#&i have never been anything other than openly disgusted w the fact that i had to do all that to survive.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.18 "Poor Thing"

CW: noncon (explicit, 18+ please), dubcon, blood mention, injury mention, multiple whumper mention, whumpee in a collar, death mention, captivity whump, panic attack, alcohol, verbal abuse, homophobic slur, creepy/intimate whumper, August is pretty foul in this chapter so general warning for him, slight dehumanization (let me know if I missed anything!)

August didn't want Elias anymore. That had to be what was happening. Why else would he not come looking for him, why else was he allowing him to be used up and abused by all these strangers in this room the entire night? It seemed like each time one person came in and did something to him, they would leave and tell someone else, and it felt like it had stretched on for hours, and still August never came looking for him. He felt dirty, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat and tears and blood and people's disgusting fluids. His shirt was torn in some places, his shorts riding low on his hips, the only thing that remained perfectly intact was the collar around his neck, which someone had tightened further at some point and he couldn't figure out how to loosen again. August didn't want him anymore, so he was giving him up to be used by whoever else wanted to use him. And that was more painful than anything that had been done to him the last hour or two.

When the door opened again, Elias could have let out an anguished scream, tell them to leave him the absolute fuck alone and suck themselves off or use their left hand, but all he had the energy for was a hopeless flinch. He didn't even want to look up, a fire went shooting up his neck and through his jaw when he moved his head. He closed his eyes when the person approaching crouched down in front of him. Maybe if they saw how tired he was, they would take the hint and leave him alone. Instead, he felt a few slender ice cold fingers wrap around his wrist, slowly lifting his hand away from his body.

"I...I can't," he sniffled weakly, his voice wobbly and far away, "please. Please, I can't." He said it without much conviction, all hope that anyone would be able to understand him was long gone, and so his begging had been reduced to tiny, feeble whines, for the most part.

The person let out a soft hushing sound, then something cool and smooth was pressed into his palm. When he got up the courage to open his eyes, he was surprised to see a glass of water being pushed into his hand. He looked up at the person, at the young woman with wild orange hair and a round face that he couldn't find any outright malicious intent behind. She let go of his wrist, then tipped the bottom of the glass until it fell against his lips. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until the cold liquid hit his parched throat, and he guzzled it down gratefully. It tasted better than anything he'd ever had, he felt tears in his eyes at how grateful he was for it.

"Are you hurt?" She finally asked him. Her accent was heavy, her voice low and silvery. He could openly sob at how kind she was speaking to him, and the fact that it was in English.

"Oh," he breathed, his chin dropping to his chest as he relaxed from the stress that was turning his muscles to stone, "p-please can you find...can you help me find August?" He begged.

"I...I can. But are you hurt? You're bleeding." As she said it, she reached out with the skirt of her dress and wiped away some blood from his mouth.

"I'm ok. Th-think I got slapped a couple times." He took a deep, shuddery breath, then all at once realized she wasn't going to hurt him and he felt an overwhelming relief set in, one that tore a broken sob through his throat. "Oh god. Jesus fuck."

"You're alright. Do you have a name?" She sunk back to a sitting position, one that probably would be considered unladylike in her flowing dress, and watched him carefully. He was confused as to why she was sitting at his level, looking right at him, having spent the last few hours with people towering over him or suffocatingly close on top of him. He saw her eyes flick down to his collar, the tag there, but she didn't say Bunny, she only looked back up at him expectantly and waited for him to answer himself. He loved her at that moment.

"It's Elias." He cried, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears and sweat and grime from his cheeks.

"Ok Elias. My name is Camille." She hesitated for a moment, then readjusted her skirt. "Can I get you anything?"

Elias shook his head quickly, sniffing a few times. "Please don't leave me alone in here," he was rushing, pleading, "someone else will find me, please don't leave me here-"

"Ok, ok," she soothed, "I won't." She shifted a little, glancing up at the door nervously. "You...You���re not supposed to be here, are you? You have somewhere else you call home, right?”

Elias blinked at her, beginning to tremble all over. He thought about the truth, that he only came so that he didn't have to see someone die for the second time, someone that he loved more than anything. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything, hear anything, besides Tyson crying, bleeding, begging him not to leave, as if he had a choice. He wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms, but he also knew August wouldn't just leave it at that, he would come back and hurt them both. He wasn’t worth all the pain and trouble, Tyson deserved better.

"I...I want to go home but it's not s-safe." He covered his face with shaking hands, trying to mute his frightened sobs.

"Why isn't it safe, Elias?" Timidly, she leaned forward, rubbing gently at his arm to try and calm him.

"August will hurt me... he'll hurt me and Tyson if I go back home. It's easier if I just stay here." Even as he said it, rushing the words out like he was afraid August would come and hear him speaking ill of him, his shoulders shook with his cries and he could hardly stay sitting upright.

Now Camille was silent, then she quickly pulled him against her chest and held him close, stroking through his unruly hair. The whines of despair he let out made her chest ache with pity, and she couldn't do enough to comfort him. She was so frightened for him, this was beyond what she was used to seeing, a person being kept in this condition. He was so torn up, so traumatized and haunted, and she didn't really want to think about what had been done to him before she found him. She'd heard others mumbling about a new toy in the other room, had heard “pet” thrown around a few times, but she didn't expect a person. And in this state, she could never live with herself if she just left him here.

"Listen to me," she began, using all of her might to keep her tone calm and even, "I'm going to help you. Where's your home?"

He was so tense and rigid in her arms, she could practically feel the conflict he had about telling her, he wanted to leave but he was so afraid, and she could feel his hopelessness starting to drip off of him and soak through her dress and onto her, too. "In Los Angeles," he breathed, "w-with Tyson Banks."

"Ok. I'll find him, and then I'll come back for you. Ok? Can you wait for me?"

He wept again, forcing himself to nod his head. He could wait, if it meant he could get back to Tyson, get home, he could wait.

She pulled away from him then, telling him that she would leave the room so that he could calm down. He felt better when she promised she would wait just outside the door for him, make sure no one would come in to bother him, and he could come to her if he needed anything.

