notch of a crescent scar on his chin. Eskel leaned forward first, close enough to hold their air between them between a single pinch of his fingers. Geralt met him halfway, his free hand finding Eskel’s hip and squeezing softly as their lips finally met. 

Geralt’s lips were chapped and warm between Eskel’s, and he tasted of the dust in the air and pine needles and sweet berries. Like home. 

Eskel slid his hand up and back into Geralt’s hair as he deepened the kiss. Geralt groaned into his mouth as their noses bumped against each other, his fingers tightening their hold on Eskel’s tunic. 

They could’ve stayed there for days, reacquainting themselves after too long apart. But they didn’t. They breathed each other in, their foreheads resting together and their eyes drinking in every inch that they can see. 

“You’re sure that you’re alright?” Geralt murmured, knowing well that they would need to leave before the fast-approaching nightfall.

Eskel nodded, taking one last deep breath of the two of them together. “I am now, Wolf. I am now.”

[ilguna]

Anteric - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. GORE, HEAVY BLOOD, FIGHTING, PAIN.

wc; 10.3k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

There’s only a few people that can get ready without complaining. And proudly, you can say that you’re one of them. With Finnick, Thyme and Allio being the other three that had practically gone untouched from yesterday’s fights. Well, actually, Finnick did go untouched, but that’s for obvious reasons.

You watch the other initiates move around the dormitory, all varying in the ways they hold themselves because of their injuries. Amos’ face is swollen, thanks to Thyme’s fists--which was split at her knuckles because of how spread out her skin had been. She didn’t find this out until after the fight, when Amos’ blood had been wiped off and she could see why her hands were stinging so badly.

Amos also has an arm wrapped around his ribs, where Thyme had kicked him. He’s been rotating ice packs since last night, so he’s got one pressed to his cheekbone right now. It looks like he might end up with a black eye by the end of the week. Too bad it won’t get any time to heal. All your injuries will just keep piling on until the physical stage of the initiation is over.

Finnick’s victim, Eytelle, does everything she can to avoid touching her jaw. Unlike Amos, it seems like she has some sort of pride about not using ice to make it feel better. Her face will occasionally twist when she opens her mouth to speak, so you’re happy to say that her smartass Candor mouth won’t be running today.

And finally, Trink is the worst out of everyone in the room. Even compared to Amos, who didn’t go down easily when he went up against Thyme, is better than her. Trink has been complaining about a headache in her temple since yesterday, and each time she brings it up, she’ll glare at you. You ignored it the first couple of times, but you went ahead and reminded her that she had a chance to give up, and she didn’t.

The only person missing from the dormitory today is Ossie, she didn’t come into the room last night before the lights were turned out. So, you’re going to take a good guess that she’s in the medical unit that they have here in Dauntless. If that’s the case, you’re nota ll that surprised, there’s no way that she should be authorized to come back into the ring if she’s seriously hurt.

However, if she doesn’t recover soon, she’ll end up being cut. Caspian won’t exempt her from the rankings, because it’s not fair if he does. To someone else, it’d be unfair because she can’t control how fast her healing process is. If she jumps right back into it, she risks injuring herself even more, which could then make a permanent problem. But, it’s perfectly fair. She couldn’t defend herself inside of the arena, therefore she needs to step up her game.

Or she’s not cut out to be in Dauntless.

It’s a ruthless faction for a reason.

The aptitude test can tell you what faction you’re made for, but when you’re face to face with other initiates that fit the requirements better, suddenly you don’t measure up. You’d like to say that at some point, Dauntless wasn’t always like this, and they didn’t cut most of the initiates like they do now. But something changed, which then prompted for Dauntless to become a harder faction to get into. 

And it makes perfect sense, at least to you. Dauntless is supposed to be the police, security, the ones who watch the wall and what may be on the outside. Dauntless is the army that would be called on if it were needed. There’s a saying that every army is as strong as their weakest link. And in Dauntless, no one is supposed to be weak. They want to eliminate that problem, so initiation continues to get harder to only allow in the persistent initiates. The ones that can handle Dauntless.

Anyway, if Ossie isn’t careful, she’ll be the first of the four to be cut in the first stage. You’re not sure how long the first stage lasts, or how many fights you have to cycle through before you’re finally over, but she’ll need a comeback. Just like everyone else who lost their first match. Otherwise, they’re just going to find themselves factions. Which, in a way, would probably be a better option than running themselves into the ground. At least then they’d have a chance at living.

For them, being factionless may always be an option. But you think that you’d rather die trying to get into Dauntless than live with the shame of being factionless because you couldn’t make it. And since Abnegation has a reputation for welcoming former members back in, you think it would be even worse. Crawling to Reed’s doorstep and begging for forgiveness.

Knowing Reed, he’d probably turn you down.

Thyme jumps into her black jeans, shifting from foot to foot to make sure that they’re up all the way. You can vaguely see Finnick in the bathroom, leaned over a sink while he brushes his teeth. You’d be getting ready with them, but you had an early start this morning. Mostly because after you woke up the first time to roll over, yesterday’s question about your family made itself known. 

And then, as the hours drew on and your mind wandered, you sank deeper into your mattress when you realized that your words can have consequences. You are not untouchable here in Dauntless, and Caspian is in a position of power. He can retaliate if he wants, sabotage your stages to make it harder for you to pass. And he’s going to feel more inclined to, now that you’ve accused him of still being attached to Abnegation. Especially since you did it right in front of Laurel.

You may be his ex-best friend’s little sister, but he never had an attachment to you. To him, you’re expendable, he’s got other initiates that he can really pour his focus into. And being one of those people is Finnick, who showed great significance yesterday. He has fighting experience, which means that he should be in some sort of advanced class. He’s already better than the rest of you.

For now, at least. We’ll see how well he keeps up during the emotional and mental stages of initiation.

Thyme sits down on her bottom bunk, beginning to tie her shoes. Finnick comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed and running a hand through his hair. On the way out of the dormitory is Amos, his shoulders are hunched in and he’s still holding the ice pack to his cheek. The more he collapses in on himself, the smaller he seems. And since he’s not very tall to begin with, the last thing he needs is to appear less threatening.

“Ready to go to the training room?” you swing your feet, watching as Finnick continues to fix his hair, standing off to the side.

“Wish we had enough time for breakfast.” Thyme mutters, she yanks her laces tight, “I also wish we didn’t have to fight first thing in the morning.”

“It’s a good way to wake up.” Finnick says.

“You just want to fight.” 

You try to kick near his head, he dodges, grabbing a hold of your ankle, “I was actually hoping I’d get to fight you.”

You stare at him, “Why?”

He lets go of your foot, giving you a shrug, “I’m just curious how you’ll hold up against me.”

You mock a smile, “Well, let’s just hope I end up with you, then.”

If you were put in the ring with Finnick, you wouldn’t come out as the winner. Not only does he have more experience, he has a height advantage, he’s unpredictable. You’ve spent several years of your life watching him fight other teenagers, and there’s only been a couple of times where you’ve been able to predict his next move. The most you’ve figured out is that he likes his fights over with as soon as they begin. Which is as dangerous as dangerous can get.

Thyme stands up, so you slip off the top bunk, landing on your feet. Thyme leads the way out of the dorm, you and Finnick elbow each other back and forth on the way out. When you pass in front of Trink, Allio and Eytelle, they momentarily fall silent. As soon as you’re through the door, they resume speaking. 

You might end up fighting one of them today, with the exception of Trink. If you’re lucky, it won’t be Eytelle, she’s got the same height advantage that Finnick does. If you’re extremely unlucky, you’ll end up with Allio, who hardly looked fazed at Ossie’s kick yesterday. And it looked like she put all her strength into it. So either she’s weak, like you originally thought she was, or Allio is a sponge.

Then again, you could always land yourself with Amos, Thyme or Finnick. Amos is shorter than you, much like Thyme. You think that you could easily take him on. As for Thyme, she might be more of a challenge, she did seem to give the fight her all when she needed it at the end. However, just like Eytelle and Finnick, you’ve got an advantage when it comes to height. 

Honestly, you really hope that you aren’t paired with Thyme or Finnick at all. It’s an unrealistic hope, because there’s not enough people to be rotated around, so you’re going to be stuck with one of them eventually. But if it really came down to it, you’d rather take on Thyme than Finnick anyday.

“Tell us your predictions.” Finnick says. It sounds like a demand, but it’s actually a question.

You’re quiet for a moment as you all go through a stretch of darkness. The first match was predictable, Caspian would want to set you guys up against people that look like you guys to see where you measure. That’s why Finnick was placed with Eytelle, based on height. Thyme with Amos based on scrawniness. And Ossie and Allio because they had to be together in order for you and Trink to be in the ring together. However, you and Trink could have very well been placed together because of body weight and the way you carry yourselves, and Allio and Ossie were leftovers.

Needless to say, you were more or less right on the prediction. All you have to do this time is go off your gut feeling again, because that’s what happened last time.

You decide to hold your answer until you get to the next light source. Then, you three stop and stand around it, “Okay, Ossie wasn’t in the room last night, so I think that she’ll be sitting out. Since it’ll be uneven, I’m pretty sure one of us won’t be fighting.” You pause, you don’t think that it’ll be you or Finnick. It could be Thyme, but she was a winner, so they’d want to push her to see what she can do. A loser would sit out instead. Maybe Amos?

“I’m thinking that they’ll pair us with opposites today. And I don’t mean strength-wise.”

Finnick nods slowly, probably trying to decide who would be his opposite. Thyme massages her knuckles, eyebrows raising slightly. You can hear the faint echo of Trink, Allio and Eytelle in the background, and they do too. So, you all start walking again.

It’s quiet for the rest of the way. Finnick pushes open the set of the doors, holding it open for you and Thyme. Laurel and Caspian stand next to the chalkboard, standing in the way of the names. Amos stands by himself, hands shoved into his pockets. Ossie is by herself, a bandage around her head, arms crossed as she stares at the ground.

The three of you stand on the other side of the ring, opposite to where the chalkboard is, where you’d been yesterday. It gives you a clear view of Caspian, who raises his eyebrows faintly. Other than that, there’s no expression on his face. No hint that he might be angry after what you said to him yesterday.

You’ve never been afraid of Caspian, but when he burns in silence, is the time where fear begins to sprout in your stomach. The times where he doesn't have to look smug, are times where he’s set up something particularly hellish. You said that he’d pair you with your opposites, but you’ve failed to remember, again, that Caspian might be angry.

Allio and Ossie were leftovers last time, an exception to the idea you presented last time. Which means that he could very well have made a second one. It would make sense, not everyone can have an opposite. And the only person who can serve a real punishment to you, would be Finnick.

Your eyes peel away from Caspian to look at Finnick, who’s playing with his nose ring again, staring into space. He wouldn’t make you go against Finnick, it’s too predictable. You look back at Caspian to see that he’s got a small smirk on his face, the same one he wore after you won the fight against Trink yesterday. And you change your mind again, because when has Caspian ever cared about his motives being out in the open?

Trink, Allio and Eytelle make it into the room just as the clock hits eight. They decide to stay near the door today, so you go ahead and move left more. It’s just an open space between you and Amos, and since hatred hasn’t been expressed between you two, you don’t think it’ll hurt to be closer to him. Especially if it means to get away from the other three.

“Good morning.” Caspian says, “I see some of you are doing better than others.”

No one says anything back, he cracks a smile. He then waves a hand toward Laurel, signaling her to move out of the way. She side-steps, and reveals the pairing. There’s only three rows, which means you were right about someone sitting out.

“It’s uneven today, only six of you will be fighting. If your name’s not on the board, congrats, you get a break today.” Caspian says.

You read over the names.

Finnick and Thyme.

You and Allio.

Amos and Eytelle.

Ossie and Trink are sitting out today.

There’s a couple of things that come to mind immediately. The first is that the winners are paired together, and the losers are too. The second is that you’re not with Finnick, it’s Thyme who gets the misfortune of having to face him. You know that he’ll get it over with quickly, but Thyme is going to want to win the fight. She’s not going to take the loss.

A cruel thought spirals, nearly passing through your lips. Thyme will be the perfect opponent to ensure he keeps his streak. You don’t see her winning against him, which means he’ll bag two wins. And depending on whether or not you beat Allio today, you might too. In the end, you might have to end up facing Finnick. 

You look over at your friends to see that they’re less than thrilled. Thyme is still staring at the chalkboard, as if it’s some mistake. And Finnick doesn’t look as excited as he did yesterday. He crosses his arms, but still reaches up to play with the nose ring with his thumb. It’s even worse because they’ll be going first today, they say nothing to each other.

And because you can’t help it, you go ahead and look at Allio, who’s already got a small grin on his face as he talks to his friends. You and him will be the second fight today. You wait for some type of fear to appear in your body, but there’s nothing. You were wrong on your theory. Allio isn’t as bad as Finnick. You have a chance at winning.

While you’re staring at Allio, you catch a glimpse of Trink, who looks relieved. So, you lean toward Finnick and Thyme, not trying to be quiet but trying to diffuse the growing tension between them. “They’re only letting her sit out because I beat her to shit.”

Eyes land on you, you pull back and stand straight again. Finnick lets out a laugh, Thyme has a smile on her face, “It’s like putting her into time out.”

You know that you will not face Trink again, there’s no reason to be afraid of her. The only people you’re worried about, are the two Candor idiots standing next to her. One of which you will face today.

“Finnick and Thyme!” Caspian calls, motioning to the ring, “Get to it.”

“Try not to kill each other.” You tell them, neither of them say anything.

Inside of the ring, they pick their spots opposite of each other. Finnick is the first to raise his hands, in perfect position. Thyme rolls her wrists once or twice before she raises hers. With them standing across from each other like this, she seems to have a chance. But when they’re standing next to each other, you have no hope for Thyme.

They shuffle in a circle, Thyme trying to find an opening. She won’t, not unless Finnick takes the first punch. And he might, if they continue to go around like this. A look to Caspian tells you that he’s getting impatient. They make a loop again, he clears his throat. Neither of them lunge at each other. 

This won’t last for much longer. This is going against Finnick’s rule of making a fight quick. But he’s probably stalling so that he doesn’t have to hit her first. For a second, you think that he might let her win, since she’s a friend. Then you remember what he said to you fifteen minutes ago, his hope that you’ll be his opponent. Which transforms into the streak thought. He will not pass up this opportunity.

Finnick gets impatient, starting to move in on her. Thyme tries to keep backing up, trying to get away from him. In your hand, you chant for her to stop moving and let him make his move. Finnick wants it quick, he’ll aim for weak spots on her head. All she has to do is dodge the punch, and give it her all as fast as possible before moving out again.

She has to be like a wave of water.

Thyme hits the edge of the ring, Caspian briefly moves forward to shove her back in, “Fight!”

Thyme stumbles over her feet, drawing her too close to Finnick. He doesn’t wait for her to recover, swinging. You think Thyme sees, because she drops to her knees, avoiding the hit. She stops long enough to draw her arm back, fist aimed toward his shins. But then she hesitates, changing her move.

You watch her full-force uppercut Finnick’s crotch.

There’s a gasp from Finnick, face twisting as his hands grab the area. You press your lips together, covering your mouth. You shouldn’t laugh. Thyme gets back onto her feet, raising her fists again, the soft expression she had, has faded now. She brings her foot up, slamming it into his back.

Finnick’s hissing through his teeth, stumbling forward and trying to straighten himself out. He’s clearly in pain, and you can’t blame him. Thyme looked like a hard hitter yesterday, and Amos is the display case. 

Finnick turns towards Thyme, cracking his neck, “See, I was going to go easy on you.” his face takes on the same scary look that he gave Eytelle, “But if you want to play dirty…”

Thyme beckons him closer without saying a word. Finnick heads closer. She’s aware of where the ring ends now, you can see her glance down every now and then to make sure she hasn’t backed out of it. But each time she looks away from Finnick, he jerks closer, until he’s right in front of her, and she doesn’t even realize it.

Her hands are protecting her face, so he aims for her stomach. This sends her stumbling back, standing on the white line. He tries to punch her again, she slips under his arm unharmed, and appears behind him. She goes to take advantage of this, but she’s too slow. Finnick spins around, and slams his foot into her ribs. 

Just like that, Thyme hits the floor, eyes wide, hands on the spot he just kicked. She sucks in a breath, looking up at Finnick, who towers over her. She stares for a moment, and then her eyes flicker to his feet, and she tries to get moving. She’s just barely on her feet, going to slip under Finnick’s arm again, when he grabs a hold of the back of her shirt, yanking her towards him.

He’s quick to grab the neck of her shirt when he can, twisting his fist and lifting slightly to keep her from sliding out of her shirt. He draws his right hand back, tilts his head to the side, and goes to punch her face. She moves out of the way by a hair, eyes continuing to widen, following his fist. He goes to try again, and manages to graze her cheek. 

Thyme winces, trying to squirm out of his grasp. And for one final time, he brings his hand back, and punches her jaw.

She hangs in the air, Finnick slowly lowers her back to her feet, and then wraps an arm around her body. He looks up at Caspian, who gives Finnick a nod before circling his name. 

Finnick won, just like you thought he would.

Finnick half-carries, half-drags Thyme’s body out of the ring. He slowly lowers her to the floor, where she lays there for a minute or two, not waking up. But then her eyes pop open, and she blinks a couple of times, squinting.

She’s alive, which means it’s your turn to fight your life.

“(Y/n) and Allio!” Caspian calls.

Finnick gives you a pat on the back, “Good luck.”

You wish you could say you don’t need it.

You and Allio come from your respective groups. With you on the far left, and him on the right. From where you stand, Caspian is still in sight, and he has a smile on his face. There’s something that you’re not aware of.