The room was silent for the few moments that Elias was alone, and he could hear the laughter and loud voices of the drunk people through the walls. He couldn't comprehend how any of them could be having such a good time after seeing him in the state he was in now. He guessed that it was different to them, that it felt good to be the one in control, but he still felt baffled by it.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it before the door was swinging open. August stomped in, throwing a bitter look at Camille, who had foolishly just tried to convince him to stay out of the room. He shut the door behind him hard, then approached Elias with his face set in a frown.

"Where have you been?" He grumbled, taking in Elias’s newly disheveled state. "What happened to you?"

His tone was angry, and Elias realized then that August hadn't known what was happening, that what he allowed all of those people to do to him was wrong, and his lungs burned in newfound anxiety.

"I'm s-so sorry, August!" Elias cried, reaching up to grab at August's shirt to try and steady himself. His apology was desperate, despite how he couldn't force it to be very loud. He pulled himself to his wobbly knees with a huff. "I didn't want to do an-any of it but you told me...you told me I was made to be used and they wouldn't listen to me b-b-but I tried I t-"

"Shut up, Eli," August snapped at him, setting him on the edge of the bed and staring at him hard. Elias tried to sit straight, to not look so god damn used up and ugly, but he didn't think there was much he could do to pull that off, his grime felt heavily visible. August's voice was gravelly when he spoke again. "Who did this to you?" He looked over Elias again, shaking his head disdainfully at him when he was still silent, then snapped, "who the fuck did this?!"

Elias flinched, his eyes squeezing shut so he wouldn't have to see the strike he felt was coming. "I don't know! E-everyone! People just kept coming in and...and then when they left more people... I do-dont know!" He froze when August walked toward him, grabbing his shoulders aggressively as he did.

"What did they do?" Now his voice was eerily steady and calm, and he sounded bitterly furious, and Elias was shaking in every inch of his body. "What did they do to you?"

Having to think about it again, about the hands and the noises and the bodies and the constant breathlessness made Elias panicky again, and with an anguished sob he became pliable in August's bruising grip, subjecting himself to any punishment August saw fit. "E...everything." He cried, whimpering at how August's fingers pressed harder into the soft skin of his arms. "I'm s-so sorry!"

When August tossed him to the ground, he couldn't help the loud shriek of pain that he let out. He was already so tired and sore, he couldn't even peel himself off of the carpet once he was down. He felt...broken. Pathetic.

"You really are just a stupid fucking idiot, aren't you?!" August shouted at him, his voice erratic and full of poison. Elias had heard him angry before, sure, but he didn't think he'd ever heard this much fury in his words. He must have really messed up. Terror tightened around his lungs when August crouched down and grabbed the collar with both hands, yanking him forward until their faces were intimidatingly close and Elias could smell the alcohol on August's breath. "Does this mean nothing to you?! You are mine, you pathetic little faggot!"

He should apologize, he knew he should beg and plead and say that he was sorry because he was so disgusting and horrid, but he couldn't get any words out, he couldn't even breathe. He was completely paralyzed, aside from the horrible trembling, blown eyes staring into August's face as tears spilled down his cheeks. With hands at his throat and his windpipe uncomfortably crushed, he felt an icy dread, a realization that he wouldn't be saved this time, this time death would take him and keep him, and he was afraid. That girl, Camille, was going to help him, she said. She couldn't help him if he was dead.

"P...please, August," he finally forced out in a whisper, barely audible. "I-I-I’m so s-sorry, August. I'm y-yours, I know tha-that. Ple-please."

People were still laughing just outside. August was breathing heavily, Elias hardly at all, and for a moment, couldn't have been longer than one thud of Elias's wild heartbeat, August looked just as frightened as Elias felt.

Maybe it was how quiet Elias was, how he could barely get the words out, how horribly he was shaking and utterly unable to do anything to fight back or struggle, or maybe a combination of them all; but something about the way Elias was so pitifully shattered made August just...let go of him, dropping him back to the ground with a deep, tired sigh. He stood up, looking down at Elias as he curled into himself and choked out a few feeble whimpers. He stayed down for a few more moments, then he forced himself back up to his feet with a breathless whine, feeling August's interested gaze on him as he stumbled forward. August was waiting for him to topple over, with how run down he looked. He looked just about on his last leg, like a wounded beyond recovery animal that should be put out of his misery. August was starting to hate himself for selfishly keeping him alive in these conditions. Poor thing.

"They hurt you?" August asked, although his voice was only vaguely interested. Elias ignored the question entirely and instead nestled into August’s chest, not even caring that he didn't reciprocate the touch.

"M'sorry," he sighed heavily, closing his eyes, "s-so sorry, August."

With a disgruntled hum, August moved Elias away from him and started to undo the buttons on his shirt, watching him start to squirm, physically overwhelmed by the fear of being touched anymore than he had already been that night. He was silent, didn't have the means to beg August not to, but his body language practically screamed don't do this to me please no more I can't take it.

"Not gonna do anything, Bunny," August assured him, pulling his ruined shirt off of his slender shoulders carefully, "you're filthy, just gonna clean you off." Now that he was looking him over without the haze of anger over his eyes, he could really see how scared he looked, and he was appalled at himself on Elias's behalf. To be used and hurt and defiled by all those strangers, and here August had wanted to take it out on him, make him think it was his fault. Somewhere in his explanation he mentioned how August had said he existed to be used, he was only doing as he was told, how dare August punish him for that? And he couldn't be too sure, but he did sound remorseful with his apology, like he truly believed he was in the wrong, even though August knew he wasn't. Usually he loved when Elias was apologetic like this, but now it seemed to weigh so heavily on him and it was only depressing and bleak, not tragically beautiful like usual.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper with you," he said grudgingly, stroking Elias’s hair back and out of his face. His fingertips caught in a few knots and tugged just a little, and Elias flinched. "I'm just...I'm pretty drunk and I was upset that you'd disappeared."

Elias winced at the apology, like he couldn't handle the idea that August was in the wrong. "I told them I didn't want to. I said that you wouldn't like it, that I shouldn't, they didn't listen to me-"

"Angel," August cut him off, swiping at the tears on his cheek, "Elias, listen to me sweetheart. You're alright, I shouldn't have reacted that way." Elias whined in response, refusal to accept the obviously misplaced apology written all over his face. August could see the distant storm clouds of panic cycling back across Elias's face, in the way his eyebrows twitched and his eyes darted around the room, blinking furiously.

"N-no, I messed up. I messed up and I'm so fucking sorry I'm so sorry August ple-" before he could escalate back into hysteria, August pulled him into a tight embrace, swaying him side to side slowly. Every now and then a tremor made him collapse further into the hug, and he let out a small, pathetic mewl, and August wondered if it hurt to stand. Instead of asking, he just scooped him up into his arms and took him to the bed, holding him to his chest as he sank down to the mattress.

Because of the way he answered, August wasn't sure exactly what all those people had done to him, but it must have taken quite a toll on him, because within 15 minutes he was asleep, melted against the bed and August's chest heavily. August could feel Elias's fingers twitching slightly as he stroked his fingertips over his skin and through his hair melodically, telling himself it was just to make up for all the harshness of the past few hours, pretending he wasn't enjoying holding him so close and touching him so innocently.

He tried to ignore the buzzing of people just outside for a little longer, pretend that all the intolerable people weren't really there, drinking his booze and messing up his house like they hadn’t just put Elias through hell, but he had to slide out from under Elias eventually to get them to leave. He was glad that there were only a handful of stragglers left, all left with no issue. He poured himself another drink and forced himself to tidy up a little, but he couldn't find the motivation in his drunk, distressed state. Instead he went back to the bedroom, shedding his own clothes with exasperated grunts here and there, surprising himself by not spilling the drink in his hand.

He stopped in the doorway of the second guest room, observing Elias sleeping for a few minutes. He was still in the collar, his frail arms wrapped around himself to replace the warmth that left when August did. He wondered if Elias was really sorry, if he really believed he belonged to August, if any of what he said in his panicked or tortured states were true. He wanted it to be, he wanted his twisted pet to be devoted to him only, to need him, to ache for him, that was the point of all of this, wasn't it?

After he polished off his drink, he crawled slowly on top of Elias, watching him stir just a little before settling back into sleep. He kissed his nose gently, then his cheek, watching his lips twitch slightly when he kissed him there, then he let out a soft hum when August kissed his shoulder. His body was clinging onto sleep still, he probably wasn't even aware of the minuscule sounds he was making every time August's lips pressed into his skin. It was when his mouth was against Elias's rib cage, lapping at the rapid thumping of his heart and the uneven rise and fall of his breath, that he finally woke up, his hands dragging along the sheets until his fingers brushed against August's wrist.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his nose wrinkling as he forced himself into consciousness. He blinked a few times, looking fearfully up at August.

“I feel awful about what happened,” August mumbled, trailing his thumb down Elias’s sternum teasingly to his naval, “And I bet you none of those bastards even thought about making you feel good, huh? They all took whatever they wanted and didn’t think twice about you, right?”

A light blush caught on his tired face, and Elias had to tilt his head back because when August was looking up at him, so close, eyes hooded with alcohol and lust, it was too damn hard to look at him head on. He let out a soft sigh, too exhausted to beg August not to keep touching him and talking to him that way. "R...right."

"Poor thing. It's a damn shame, for them," he continued, "they don't know how much fun it is to make you feel good." He ran his palm the rest of the way down his stomach until his fingers latched onto the waistband of his shorts, tugging at them lazily.

"August I-" he began, but he was silenced as August reached up to hold his face. There was no use protesting, there never was. And August had been so unbelievably angry earlier, Elias didn't want to risk setting him off. He had to play it safe, he reminded himself, had to survive until Camille came back for him. He took his bottom lip into his mouth, could taste blood from the busted part of his mouth when he did.

"You can sleep if you want, Bunny. You just lay back and relax, let me take care of you." His finger trailed over Elias's throat, just above the tight collar he still had on, watching him quiver at the touch with a grin. Finally, he offered a reluctant nod, turning his head to the side in a sort of surrender.

August was still drunk, so it didn't take long for his touches to go from trying to make Elias feel better to selfishly toying with him. He had said Elias could sleep, but the closest he got to that was closing his eyes tight and pretending he wasn't awake, or there, or alive at all, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks. August didn't care that he was crying, in face at one point he leaned over and kissed a few of the tears away, whispering something of a lewd compliment in his ear.

Elias tried to convince himself that, despite how it felt, August using him like this was different than the others, better in a way. August knew him, there was some type of affection behind it, something besides sick lust. But even though he wanted to believe that, when his eyes were closed, August was just another body, taking what it wanted, making itself feel good at Elias's expense. Elias wondered if that's all he was, too, just on the other end of the spectrum, he was just a body to be used.

At one point, he really did fall asleep, his body too exhausted to stay awake, even more tired out from struggling against August every now and then. He lay under August, head tilted back and brow furrowed slightly, tiny whines and breathless moans were slipping past his partly opened mouth. August pulled off of him soon after that, pulling the blanket over the both of them, holding Elias close against his chest as he slept. Against his better judgement, he left the collar on, listening to Elias's weak gasps as he tried to breathe around it. He'd slip it off later, he just wanted to enjoy it for a little longer. That was his dynamic with Elias, after all, forcing him through pain and discomfort until it was too much, and then more, just for good measure. Through his drunken haze, August felt pride in his work, in how much he'd broken him down. All of the guilt he felt days ago for how much he'd hurt him was gone then, replaced by a warm and fuzzy fondness. He watched his perfectly trained pet sleep for awhile longer, than eventually the booze carried him into a dark and dreamless rest as well.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hi, I have a Diego x reader request if you’re still taking them. Reader stays over at Diego’s after a date with him and wakes up in the Morning to find a drunk Five asleep on the couch. Reader is uninitiated into the Hargreeves stuff so is supremely confused as to who this drunk child is. Awkward family introductions ensue. Thanks in advance if you write this

A/N: I probably shouldn’t be taking requests with everything else going on right now, but it will be a cold day in hell the day stress and work/school take away writing from me again. Also, Five is my newest Favorite, so I am happy to include his shenaniganary. Although it ended up not so much being drunk Five as Roastmaster Five. Still, I hope you like it. Word Count: 1404 Content Warning: swearing, reference to alcohol, references to season 2

The morning sun’s rays peeking through the only mostly-closed curtain fell gently across your face, their warmth and light stirring you from the most beautiful dream. Stretching languidly, you cracked open your eyes to discover that perhaps it had been less a dream than you thought. Curled up on his side, facing away from you, was Diego Hargreeves, snoring softly and more at peace than you had ever seen him.