You stretch your arms and legs, cracking your knuckles, tilting your head from side to side. Allio watches you with raised fists. You bounce from foot to foot, raising your own hands. You inhale and exhale, looking over his form.

The only movement he allows is moving in the circle, like you guys were taught to do. His face is straight, his hands are where they need to be. You sweep over his body over and over to find that there’s no openings. Which means that you need to create one without getting hit. 

You made the first move yesterday, it was in your best interest to. This time, you need to let Allio come to you. You keep shuffling, but don’t move, not even when he begins to come closer. In fact, you start circling the other way, making him change his rhythm and show you what he might have been planning.

He takes much bigger steps towards you with his right leg, now. But will hesitate and back up when you pause for a moment, going toward him. Either he wants to kick you, or he wants an easy escape if you move toward him. You let him continue to come closer, prepared for a kick.

And then he launches forward.

All it took was a single blink.

There’s an explosion of pain across your nose, a sickening snap that fills the air. You inhale sharp enough to trigger a cough attack. Your hand flies to your nose, now throbbing and sending needle-like pain through the nerves. In just a couple of seconds, your palms are coated in blood, beginning to pool.

You look back up at Allio in time to see him jumping at you again. You move out of the way, flinging your handful of blood at the floor, right where his foot lands. There’s a moment of steadiness, before he slips and hits the floor hard enough for you to feel it beneath your shoes. 

You grit your teeth, drawing your foot back, lip curling, aiming for his head. You expect him to block his face with his forearms, like you were taught to. But he grabs a hold of your ankle with a tight grip and rolls over, pulling you down.

Your entire body hits the wooden floor, hands slapping hard enough for them to make a sound. Allio lets go of your foot, and goes to start crawling on top of you. If he wants to play the foot game, though, then he’s going to get it. You wind your foot back, sending your heel into his chest, knocking him back. You scoot back after that, getting to your feet.

He broke your nose, and it’s gushing blood. Your nose is crooked. You bring the bottom of your shirt up to your lower face, wiping away the fresh wave of red. Each time you breathe out, there’s a couple of droplets that fly through the air. Allio gets back to his feet, you raise your fists, gritting your teeth harder.

You didn’t expect him to be an easy fight, but you were hoping he wouldn’t be this hard.

Allio comes at you again, swinging at your face. This time, you see, so you duck. His arm flies over your head, making a clear path for his chin. Without thinking it through, you shoot up, knuckles slamming into skin and bone. Immediately, there’s a sharp pain that goes through your hand, but you’ve temporarily immobilized Allio.

His mouth is hanging open, backing away from you as he grabs the area you just punched. In the meantime, you steal a glance at your knuckles to see that they’re turning a deep shade of purple already. You try to stretch your hand, and end up crying out in pain.

You look back up at Allio to see that he’s recovered. You don’t know if you can punch him again. Not with your potentially broken knuckles. Your non-dominant hand isn’t all that strong, either. You could always try, but you’ll end up failing.

You suck in a breath through your nose, raising your fists again.

Allio comes in again, since you refuse to move. You need to get the upper hand. So far, you’re the one taking all the injuries, so he needs to receive some too. You sniff, feeling all snot and blood, and then you breathe through your mouth. It’s hard not to pay attention to your nose.

When he’s close enough, you fake right, but go left, swinging your non-dominant hand. It doesn’t feel right, and you don’t hit as hard as you mean to. The punch to Allio’s jaw just moves him backward. You didn’t get as close to his chin as you wanted to.

Allio seems to realize your dilemma, and a sadistic smile grows on his face. There’s a sudden boost in confidence in his movements, and he doesn’t hesitate to come closer anymore. He must’ve been wary of your punches, but now that you can’t hit him, he’s practically untouchable. The only way you can kick him is if you get him down. But even then, he managed to catch you last time.

You have three choices. Two of them back you into a shameful corner, the third means you go down swinging, or you win the match. No matter what happens, you will not take whatever punishment Caspian has lined up for you, in the case you decide to call mercy. And you will not just stand here and take what Allio has to deliver.

Allio swings, you back out of the way. You have to get around him somehow. Get behind him like how Thyme got behind Finnick. She was able to duck under his arm, but you’ve done that twice already. Allio has probably learned his lesson, you need a new way.

He barely comes close enough, you drop to the floor and sweep his feet. Allio loses his balance, you raise up a little, but he’s on his back, vulnerable. You jump at him, fist raised, hand wrapping around one of his wrists, pinning his arm to the ground. You hesitate actually punching him for too long, and his other hand slams into your jaw, making a red hot pain spread through your face and teeth.

Your head knocks back, eyes on the ceiling before you’re falling against the floorboards. You can feel the coolness of the wood through the fabric of your shirt. And for a moment, you think that you could lay here all day and not move. But then you see Allio coming towards you, eyes dark and threatening, and decide that you’ll lay on the floor another day.

Even though you should get up, you don’t move, trying to catch your breath, but you keep an eye on him. If he comes any closer, you think you’ll kick him in the face. Kick him like how you punched Trink. One hit that’ll get him to stop moving for good.

You lift your foot to find that he’s already holding onto it.

You twist around, rolling over and kicking his shoulder with your left foot as hard as you can. He doesn’t let go, instead pulling you in. He lets go of your ankle, and since you’re just beneath him, he raises his fist. His elbow bends, lifting it up far too high just for it to be a knockout punch, and unwinds on you.

You jerk to the left in time for him to slam his hand into the floor. 

“Idiot.” you snuff, your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you.

While Allio is shaking his knuckles, hissing out curses, you lazily raise back to your feet. Your mouth has an overflow of snot and blood because you refuse to breathe through your nose. You send a wad of red spit flying out of the ring, towards Caspian’s feet before raising your hands.

This fight is not over yet.

When Allio raises back to his feet, his hands aren’t raised, and he comes at you with genuine rage. This is the look that Ossie must have seen yesterday. The look of pure anger from the taunting, going all in and pulling back before it’s too late. The difference now is that you’re embarrassing him. For him, this should have been an easy fight, considering his brute strength yesterday.

Allio finally raises his fists when he gets you cornered. He swings with his left hand--no, he normally punches with his right.

Large black blots block your vision. The pain is hard and warm, pounding on the side of your head. Your hands connect with the cold floorboards once again, and you struggle to blink your eyes free of the dark restraints. For a moment, you’re terrified because the darkness is staying longer than it should. But a ray of light comes through.

You can hear Allio coming up behind you.

Get up.

Even if the stars are just now allowing you to see, you need to get up.

You struggle to make your legs solidify beneath you.

When you turn to face Allio after what feels like forever, you’re met with a solid pain in the middle of your chest, knocking you backwards, stealing your air. You barely keep on your feet this time, anticipating the ground, gasping to try and fix the empty feeling in your lungs. It hurts to breathe in this much. You press an open hand to your chest, eyes finding Allio’s face through the spots, only to see that he’s mere inches away.

One hand on your shoulder, the other one drives it’s way into your stomach. Nausea sprouts, accompanying the dizziness that hasn’t gone away since he punched you. All the air you had just gained, is gone again. A moan leaves your lips from the soreness. 

Allio wraps his hand around your throat, you can feel the ground disappearing beneath your shoes. There’s a sudden spike of terror again, and all you can picture is this exact same scenario with Ossie. Allio lifting Ossie into the air as if she was as light as a feather. Allio throwing her down to the floor. The sound of her head cracking open. Her not moving after. The blood turning her blonde hair, rich red. Laurel having to carry her out.

This will not be you.

You swing your foot as far back as possible, desperate for air. Your foot crushes into Allio’s stomach, making his face turn a sudden shade of bright red, and then he drops you.

The ground is a lot further down than you realized.

You try to catch yourself and fail, a scream leaving your throat. Your head slams against the wooden floorboards anyway, but you don’t hear your head breaking open like an egg. Only the hot, pounding feeling on the back of your head. Black spots come back to dot your vision, stealing the sight of the ceiling. Or maybe your eyes are closed.

Can you get up?

The thought alone hurts.

Everything hurts.

You can hear Allio’s tennis shoes against the wooden floorboards, shifting on his feet. He must be waiting for Caspian to call it. And if the fight is over, it means you lose.

You lose.

So, get up.

Your eyes open, stars dot the ceiling. You blink and squint to see better. No, not stars, the ceiling lights. Which form little sparkle shapes as your eyes begin to focus, adjust.

Get up.

You turn, your hot, sticky skin pressing to the floor. It sends aches and pains through your body, your muscles in your legs pulse, letting you know that they’ve had enough. It’s a good thing that they’re not in charge. You are. And this is not over with.

Get up.

Your skin slowly peels away from the polished wood, leaving a faint stinging sensation behind. It’s hardly noticeable, a needle in a haystack, considering you’ve collected an impressive worth of injuries in just one fight.

Get up.

“She’s up--” Caspian starts, once you’re on your feet, hunched over and trying to build enough confidence to stand straight. It’ll hurt too badly. And you’ve run out of time, you took too long to get up. Caspian thinks it’s over.

It’s not over until you win.

You take one step, and then another, testing the waters. Every step you take, sends a jolt through your body that always ends up at the back of your head. Your skull is not broken. You can keep moving.

This is the opening you wanted, after all.

You launch yourself right at Allio’s torso since he’s distracted, wrapping your arms around him for added effort. There’s shooting pains through your nose since it’s pressed up against his body. You pull away before he hits the ground, hard. And before he can move, you’re scrambling on top of him.

Your knuckles are not broken.

You wind your arm back, eyes locked on his nose.

They just hurt.

You drive your fist into his face. And when it doesn’t start to bleed, you punch him again. And again. “I’ll never look the same.” you snarl through your teeth, “So why should you?”

You switch hands, leaning all of your body weight into it. He’s bleeding now, there’s blood running out of his nose and down the sides of his face. His blood mixes in with yours, which coats your knuckles and fingers. If he’s going to target your weak spots, it’s only fair you give him a couple of his own.

You miss the fact that he gets his right hand back, not missing the chance for retaliation. All you can feel is your head jerk to the left hard enough for your neck to crack. You slide across the floor, skin burning along the way. You unscrew your teeth from each other, gasping.

Allio has drawn himself to his feet. Through the tunnel vision, you can see that his face is swollen. Blood is dripping off his chin. You sneer a laugh, which fizzles into coughs, your lungs not being able to support your brief moment of victory. Allio doesn’t look like he did this morning, and he won’t look like himself for a while.

He doesn’t like the fact that you can laugh at him. You can barely decipher the fact that his face twists in anger. He heads towards you, foot drawing back like he’s going to kick a ball to send it across the field. You brace your body for the impact, smile fading.

A scream draws from your throat as the kick lands. You squeeze your eyes hand enough to see vivid patterns dance across the back of your eyelids. Pain so bright and black and white that you can finally understand why Candor doesn’t believe in grey areas.

“The fight is over!” The voice is drowned, underwater and floating away.

You fade into the sea of darkness.

And think: is this how dad felt when he faded too?

--

It wasn’t until after dinner, did you leave the medical ward last night. You would have attended dinner at the actual dining hall, but the woman working in the unit gave you a plate and was there to help if you needed it. Plus, you got a little taste of Finnick’s thoughts after your loss, and you decided that you’d much rather spend the evening alone.

And you did. 

Cleo, the doctor-nurse, let you go after you showed her you could get up and move without falling. Apparently, Ossie had tried to do the exact same thing the night she hit her head. She crumpled a couple of steps in, and almost made her head injury worse. And since you had been dropped on your head too…

You’re fine, though. The injuries that you got from Allio’s fight are painful, of course, but they’re not anything totally awful. Cleo thinks that your chest and stomach will bruise, thanks to Allio’s punch. Your jaw is sore, so she wants you to eat soft foods and ice it as much as possible. As for your knuckles, they’re heavily bruised, not broken. Cleo tried to set your nose as straight as possible, but you’ll need a cosmetic procedure to get it back to the way it was. 

You had a lot of time to sit and wallow in your loss in the medical ward, but the tightness in your throat wasn’t nearly as bad as it was until you left. You wandered in the dark for a while, taking deep breaths. You ended up at the railing that blocks you from wandering into the chasm. And you stayed there until you felt better.

Even though there are no real bodies of water inside of the walls—with the exception of the swamp, but that has no water in it anymore—the sound of the rushing river below you was strangely familiar. And each time the water would crash against the jagged rocks, fresh air would be coughed up into your face. It lessened the headache.

And left you alone to think without any disruptions.

By the time you made it back to the dormitory, the announcement had already been made; there would be no training today. Capsian was just leaving the room when you got there, and he passed by you quietly at first. But he was halfway down the hallway when his words echoed off the walls, “Glad to see you’re on your feet, (Y/n).”

You didn’t say anything back.

On the first day, Laurel said that there would be a few breaks from fighting. Today is one of those days. When Finnick and Thyme had explained it to you, they didn’t say what you’d be doing exactly. Only that you all had to meet Laurel at the tracks by eight fifteen and not to be late. You have a feeling that they didn’t know what you’ll be doing today, either.

The only person that seemed to be upset last night over the break, was Finnick. Everyone else has something to complain about, not going unharmed in all the fights they’ve taken place in. You’re one of them, yesterday’s pain has settled into your bones, making itself right at home. Every move you make, you’re reminded of your loss. Which wouldn’t be that bad, but again, you have Finnick at your side. And the only thing that’s on his mind lately, is the streak.

With yesterday's loss, it means that he is the sole survivor of the streak. With his perfect gun aim, and the fact that he hasn’t lost a fight yet. You’d say something to him, if it weren’t for the fact that you have two friends total at the moment, Finnick and Thyme. Normally, you can handle Finnick being mad at you, because you had other people to talk to in Abnegation. But Thyme is more on Finnick’s side than yours, Ossie and Amos aren’t technically your friends, and your relationship with the other three is pretty much established. 

For now, you have to bite your tongue and bear it. But you wonder how long Finnick will go unchecked for. Until you finally snap and shove back. You can handle the teasing, but it’s like holding a glass of water for a long period of time. It doesn’t start off heavy, it ends up that way.

You guess that it’s partially your fault, because you’re giving him ammunition. If you want it to stop, you need to win the next two fights, and then do better than him at the last two stages of initiation. In theory, it sounds easy, but you don’t know what the second and third stages have to offer. Plus, you’re damaged goods at the moment, what are the chances you can win the fights?

As long as you try. Trying is good enough.

A shoe scuffs against the floor, sending a sharp squeak through the air.

You don’t have to lay here anymore.

You could hardly roll over last night because of your stomach. And after a couple of times, you stopped and laid on your back until your muscles finally relaxed and you couldn’t feel the pain anymore. You got a couple hours of sleep in. 

It was ruined when you jolted awake around midnight, a scream rising in your throat, your bed sheets soaked in sweat, and a very hot feeling spreading over your body. It took a while for you to finally feel normal and calmed down, and by then you were awake. The memory of the nightmare that you had just been submerged in, was at the front of your mind. 

You stopped having nightmares last year, you had finally begun to feel comfortable in your own house again. You guess you went and ruined your streak when you moved here, to a faction that would make your mother feel shame, if she were still alive.

Surprisingly, that was not the main story of the dream. Instead, you dreamt that you were back inside of the aptitude test, with all the knowledge that would come after. That every choice you would make, would conflict and result in Laurel telling you that you’re Divergent and you could be murdered because of it. But you still went through with your original answers, because you didn’t want to end up in Abnegation. You thought, for a second, that being three things was better than one.

When you came out of the test, the room was full. Men and women dressed in Dauntless black, an army sent just for you, with their guns pointed at your chest.

Standing at the front was Caspian. “Divergence is against the law.” He droned, “You are not welcome here.”

And just before they all fired, he told you that you were another stain on your family’s lineage.

The word that has stuck with you for hours is another. Not the fact that you could feel every bullet they fired pierce your body. Or feeling yourself slip away in the sinful room of mirrors. It was the fact that you were not the only anomaly in the family. The only other person that has moved away—moved on from Abnegation is Mox. Which made many people turn a brief eye to your family, watching him go.

But it doesn’t fit right. That is not the puzzle piece that needs to be there. It’s only a supplement. You know this.

Two weeks before the aptitude test, there was a unit in your science class that was about the human brain. The lesson was brief, but your teacher mentioned how dreams come from the subconscious mind, before moving onto another section. She’d only mentioned it in passing, but it has stuck with you ever since.

To you, this idea seems wrong because you don’t think of Mox as a stain. That thought is not yours to begin with. And yet, even though you’ve been awake for hours, you still haven’t found a better conclusion. 

You’re starting to think that there isn’t one.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, reaching over to the side of the bunk to help pull you into a sitting position. You grit your teeth tightly, sure that they’re going to break, but you’re determined not to make a sound. You let out a low groan anyway, which dissipates into a sigh of relief as soon as you’re sitting upright.

Leaning back on one hand, you use the other to lift the end of your shirt to see your stomach properly. Right in the middle, sits deep shades of purple and red. You press your lips together, gently running your fingers over the skin like a ghost. It’s tender, beginning the stages of healing. 

You let your shirt drop, turning towards the end of the bed, hanging your feet over the side. You remember what it took to get you up here. There’s no ladder, because that would be far too easy. Tears had sprung in the corners of your eyes, you were forced to wriggle your way up on your stomach, hands clamped tight against the metal bars.

Once you got up here last night, you weren’t allowed to get back down. Not that you really wanted to, what you really wanted to do was sleep it off. Obviously that didn’t pan out too well, either.

You can see Thyme from the top of the bunk. She’s still sleeping, tangled in her blanket, shirt collar desperate to choke her. Half her body is turned one way, the other half twisted away. Her head isn’t turned toward you.