It was a sight you could certainly find yourself getting used to, and you hoped you’d have the opportunity. The two of you had only been dating for a month or so, and were still getting to know each other in many ways (including the way you had spent quite a bit of the night…getting to know each other for the first time, which had led you to this very moment). So you didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you could really feel yourself falling for the man just barely waking beside you.

Unfortunately, any romantic thoughts you might have had were interrupted by biological needs, and with a sigh, you rolled out of bed feet touching the cold hardwood floor as you searched for something to put on, not comfortable enough in his place to walk around completely naked. Fumbling, you shrugged on his too-large turtleneck and padded out into the rest of the apartment.

Almost immediately, your eyes fell on a peculiar sight, that definitely wasn’t there the night before.

Hey, um, Diego?” you called over your shoulder, staring openly at the child asleep on his couch. “Why is there a teenager on your couch…?” you peered a little closer, registering the nearly empty glass bottle in his arms. “And who replaced his teddy bear with Smirnoff?”

“Dammit Five,” you heard him growl as he stumbled out of the bedroom, still buttoning his jeans.

“Oh good, so you know him?” you asked, still wide-eyed and curious as you turned back to your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s my brother, Five.”

“Five? Like the number?”

“Yes like the number,” the annoyed voice startled you and you jumped, not realizing the teen in question had woken up. “Now could you two keep your imbecilic chatter down, I am trying to sleep.”

“You wanna tell me why you’re doing it on my couch?” Diego countered, glaring over your shoulder at Five, who flipped him off and slammed a pillow down over his head to muffle the sound of conversation.

“Why is your brother named after a number?” you asked, trying to keep your voice a little lower.

“We all were,” Five chimed in, voice slightly muffled by the cushion. “The others just chose to replace their numbers when our mother and monkey butler-slash-surrogate-father-figure gave them ‘real’ names when we got older. I chose not to. Because I am not ashamed of who we were.”

“Sorry what?”

“Oh did you not know you were dating Number Two?” the kid sat up, casting you a very uncomfortably judgmental look.

“I would be careful getting involved with this idiot,” he continued. “His last two girlfriends, one ended up dead and the other turned out to be evil.”

“Hey! She wasn’t totally evil, only…sort of,” Diego said, moving to stand protectively in front of you and jabbing a finger toward his brother. “And if anything, that was your fault, not mine. Which is why I was planning to keep you and our entire bullshit family away from Y/N for as long as possible.”

“Diego, I don’t understand,” you said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“That’s right, I forget that you didn’t grow up around here,” Diego commented softly. “Did you ever hear about The Umbrella Academy?”

“Sure. That was that weirdo superhero family or whatever, occasionally showed up in the news or tabloids after some stunt why?”

Diego looked glum and a little sheepish as he waited for you to put the pieces together like he knew you would.

…oh shit. You mean, you’re…?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be honest, I never really paid attention to all that stuff, it seemed sort of…fake? to me. So I still don’t totally get what’s going on, babe.”

Diego sighed, and then gave you the rundown of their family: how they had all been born at the exact same time down to the second, to different parents around the world, and then they were adopted as infants by eccentric billionaire Reginald Hargreeves. They all had superpowers and Hargreeves had raised them to be an efficient crime-fighting team, at the cost of normal childhoods.

“Five,” he continued, pointing to his brother who was now, seemingly at least, back asleep. “Had the power to teleport, and kept pushing our father to let him try time-travelling with it. When he got shut down for the last time, he tried anyway, and ended up stuck in the post-apocalypse for forty something years before he found his way back.”

“So you want me to believe that the strange drunk teenage boy is actually your 58-year-old twin brother? But you’re not 58, just he is. Because he time travelled?”

“W-we’re not twins. We were just born on the same day.”

“Right…like twins?”

“No, at the exact same time, to different parents. Us, and a lot of other kids.”

“That’s not all that strange. People are born at the same time all the time…”

“She’s not very quick on the uptake is she? Perfect for you then,” Five commented with a smug smirk, evidently giving up on sleep in favor of joining you both in the kitchen.

“Hey!” you shouted, glaring at the littler man. “I didn’t come here to be insulted, okay.”

“No, I’m sure my brother had plenty of other things on his mind than insulting you,” he said, angling his head pointedly, with a raised eyebrow at your very bare legs, which you had frankly forgotten about in all the kerfuffle.

You felt the heat of a blush creeping up around your ears.

“I’m not awake enough to deal with this. I need coffee,” you muttered.

Five perked up at the word, watching you intently as you carefully measured out the grounds and set the pot, which Diego owned despite claiming that his body was in such peak condition that he didn’t need caffeine, to brew. When you silently poured a cup for the younger Hargreeves without asking, and it actually tasted rather decent, he regarded you again with renewed interest.

“What do you see in him?”

“What do you mean?” you studied him over the rim of your mug, not even noticing that Diego had left the room.

“You’re quite pretty, and obviously aren’t in it for the ex-celebrity thing since you didn’t know. Seven billion people on the planet. So why him?”

You sat there for a while, sipping at your coffee, pondering the question. Why had you agreed to go out with Diego in the first place? It had only been a month, but it felt like a lifetime ago for all that you could remember the reasoning.

Finally you shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just something about him I liked, I guess. He’s always looking out for other people, and he’s sweet, and funny.”

“And he’s got a real nice butt,” you muttered into your coffee, smirking when Five made a disgusted face.