You’re pretty sure that Finnick is still asleep beneath you, but you can’t exactly tell without accidentally falling off the bed. And if you’re going to get off by yourself, you think that you’ll do it on your own time. Speaking of which, it looks like you only have forty-five minutes to get ready.

That should be enough time, right?

The only other people awake inside of the room are Eytelle, Ossie and Amos. Eytelle disappears into the bathroom, clutching her clothes to her chest. Ossie is already dressed, pulling on her hiking shoes, yanking the laces as tight as possible. And Amos is… sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

Trink and Allio are across the room, both turned away from you. If you get off the bed, the only people that are here to witness your pain are the two people that you wouldn’t mind seeing. Apart from Finnick and Thyme, of course. You’d ask for help, but the idea of Finnick’s teasing appears in your mind, setting your destiny in stone.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, moving your ankles around in circles. Your calves are tight, they feel like you’ve had twenty leg cramps in a row. They’re going to be uncooperative today, which is the last thing that you’re going to need. Especially if you’re supposed to be jumping in and out of trains today.

The thought of missing the jump on the roof occurs to you, and you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body.

You decide that you’ll try and lower yourself down, instead of just scooting off the edge and jumping. Since your calves clearly can’t handle it right now. You’re careful to lean on your wrists and not your hands, turning yourself around. You’re glad that you’re starting to develop more upper body strength, otherwise this would be impossible.

Your body begins to ache, arms shaking the further you go down. You feel Finnick’s mattress dip beneath your bare feet. Your other foot touches his blanket, and after that, you just step down. The cement is freezing cold, making your toes curl.

You spare a glance at Finnick before you get moving, and you start to glare once you realize that he’s awake. He has a cheeky grin on his face, raising his eyebrows, “I see you’re feeling great this morning.”

“I’m not.” you say back, “Maybe I should’ve stepped on your face like I originally planned to.”

Finnick lets out a laugh, getting up and off his bed. Ever since the two of you left Abnegation five days ago, he’s begun to stand at his full height. It makes him look like he belongs inside of Dauntless. There’s tall people in Abnegation, of course, but none of them are as tall as Finnick.

You have to look up at an angle to see his face. He stretches his arms above his head, shirt riding up, he yawns, and then groans. Unlike you, he doesn’t have any concern for the other people sleeping in the room. 

You gather your clothes, throwing them over your arm. Finnick has no shame and decides to change right where he is. A part of you wishes that you could do the same, but your body is more valuable than his, to an extent. You shake Thyme awake, watching her squint and blink and wake up.

“Seven-forty.” you say.

She hums and rolls over. You head toward the bathroom, which is just as an open room as the dorm. Except, there’s stalls and the showers have curtains. You step inside one of them, and try to wash yourself as fast as possible. It hurts to bend down, tears appear in the corner of your eyes and run down your face. By the time you’re done showering, there’s fifteen minutes left.

You get dressed and brush your teeth. Finnick and Thyme work together to help you tie your shoes, since you can’t bend down to do it yourself. You thank them both, and after that, you have to get to the train. There’s no way you’ll make it to breakfast, climb the Pit and make it to the train in time.

“How about I get us breakfast then?” Finnick’s got a grin, jumping at the opportunity. 

Thyme gives him a look, “We’re not covering your ass if you’re late.”

“No problem, I’ll see you there.”

He takes off, leaving just you and Thyme. The two of you head up the stairs of the Pit to the glass building above it, in silence. Your thighs begin to complain at the strain, in perfect harmony with your calves. When you pass through the exit doors, you’re able to see that it’s only Amos up here, arms wrapped around himself in a hug. He looks over slightly to see you two, and then he looks away. 

“Where’d you go yesterday?” Thyme asks.

She’s still rubbing sleep from her eyes, there’s dark bags forming. She hasn’t been getting much sleep, it looks like. But you think that goes for everyone here. No one has slept soundly since the Choosing Ceremony. It just got worse as soon as the fighting began, for reasons you discovered last night.

“Hmm?” you hum, looking at her.

“We went to visit you in the medical unit, and you weren’t there.”

“Oh.” you say, looking to where the train will be coming. Behind you, you can hear the doors of the building open again. Judging by the amount of voices, it’s Trink, Allio and Eytelle. “I needed a minute to myself, that’s all.”

An arm slams into yours from behind, knocking you into Thyme. It’s Trink, who gives you a smug side-eye when she walks past. You grit your teeth, hands balling into fists. 

“Here.” a voice says, you jump and look over to see it’s Finnick, handing you the toast he got from the dining hall. It’s still hot, he must have ran here to give it to you before it cooled. You go to thank him, but he’s distracted. His eyes are on the back of Trink’s head.

Two words burn like fire on the tip of your tongue, “Do it.” you encourage.

It’s all it takes. Finnick presses the six squares of toast into your hands before he starts over toward Trink.

“Why would you say that?” Thyme hisses in a whisper, eyebrows pushed in. She’s worried for them. Typical Amity behavior, especially since she’s not for the fighting to settle differences.

“Because Finnick doesn’t negotiate.”

You don’t include the fact that, if it weren’t for your current condition, you’d be helping him.

Finnick spins Trink around, her mouth falls open. Her two idiot Candor friends turn around too, only halfway. By then, Finnick punched Trink straight across her mouth, whipping her head to the side. She loses her balance, hand flying to touch her teeth to make sure they’re still in place. When she opens her mouth, her gums are bleeding, white teeth turned red.

Allio goes to ask her if she’s okay, and Eytelle puffs up as if she’s actually going to do something about it. The moment that Finnick matches her energy, her height, and how his hands curl into fists, she backs off. 

“Next time, I’ll break your fucking nose.” Finnick snaps, looking directly at Trink, “Or better yet, I’ll hold you down so she can.”

Finnick comes back over, face flushed a shade of red. He grabs his breakfast from your hands, and Thyme does the same. The doors open behind you, Laurel and Ossie come out. Laurel has her hair in a ponytail today, sleek and straight. She walks right past Trink, Eytelle and Allio. And stops a few feet away, sticking her hands into her ironed business pants. 

There’s a moment of baffled silence on Trink’s part, and then she bursts, “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

Laurel looks over, straight-faced, “What happened?” she asks lamely.

It’s good enough for her, “He punched me!”

Laurel stares for a moment, probably deciding if Trink’s behavior is worth feeding into. She doesn’t look at Finnick when she starts towards Trink. Laurel crouches down in front of her, being careful that pants don’t touch the grass beneath her. “You will have a lot more to worry about if you continue to tell on your fellow initiates. You are displaying signs of cowardice. I am not your mother, handle the situation yourself.” Laurel stands, glances at Finnick, and says; “From now on, no fighting outside of the ring. Once you’re a member, the rule lifts.”

She goes back to where she was standing before.

If Trink wants to say anything else, she can’t. You finish your piece of toast, brushing the crumbs off your hands and shirt just as the train comes in. The horn blares, letting you know that it’s coming. Laurel stands close enough for the wind to blow her clothes flat against her body.

Amos is the first to pull himself inside of the train, disappearing off to the left side. You jog with the train, remembering the high feeling the day of the Choosing Ceremony. How you had pulled yourself inside of the train like you’ve done it every day of your life. 

Now you’re struggling to push past the violent burning feeling in your calves and thighs with each step you take. You wonder, is this progress, or are you falling behind?

You grab a hold of the handle, grit your teeth and hold your breath, yanking yourself in. Immediately, there’s an achy feeling in your chest and stomach. You massage your chest, not dumb enough to go lower. Finnick pulls himself in next, almost effortlessly. He slams his head against the doorway of the train, curses leaving his mouth. You burst into laughter, you can hear Amos chuckling behind you.

Finnick rubs his forehead, face twisted. He moves inward, allowing Thyme to come in next, “Think it’ll bruise?”

“You didn’t hit yourself that hard!” you shout over the wind.

He gives you a grin.

Laurel comes in next, standing off to the side and judges every person who comes in next. Eytelle, Allio, Ossie and then Trink. Ossie comes to the left side, where you are. As for the other three, they take the right side, huddled up like they normally are. Laurel presses herself against the wall, crosses her arms, and stares out of the door.

You still don’t know what you’re doing today.

The train brings you all the way to the far fence. It brakes too harshly, making Finnick jerk. You grab a hold of his arm before he knocks into Laurel and gets himself into any more trouble. Finnick might be tall and an experienced fighter, but sometimes he’s as prepared as a baby deer. When you’d ride home together on the bus in Abnegation, he’d have to hold onto a pole, not the overhead handles. It’s because the poles are steadier.

The train comes to a complete stop underneath an awning. Laurel exits firsts, jumping down gracefully and walking a couple of steps before she stops and waits. You move out next with Finnick. This time, he makes sure to duck dramatically so that he doesn’t hit his head again. 

There’s a chain-link fence with barbed wire, a green field on the other side of it, with hills that stretch as far as your eyes can see. Dotted around are a mix of healthy green trees, and trees that are far too dead to be revived.

On the other side of the fence is the Dauntless guards, wearing black and carrying guns, patrolling what may be out there. Only recently, in the past couple of years, have the Dauntless begun to patrol the outside of the fence. As far as anyone knows, there isn’t a threat. Only more Amity farms that couldn’t fit inside of the fence. Before, the Dauntless had been controlling what went on inside of the factionless communities. But Abnegation argued that they don’t need Dauntless with guns. They need food, water, places to live. They need to be rehomed and given a new opportunity.

“Follow me!” Laurel shouts, once everyone is off the train. The eight of you wander behind her, “Today, you’re doing volunteer work, carrying heavy shit that the Amity and Abnegation can’t.” she leads you to a gate, with a wide, cracked road that leads back to the city, “And I’ll give you some insight on the jobs you’ll be eligible for if you don’t rank high in initiation.”

She nods at one of the guards on the other side, “If you don’t rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you’ll end up here. Once you’re a fence guard, there’s not much room for advancement. If you get the job, you probably won’t find a way to squirm out of it. Most who work here, say that it’s not as bad as it seems. Isn’t that right?”

She has a smile on her face when she looks at one of the guards. They give her an amused expression, and then eyes over you guys. 

“Don’t mind them, they’re just shy. The most you’ll get out of the job is the potential to go beyond the Amity farms, but that’s the extent of it.” she stops, turning to face you guys.

“What else?” Trink asks, she’s standing behind you.

“Well, you’ve seen the shops, tattoo and piercing parlors. If you’ve visited the medical ward, you can be a doctor, or a lunch lady. We have security cameras all over the Dauntless compound, so you could make that your day job.” she pauses for a moment, “Oh, and police officers. But that’s about it.

“If you rank in the top five, you get your pick of the litter. Or maybe, the litter will pick you, in some cases.” Laurel doesn’t elaborate for a moment, and then she smiles, “Did you know that they’re looking for a temporary, fourth position for leadership? If the person fits the requirements for leadership, they’ll replace one of the leaders we have now.”

“Is that what you’re going for?” Thyme asks.

Her face twists, raising her eyebrows, “It’s not a job for the fainthearted. And I’ve already got my job. Who do you think designs all the clothes you’re wearing?”

You remember the mannequin on her arm. You originally thought it was her fear, as you’ve come to realize that most of the Dauntless will get their fear somewhere on their body. But maybe it’s a passion thing, instead.

A horn blares, making Laurel raise her head, “The next train is here. Let’s get this over with, so we can get back to the headquarters.”

--

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae /  @liaaacantwrite / @tereuzasworld

[bokutosbubblebutt]

Chapter: Happiness || Teaser

——————

To be honest, it was really a miracle how you got there. You never expected that your parents would allow you to leave the house, to go outside, meet other people, start a life.

After never ending discussions, trying to find a compromise, they really said yes.

"We will try it a few months and if we are satisfied, if they can keep you safe, you can stay!"

You never felt more happy in your entire life. You finally could go outside, start a life, meet people, make finally friends and maybe even fall in love. Something you had dreamt about since you started reading.

Even though there was a high chance of being forced to go back to your place, the place that was supposed to keep you safe from every injury possible, you tried to make the best out of it. Even though there was a high chance of getting hurt and accidentally killing yourself, you tried your best to enjoy it.

Nervous but excited you were standing in front of your new teachers office, Mr. Aizawa. You already read about him in a superhero blog. He was the one, who could easily erase the quirks of his enemies and then capture them with his weapon. Pretty impressive, in your opinion. Simple but very effective.

It was really early in the morning. The classes usually start around 8:20 and it was 7:30 now. Already a bunch of people came across your way. You greeted everyone nicely and smiled at them but they all seemed to be in a hurry and stressed. Well, it was the first day of a new school year and taking care of such a big school with so many future pro heroes must be really complicated.

The school. Overwhelming! The campus was gigantic and had so many buildings, grounds and areas. You barely ever left your house, so it happens that you even got overwhelmed by only visiting the shopping center sometimes. Such a big place with so many different individuals made you panic a bit, and since you weren't used to being surrounded by people, you may suffered from social anxiety but the excitement and your curiosity made you gladly forget about it.

Your only concern right now was that you just tried to not get lost in here.

The whole atmosphere was completely different than at home. Here, it made you feel free like living an exciting life full of many people and different activities. At home, it was like a constant feeling of not being yourself or more like not knowing yourself.

And it smelled different here. It smelled like something sweet and dangerous, but quite serious as well. The sweetness definitely came from a lady that walked past you a few minutes ago. You recognized her immediately by her hero costume. It was the pro hero Midnight. For some reasons you've always looked up to her. She just always did what she wanted, not caring about what others think or tell her, sometimes you wish you could be like her but no, not in your situation.

Nervously you stared at the ceiling, trying to count the blue and white stripes on the metallic plates and not taking care about the things that happened around you. The counting helped you focus on one thing and made you forget about your nervousness.

"You need to go to Mr. Aizawa as well, right?" a deep voice made you snap back to reality and loose your concentrated trance.

A tired looking boy with really dark circles under his eyes was staring at you, scanning your appearance. He looked pretty buff and intimidating at the first sight. His indigo hair was standing up in all directions and made him look really tall. Awkwardly he turned his body towards the door and back to you.

"No taking?" He asked again and stared confused at you. The boy tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Again his eyes scanned your body. Since you fiddled with your fingers the whole time, your hand caught his attention. A scar was going down from your middle finger to your wrist.

He had never seen you before. He would remember such a sick looking girl. You were really skinny and pale. You had completely grey eyes and light grey, almost white, hair, which stopped straight above your shoulders. Your whole appearance was ghost like and, to be honest, kinda sad. You looked so skinny, your cheekbones clearly defined, a big gap between your legs and like it would only take one little blow, probably just a little refreshing wind in the summer, to make you fly away. If you had a little bit more meat on your body, you would look prettier, he thought but that was just his opinion.

Perplexed you looked at him in shock, still not fully realizing what he just said to you. He's going to be the first person you ever had spoken to besides the people your parents hired and your online friends. He is the one, the first one.

"Uhm, no, I mean yes. I-, I am just nervous. Birfst, I mean first big day, you know."

you stuttered awkwardly and blushed in embarrassment. Amused the boy smirked and leaned back against the wall.

Great, the first sentence and you immediately fucked up, you thought. He probably must now be thinking that you are stupid and not able to speak, great.

Again you were staring at the ceiling, counting how many stripes the pattern had to make you forget about what a nervous wreck you actually were right now and he was silently watching you. Again he was trying to remember the person who was standing in front of him, trying to find out if he had seen you before but such a sick and sad looking girl was someone, he definitely would remember.

After waiting some more minutes the door suddenly opened and a man with long black hair and eyes that looked like they would fall shut every second, was standing in the door frame. Mr. Aizawa.

"Come in" he said and walked back into the room.

The boy turned around and walked into the room as well. The office was really messy and many stacks of papers were laying around. It smelled like coffee in here and the morning sun heated up the air, making the little dust particles that were floating around able to see. It was this kind of mixture that gives you a headache if you stay in here for too long.

„You two are the only one who are going to transfer to Class 2-A." he explained and sat down at his desk, trying to find something.

Both Class 2-A? The boy must be one of your new classmates then, you thought. You just hoped that he's not one of those school bullies, who make fun of others, will steal your money and put you into the toilet like you already have read about in some books. 

„I already filled out your forms and put them together in your folder. The only thing you need to do, is designing your hero costume but I can't find the sheet for it right now. I'm gonna be right back. Please go trough it and check if we missed something" he handed you your folders and then went through another door.

Your folder was pretty thin if you compare it to the other one. Well, obviously because there was not much information about you so far. Only your stats like height, weight and birthday and of course a description of your quirk.

Quickly you read through everything and checked if there were any mistake and surprisingly there was one. Just a small one but still something you better don't forget.

Curious you were eyeing the other folder and tried to read the boys' stats. After he went to the next page, you finally could read some single words if his quirk description.

"Your quirk is brainwashing?" you suddenly asked and smiled at him in excitement. „How cool! You must be pretty powerful with that, hu?"

Shocked the boy looked at you because he didn't expected you to speak so loudly. He thought you were more shy and quiet, your appearance didn't matched how you talked.

„Uhm, not really." he answered and closed his folder.

„I think it's a pretty cool quirk. How does it work?" you asked the next question and turned your body towards his, grabbing the arm rests of your seat.

„If someone answers me I can activate it." he explained and put the folder back on the desk, still shocked and not knowing how to act.

„But you can control when you activate it or not?"

He simply nodded and looked at you.

„My name is Y/N L/N but you can call me (Nickname). Nice to meet you!" you laughed with a big smile and offered your hand to shake it.

„I'm Hitoshi Shinsou, nice to meet you."

———————

So this is the first chapter of one of my stories I am currently writing on Wattpad

It’s called Chapter: happiness

If you liked the first chapter and are now interested in what’s going to happen next, here’s the link

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG197!

- I like how Basira and Jon immediately installed the setting (“Watch your step…! Long way down.” “It’s fine. The stickiness helps.”): big hole and strands of webs everywhere, funnel full of tapes going far down below, tapes probably unrolled a bit themselves, many tape recorders squeaking voices now and then and occasionally rewinding.

(I’m especially fond of the selected fragments of voice heard at the end of last episode and the tapes rewinds in this one, because it felt like a call-back to the beginning of the season, when Jon was obsessively relistening to the tapes that had been sent to him: stopping and rewinding and listening, again and again, to the fragment of Gertrude’s voice when she was telling Gerry she didn’t think it was possible to reverse an apocalypse.)

- I love that Jon&Basira are on good enough terms to share their shitty sense of humour with each other!! ;w;

(MAG197) BASIRA: Feeling better now, are we? Without those horrible sunny skies and fresh winds? ARCHIVIST: Yes, the colossal web stretching down into an endless pit is a significant improvement. BASIRA: [CHUCKLING] Don’t pretend like you’re joking.

Compared to season 4, it doesn’t sound mean-spirited anymore coming from Basira…

I also like that, same as them helping each other out on the lake in MAG195, we could hear that it was a mutual exchange – Basira ensuring that Jon wouldn’t fall into the hole by grounding him when he was getting too fascinated by it, Jon warning her about the threads. Jon was even counting on Basira to be an element of surprise, so it really felt like he indeed valued her as an ally ;_;

- I wonder if Jon looked into Martin’s head for that one, or if it’s how Martin looked like from the outside?

(MAG197) BASIRA: I’m guessing she’s waiting at the centre? ARCHIVIST: Naturally. [STATIC RISES] They both are. Martin is… he’s okay. He’s… scared, but also… frustrated.

Jon had promised to not look as long as he wasn’t in physical danger (which was precisely the case here) so…

I like how Jon pointed out that Martin was “scared”: from his exchange with Annabelle, he sounded mostly pissed, annoyed, frustrated indeed rather than afraid; he knows how to hide it!

- Jon’s fascination with the pit…

(MAG195) ARCHIVIST: No, it’s… I could look at it, but it… it was… it was like a… a hole. You know that feeling you get when you look down from a, a great height, like you’re being… pulled into the abyss? BASIRA: Kind of? ARCHIVIST: [GETTING LOST IN THOUGHT] Well, it was… was like that. Normally… I can see it, see the… webs, and feel the power of The Spider emanating from it, but… as I would look, i–i… it’s like… my mind…. follows the paths of The Web… [STATIC RISES] the strands going down and… out… [CATCHING SELF] I–it’s… [STATIC FADES] quite disorientating…!

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: I know she has something to tell me and it… it’s about… the hole below us, her thoughts are… all down there, and… [TAPE SQUEAL] [STATIC INCREASES] And the threads are so closely woven, I–I follow them out and… in, and down, and through the strands of web and twisting tape, and down, and down, and down into the chasm into the emptiness that stretches– BASIRA: Woah! ARCHIVIST: –out– BASIRA: Woah! ARCHIVIST: –below– BASIRA: Careful! ARCHIVIST: Oh! [ARCHIVIST LOSES BALANCE BUT BASIRA STEADIES HIM] [STATIC FADES] BASIRA: Careful. ARCHIVIST: [DEEP BREATHS] … Thanks. There’s a–, sorry, there’s a s–sort of… pull to it. BASIRA: [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: Every time I get a glimpse, it, it draws me in…

… might be caused by Beholding? What is below is a complete mystery and, as Annabelle pointed out later, it probably led to many worlds (so far) untouched by the Fears: Jon’s appel du vide might as well be Beholding attracted to what is not (yet) under its dominion.

- I’m curious about the fact that Jon wasn’t able to categorically say what was the tapes’ deal:

(MAG197) BASIRA: … So. The tapes. They’re from The Web, then? ARCHIVIST: Looks like it. BASIRA: Were they always? Right from the start? ARCHIVIST: As far as I can tell. I–it’s hard to s–… If I look too closely at them, my own voice, things get… recursive. Hard to follow. BASIRA: I always assumed they were with The Eye. The whole “watching, listening, waiting” thing, you know? ARCHIVIST: No… They were always using them to spin their own web. Out of my words. BASIRA: Mine too. ARCHIVIST: True.

* On the one hand, his difficulty to tell what they are does explain why he couldn’t say they were Web until now. On the other hand… there is still that nagging doubt that there could also be something else, due to Jon’s inability to confirm even now. What would happen if Jon looked at a tape not holding his voice at all, like one with Martin’s?

* Basira’s assumption had been shot down starting with MAG114 (when Jon had pointed out to Tim that he didn’t think the tapes were from Beholding) and once again reminded by Martin in MAG170 (when Martin had a moment of clarity in the Lonely house, having him point out that Beholding had “won” and so didn’t need tapes to see what was happening to them)… but I like that Basira had her own ideas about them until now, linking them to the Institute’s motto.

* I like Basira’s reminder that the tapes didn’t only record Jon’s voice, but that she was also “used” in the same way…

- I love the contrast with Jon&Basira now compared to, say, their expedition in Svalbard in season 4:

(MAG197) BASIRA: Different question, then. How do we play this one? ARCHIVIST: You get Martin to safety, then I deal with Annabelle Cane. BASIRA: Right. … I think we should hear her out first. ARCHIVIST: Excuse me? BASIRA: Before you “deal with her”, we should try to get some answers. All of this, taking Martin… she wants to talk.

Back then, Basira was the one with the gun; now, Jon is quite clearly the powerhouse… but also grounded by Basira, who remained level-headed and tried to think about why Annabelle had done things in that way, what she wanted. And at the same time: Jon had reasons to be pissed, wary and distrustful – in his own perspective, Annabelle could have talked when they were at Upton House, and welcoming him in front of Hill Top Road with Mr. Spider’s tape was clearly a low blow, already colouring this encounter with a certain dynamic (the underlying idea that The Web had touched him as a kid, was inviting him in the house to devour him, and could violate Jon’s privacy whenever it wanted).

- Jon’s fear of The Web showed once again…

(MAG150) ARCHIVIST: Melanie, could you… could you describe your therapist for me? MELANIE: [CHUCKLING] What? You think I wouldn’t notice if she had cobwebs down her face? ARCHIVIST: … No? MELANIE: [DEEP INHALE] That’s it, isn’t it? [EXHALE] You… you really think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t have noticed if my therapist was some kind of monster! ARCHIVIST: I just… It was a worry. […] It’s just… The Web can be subtle, you understand? MELANIE: And? For all you know, its plan is to paralyse you with indecision…! ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MELANIE: Leaving you… sitting here, terrified that… everything you do is somehow all part of its Grand Plan… And who do you think that fear is gonna feed? ARCHIVIST: Yes, well. [INHALE] You are… not the first, to make that point.

(MAG167) MARTIN: You said you could control it now. ARCHIVIST: I can, I–I just… It… [INHALE] You’re absolutely right. I will refrain from knowing anything about you. […] Did you… feel like she was… influencing your mind at all? MARTIN: I don’t think so, but I mean… who knows? ARCHIVIST: I could. MARTIN: But look. She didn’t control me into asking you not to look into my head, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s all me. ARCHIVIST: Martin, I’m not… looking for a l–loophole. MARTIN: Well, good! ‘cause this isn’t one. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … Methinks the Spider doth protest too much…!

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: I was going to suggest that… I could… maybe… “know”. I could look. Just a quick peek, to, to see if it was just curiosity, or… something else. … Well? MARTIN: I don’t… If you look, and I was… “influenced”, then how can I trust anything else? How can I believe any of my thoughts and feelings are really mine? ARCHIVIST: U–uh, well… I–I–I’ll still be here to check, I–I’m not leaving you. MARTIN: Sure, but you’d be looking through the details of everything that ever crosses my mind? I don’t want that! Y–you know I don’t want that. ARCHIVIST: … I know. [SILENCE] … Don’t do this to yourself, Martin. This is what it wants, the, the paranoia. [SIGH] Trust me, I, I know. MARTIN: … Fair.

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: She’s had plenty of chances. She didn’t need to kidnap him. BASIRA: Sure, but maybe she… What? What’s with the look? ARCHIVIST: How are you feeling, Basira? BASIRA: [SHARPLY] Do you want to look inside my head? See if it’s full of spiders? ARCHIVIST: I… No. I’m… sorry, I–I trust you. BASIRA: How are you feeling? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Yes, all right, you don’t need to make a point. BASIRA: Yes I do. You’re too close to this, and I need to make sure you aren’t going to do anything dumb. Situation like this, we can’t make rash assumptions. Right? ARCHIVIST: … Right.

I like (in a heart-breaking way) how Jon’s tendency to suspect that people might be affected by The Web has been so prevalent, and shows how deeply his childhood encounter affected him. When people behave in a way he didn’t expect or for reasons he cannot immediately understand, he’s very quick to blame The Web – it’s not coming out of nowhere, since there were statements about The Web pulling strings and getting people to do things they didn’t want to do… but it also goes in the way of Jon’s decision to trust people. I like that Basira immediately understood what Jon suspected and set things straight in that regard; Martin might be Jon’s “reason”, but other people have been really good at grounding him lately, too.

- BASIRA SEES MARTIN AS A FRIEND ;w; It used to be Martin clinging to the idea…

(MAG175) MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True. MARTIN: Besides, we can help them now.

(MAG176) MARTIN: And the fact that we’re hunting our friend, in a domain of The Hunt isn’t getting to you at all? Not even a little bit? [TRILL OF A BIRD] Hm? […] BASIRA: What’s something only Martin would know? MARTIN: … What?! I don’t know! BASIRA: Fine! Then… [COCKED GUN] MARTIN: No–no–no–no–no–no, wait–wait, uh, I, God, I don’t know, we’ve never hung out much! I’ve no idea what you know about me!

… and having to admit that no, they didn’t know each other much. But now, look at Basira being concerned and protective of him ;w;

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] But if she hurts Martin, all bets are off. BASIRA: If she hurts Martin, I’ll be right there with you. […] Martin, are you okay? MARTIN: [MUFFLED MMHMM] BASIRA: You know, we’d probably be more willing to listen if you hadn’t kidnapped our friend?

Martin got friends………

- I wasn’t able to parse which segments there were, but I could clearly hear Jon’s and Martin’s voices playing in the background tapes when we switched to Annabelle!

I did need the transcript’s indication that Martin was tied to the chair to realise that… indeed, we hadn’t heard him get up last episode. It had creaked plenty when he had sat last episode, it would have creaked if he had had the time to get up. Congrats Martin, you spent an episode and a half sitting, this time around!

- Martin likes Jon’s voice!!

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: I thought you liked his voice? MARTIN: I do when it’s his voice. I’ve never liked the statements. It always felt… Yeah. ANNABELLE: Well… you can trust me when I say you’ll be hearing his real voice very soon.

That’s an adorable little detail <3

- I love how Martin was such a bitch with Annabelle, at the same time very honest (pointing out that his situation didn’t make it easy to get relaxed, that he was afraid about the trap set for Jon, that he had already been told about dream-logic elements, that he was second-guessing what Annabelle wanted out of this) and blowing up in annoyance.

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: [CHUCKLE] On edge, are we? MARTIN: Of course, I am! You’ve stuck me in a weird interdimensional web, and threatened to fill me with spiders! ANNABELLE: No…! I said I had “considered” filling you with spiders. MARTIN: Yeah, whatever, the point is, there was a time when it was very much your go-to option! And this one time I chose to almost trust you, you’ve immediately turned around and used me as bait!

I loved how his voice SQUEAKED with that “spiders”. Resent and remember.

Also, games, in that apocalypse?

(MGA180) MARTIN: … I–I’ll start. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… T– ARCHIVIST: Tombs. MARTIN: … Cheater. ARCHIVIST: [INDIGNANT] I did not! MARTIN: … Your turn. [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: Fine. I spy, with my little eye… Literally everything. [MARTIN LAUGHS] [THE ARCHIVIST LAUGHS] [A NEARBY TOMB LAUGHS] [LAUGHTER STOPS WITH TENSE SIGHS]

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: We could play a game? MARTIN: Uhhh… [SIGH] ANNABELLE: Twenty questions? Animal, vegetable or mineral? MARTIN: [SIGH] Animal. Does it have eight legs? Yes. Is it a spider? Yes. Oh, look, I win.

Never quite working.

- I loved Annabelle’s back-and-forth regarding Martin’s potential for The Web: at first saying that he could have been a good fit for it, then that no, he’s too impatient, then that ah, maybe his talent for interpreting the vibrations meant that he had something in him. It’s everything and its contrary, and it allows her to… always be right.

(But it cracks me up so much that the argument for anti-Web Martin basically came down to Martin being too ranty and impatient. I love Martin.)

- Sob about the set-up because:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: … You don’t need to worry about Jon. MARTIN: You’re literally luring him into a trap. This trap. This one right here! [MARTIN MOTIONS AND TWANGS THE WEB, SETTING OFF STRONG REVERBERATIONS] ANNABELLE: Please don’t do that. Technically… yes. This is a trap. But the only one in actual danger is going to be me. If he chooses to kill me, I can’t stop him. Not even here. And you’re not bait, you’re just… an invitation.

Yeah, sure, an “invitation” when you’ve put the Mr. Spider tape right near the house to welcome Jon is an absolutely neutral and mundane “invitation”. It’s not flexing or trying to traumatise your guest even before he entered the house.

- Annabelle, PLEASE.

(MAG197) MARTIN: Oh. Wonderful. I can’t wait to attend the Annabelle Cane Show. ANNABELLE: Huh! You know, I did consider it once. MARTIN: Excuse me? ANNABELLE: A TV show. Reaching out into the homes of millions, giving the more vulnerable ones a subtle nudge towards terror. [TAPE SQUEALS] Probably something for children. … It never went anywhere, of course. These things rarely do. MARTIN: I’m, I’m sorry, what are you talking about? ANNABELLE: You’re the one that didn’t want to wait in silence.

* Things that are absolutely horrifying regarding The Web: the way it often targeted children. Mr. Spider was a picture book and got into Jon’s hands when he was eight (and given how Jon initially thought that the book was “insulting” his intelligence… it might have preyed upon even younger children if left unchecked). Annabelle had described her own Web encounter as a kid. Ray was taking care of children and preparing them for his god.

* It also tied nicely with another leitmotiv with The Web: the fact that it is invested in performances and artistic displays (a movie in MAG110, Neil Lagorio’s own original cuts and his last wish of dancing in MAG136, Francis’s theatre play in MAG172) – Annabelle was all about this, making various references to the fact that she was staging the whole scene.

* That “These things rarely do” reminds me of what she had mentioned last episode, that “You can’t be precious about a single strand”: how many discarded plans and ideas have there been to ensure that she would be right and/or that she would get her pieces where and when she needed? It’s not that The Web feels infallible – it’s that it seems to multiply its efforts to make sure that at least one would work out.

- I got the impression that Martin feeling that Jon and Basira were coming happened at the same time as Basira brushing the strands early on, hence Jon’s comment over it:

(MAG197) [BASIRA BRUSHES AGAINST A STRAND WHICH THRUMS AND ECHOES, AND THE CADENCE OF BUZZING SOUNDS CHANGE AS TAPE SQUEALS WITH THE REVERBERATIONS] BASIRA: Sorry…! ARCHIVIST: … It’s okay. She already knew I was here, I just… I hoped we might be able to sneak you in. […] MARTIN: W–, yeah, well– [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND TAPE SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Wait… Wait, hang on… is that him? ANNABELLE: Yes! I guess you’re better with The Web than we thought. MARTIN: And… Wait, ha–, no, uh… Is that… Basira? He–he’s got Basira with him! ANNABELLE: Yes. I did wonder if that would be the case. Interesting. And unfortunate for me. That’s two heads we’ll need to keep cool. My odds aren’t looking good.

So it gave us a nice perspective on who was talking about what when!

I’m surprised that Annabelle indeed only discovered it at that moment – meaning that if Basira hadn’t touched the threads, she wouldn’t have known she was there… although she had been recorded more than once since Jon had left London. Web is not omniscient, uh.

- Annabelle’s taste for theatrics was hilarious, and Martin sarcastically following her request by trying out postures of the Main Love Interest In Distress And Held Hostage was incredible. Martin, PLEASE.

(I wonder if she spat in his mouth, to gag him? Where did that thread come from.)

- It still amuses me how dry Jon can sound in front of avatars, while he’s way more emotional (soft, annoyed, amused, desperate sometimes) in front of Martin! He really adapts his presence to the people in front of him, in this new world.

- Love how Basira pointed out that Jon shouldn’t do anything rash… and then he immediately went for a smiting attempt when he saw that Martin was positioned in a dangerous and precarious situation.

- Jon’s new “Fuck” means that he’s now The Biggest Sayer Of Fuck in the series!

(MAG154) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] [SOFTLY BUT WITH FEELING] … Fuck.

(MAG158) DAISY: Oh, shit! ARCHIVIST: You gotta be fucking kidding m–

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: “Free will,” she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web!

Martin (MAG154), Melanie (MAG131) and the Inspector (MAG185) are at 1; Trevor was at 2 (MAG176); Tim was at 3 (MAG065, MAG080, MAG104); Basira is at 3 (MAG148, MAG177, MAG178)… and now Jon takes the lead with four ;w; Who would have thought, when listening to episode 1!

(If taking “shit” into account: Martin explodes the counter because of his litanies in MAG163 and MAG179.)

- Oh Martin…

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: He came of his own free will. MARTIN: [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] ARCHIVIST: “Free will,” she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web! ANNABELLE: [LAUGH] A fair point! But that’s a debate for another time. I simply mean I did not bring him here through force, threat or false pretence. I made an offer, and he agreed. ARCHIVIST: Martin, is this true? [TAPE SQUEALS] MARTIN: [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] BASIRA: Told you. ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk about it later. Once you’re safe.