“Ugh!” he cried, setting his coffee down as if another sip after your observation would make him hurl.

“Hey, you asked,” you laughed.

Diego wrapped his arms around you from behind, having come back from getting fully dressed, kissing your cheek as you both watched Five pace and wave his hands around as if trying to fan away the image in his mind.

“I think you broke him,” Diego commented.

You chuckled again, turning to drape your arms over his neck and kiss him properly.

“I couldn’t resist. But I like this kid, he’s…interesting.”

“And you held your own against him impressively.”

You smiled.

“So does that mean I get to meet the rest of your siblings soon?”

“You still want to after that?”

You nodded. “Of course I do, Diego. They’re your family.”

He smiled softly down at you, eyes shining at your unspoken confession, that you wanted to share every part of his life, even the weird bits. And even more, heart feeling strangely fluttery at the fact that he found himself wanting to let you.

“I’ll make a few calls.”

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

i’m falling again (Bakugo Katsuki X Reader) (sad ending)

Guys... Harry Style’s newest song is... heartwrenching and I fucking love it, it’s such a tearjerker and I love it so much, I NEEDED to write something with it... it’s that good and it made me cry... >.< </b>

Think of this as an extra to my ‘Dump His Ass’ series that I never expected to become oddly popular!! Thanks you guys!! <3</b>

However, while I love me some angst, I think after I’m done with this I’ll hafta write another fic with a happier ending, but for now... here’s the sad ending!! :3 

FROM: https://ice-cream-kitsunegirl.tumblr.com/post/188898319229/i-needed-to-lose-you-to-love-me-bakugou-katsuki-x

Summary: Bakugo isn’t known for his soft heart, but when he saw you kissing another man, it physically hurt...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olGSAVOkkTI

Nothing hurt or scared Katsuki Bakugo.

Nothing. 

He’s been strong and brave-hearted since he was a child, fearless by nature he didn’t let anything get to him and never showed any moment of weakness and never cried about anything, no temper tantrums didn’t count. 

He wasn’t afraid of the dark as a child, he wasn’t afraid of the bullies who were bigger than him. His fear didn’t waver as he got older and stronger. Because he wasn’t afraid of the villains who attacked him and his classmates at the USJ. He wasn’t even scared of the villains who captured him at the summer camp.

They held him captive and tied him up so he couldn’t escape or try to fight back, he wasn’t scared then. Nothing could get to him. Nothing could make him break down, he didn’t cry when he got his first shot at the doctor, he didn’t cry when those older kids fought with him, he didn’t cry when he wiped out on his bike and hurt his ankle. 

He didn’t cry and he wasn’t afraid of anything. 

Aside from maybe getting nearly possessed by that Sludge Villain, and then All-Might going into retirement. Those were the only two moments in his life that probably scared and internally harmed him the most to bring him to tears.

However...

There’s only one person who really knew how much that scared and hurt him. And that person was you, his beloved girlfriend. Even when he didn’t want to, because Bakugo didn’t open up to people, it wasn’t in his nature. Still, somehow you knew everything about him, and even enabled him to open up to you on the rare moments where he would let you see even a SMIDGE of vulnerability from him because he trusted you.

You were always more openly emotional than him, so much it was annoying especially when you would just chat and chat about something you loved whether it was a movie, a TV show or something he thought was dumb. Still, he listened to you, and God he wished he did more of that. But he especially listened when you were being vulnerable and opening up about everything. Ever since you and him were kids, he’s had a soft spot for you and actually let you open up.

You knew him, you trusted him, you loved him. And he knew you, he trusted you, and he loved you.

But then you dumped his ass, told him what a shitty boyfriend he had been and said you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him for several months as you avoided him, froze him out and showed how little you needed him because he failed you.

Now that both terrified him and hurt him...

I'm in my bed And you're not here And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands Forget what I said It's not what I meant And I can't take it back I can't unpack the baggage you left

It’s been almost half a year since the two of you have broken up, and only recently you and Bakugo got some closure and you didn’t take him back. And honestly, Bakugo knew that was nobody’s fault but his own. He hated admitting it to himself but he knew there was no one else to blame but himself.

As he lied in his bed, he tried his hardest to ignore the fact that you still weren’t with him. Valentine’s Day wasn’t long ago, but he didn’t buy you anything because you and him weren’t together anymore. 

The worst part? He didn’t even get you anything LAST Valentine’s Day because he said it was stupid, commercialized and a game that you shouldn’t have played into even as you gave him those chocolates and even a card that he still secretly kept.

He really was a shitty boyfriend. He realized that the more he lied down with an anguished scowl and growled. Bakugo was aware that he could have been a better boyfriend, but the breaking point was when he called you something he swore he’d NEVER call you.

That’s why you left him. You put up with his bullshit long enough, you could handle him being a jerk, saying ‘no’ to spending time with him, but then he insulted your appearance, your weight, and your interests. The same things all the assholes from school used to insult you for, the assholes HE protected you from.

“Dammit!!” He yelled at no one but himself, “You fucking idiot!!” Even though you said that the two of you could still be friends, Bakugo wished for more than that. He wanted you back...

He wanted you back so fucking much even though he knew he didn’t deserve you. Bakugo refused to shed any tears even as he eventually closed his eyes...

“I dump your ass!”

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me. I. DUMP. YOUR. ASS!” You enunciated the words slowly and deliberately to annoy him and he was extremely indignant and appalled that you were… seriously breaking up with him?! HIM?!

“You’re dumping me?!”

“What the fuck do you think I said it two fucking times!!” 

“You’re not seriously breaking up with me over a fucking insult?!” Bakugou’s pride started talking for him though, because he refused to let you bruise his ego by dumping HIM.

“Yes I am Katsuki, and that’s not the only reason… It’s because you’re also selfish and mean! You’re the worst boyfriend ever and I’ve put up with your shit plenty of times but this is just WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH! What you said is just too fucking much for me to even put up with, you’ve completely broken me down I feel like shit and I’ve HAD it and I’m dumping your ass!”

...