I love how we could indeed tell his emotions at the moment, at first objecting, then slowly having to concede.

There is still a tiny possibility that Annabelle still pulled a string and made Martin keener to follow her, but I don’t feel like that would be necessary – the point was that he was out of options, that Annabelle had dangled the fact that she had one, and offered to give it while simultaneously threatening to not ever share it if Martin didn’t immediately come with her (as it was explained last episode). Of course, in retrospect, it sounds like Annabelle/The Web needs them more than they need it… but the point was that Martin was lacking options, that Jon was seriously thinking about replacing Jonah as Beholding’s pupil the last time they had talked (which would have meant: for Martin, still being stuck as a Watcher, so still planning to die rather than feeding on people’s suffering), and that Martin is “as bad” as Jon when it comes to self-sacrifice, as Also!Martin had pointed out. I like that Basira had been able to guess that Martin had probably made the choice to follow Annabelle, while Jon… apparently stayed stuck to his perception of The Web as a big manipulator which compels and forces people to do things all the time, without taking detours or subtler approaches.

- Regarding Annabelle’s “lesson” on the Fears, I like how it began on familiar territories, since it roughly followed Gertrude’s own perception of the Fears:

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: … Fine. Speak your piece. Tell us about your… “way out”. ANNABELLE: As you wish. … The Great Fears, do you believe they think the way we do? ARCHIVIST: They don’t “think” at all. They just are. ANNABELLE: Almost true. In truth, it depends on the Fear. [TAPE SQUEALS] Some exist in an eternal moment, some make use of memory to reflect and corrupt, but for most, time is simply another thing for them to play with. To consider the future, to plan, is not something they’re capable of. ARCHIVIST: But not The Web? ANNABELLE: No. Not the Mother-of-Puppets, the Spinner-of-Schemes. BASIRA: Hang on. What about the rituals? Those were plans. ARCHIVIST: No. [INHALE] They were… desires, filtered and interpreted by people and the thinking creatures that they spawned. ANNABELLE: You are well informed, aren’t you? Exactly this.

(MAG145) ARTHUR: You never had to second-guess a god. ‘Cause that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? We feel Its joy and Its… anger; It warps us, and changes us, and feeds on us, though not in the ways we expect. The one thing It never does is just… tell us what to do. It seeds us with this… aching, impossible desire to change the world, to bring It to us. Then, It leaves us to guess and bicker and fight over how the hell you can actually do it. … If it’s possible. Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do. GERTRUDE: I’m not actually convinced they “think” at all. ARTHUR: You might be right. But Agnes did.

The idea that avatars had no clear idea about what they were doing had been confirmed by Simon in MAG151, so that wasn’t new. It did colour all of Annabelle’s speech, however, since she argued that The Web was different due to its own way of functioning and she was judge and party in that regard – isn’t she precisely projecting what she thinks The Web is to give it intention, when it’s perfectly possible that “The Web’s plan” might have been mostly inherited through its agents throughout history?

- Confirmation that Oliver might have said the truth in MAG168 about the fact that The End’s domains ultimately had to deliver a genuine death (or, well: confirmation that Jon was convinced that it was saying the truth). And Basira hadn’t been there back then, hence why she needed a bit more information:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “When Danika Gelsthorpe reaches the end of her Corpse Root, she will die. This new world of Fear reviles death as a release, but the Coming End cannot exist without its reality. It is not a being of dangled promises and shifting torments; the certainty of death waits for all who travel the Corpse Roots, and that certainty… will be delivered on, without hesitation or consideration of any other factors. […] The others may take what actions they wish; they may plot and plan and tear themselves apart in an attempt to separate from the fate that they know they cannot escape; but they will fail. The currents of perception and reality may twist in whatever shapes they want; but none of them can ever render things truly eternal. […] I am too much of my patron now and my feelings cannot help but reflect the shadows of… anticipation that lurk within the grave. The End does not fear its own cessation, for it is the certainty and promise of all life, however strange, that it will one day finish, and that includes its own stark existence. […] All – things – end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose… only brings you closer to it.”

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: But only two of them could truly conceive of such. Terminus, The End, knows that in such a world they will ultimately consume themselves. And it desires that finality. ARCHIVIST: [REALISING] And The Web understands it as well. That eventually a successful ritual would doom them all. Leave them trapped and starving in a used-up world with no-one to feed on. BASIRA: Hang on, what? This is news to me. ARCHIVIST: We passed a death domain, of The End. The victims there do actually die, meaning even though it would take… I don’t know how long, eventually The End will claim everyone and everything. It’s inevitable.

Damnit, it means that Peter had kiiiiind of been right in season 4 when he had explained to Martin that The Web and The End didn’t appear interested in trying to achieve their rituals:

(MAG134) PETER: There are two Powers that, to my knowledge, have never attempted to fully manifest, never had followers set them up for a ritual: Mother-of-Puppets, and Terminus. The Web, and The End. The Web, I’ve never really been sure about: if I were to guess, I would say it actually prefers the world as is, playing everyone against each other, and so on. The End, on the other hand… The End doesn’t really need one: it knows that it gets everything eventually, so why bother. The End manifesting would not be a new world of terror; it would be a lifeless world. Devoid of everything. MARTIN: … Including fear.

The End was indeed fine with anything, while The Web indeed preferred the world as is – because it had an inkling that rituals would lead to the Fears’ own annihilation. Given how Annabelle pointed out how the escape route had been worked on for so long, I wonder if it had really understood that a successful ritual needed to bring all the Fears into the world a long time ago… or if not at all, and it was, until then, planning an escape in case any of the Fears were to succeed on its own.

- Web!Jonah, Web!Jonah, Web!Jonah.

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: And knowing this, knowing for centuries you would eventually be trapped, doomed to starvation, what would you do? [LONG CONSIDERED PAUSE] ARCHIVIST: … Plan an escape. ANNABELLE: Just so. […] ARCHIVIST: So The Web, it wants to spread? To escape into new realities? ANNABELLE: Yes. But not alone. Any attempt to separate the Fears is ultimately doomed, as you well know.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Why does a man seek to destroy the world? It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality, and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my God! The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness; to place yourself beyond pain, and death, and fear. […] I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die. […] Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?”

The way Annabelle presented it, The Web shared the same logic as Jonah and took the same horrible decision about it: desiring self-preservation, fearing their own end, fearing that others would doom them… and instead of taking active measures to ensure that no doom would happen, they chose to cause it themselves to be in control of it. Jonah could have gone on spending many more centuries body-hopping once he understood that other rituals would never work anyway, but he chose to work on this ritual thinking it would grant him domination and control over the result; and likewise, The Web could have worked to ensure no Jonah-like person would cause the big ritual… but chose instead to actively help him, to cause the apocalypse, thus dooming itself if Jon doesn’t help to make them hop into another world to contaminate it. Same fear of death, same thirst for control, same selfish thought process.

As mentioned above: given how Annabelle might have selected her information, I wonder if The Web had known for a long while that individual rituals wouldn’t work, or if it had discovered that fairly recently, alongside Jonah. It’s possible that the escape route had initially been planned for The Web itself and solely itself in case one of the other Fears succeeded, then The Web discovered that the Dread Powers couldn’t be separated and slightly changed its plan by accepting that all the Fears would need to be yeeted into the passage together?

- I can’t believe we now can answer “What does the Spider want?!”.

It does explain why The Web seemed to ensure Jon’s survival and support Jonah’s plan (Jonah even acknowledged the latter in his letter), and why Annabelle still wanted something out of Jon&Martin although the apocalypse had already happened. It also answered Jon’s own question from the trailer about the tape recorder:

(Season 5 trailer) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … What? What do you want? … The world is…! It’s over. You’ve won. What can you possibly still need to hear?

His question had even been followed by a “knock-knock” joke. It really felt like a Mr. Spider reference.

Regarding the tapes: it was indeed right to link them to The Web! I remember that pre-season 4, upon listening to the series for the first time, I was convinced that they were Web, but I had begun to doubt in season 4 because of a potential slight nuance: The Web was using the tapes, it didn’t necessarily mean that it was the thing listening behind the tape recorder. What I did not expect, and am delighted about, is that The Web required the tapes to exist as a hook for its plans:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice. ARCHIVIST: No… ANNABELLE: His, and those he walked with. We inscribed them on shining strands of word and meaning, and used them to weave a web which cast itself out through the gate and beyond our universe. So that when the Fears heard that voice, and came in their terrible glory, they might then travel out along it. [TAPE SQUEALS] Or be dragged. BASIRA: Is she talking about the tapes? ARCHIVIST: Yes. […] Do both at the same time, and… for just a moment, all that power rushes through their only remaining connection with reality: the tapes. ANNABELLE: And they would be swept along by it, dragged out of our realities, and into new ones…

And now I wonder about the reasons why the statements didn’t work on Jon’s computer in (and before) season 1, leading him to use the tape recorders. It had been pointed out in MAG065 that tapes were technically digital too, that the difference between a computer and a tape recorder wasn’t a matter of analogue vs. digital, so why did the statements resist computer recording? With the new information: it might have been simply that The Web was making Jon’s computer crash to push him to find another solution for his recordings – Jon indeed ended up relying on the tape recorder (found covered in cobwebs; spotted by Tim first according to the TMA liveshow, and then found back by Sasha according to MAG162’s tape).

Did The Web mostly require a story for their plan? The statements contain bits of Fears, some of Jon&co’s encounters were supernatural, but not everything that was caught on tapes was dealing with fear – we’ve had very mundane exchanges and conversations that did not contain anything supernatural. It, of course, asks the question of whether an audience in-universe is listening to the tapes that have been reordered chronologically: have the tapes already been sent into another world, with or without the Fears coming with them? The current labels on episodes are presented as “Case ########–xx”, a sign that time is not as reliable but that there is still a chronological and logical progression to follow. I wonder if the last episode will go back to having a date-based file number like episodes used to have (MAG160’s, “Case #0181810”, being the last one).

- The problem with Archivists really is their voices, uh? Gertrude and Jon both needed to read the statements aloud to feed Beholding, and the Black Forest tomb had the “For The Silence” coin. I’m a bit curious about whether the Fears would truly follow the tapes because they contain Jon’s voice… if Jon, with that original voice, is staying behind? Wouldn’t he need to go with the tapes, or to be deprived of his voice, for that plan to work?

- Annabelle’s offer was a bit more complex than redirecting their full apocalypse to another world, which I feared, instead presenting it as another world being subjected to this one’s previous and less intense fate… but I’m extremely glad that Jon immediately pointed out that it would likely mean a complete repeat of what their own world had experienced, apocalypse included eventually:

(MAG197) BASIRA: What are you saying? ARCHIVIST: … We can pass them our apocalypse. MARTIN: [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] ANNABELLE: Nothing so extreme. In these new worlds, they would exist as they used to in ours, lurking just beyond the threshold. ARCHIVIST: Until someone is stupid enough to release them there as well. ANNABELLE: Perhaps. Even the Mother cannot see the future. Only try to shape it. ARCHIVIST: And so they spread through realities like a disease. ANNABELLE: Perhaps. ARCHIVIST: … I won’t do it.

Jon even kept using the verb “spread” (“So The Web, it wants to spread?”, “for the Fears to spread into these new worlds”, “And so they spread through realities like a disease”) which really highlighted what it was: not a trade-off, not an equivalent exchange, but really allowing the Fears to possibly impact many other worlds to save theirs, causing way more victims in the process.

I like how it also put another perspective on the Mr. Spider tape welcoming Jon at the end of MAG195, ending with the “MR. SPIDER WANTS MORE”: in the same way, The Web is precisely trying to get more than what it used to have (from affecting one world to potentially hurting many more).

- I am curious about what would individually happen to avatars with that plan:

(MAG197) BASIRA: What happens to you if they escape? What happens to us? We’ve all been touched by them. ANNABELLE: I would either travel with them, or I would die. I do not know which. My life is only sustained by The Web. Most would simply lose whatever power they have been gifted. Jon would lose much of himself, the parts of him that are The Eye. But he would survive. And perhaps, more importantly, he would remain who he believes himself to be.

Would Simon turn to dust due to his old age? Would Arthur become inanimate wax? Would Oliver die (since he already died once)? Or would they be simply left in their current body? Annabelle is indeed a special case since it was pointed out many times that her head never healed from the injury during the experiments (MAG069) and is stitched with cobwebs – it’s possible that her “life is only sustained by The Web” in a strictly literal life-support manner, unrelated to her avatar status.

… I’m concerned about many caveats regarding Jon: Annabelle, what is your definition of “survive”? And what does Jon “believe himself to be” at this point? Jon had pointed out that he was intrinsically tied to Beholding by now, and that he doubted that Beholding leaving this world would mean good things for him:

(MAG191) MARTIN: Jon. If… When we defeat The Eye, the Fears… What happens to you? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Nothing good. I think it depends on what actually happens. If we figure out a way to defeat them, banish them somehow, kick them out of our reality and back to where they came from, I might… survive? I think I’d stay more or less like this; w–weaker, but fundamentally… still an avatar in a world where the Fears are… once again lurking on the edges. MARTIN: … But I assume that’s the best case scenario? ARCHIVIST: Depends on your point of view, I guess. In the long term all we’d have done is… bought some more time. … If, however, we… find a way to destroy or, uh… eliminate the Powers… I’m not going to be okay. There’s… too much of me that’s part of The Eye now. I don’t… know what would be left of me without it. Maybe I just… die. Maybe I survive, but I–I lose… something. My identity? My mind? My… memories? I don’t know.

Which is making me suspicious of what Annabelle is saying, since she seems to go in the exact same direction as what Jon thought might happen to him in the “best” case scenario of the Fears disappearing but him not dying right away.

- Alright, it does clear up what I didn’t understand in Annabelle’s previous plan regarding Jon&Martin’s relationship, and the reason why she discarded it!

(MAG196) MARTIN: Okay, let’s try a different question. What was your plan? ANNABELLE: I was going to snatch you away. Lure you both into this web, and then take you. Drive him to despair, so that when you returned to him, bulging and talking in a thousand tiny voices, it would drive him to a final push. MARTIN: … And now? ANNABELLE: [SIGH] Your bond is too complicated. I couldn’t drive that kind of rift between you now. I’ve considered every angle, examined every cause and effect, and have finally come to the conclusion that I… [SIGH] I need to tell you the truth. To explain things.

(MAG197) BASIRA: What happens to you if they escape? What happens to us? We’ve all been touched by them. ANNABELLE: I would either travel with them, or I would die. I do not know which. My life is only sustained by The Web. Most would simply lose whatever power they have been gifted.

She might have initially planned to pressure Jon to go along with her plan by spider-ing Martin, since it would have meant saving him once the Powers would have left (instead of it being a permanent process). However, their “bond is too complicated” for that plan now because they talked and made a promise about not dooming the world in exchange for the other’s safety:

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Martin, when the time comes, I need you to promise me that you won’t try to stop me. MARTIN: … I promise. I love you, Jon. ARCHIVIST: [FOND HUFF] I love you too. MARTIN: But I’m not going to doom the world over it. ARCHIVIST: … Thank you. MARTIN: [INHALE] And you have to promise me that you’re going to do everything in your power to live. That you’re not going to… sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity, just because you feel guilty about what happened. ARCHIVIST: [BREATH] … I promise.

(… Well. Martin had promised to not doom the world over Jon. Jon himself had not done the same.)

It might be what caused Annabelle to change plans: before, she might have thought that Jon would have done anything to save Martin, including throwing the Fears into other worlds without any hesitation; but since that conversation, she might have been fearing that Jon would have refused to doom other worlds for the sake of Martin’s well-being.

- Although Jon apparently immediately interpreted it as Basira being likely to go Annabelle’s way…

(MAG197) BASIRA: … How would we do it? ARCHIVIST: Basira! BASIRA: We need to know, Jon.

… she really felt, to me, like she was trying to get all the information they needed to be able to manoeuvre with it all afterwards. Same as at the beginning of the episode, she gave me the impression that she was trying to stay in control while ensuring Martin wouldn’t get hurt (not being too antagonistic towards Annabelle, and getting her to talk), but it didn’t sound like she was approving.

- OKAY for Annabelle’s plan:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: It’s very simple. Destroy the Archives, and cut out The Eye’s pupil. BASIRA: [SARCASTIC] Oh, is that all? ANNABELLE: Simultaneously. MARTIN: [MUFFLED DESPONDENCY] ARCHIVIST: I see. Destroy the Panopticon, and you release its power. Kill Jonah, and you cut the connection between the Fears and the world. Do both at the same time, and… for just a moment, all that power rushes through their only remaining connection with reality: the tapes. ANNABELLE: And they would be swept along by it, dragged out of our realities, and into new ones… BASIRA: And how exactly are we supposed to destroy the Archives?

* It kind of explains why she waited for them to reach London first before making them come to Hill Top Road: they needed to see for themselves that the tunnels had been mostly insulated from the apocalypse, and what state Jonah was in. (Plus, making it sink in that no, “killing Jonah” wouldn’t solve anything, so waiting for them to be a bit more desperate for another option).

* I’m… worried about the fact that Annabelle specifically stated that they needed to destroy “the Archives” but that Jon translated it into “the Panopticon”. Is it the same thing by now? We haven’t seen the Archives when we were in London – what did the statements and documents turn into?

* … And relatedly: Jonah had introduced the idea that Jon was “the Archive”. Is it really about destroying the Panopticon, or is it about destroying Jon…

(* It also explained why Annabelle had found “reassuring” that Martin was worried about victims on their way to Hill Top Road, since her plan relied on them agreeing to throw other worlds under the bus to save these people from this world. If they didn’t care much about random victims all around here… then they would be even less likely to accept her solution.)