“You called me ‘fat’, ‘ugly’ and ‘lazy’ Katsuki. There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“I did NOT call you ugly!” Bakugou replied defensively, aware that he called you ‘fat’ when he really shouldn’t have and he didn’t deny it, but he did NOT call ugly at all. He never thought you were ugly, but you didn’t believe him.  

“Yeah you did… you implied it.” 

“No, I didn’t you idiot! I said shit I shouldn’t have but I never once called you ugly and I didn’t fucking imply it either!”

“You know I’ve been struggling with my self-image and my weight for years Katsuki, and yet you go and say all the things people from school had said to me for years, the people who made me feel ugly, so… you must think I’m ugly if you would say what they’ve been calling me…” 

“I don’t think you’re ugly…” His voice came out as a soft growl, but you shook your head, “Then you wouldn’t have said what you did… it’s okay… I’ve known it for years… well you know what? You’re free now, you don’t need some ugly, fat girl like me dragging you down, maybe now you can go out with that chick from Shiketsu High now..”

...

“How fucking long are you going to punish me (Y/N)?! HOW FUCKING LONG?! ARE YOU REALLY STILL PISSED OFF OVER SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED MONTHS AGO?!”

“Of COURSE, I’m still kind of pissed off! And for the record I am NOT punishing you, you narcissistic asshole, I’m TRYING to think about how I should forgive you for the things you swore to NEVER call me! Or if I even should forgive you! W-What? You want me to j-ju-ju-just… make out with you like its old times?!” You exclaimed with the same vexation that you had been keeping at bay ever since the two of you broke up, not seeing Bakugou’s narrowing eyes and shaking figure as he seethed when you once again, reminded him of the big mistake he made with you.

“I… I mean I… I can’t even look at your face Katsuki! Without… thinking about and hearing the words you said to me and the expression of anger and disgust on your face when you said that I was just some fat pig who was wasting your time!” Emotion nearly choked you up as you wiped your eyes when tears started to cloud them and you couldn’t see just how aggravated and distressed Bakugo was as he clutched his hair out of frustration.

“I FUCKED UP!! How many times do I have to say that I fucked up?! How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?!”

Throwing his hands up, he shouted that he had indeed screwed up, louder than before, frustrated with everything, with you, with himself, with the fucking guilt that just started eating away at him again.

“You can say you’re sorry all you want! I just… I can’t ignore the fact that you would stoop so low to say the same things the people YOU protected me from would say to me. Why did you do that?” 

“ARGH! Dammit! I don’t fucking know! I was pissed off! I had shit I was dealing with and I took it out on you but I shouldn’t have! I admit it!” 

“I just… god… here’s my real question… why are you such a fucking asshole to me?” 

“For God’s sake I said I was sorry for what I said all right?! I’ve said it a million goddamn times! I’m SORRY (Y/N)! I didn’t mean what I said to you! I want to take it all back because it was the worst fucking thing I could have ever said to anyone! Especially you!” He shouted his apology, the angry tears threatening to spill but you shook your head at this.

“I’m not talking about what you said, I’m talking about everything! Ever since we got together you’ve still managed to treat me like shit! Even before we got together you still treated me like shit, and yet it got worse when we became a thing! You hardly spent anytime with me, pushed me away when I tried to help you, made fun of what I liked, insulted me and called me other names for what? Cuz I’m a geek like Izuku, cuz I like geeky things and like to watch TV and eat sweets and say dumb puns and hang out with Izuku and Hitoshi, well I’m sick of it Katsuki! I’m fucking sick of it!”

...

“Look… Katsuki… I mean you no ill will. I still care about you, and I still love you but… I really, really don’t think you’re a good boyfriend…” You said a little bluntly but made your voice soften as he gasped quietly.

“You’re not a bad person… but you’re not a good boyfriend either… and I don’t really think that I can really return to a relationship like that… sorry…” 

“I know I wasn’t! But… look just… dammit (Y/N) I’m not going to say any of that shit to you ever again! I won’t fuck up like I did last time I swear!” He sounded desperate, as if he was pleading to you as he moved closer and you fought the tears starting to build in your eyes when he grabbed your hands. He would beg if he had to, he just couldn’t lose you.

“I love you.”

He said calmly and yet sincerely, out of pure impulse but that’s what he truly meant. He loved you and he just wanted to hear you say the words back to him. He knew you did…

“See that’s just it… I know you love me… I love you too… but… I thought you loving me was enough, at least… until… you said the things you did… now I know you’re sorry… and I don’t doubt that you do love me but… I started hating myself again when you said those things and it made me realize that… I need to love me too, I need to start loving myself… and I didn’t love myself when I was with you. I let you do that for me, and… I can’t do that anymore. It’s not fair to you, and not good for me.”

...

What am I now? What am I now? What if I'm someone I don't want around? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'...

Bakugo’s eyes snapped open as the memories played in his head like some kind of fucked up movie as he remembered every word you said, every tear you shed because of him.

And now here he was, holding in his own tears that he refused to let fall as he angrily wiped at his eyes. No, he did not and would not cry, and he couldn’t cry over spilt milk no matter much it fucking hurt. No matter how much he wanted to just sob and cry out for you to come back to him so he could tell you how fucking sorry he was.

Dammit he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He got up out of bed so he can go to your room and knock until you answer. He needed you, he needed you now...

He outright dashed to the floor where your room was and knocked somewhat vigorously. No answer. Growling, he knocked a little bit harder but again, there was no answer.

Were you asleep? Probably, you were a pretty deep sleeper, but dammit, he wished you were awake to answer him. But then he froze as soon as he heard the tell-tale sound of laughter...

YOUR laughter.

Relief overwhelmed him as he didn’t even realize that he was running so he could find you and not look as pathetic as he probably did right now. He could still hear you, you were near. The commons, duh, you were a late sleeper and watched Netflix when you couldn’t sleep...

“That is disgraceful...” 

But then the ash-blonde stopped dead in his tracks and froze the second he heard someone else’s voice that wasn’t yours. No fucking way...

Eyebags...

“I know...! Oh my God... how humiliating... I love this show but it so uncomfortably hits close to home...” That was your voice and you were giggling as you happily watched that gross show Bakugo didn’t care about at all. Big Mouth it was called, on Netflix too. You were watching Season 3′s ‘How to Have an Orgasm’ to be specific and of course, it was hilarious...

Unlike Bakugo, Shinsou appreciated the show, and watched it with you as he had with other shows on Netflix such as Stranger Things, Kimmy Schmidt, The Good Place, and Big Mouth.  

“Tell me about it... puberty’s a bitch... still is to be honest.” And to make matters worse, Shinsou was laughing with you and it wasn’t the first time. Bakugo was never a fan of Shinsou, he knew you were friends with that bastard, but naturally he was jealous of him because it just seemed like you two were just so damn buddy-buddy and it was annoying.

And yet there was now, just watching TV with you, while he himself was probably the furthest person from your mind...

What if I'm down? What if I'm out? What if I'm someone you won't talk about? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'...

“Hee-hee... okay~. What do you say? The Office? Since...” Sighing sadly and dramatically you raised your fist in the air, “Friends got taken off...? Or The Good Place maybe?” You binge-watched the entire series before the New Year, because Netflix took it off, but at least you still had The Office and The Good Place.

“Yeah... Friends is gone, but The Office is here for us. Thank God... So yeah... let’s watch The Office. I’d watch The Good Place but I need to watch Season 4 since it just came out but I haven’t seen it yet. And I’ve been dodging spoilers ever since...” Shinsou gave you a smile even though he was just as unhappy as you were when they took Friends off of Netflix.  

“All riiiight~! Hee-hee good idea... I haven’t seen it yet either, I’m waiting til we get the chance to see it with Fumikage, Yuga, Denki and Mina so we can watch the last one altogether~.”

Bakugo had no idea why he was still standing there, but something in him told him to just fucking move already and say something to get your attention so you could see him. He opened his mouth to speak but...

“Can you believe this show’s been out for like 15 years and it’s just getting popular? Like crazy popular?” You nudged Shinsou playfully as he chuckled a bit, “Guess they finally realized how great a show it is...”

Shinsou thought outloud, having gotten closer to you over the past couple of months and spent a lot of time chilling out with you and also training with you as well. Then there were days when you and he would just spend the hours gabbing away about things you both liked. 

“That’s true... some people thought it was uncomfortable... but then they started to like it... which is nice.” You smiled a bit even though you were kind of sad for some reason. The last few months had been... awkward. After all, you had broken up with your boyfriend and went through quite a bit of drama until you cleared it up and made up with Bakugo. You didn’t get together with him, but the two of you reached an understanding and were still friends.

You still talked to him, and you lost your hostility towards him and became more cordial towards him. Although you’d be lying if you said you didn’t still love him. But this was for the best, you couldn’t go back to that, and you were in a better place anyway. You started to feel better and you were able to use your quirk again to fly without your sadness holding you back. You were happier, and not only that...

“Like me.” Shinsou smirked a little bit even though it was a self-deprecating joke which made you roll your eyes. “Hitoshi... okay... you’re a little uncomfortable to be around sometimes, but that was like only in the beginning, you’re great! You’re super great... and awesome. I mean your quirk is so cool, you can fight and punch someone hard enough to knock them out now! AND... you also like Friends, The Office, The Good Place, Stranger Things, smart as hell and you’re nice... well, not nice, but you have a nice side... anyone who can do all those things and like all of that HAS to be great in my book.” You kinda poked at him a bit as he playfully smacked your shoulder with a little grin which made you giggle.

And Bakugo hated it...

“Oh yeah? Well... you’re giving me too much credit (Y/N)... Here’s the truth... I think... you’re great.” 

But Bakugo’s eyes widened when he heard Shinsou say those words to you and you blushed and looked at him with wide eyes that practically shined with stars in them. “Really?”

“Yeah...” He sounded kind of flustered but he didn’t really stop because this was something he needed to tell you even though his face was getting increasingly hot just saying all of this as he nervously scratched the back of his neck, “I mean... your quirk is unique. You made yourself fly, you gave yourself wings to fly, no one else did that but you, you used your quirk creatively and it shows even outside of that, when something bad happens, you managed to make yourself fly again. And you’re weird... in a good way, everyone’s so fake and plastic that they don’t even try to be who they are, but you’re not fake, you’re just... you. Even if you know not everyone will like it, you don’t try to hide it or change yourself for anyone whether they like it or not, and that’s just... great.... I try to do that, I make no effort to change myself but... when you do it it’s actually cool.  I guess... I mean... yeah I just... I think that’s all great. I think... you’re great (Y/N).”

Shinsou stopped making eye contact with you as he felt somewhat bashful, but only when he finished is when he finally looked at you and saw your (E/C) eyes wide and your cheeks flushed. Neither of you aware that Bakugo was still there, listening...

That stupid brainwasher was right... you were great but dammit... HE wanted to tell you that... HE wanted to tell you how great your were and everything else that you were. Beautiful, amazing, intelligent, powerful...

However...

You were so stunned by everything Shinsou told you that you didn’t even think, you acted on pure impulse as you quickly leaned in and you didn’t even hear the gasp coming from your ex-boyfriend’s mouth once he saw your lips on Shinsou’s.

And I get the feelin' that you'll never need me again...

He was falling. Bakugo felt like he was falling as he watched you kiss that brainwashing bastard who made a startled, surprised sound once he felt your warm kiss. Yet Shinsou didn’t deter as Bakugo clenched his fists when he saw his eyes closing as he kissed you back.

He didn’t exist. You didn’t even see him and he knew it because you were lost in such a deep kiss with this extra and it fucking hurt...

He wanted to scream, he wanted to push Shinsou away and tell him to fuck off and tell you that he wanted you back, but he did nothing...

And he knew he was just a fucking loser because all he did was stand there, until his feet started moving as he turned his back so he could get the hell out of here. No, Bakugo couldn’t bear to see you kissing that bastard, he couldn’t bear to see that you had officially moved on.

He didn’t matter anymore to you, he knew it...