- It reminds me that we still haven’t been told what is Jon’s domain and what is Annabelle’s domain. Annabelle’s could be Hill Top Road, but it was never stated! As for Jon, his only indication was that Martin&him had been walking “towards it” during their first journey towards London, so it could be the Panopticon itself… but we don’t know for sure either. What happens, when you destroy someone’s domain? (We have the case of Helen-the-Distortion, who was her own domain in a way… and it seems to have destroyed it entirely in her case.)

- HECK YEAH for the gas main not being done with /o/

(MAG161) GERTRUDE: [SHARPLY] We’re wasting time. Do you still have the Ruskin book? LEITNER: I do. Though I don’t relish the thought of using it. Makes it rather hard to breathe, like your chest– GERTRUDE: You know– LEITNER: –is being… GERTRUDE: –the gas main, little way out in the tunnel? LEITNER: I do. GERTRUDE: I need you to move it. LEITNER: I, hum… That’s… I mean, that’s not just earth, there’s pipework and all sorts of– GERTRUDE: Find a way. I need it to be directly under the Institute, or… at least, closer. LEITNER: I’m more likely to rupture it and fill the place with gas. GERTRUDE: Hm! That would also be acceptable. LEITNER: Hm… I’ll do what I can. When do you need it? [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] GERTRUDE: If my guess is right, the Church’s ritual should be collapsing at any time now, so… immediately. LEITNER: And if you’re wrong? GERTRUDE: Then a bit of gas will be the least of our worries. LEITNER: Right… What are you going to do? GERTRUDE: Paper burns well. [GURGLING LIQUID] Petrol burns… better. LEITNER: Aha! I always forget about your pyromaniac streak.

(MAG068) ARCHIVIST: Supplemental. I’m in the tunnels. I was exploring and I got lost. I haven’t gone down any of the stairs and I– I think I’m still under the Institute. There were a couple of spiders, so I changed routes and found, I think it’s a gas main. Must be for the whole building.

(MAG197) BASIRA: And how exactly are we supposed to destroy the Archives? ANNABELLE: Many years ago, a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. [TAPE SQUEALS] You need only ignite it. ARCHIVIST: “Ignite it”? ANNABELLE: Indeed! And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow, it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it? ARCHIVIST: What…? BASIRA: Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours.

I had been surprised that it had been narratively brought back at the beginning of the season clarifying why it was there – Gertrude had asked Leitner to bring it closer to the Institute, which is why Jon had seen it in season 2 (… while fleeing because of spiders… in the episode right before the one he heard of Annabelle Cane for the first time…), and it was still hanging out there.

Annabelle never confirmed whether or not she had been the one who had sent tapes alongside the package containing Jonah’s statement, but it really feels like she was trying to prepare Jon to the idea of burning the Archive down, since all the tapes (and the beginning of the statement Jonah used to cover his) had mentioned fire in some way.

(MAG160) MARTIN: Still, she did manage to talk them out of burning the whole place to the ground? Oh, ah! Actually, that reminds me. Hum… [PAPER RUSTLES] ARCHIVIST: Ah! These, these are the… statements. MARTIN: Uh, yes. Basira said last week she’d send some up as soon as the Archives weren’t a crime scene. ARCHIVIST: Yes… MARTIN: And she wasn’t sure which ones you’d read already, so she–she just said she’d send a bunch. [CLATTERING SOUNDS] ARCHIVIST: There’s… tapes in here, as well. D… did she say anything about tapes? MARTIN: She… didn’t mention it? But… I–I didn’t check it until after the call. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: I assume it’s her attempt at a… a–a “varied diet”? Eating your greens, you know? ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLE] Probably! I’m sure it will work fine.

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: –yes, thank you, I do hope you’re not planning to light those candles…! TIM: … Oh, goodness! [SHAKES A BOX OF MATCHES] A source of ignition? In the Archives? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] SASHA: [CHUCKLES] TIM: Uh oh! ARCHIVIST: Tim. TIM: Oh? Woops! [A MATCH IS LIT] Sorry; my hand slipped. And again. [CRACKLE OF A BIRTHDAY CANDLE WICK] And again. And… a couple more times, here – I’m so clumsy today; that is a lot of fire! ARCHIVIST: I’m really not comfortable with– SASHA: So blow them out, then. ARCHIVIST: Oh. [FIRE CRACKLING] … Right, yeah– ELIAS: And make a wish.

(MAG161) GERTRUDE: Paper burns well. [GURGLING LIQUID] Petrol burns… better. LEITNER: Aha! I always forget about your pyromaniac streak. GERTRUDE: Mm. Remind me to tell you about Agnes, sometime…!

(MAG162) GERTRUDE: Eh! [INHALE] You can probably burn it in the back courtyard, if you’re careful. GERRY: Yeah, will do! GERTRUDE: And for goodness’s sake, make sure no one sees you. The last thing we need is a letter to Elias about book-burnings. GERRY: Look, if you have somewhere better to burn these books, then– GERTRUDE: Of course, Gerard…! I just happened not to mention the network of sinister tunnels that snake beneath the Archive, where I keep all my darkest secrets…!

(MAG162) TIM: Well… Tell you what. If you get eaten alive [STAPLING] by improperly filed statements? Me and Martin will avenge you. SASHA: Myeah, aren’t you sweet. TIM: I mean it! We’ll burn this place to the ground, it’ll be all like, “Sashaaa! Saaashaaaa!”

(Adding to Rosa Meyer’s attempt to burn the building in MAG060, Gertrude likely destroying the Archives under Alexandria by blowing up a gas main in MAG053…)

So: whatever Annabelle said, Jon could lend it some credence since he had seen the gas main and knows where it is; he knows why it’s so close to the Institute; he knows it used to be part of Gertrude’s plan to take down Elias/Jonah in March 2015. Whether Jon will pursue that plan or not, we know what it meant narratively, same with the lighter.

It’s also really interesting that what Annabelle offered used to be exactly Gertrude’s plan:

(MAG080) LEITNER: I believe it was Elias. ARCHIVIST: What? Why? LEITNER: I assume he discovered we were planning to destroy the Archives. ARCHIVIST: Gertrude was going to destroy the Archives?

… and it’s exactly when Elias had strike and killed her. Did a spider whisper to his ear that it was way too soon to blow up the building?

(WHICH WOULD HAVE PREVENTED THIS APOCALYPSE, BY GETTING RID OF JONAH, WHO HAD JUST UNDERSTOOD WHAT HE NEEDED TO DO TO MAKE IT HAPPEN.)

- The lighter reveal was just comedy gold, and I’m so glad that the reccurring thing with “Jon isn’t able to pay attention to the lighter and tends (/is compelled) to change the subject when it’s brought up” led to this.

(MAG037) TIM: Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it? ARCHIVIST: No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk draw, hold on. [SOUND OF PACKAGE BEING RETRIEVED AND OPENED] TIM: Er, what is it? ARCHIVIST: A lighter. An old Zippo. TIM: You smoke? ARCHIVIST: No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive! TIM: Okay. Is there anything unusual about it? ARCHIVIST: Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front. Doesn’t mean anything to me. You? TIM: Ah no. No. ARCHIVIST: Well… show it to the others, see what they think.

(MAG039) SASHA: So why hasn’t it gone off? ELIAS: Because there isn’t an actual fire. SASHA: Right, right. Can we set it off manually? I think Jon’s got a lighter somewhere. ELIAS: He’s not smoking again, is he? Anyway, it shouldn’t be necessary.

(MAG079) TIM: But he’s going to do something, and it’s going to be bad. And I don’t mean like “sneaking a cigarette” bad. Like properly bad.

(MAG111) GERARD: Nice lighter. You a spider freak, then? ARCHIVIST: What? Oh! Er, n–no. I–I, I never really, uh… I never really thought of it. I–I’m Jon. I’m with the Magnus Institute. … I–I’m the Archivist.

(MAG136) DAISY: [SCOFF] She’s… Web. Spider’s sneaky like that. [PAUSE] Like that lighter you’re always using. Where’d you get that? ARCHIVIST: Mm. [STATIC RISES] Good point. We should keep our eyes open. [STATIC FADES] Anyway, how’s Basira doing?

(MAG162) MARTIN: You said this place, the–the cabin was… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It, it’s feeding on us, right? ARCHIVIST: Yes… MARTIN: … So should we… destroy it, before we go? […] We’re not even gonna try? We, we’ve got your lighter, maybe we could just– ARCHIVIST: We can’t fight the world, Martin.

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: “Ignite it”? ANNABELLE: Indeed! And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow, it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it? ARCHIVIST: What…? BASIRA: Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours. ARCHIVIST: [INDIGNANT] My what? I… [STATIC RISES] [PULLS THE GOLD LIGHTER WITH EMBOSSED SPIDERWEB FROM POCKET AND FLICKS IT OPEN] Oh? … Oh. [STATIC FADES]

Sasha remembered it, Tim had commented on Jon trying to discreetly smoke (though that might have been a figure of speech?), Gerry had first assumed that Jon was with the Spider because of it, Daisy had directly asked about the lighter and Jon had redirected the conversation elsewhere, Martin had pointed out at the beginning of this season that Jon still had that lighter with him… and now, Basira revealed that she had noticed it too. The static in MAG136 had made it clear that it wasn’t Jon’s fault, that he was likely supernaturally compelled to not think too long about the lighter, but I love that silly moment, that “My WHAT?! =<= … oh” was one of Jon’s best moments. ever.

- I really wonder whether Annabelle’s reaction was sincere when Jon threatened to let the lighter fall into the hole:

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: I see. So… [FLICKS LIGHTER SHUT] If I were to throw it away– ANNABELLE: [GASP] ARCHIVIST: –into your little pit… MARTIN: [MUFFLED WORRY] ANNABELLE: [CAREFULLY] I would advise against that. ARCHIVIST: Oh, would you? BASIRA: Jon, she still has Martin. MARTIN: [MUFFLED REMINDER] [TENSE STAND-OFF] ARCHIVIST: Fine! … Fine.

* Jon going for the throat, taunting and threatening and relishing the power he thinks he has is terrifying but also incredibly hot. That condescension…! (And it kind of made a twisted parallel with Annabelle’s discussion with Martin earlier, when she defended that she had once thought about filling him with spiders but discarded that plan. It’s not the same power dynamic, but it still shows that… now, Jon knows how to handle the avatar-game better, and to revel in the power he can have over other terrible beings.)

* … What would have happened exactly? It can’t be just that it would have meant that Jon would have lost his way of igniting the gas main – that could be easily replaced by anything, getting a spark wouldn’t be hard and they have some supplies. What would have happened, if the Web artefact had been thrown into the pit…? Would it have deprived The Web of some of its power, would it have contaminated another world…? Why was Annabelle suddenly that tense over it…?

- Another JonMartin hug ;w;

(MAG159) MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] I see… [INHALE] I see you, Jon. [BREATHLESS CHUCKLE] [PRESENT, ECHO FADES] I see you…! ARCHIVIST: Oh, Martin… [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: [FRANTIC BREATHING] I w–I was on my own…! I was all on my own… ARCHIVIST: Not anymore. Come on – let’s go home…

(Season 5 trailer) MARTIN: You know I’m here for you. ARCHIVIST: [LONG SIGH] … Yes. Yes I do. [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: All right. All right.

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

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: … I’m sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: [SIGH] It’s okay. I understand. [BAG JOSTLING] [FABRIC RUSTLES] BASIRA: Urgh… [SILENCE] You done?

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

(MAG187) ARCHIVIST: [GROGGY] Oh. Martin, good! [BAG JOSTLING] [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: Wh–, wh–wh–what happened? Th–th–there was the hotel and then…

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Sorry. Not something I can help, I’m afraid…! MARTIN: No, I, I know, I know. I’m sorry, it’s okay. [SIGH] [FABRIC RUSTLES] ARCHIVIST: … Bad dream? […] Maybe I survive, but I–I lose… something. My identity? My mind? My… memories? I don’t know. [FABRIC RUSTLES AS THEY EMBRACE] MARTIN: [LONG EXHALE]

(MAG197) MARTIN: [COUGHING AND SPLUTTERING] Jon…! ARCHIVIST: Martin! [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: … Oh god, I’m sorry, I– ARCHIVIST: It’s fine. MARTIN: I didn’t realise that– ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk later.

(MAG159 was confirmed by Alex, and MAG187 wasn’t marked in the transcript but I definitely hear it!)

;_; Every time, I wonder if it will be the last one… but I’m kind of expecting a big, biiig dramatic hug for the last one so… not there yet.

- I come out of this episode still not knowing exactly what to think about Annabelle – it sounded like her last appearance (“Very well. We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision.”), though it doesn’t mean we wouldn’t hear about her.

My feeling from this episode is that she’s mostly… a sort of vessel of The Web, a puppet herself (her use of “we” sounded like she was the spokeswoman of a greater conscience), and I don’t know what is left of who-she-used-to-be – contrarily to other avatars, she didn’t seem to cast much value in her own self-preservation, since she did point out multiple times that it wouldn’t matter if she got killed in the process of The Web’s plan as long as she delivered its message to Jon first. I’m crossing fingers for something more about Annabelle herself because… it was already the case with The Distortion using Helen as a face and the tragedy of Jon not having been able to know her (plus, when it comes to monsters taking women’s faces: The Hive had invaded Jane Prentiss, the Not!Them postured as Sasha, even Nikola was technically a being older than this particular mannequin), while we got male antagonists who were their own despicable selves like Peter or Elias. On the other hand, Annabelle’s theme seems to be a play with the fears and thoughts people project onto her, the things they expect from her, the role she is forced to play because of these expectations:

(MAG147, Annabelle Cane) “Now, I believe the tradition is to tell you the story of my life; the sinister path that led me inevitably to the sorry state in which I now find myself. Well, let it never be said I do not dance the steps I am assigned.”

(MAG196) MARTIN: I don’t know, like… something a bit more dramatic, I guess. ANNABELLE: We’ll see what we can do. [FOOTSTEPS, THEN CREAKING AS ANNABELLE OPENS THE DOOR] [DRAMATICALLY] Step into my parlour…! […] Let’s make the setting a little more… appropriate, shall we? MARTIN: Hey, just… ah, hah, p–put the camera down, okay? ANNABELLE: You said you wanted something more… “dramatic”. Right?

(MAG197) MARTIN: Oh. Wonderful. I can’t wait to attend the Annabelle Cane Show. ANNABELLE: Huh! You know, I did consider it once. MARTIN: Excuse me? ANNABELLE: A TV show. Reaching out into the homes of millions, giving the more vulnerable ones a subtle nudge towards terror. [TAPE SQUEALS] Probably something for children. … It never went anywhere, of course. These things rarely do. […] Now settle back. Try to look… intentional. MARTIN: What does that mean? ANNABELLE: They’re going to expect a suitably elaborate scene when they arrive, a monstrous tableau. I’d hate to disappoint them…! MARTIN: Rrright… [MARTIN GINGERLY TRIES TO ADJUST HIS POSITION] So, w–were you thinking something like this, or–? ANNABELLE: [SIGH] [ANNABELLE RELEASES A BURST OF WEBBING, GAGGING MARTIN, AND STICKING HIM FIRMLY TO THE CHAIR] MARTIN: [MUFFLED INDIGNANCY] ANNABELLE: My apologies for the inconvenience but appearances are everything, Martin. Now, if you’ll excuse me? I need to change into something more suitable. [BONE CRACKS AND FLESH TEARS AS ANNABELLE REVEALS THIS WASN’T EVEN HER FINAL FORM] [ANNABELLE’S VOICE IS DEEPER FROM HERE ON OUT AND TAPE RECORDERS CAN NO LONGER BE HEARD] [TWISTED STATIC CRACKLE] ANNABELLE: It is so very important to prime your audience. […] I’ve played my part to its completion. You get to decide how I exit the stage.

The entirety of her interaction with Jon was framed as a performance – the performance he expected out of her. Jon was expecting the worse out of Annabelle? He was welcomed with a tape reminding him of his childhood trauma, putting him in the position of the next “guest” who would be devoured by the Spider when he would enter its home. Jon was wary of Annabelle as being dangerous and harming Martin? Annabelle turned into a monster and threatened to harm Martin. Martin might have had some doubts and fears about turning Web, to the point of refusing Jon would look into his head to know what was happening with him in MAG172? Annabelle kept going back and forth about whether Martin was suitable for it or not, with any detail going in a direction and then the other (Martin calculating his behaviour with others making him a likely candidate, but his impatience showing that he wasn’t fitted for it, but his perception of The Web proving that he had what it took…). Annabelle even pointed out to Martin that he was prompt to make a judgement and distrust her before she had done anything to him (“Why? Because of what I say, or because of the assumptions you make about my motives?”): she kept feeding them the lines they were expecting from her. It can simply fit with The Web’s whole thing about making you second-guess and playing on your indecisions, on your uncertainties and doubts; it could also be that there is something more underneath…?

(Especially since… well, technically, Annabelle gave them a lot of information and left them free to think about it. If she were trying to sabotage The Web from the inside, that would probably be the best way to go about it: following the plan like a puppet, and ensuring it goes badly at the same time.)

- That’s FUN, we got the same annihilation as MAG160 for Jon by putting him as responsible of the situation, while at the same time taking the reverse approach regarding being “chosen”:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “It does tickle me, that in this world of… would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the “Chosen One” is… simply that: someone I chose! It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your… destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck. […] You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of The Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here. Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here – in the world that we have made.”

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: So The Web, it wants to spread? To escape into new realities? ANNABELLE: Yes. But not alone. Any attempt to separate the Fears is ultimately doomed, as you well know. ARCHIVIST: But how? ANNABELLE: We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice. […] ARCHIVIST: … I won’t do it. ANNABELLE: Possibly. You’ve seen your other options. […] BASIRA: … What about her? ARCHIVIST: [HARSH] Good question. As far as I can tell, there’s now nothing to stop me killing you. And throwing this lighter away forever. ANNABELLE: Nothing, except your own indecision. […] We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision.

There are so many little differences between the ways they pictured Jon’s role! Both presented him at the centre of their plans, as a necessary piece: Jonah gloated about the way he had picked and shaped Jon’s fate, and his whole letter was about retroactively depriving Jon of his own agency (shaping the fantasies that Jonah had always been in control and had led Jon where he wanted to ultimately be); and surprisingly, The Web took another approach, no less hurtful – framing the apocalypse as the result of a sort of uniqueness which meant that, since Jon was a child, he was likely to cause the apocalypse, and presenting the outcome and destiny of their world… as his, leaving him the possibility to “decide”.

And as much as Jonah blew the idea that he had always been in control out of proportions (the idea to send Jared after Jon and then going pikachuface when Jared attacked the Archives without waiting…), he still felt more honest than what Annabelle said about Jon! I’m especially interested in this bit:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice.

Because… what bullshit, what with giving the impression that there would have been anything special about an eight-year-old boy making him the “most likely” to cause the apocalypse! Implying that it was even Jon’s choice by failing to remind that Jonah had been responsible for it! It’s easy to describe Jon as the person who was meant to Open The Door now that it indeed happened, and I’m absolutely ready to picture that there were actually thousands of potential people who could have done it in the world and it “simply” happened with Jon. After all, Annabelle had pointed out last episode that “People get so caught up on how intricate they are, how perfectly constructed. They never consider how flexible they can be. The sort of storm they need to weather. You can’t be precious about a single strand.”: how many discarded plans had there been in the last century or so? I also love and hate how it paralleled The Web’s use of tapes: individually, each segment might have been true… but not necessarily in the order Annabelle suggested:

“We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation.” => Web indeed did support Jonah’s plans, but when did it decide that Jon would be the perfect candidate?

“We marked him young” => Jonah pointed out that Jon already had The Web mark and that it contributed in making him pick Jon as the next Archivist for his project.

“guided his path as best we could” => The Web tipped Jon off here and there during the series (a spider led to the season 1 climax, strengthening Jon’s chances of survival since the worms weren’t fully ready yet; there were cobwebs on Jon’s first tape recorder; The Web sent Oliver to help Jon to “make his choice” and wake up at the start of season 4; a tape covered in cobwebs sent Jon on a quest for an anchor, it was specifically a Flesh statement so likely trying to direct him towards Jared…)

“And then, we took his voice.” => Pushing Jon in the direction of the tape recorder to record the “difficult” statements that didn’t work on computers.

Did The Web send Jon to the Institute, or did Jon’s curiosity push him to wanting to understand what had happened with the book when he was a child? Who knows! But it’s all about framing these various elements in a certain order to make it feel like there is a coherent, merciless narrative that had used Jon like a puppet all along, while potentially keeping the most important part under silence: that The Web needed someone to bring the apocalypse… but that it mostly needed someone who would hate said apocalypse and would try to reverse it. That was the part The Web needed above all, given what Annabelle had just explained.

- Maybe it’s a useless wish at this point (only three episodes left) but Annabelle pushing the idea that Jon was “most likely” to bring the apocalypse screams “destiny as a concept” screams “Agnes” to me ;; Someone involved with The Web, whose voice was hidden and who was only described through the eyes of men and/or people romantically interested in her, who was aware of the expectations and the “destiny” announced for her and who might have decided to go another way…

- Jon said they would talk:

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk about it later. Once you’re safe. MARTIN: [MUFFLED DOWNBEAT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT] […] Oh god, I’m sorry, I– ARCHIVIST: It’s fine. MARTIN: I didn’t realise that– ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk later. […] MARTIN: So… what do we do now? ARCHIVIST: Let’s get out of here. After that… we’ll see.

And indeed, they ought to. Two things that have been established and that I could see coming back:

* Martin had forbidden Jon to look into his head, to be able to respect some privacy (MAG167) and because he thought he would second-guess everything if it turned out The Web had been manipulating him (MAG172). Basira just reminded Jon that he needed to trust them to have their own opinions, that having an opposite stance to his didn’t mean they were manipulated… but I could also see Martin asking Jon to look inside him again to have the absolute certainty that no, Martin wasn’t manipulated. (Or maybe was, even partially, being nudged in a direction he partially wanted anyway.)

* Martin still hasn’t shared that he planned to ask Jon to smite him if they couldn’t find any way to turn the world back. As things are, sadly, it would feel extremely pressuring (since the only way to not go in that direction… would then be to follow Annabelle’s plan to get rid of the Fears).

- Given everything that was thrown in his face with this episode? I want Jon to have a breakdown and cry :w

- There are two gigantic lines of small print coming with Annabelle’s plan:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: It’s very simple. Destroy the Archives, and cut out The Eye’s pupil. BASIRA: [SARCASTIC] Oh, is that all? […] And how exactly are we supposed to destroy the Archives? ANNABELLE: Many years ago, a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. [TAPE SQUEALS] You need only ignite it.

* Destroying the Panopticon through the tunnels means that the survivors would lose their only mean of protection. Melanie had pointed out that her and Georgie’s own protection was neither total nor long-lasting for others:

(MAG190) MELANIE: I wasn’t exactly going to leave her there so… we grabbed her and legged it. And… that’s when we discovered that we can keep others hidden as well. MARTIN: Hm. MELANIE: Not completely, and, and, not for long, but… it’s enough to get them here to the tunnels.

So they wouldn’t be able to protect the other survivors on the outside, and Annabelle just destroyed the camera (which could have been an alternative way to protect them for a while). Going with that plan would mean evacuating them and them consenting to it, and… would they agree? On the one hand, they could firmly oppose that plan (nobody would want to be put back in the domains’ hells); on the other hand, they might agree if it seems like Melanie&Georgie believe that this option has a chance to succeed (and out of belief that this is the way to achieve Melanie’s “premonition” of the apocalypse stopping)… and at the same time, Melanie&Georgie would probably refuse because of that, since it would be abusing the survivors’ trust and security over such a big lie, when they have no way to know if it would work.

* … Igniting a gas main through a lighter of all things means that the person taking care of the ignition is absolutely sure to be engulfed into the explosion, since it requires the flame to get into contact with the gas – unless they still have some materials from the Gertrude era or from the Exploding The Unknowing plans back from season 3 down in the tunnel, like a fuse?

Jon had pointed out that he should be able to harm Jonah:

(MAG193) ARCHIVIST: You were right. MARTIN: About what? ARCHIVIST: His body is vulnerable. A–at least to me. MARTIN: … What’s the catch? ARCHIVIST: I could kill his body, sever the link, break The Eye’s power, and… Jonah Magnus would die. MARTIN: Okay, that sounds good but…? ARCHIVIST: But… that wouldn’t actually harm The Eye itself. And with him gone it would… it would choose a suitable replacement. MARTIN: Oh. ARCHIVIST: If we kill Jonah Magnus… I take his place.

Which means it would probably be his role to severe the link between Jonah and Beholding, which means someone else would have to take care of the ignition… aaaaaaaand we have a certain someone who already proved himself regarding fire, and who recently stated that he actually had a fear of it.

(MAG117) MARTIN: This way I finally get to do something. It’s gonna hurt but… I’m ready. And I want to. Also, I get to burn some stuff, so that’s cool!

(MAG118) [CLICK–] MARTIN: [EXHALE] Are you listening? [DEEP INHALE] … Good. [PAPER RUSTLE] Case, uh… 0071304. Statement of… Ivo Lensik. [EXHALE] [LIGHTER FLICKED OPEN] All right…! [LIGHTER BEING TURNED ON] [SMALL GASP] [SOUND OF PAPER BURNING] [DEEP EXHALE] [PAPER RUSTLE] “Statement ends”, I guess…! Hum… [PAPER RUSTLE] “Harold Silvana”! Number 0020406. Will probably do! [PAPER RUSTLE] [LIGHTER BEING TURNED ON] [SOUND OF PAPER BURNING] All right, then! 0140207, Dylan Anderson. [PAPER RUSTLE] Yeah? … Okay~ [LIGHTER BEING TURNED ON] [EXHALE] There’s plenty more on the pile~ [SOUND OF PAPER BURNING]

(MAG169) MARTIN: Will the fire feel hot to me? ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: Will it cause me lots of pain, if I touch it? ARCHIVIST: Yes, though not as much as– MARTIN: [SHAKILY BUT STRONG] Will it burn me alive, and kill me dead? ARCHIVIST: … No. It can’t do us any permanent harm; once we’re out, we’ll be fine. MARTIN: You are aware that intense pain can do you loads of harm, even if there’s no any physical injury! […] I know! I know, okay, I just… [SOMETHING SHATTERS] Look, I j–, I just don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favourite pain ever. ARCHIVIST: Is that… a joke? MARTIN: No, no! Okay? I… I legitimately hate burns, all right, they’re–they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just, it– It–it just makes me sick, I–I hate it. Hate it!

… It screams “Martin igniting the gas main” a bit ;; (I wonder if he will confirm whether or not Jon had lent the lighter to him in MAG118, or if that one was another, more mundane lighter?)

* Additionally: being at the top of the tower cutting the link between Jonah and Beholding precisely when the (under)ground level of that same building is being exploded with the goal of destroying the Panopticon/the Archives (since both words were used)… doesn’t bode well for whoever is at the top of that tower when it happens.

- Overall, I’m curious about what Jon and the others will do, concretely right now and after taking a decision, but I’m also not expecting them to follow Annabelle’s plan and presented binary at all.

Regarding what will happen immediately after the end of this episode: as much as Georgie’s last words (when she sent Jon&Martin on their way in MAG192) might have worked as a last appearance, Melanie’s (when she invited Jon to think about where Martin could have gone in MAG194) would be more surprising. Although there are only three episodes left, holy heck, I’m expecting Basira&Jon&Martin to regroup with Melanie&Georgie&the survivors in the tunnels to discuss what they’ve learned and their options? It will feel a bit weird to go back immediately to the tunnels but, at the same time, the framing device granted by the tapes has just been pointed out again – if the tape recorders don’t feel like the journey back to the tower (even with Jon pouring out a domain statement) is worth their while, if Jon&Basira&Martin don’t talk at all during that journey or don’t say anything that they find relevant, then they won’t get recorded at all until they’re back and ready to talk about things. (There is still a tiny possibility that they do talk on the way back and that Jon gives a statement… but since there are only three episodes left, I think we would all collectively lose it if one of them was used up for a domain statement.)

I’m curious about their individual stance on the whole thing. Jon was quick to point out that it would likely mean a rinse and repeat in another world of what they experienced – the Fears lurking at the border until they would be invoked in their fullest, dooming that world (these other worlds?) in turn. But on a personal level… they all know the amount of misery the Fears were able to cause even before the apocalypse: Jon was traumatised as a kid; Sasha’s whole life and existence were stolen; Tim had lost his brother because of the Fears; Georgie had lost her precious friend Alex because of them; Melanie had to gouge her eyes out to escape Beholding; Martin almost got swallowed entirely by The Lonely; and even the survivors: they were trapped in the domains, they know how bad it was, they know what inflicting the Fears on others would mean… but it would also be understandable for all of them to want to survive and save their own world. But what about the weight of responsibility? All of them in this world were subjected to the apocalypse by the decision of one person, Jonah (and the support he received from The Web), who manipulated Jon into opening the door: now redirecting the Fears on other people would mean making an active choice, being responsible for their misery. But what about the intrinsic bias in the fact that the people who would be able to make that choice and to act on it are precisely people who are not currently subjected to the domains? Choosing to sacrifice their world and the billions of people suffering for the sake of other worlds would be awful considering they’re not getting tortured alongside them at the moment. It’s all one big complicated trolley problem.

Thematically, I have trouble picturing them following Annabelle’s plan: Jon immediately refused, they have no guarantee that it would work exactly as she announced (and that there aren’t a few more caveats), and it would mean validating The Web’s plan, what it had worked on for so long, and which was based on the same reasoning as Jonah – the idea that someone would irremediably cause the apocalypse, and that it was better to stay in control of when and how it would happen to prepare its own escape rather than to try to prevent it. But at the same time, it might be a bit too hopeful to think that the group and the survivors would find and manoeuvre around a third way that would indeed nerf the Fears? ;; Technically, Annabelle’s instructions contained new information that could still be useful:

* The Fears are currently anchored through (at least) three elements: Beholding’s pupil (currently Jonah); the Panostitute/the Archives, vulnerable through Smirke’s tunnels; and the tapes, containing records of Fears. Annabelle didn’t mention Jon at all as a lynchpin, which is quite surprising given how the whole world had been able to identify him as someone special (as Simon had put it, “You might be the closest thing the universe has ever had to an important person”).

* The blob of Fears contains its own contradictions: some part of it wants to survive and is able to scheme for that survival (The Web), some part of it craves its own annihilation (The End) – technically, it inherently contains its own potential death.

(- I’m not sure what to expect about the survivors, whether they’ll be down with any plan or vehemently oppose or sabotage some of it. I know that personally, I would prefer them to just be… people who’ve been hurt, who are not nefarious, and who might even be able to provide out-of-the-box ideas? I fear that if they were the ones to “ruin” any plan, it would be an easy way to absolve our main characters of having made the final mistakes dooming everything, by redirecting the blame on random people, and give the idea that Humanity Sucks Actually, so it’s really not something that appeals to me.

I wonder if Rosie might join them in the tunnels? She would be another of the collaterals if the Panopticon were to get destroyed, since she’s trapped in that one…)

- I am really curious about how characters will now behave with the tape recorders, and whether we have learned everything there is to know about them. I’m onboard with the idea that The Web needed fragments of Fears woven onto the tapes, and had worked for the tapes to get created in the first place, but I’m still having some interrogations regarding what Annabelle said and how she acted around them.

* Characters had mentioned multiple times that something was “listening” through the tape recorders, or that they felt “watched” when it was on. However, Annabelle demonstrated that she doesn’t have an immediate knowledge of things as they were getting recorded:

(MAG197) MARTIN: And… Wait, ha–, no, uh… Is that… Basira? He–he’s got Basira with him! ANNABELLE: Yes. I did wonder if that would be the case. Interesting. And unfortunate for me. That’s two heads we’ll need to keep cool. My odds aren’t looking good.

If that knowledge had been instantaneous, Annabelle would have known for a while now that Basira was with Jon, since he picked her up in the lake in MAG195, on tape. Annabelle had taunted Martin about what was listening at the end of MAG196 but never clearly answered about that – her plan relies on the Fears hearing the voices and following… but are they the thing that had been listening through the tape recorders since the beginning? Could be that The Web itself is listening though the tape recorders? If so, that would also mean that Annabelle is not directly connected to it.

* The thing about the lighter having allowed The Web and the tapes to follow Jon… only partially works, technically.

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: A little anchor of our power, so that we, and our tapes, may follow wherever you go.

Season 2’s trailer had announced the tape recorder turning on by themselves, which is something we first witnessed in MAG080: the official transcript had two [CLICK] at the beginning of the episode (Jon taking Leitner’s statement); at some point, Jon, shaken, left the office to have a smoke (possibly compelled by the lighter), leaving Leitner alone; there was another [CLICK] when Elias entered the room and the “texture” of the tape spooling changed; Elias murdered Leitner, left the office; Jon came back and discovered the body and the recording stopped. What might have happened is that Jon was recording the event, but that another recorder had been sneakily double-recording everything by itself; when Elias entered the office, he turned off one of the recorders, unaware that there was another still running and catching everything on tape. Said tape was still in the Institute afterwards – Melanie retrieved it from Elias’s desk in MAG118, and it was the piece of evidence that forced Section 31 to arrest Elias in MAG120 (since the Inspector pointed out that it contains the recording of a murder – if it had been Gertrude’s, the secret of Elias-being-Jonah would have been known at that point).

It is true that the tapes had turned on and off around Jon after that point during season 3… but they did the same at the Institute when Jon was away, including when he was in America. In fact, the first times the tapes had begun acting up were around the Assistants (Tim didn’t want to get recorded in MAG082, and he&Daisy commented that it had turned back on; and it turned back on again at the end of the episode when Martin&Tim were discussing); by MAG114, Jon even thought that Tim was navigating through the tunnels because he wanted to avoid the tape recorders in the Archives. Chronologically, there are even a few cases where tape recorders might have been acting up pre-Jon: it’s unclear whether Gerry had accidentally turned it on in MAG162, and the recording of Gertrude’s murder in MAG158 had started when she was already busy pouring gasoline around.

I could accept that at that point, The Web had basically made its nest in the Archives (since Gertrude had her own connections with The Web through Hill Top Road and Emma had been working there for a while), but the point remains that the lighter had not been the (only?) thing allowing the tape recorders to act up. Actually, it’s even surprising that Annabelle kept talking about the “tapes” but not the “tape recorders”, and that neither she nor Jon ever clearly stated that it was The Web controlling or listening through the tape recorders themselves:

(MAG196) MARTIN: Wait… Wait. The tapes… ANNABELLE: A fine material to spin a web with, don’t you think? MARTIN: What? All this time, through all of this… it, it was just you spying on us? ANNABELLE: Oh, Martin! You have no idea who’s listening, do you?

(MAG197) BASIRA: … So. The tapes. They’re from The Web, then? ARCHIVIST: Looks like it. BASIRA: Were they always? Right from the start? ARCHIVIST: As far as I can tell. I–it’s hard to s–… If I look too closely at them, my own voice, things get… recursive. Hard to follow. BASIRA: I always assumed they were with The Eye. The whole “watching, listening, waiting” thing, you know? ARCHIVIST: No… They were always using them to spin their own web. Out of my words. […] MARTIN: I’d hardly call this silence. ANNABELLE: I’d stop them if I could…! […] We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice. ARCHIVIST: No… ANNABELLE: His, and those he walked with. We inscribed them on shining strands of word and meaning, and used them to weave a web which cast itself out through the gate and beyond our universe. So that when the Fears heard that voice, and came in their terrible glory, they might then travel out along it. [TAPE SQUEALS] Or be dragged. BASIRA: Is she talking about the tapes? ARCHIVIST: Yes.

So: was it always The Web controlling the recorders, is it still The Web? Or did something else happen, either from the start, either growing over the power that was being stored, and which led to the tape recorders also catching mundane conversations in the Archives…?

Regardless: characters might now associate tapes with The Web spying on them, which means that we could get a few more games of whack-a-tape-recorder or characters deliberately refraining from pouring their hearts out when they’re in the vicinity, or being unreliable on tape on purpose.

Only 3 episodes to go ;_; In previous seasons, at this point: Jon had just interrogated Martin about the lighter delivery (ha.), Jon had listened to Gertrude’s tape about the Not!Them, the Archive team had recorded their testaments and Jon had burned Gerry’s page with a lighter (ha.), Jon had read Adelard’s last statement to Gertrude explaining his incoming death and was panicking over Peter&Martin’s plan being set into motion, leading to Georgie&Melanie refusing to help and Helen gloating about it.

MAG198’s title is the WORST and doesn’t inspire me anything else than: shit going down soon TTwwTT

[libermachinae]

Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part IV: Touch - Chapter 13: Twisting and Snarling

Also available on AO3 Chapter Summary: A hunt is on and the jig is up. Word Count: 3272

---

Gigatron had known, upon entering the throne room, that it was his destiny to have found this place. Why else would the the throne, a grand centerpiece from which he could observe every move of his soldiers, be so perfectly fitted to his frame? From here, he’d known, he would lay the foundations for the campaign that would bring the universe, at last, to its knees before the Decepticons. A place like this was reserved for champions and kings, and his claim over it proved that he had the makings of both.

So the reports concerning the Autobot infiltrators concerned him little. In the hours since their arrival, Startle and Sweeper had alternated rushing inside with alerts to the effect of, “The grounder was spotted in the midst of sector Z4, driving inbound,” or, “The slagged shuttle intercepted and we lost visual.” They treated each announcement as if it were news. Gigatron was well aware Deadlock was headed in fast with an Autobot hanging off his spoiler. He knew his current regiment would struggle and ultimately fail to catch him. Everything was progressing as he had always expected it would, so he stayed in his throne and waited them out.

He knew, as he answered the latest hail to his comm, that while victory would inevitably be his, this would not be it.

“Report.”

“Sir,” Vanquish said, “Deadlock got away.”

“Explain.” Vanquish was among his best, the captain of his security forces and first choice for rare away missions. Hellbat had handpicked him, and Gigatron trusted no one’s judgment more. Clearly, a few years separated from his roots had done nothing to blunt Deadlock’s edge.

“We thought we had him cornered,” Vanquish said. “There were three blasters aimed at his head and a sniper up above. Pothole moved in and he took an unlikely evasive maneuver over the wall at his back.” He grumbled, his pride hurt. “He’s fast, sir.”

“Any sign of his companions?” Gigatron asked.

“No, sir.”

“Is he injured?”

“No, not that I could see, sir.”

“You had him cornered and didn’t shoot him.” This was why he so eagerly awaited Deadlock’s arrival; idleness had proven unkind to his own mechs. Deadlock, whether he ended up serving as idol or an example, would bring them back to the caliber Gigatron expected of those under his command. First, though, he had to get here, and Gigatron was growing tired of being patient. It seemed that afford this encounter the gravity it deserved, Deadlock had decided to turn it into a game. Fine. Gigatron could humor him, if only briefly.

“I’m taking my team,” he decided. “Return to base and await further orders. I don’t need you all broadcasting my location to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gigatron cut the comm and made to gesture to Hellbat, only to remember he had left on his own errand. He waved instead to the next nearest mech, Sweeper, who straightened to attention.

“Get my squad ready,” Gigatron commanded. “We’re joining the hunt.”

~*~

Seated in the Decepticon shuttle, hovering at the far edge of Decepticon territory, Ratchet barely moved. There had been a cough sitting in his engine so long it felt like the fumes were corroding his pipes, but he batted down commands to clear it even as his internals stung and his filters felt heavy. He could distract himself by tapping against his knee, but the feeling was starting to overwhelm his rudimentary distraction technique. 

It didn’t help that his other main distraction was judging him, harshly. Rodimus hadn’t said so much in words, but he found it amusing that Ratchet was holding himself to such stringent demands when there were easier solutions. Each time he felt the wave of derision, Ratchet shot back with the simple point that Rodimus wasn’t speaking for a reason. Both of them were silent as Drift slipped into the base, desperate not to distract him but unwilling to cut the comm for even a moment, the crackling feedback of his malfunctioning comm suite their only sign he was still operational.

There had been so many close calls getting him in this far, and he still wasn’t all the way to the target yet. Somehow, he planned to sneak a pair of potentially unwilling Decepticons back out of their fortified base, and then once outside somehow maneuver around the patrols, which were growing more aggressive with each near miss. They’d all known going in this would be a dangerous, difficult operation, but Ratchet kept wondering if they could have done more to prepare. If they’d gone in not just watching one another’s backs, but being—

Rodimus intercepted the thought before it could go any further. Regardless of the fact they kept looping back to it, now wasn’t the time.

“I’m in,” Drift whispered, offering an ideal distraction.

“What are their defenses like?” The words tumbled out of Ratchet, followed by a hacking filter cough that he immediately muted himself for. His fans were still spinning when he jumped back into the channel.

“—very spare,” Drift was saying. “Could’ve walked in through the front door.”

“That’s not normal, right?” Rodimus asked, assuming the answer but trying to avoid saying something stupid in front of the expert.

“It’s not like there’s standard practice out here, but no,” Drift said. “A group with that sophisticated a defense system normally wouldn’t leave their headquarters unattended.”

“Is it possible it’s a decoy?” Ratchet asked.

“Sure,” Drift said nonchalantly.

“As in a trap?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ratchet didn’t bother adding anything else. Rodimus’ thoughts were bland and resigned; a mental shrug, perhaps a pat on the shoulder. Ratchet accepted it as the best he was going to get.

“Any signs of Grit?” Rodimus asked to fill the empty space.

“Not yet. Have an idea where he might be, though.”

“Thought you said they don’t keep standard practice in these places.”

“They don’t.”

Ratchet was going to push him further on it when he heard the subtle click of disconnection.

“Drift?”

No response.

“Drift?” he tried again, pointlessly.

“What—did he—”

He did. He did, Ratchet was certain, because the last tone of a comm being broken was completely different from one shut off manually. That knowledge, combined with Rodimus’ unending confidence in Drift, allowed them to stave off the cascade of panic they felt at being shut out so suddenly.

“Why would he cut us off?” Rodimus demanded.

Ratchet briefly wondered if they were coming to rely too much on their mind link, losing touch with how to understand other Cybertronians without it. The passing thought was swept along in the tide, though, inconsequential compared to their much more pressing concerns.

“He found something.” And now he was facing it all alone.

“Not alone,” Rodimus reminded him. “He’s got us.”

He wasn’t wrong. Ratchet reached out and held onto Rodimus’ certainty, feeling Rodimus do the same as he started to input the commands for takeoff.

~*~

Gigatron slammed one taloned foot to the ground and roared, echoing through the barren canyons. Another dead end and no sign of Deadlock. The little shuttle had made one appearance but fled the moment Gigatron gave chase, leaving him once more to wait for reports full of almosts and nearlys.

The tracks Drop Down had found led to a cliff with no apparent follow through. Same with the trail Sweeper had slithered over. Now, Rageor was chiming in, claiming he had found something. Gigatron flapped his wings twice and took to the air, homing in on the provided coordinates. Rageor stood before a tall cliff face, two members of his squad on either side of him, facing something hidden between the three of them. Gigatron let himself drop, brittle dust stone buckling beneath his feet as he landed and sending a cloud up into the air. He coiled his necks up to their full height before he stepped forward, flames licking his teeth.

“Show me,” he demanded.

Rageor nodded and stepped aside, revealing a mech cowering against the wall. Blocky and tan with green accents, his utterly plain appearance would have made it possible to mistake him for a neutral, were it not for the purple insignia splashed on the back of his shoulder. Gigatron turned to the captain of his vanguard, who raised his hands and took a step back.

“That’s not Deadlock,” Gigatron growled.

“He claims to have information,” Rageor said, turning his face away when the flames came close. Gigatron turned one of his heads to the unknown Decepticon, who cowered from the direct attention and squirmed as though trying to press himself into the rock itself.

“Well?” The thrill of the hunt was waning, glory still at bay, and Gigatron’s patience was wearing thin.

“Dr—Deadlock, he brought me here,” the Decepticon said, “on his shuttle. Rickety little thing, meant we were in auditory range the whole time.” He gulped as Gigatron pawed at the ground, talons driving furrows into the soft stone. “He and his Autobots, they were trying to be vague, but they had something on their ship. Some kinda weapon.”

“And?” Gigatron asked, unimpressed. He hardly needed to ruffle his platelets to reveal his own flying arsenal. If this Decepticon intended to use this weapon as a bargaining chip for his life, Gigatron wasn’t sure which side he was undervaluing more.

“And they specifically didn’t want you getting at it”

Hm. Hadn’t he heard a refrain like that before?

The Decepticon froze as Gigatron straightened, each of his hands rising high to scan the distant horizon. Deadlock might have been the key to this planet’s greatest asset, but Gigatron hadn’t gotten where he was by limiting his prospects.

“All patrols, update priorities,” he announced. “It seems there is a second prize in our midst.”

~*~

“That is what we are, that is why we’re here. Machines of war, of—”

Hellbat broke off mid-rant, which was fine, because with two guns aimed at his head and the tip of a sword digging into his back, Drift was only half paying attention. The rest of his limited focus was on Grit, kneeled at Hellbat’s side with his hands bound behind his back and plating locked tight as a blast container. The stone army he had tucked to the side for now, concerning but not an immediate threat while they remained in their dormant state.

“What? Gigatron, sir,” Hellbat snapped, glaring at the ceiling as though he could see his commander through the stone. “You can’t—we need the Autobots alive.”

Drift did his best not to react, though the blade digging harder between his shoulder panels suggested he didn’t do well enough.

“What’s—I don’t know—what do you care about some cheap Autobot weapon? We have the army, remember? That’s—”

Drift’s control slipped. He flinched from the edge of the sword cutting into his subplating, but it didn’t stop him from switching his comms back on. Security be damned, they were already compromised.

“Gigatron knows about the Enigma,” he rushed to say. “Get off the planet, go, they—”

“Hey, enough.”

He thought he heard the blip of a response before the gun pointed at his temple twisted around and came down hard against his helm. His vision went to static as he went down, not from the blow itself but the audible POP as his busted comms suite finally gave out. A hand grabbed his drooping shoulder and hauled him upright again, while another forced his helm up to meet Hellbat’s optics.

“If you tell me where the Autobots are, I’ll promise to put them into stasis before I begin the harvesting process,” he said. “It’s a much better end than they’ll find in Gigatron’s maw, I assure you.”

Helm swimming with pain and spark frantic with worry—please, let them somehow find a degree more sense than they had displayed throughout the extent of this ordeal—Drift somehow managed to find Hellbat’s optics and lock onto them.

“You know, you almost remind me of them,” he said. “You’re all terrible at compromise.” His voice sounded hollow, and when the next strike came he sagged down to his knees, waiting for the pain to fade and the static to clear. He tried pinging his comm suite but got nothing, not even the echo of a signal failing to reach its destination. He was fully cut off.

“Go,” he heard Hellbat bark. “Gather your team. You know what to do.”

“But sir—”

“Once I’ve gathered everything I need from him, you can do whatever you please with what remains,” Hellbat promised Vanquish. “Now go.”

The blade drew away from his back, followed by retreating footsteps. He peered up at his remaining guards, guns still aimed, and Hellbat, who had drawn out a pair of stasis cuffs. Drift glanced at Grit. The returned look was weary, but not yet beaten. The silent dialogue that passed between them might not have been precise as a comm, but it was much faster: Drift only had to leap back as Grit threw himself at Hellbat.

Both guns went off, their near misses giving Drift an opening to draw his swords and rush them. Movements simple, cuts clean: one guard down faster than the time it had taken him to get up. The other fired again, forcing Drift to dodge to the side and back. The remaining guard circled Drift, finger wrapped around the trigger and clearly waiting for him to make the first move. Drift let him, maneuvering himself until his back was to the hallway, the guard standing between him and the stone army.

Down on the floor, Grit didn’t have a way to pin Hellbat, but he was keeping him occupied, both of them twisting and snarling around each other as they fought for the advantage. Hellbat managed to curl one leg between them and shove Grit off. He rolled into Drift’s path, who hauled him up without taking his optics off the guard. Hellbat rose to his pedes with an almost insulting level of patience, dusting off his armor and brushing his hand over the minor dents Grit had left in his plating. Drift shoved Grit behind himself, swords immediately coming back up when he saw the guard twitch.

“Go,” he said without looking back. “I suspect your teammate needs help right now.”

“Which one?” Grit growled. “They’re both—uck, never mind. You want these two for yourself? Have at ‘em.” He took off, awkward gait echoing through the empty stone halls. Drift didn’t know how he would get out of the base with his arms bound, but with so much else riding on him he couldn’t worry about it.

Hellbat’s guard twitched, tempted by the easy target into opening a window. Drift spun his blade forward, going for the gun, but Hellbat shoved him to the side. The scuffle was enough to break the gun’s aim, but now it was pointed at Drift as he rolled to the side and threw off Hellbat. He swept out a leg, knocking over the guard, and used his momentum as he stood to kick the gun to the other side of the platform.

He made to chase after it, but a flash of movement to his other side caught his attention: Hellbat had taken off. Drift gave a second kick to make sure the guard stayed down, then rushed to the edge of the platform, Hellbat touching down at the control panels in the middle of the room.

“Enough of this.”

“Hellbat, don’t!” Drift launched himself over the barrier, knowing he was already too late.

“Maybe a few of you will be left well enough intact for me to finish me work, maybe not,” Hellbat said. “It doesn’t matter; destiny will have its way.” He pressed something on the panel and the whole room began to hum.

~*~

Comms were still online and broadcasting, but they hadn’t used them since Ratchet finally gave up trying to hail Drift. Since then, communication had taken place entirely within their heads, ideas and plans and anxieties cascading and mingling until once more it became a challenge to remember where one started and the other began. Unlike before, though, the overlap in their minds did not overwhelm. Instead, their shared fears were pushed down under the joint weight of their assurance and commitment, elevating a single priority above all the noise of their eddying thoughts: find Drift.

Rodimus was hovering in a canyon near the base as Ratchet moved in. To speed his approach, Ratchet was keeping the base between himself and the orbital cannon, a risky move when they didn’t know how desperate the Cons were. This was the best their combined processors could come up with, though, and addressing all of their doubts would have wasted time better spent searching for Drift.

Rodimus watched their surroundings, looking for any sign of the Con hunting parties that had hounded him and Drift on their way in. The world below was as still as the stone that made it, though, no glints of passing armor or bored blaster rounds to pinpoint the enemy. He knew they had to be out there (unless they were already back in the base, a possibility they weren’t ready to think about yet), but the deep valleys and harsh shadows were working in their favor. There was a real possibility he was being sought just as intently by mechs who would see him long before he found them, but he didn’t dare to leave his post in case Drift came running out of the base, in need of urgent pickup.

It was thanks to his vantage point he was able to witness two arrivals at nearly the same time. The first was the Decepticon shuttle sailing into view, dodging between the tallest rock formations with a dexterity that shouldn’t have been possible for the unwieldy shuttle. The second, and the more startling, was a beastformer of immense size twisting out of the shadows, many eyes locked on the approaching ship while its body rippled and coiled, preparing to spring.

Rodimus shouted something, more sound than word and utterly inconsequential. Ratchet swallowed his panic and the shuttle swerved into a tighter turn than it was designed for, swinging out of the way of the incoming pounce but directly into a stone peak. Even at a distance, Rodimus swore he could hear the terrible sound of rending metal, rattling Ratchet’s thoughts and shaking his control. Rodimus dropped the speeder into a dive, aiming for the shuttle, but Drift’s ship was already spitting out its own complaints, shaking like it was on the verge of falling apart. He could see Ratchet’s ideas forming in real time, and no, stop, that was a stupid idea, don’t—

Got each other.

The Decepticon shuttle’s thrusters heaved up to full burn. There wasn’t the space to gain much speed, but the momentum was enough, slamming into the beastformer who belched flames and raked claws across the cockpit. He was aiming to tear his way inside, but before he could he was smashed into, then through a stone wall, the entire nose of the shuttle lost into a band of an explosion and an outpouring of thick, black smoke.

“Ratchet!” Rodimus yelled, unable to tell whether all the panicked, fearful thoughts were shared between them or just his own processor knocked into hyperspeed.

The shuttle’s engines ground it forward until something gave and they flared out with a series of pops and bursts. The entire craft was forced upward once more before the thrusters finally burned out and it slumped, the angle of the hole it had made forcing it to turn like a final wave goodbye.