Nothing hurt or scared Katsuki Bakugo. Nothing. Except for seeing the love of his life kissing another man. He was a coward, a fucking weakling because now everything was hurting, his chest ached as he lied back in his bed. And he was letting this hurt him, but dammit... it hurt because he loved you. He still loved you and still wanted you here...

What am I now? What am I now? What if you’re someone I just want around? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'...

You were his biggest fan,  his biggest supporter. Not anymore. He knew that... but he didn’t love you just because of that, he loved you because you were you. A dork, a weirdo, unafraid to be your loving and quirky self. You softened his heart and yet he let his own stupidity and asshole self treat you like garbage when you deserved better than that.

He refused to cry, but because he was such a damn weakling the tears just fell and betrayed him by streaming down his face as he swallowed the hard lump in his throat that was threatening to crawl up and make it’s presence known. His breath hitching as he stared up at his ceiling and his mind just showed the image of you kissing Shinsou.

Along with the image of him yelling at you and you ending it with him. It was all he could see through his teary eyes as a soft sob choked him while tears continued to fall and drip down his neck. 

Because you didn’t love him anymore, and you weren’t going to need him again and that fucking terrified him more than anything as he cried and fell back into his misery and wished that it was him kissing you, and wishing that you were here with him to catch him as he fell.

What if I’m down? What if I’m out? What if I'm someone you won’t talk about? I'm fallin' again I'm fallin' again I'm fallin'...

[champagne-bucky]

hi can i request a bucky prompt with #38 & #54 btw love your writings i think you’re one the most talented writers on tumblr ❤️

Pretty Boy

Warnings: sugar momma! reader x college student! bucky, oral, female receiving 

Notes: This was another requested prompt from @marvelousbarnes ! Hope you enjoy it!! 

Bucky made his way up to the tall glass building where you work. There was not an ounce of shame this young man carried as he passed your disgusted coworkers and made his way to your office. 

You are a big time CEO of a company that’s been in your family for years. Once it was your turn to manage the company, your parents had been training you to be a perfect CEO. This was often met with crucial hours and studying and basically living every ounce of your life in this tall glass building. 

Eventually, life got away from you and you had yet to find someone to settle down with. Hell you never even had a proper boyfriend, just a shitty hookup in the bathroom stall of a bar. That was until you met Bucky. 

Bucky was a far from home broke college student looking to do anything to make a quick buck. He was working as a bartender when you asked for a specific drink. He blushed wen he failed to make it correctly the first time. You thought he was adorable when he blushed and you decided to visit him at any moment you had a night off (which was pretty rare). 

As Bucky and you became more friendly he told you about his money problems. You offered him a deal: if he would keep you company whenever you got lonely, you would help him pay for the little things he couldn’t afford. 

He blushed of embarrassment, “you mean you want to do sex stuff?” You chuckles and told him you wouldn’t want anything of the sorts. At first he was reluctant to take the money, but after you reassured him for the 50,000 time that it was okay, you then began your peculiar relationship. 

It was innocent enough, he would come over to wherever you were to chat and talk about the mundane things in life. It was nice, pure even how Bucky would talk about his college classes, his friends, or a pretty girl in his macroeconomics class that he’s been having a thing for but doesn’t know how to talk to her. 

That’s when your relationship progressed. At first you offered to show him the ropes of kissing. He didn’t mind you were attractive and sweet to him. You didn’t mind for the exact same reasons. Kissing went to hickies and hickies went to touching. It didn’t take long for the two of you to begin a sexual relationship. 

The sex was good, really good as Bucky described it to you numerous times. You would just chuckled. You knew a thing or two about a thing or two and had no problem showing your precious boy how a woman should be treated. 

Your precious boy. Bucky liked the validation that came from that. He loved feeling wanted and loved getting the attention and care that he always gave but never received. 

He forgot about the girl from class and gave all his attention to you. He would shamelessly show up to your job and fuck you senseless in your office. The other employees sneered at the fact that your relationship with a man as young as Bucky was being so openly displayed to the public. 

You didn’t care and you could care less what the other coworkers thought. If they had anything to say they could say it to you. After all, they were replaceable, but Bucky was not. 

Fast forward to right now, Bucky was standing in front of your desk as you were on an important business call. He had to see you after a really rough day today. He needed to see you, he craved your attention. 

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?” You finally put down the phone and looked at him. 

“Nothing, just a rough day at school today,” Bucky began to launch into a fully detailed description of his day, starting off with school then not making enough money at work to buy tickets to a concert he and his friends were going to. 

“Aww, pretty boy don’t be upset. You know I can pay for that. I got you, for whatever you need,” Bucky was glad to hear that, but he knew it usually came with a price. A price he didn’t mind paying 

“C’mere you can sit on my lap until I’m done working, pretty boy,” you made the lanky boy take a seat on your thighs. “Have you been eating enough, baby? You seemed to have gotten skinnier. You feel light as a feather.”

Bucky chuckled and began to relax into you. He shut his eyes as you typed away. He almost fell into a deep sleep, that is until he felt your perfectly manicured fingers caressing his thigh. 

His eyes shot open as you began to trail your hand over his basketball shorts. Bucky was hard. You had such a tempting effect on him it wasn’t even funny. 

“You really wanna go to that concert, pretty boy?” Bucky couldn’t even form a response, and you weren’t expecting one. 

“Show me how bad you want those tickets, baby. C’mon be good for me,” like a Pavlovian response, Bucky was already on his knees and trailing his hands up your thighs. 

“You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you?” He gasped when he reached your core. You were bare and wet. Bucky lowly moaned at the feeling. 

“I never do, pretty boy. I like to be open and wet. All for yo-,” you gasped has Bucky leaned his head in and began to work. 

That innocent tongue of his was lapping up your wetness at a rapid pace. His hands hoisted your skirt up even more and left your bare ass and wetness seep onto the expensive leather chair you were sitting on. 

“Oh, oh, Bucky. Oh, you treat me so well, so, so well. UGHH,” your fingers flew to his hair as he used his calloused fingers on your clit. 

Bucky wasted no time in brining you to your release. He wanted you really bad now. He needed you so fucking bad. You might have been the one supplying him with money, but he owned your pussy and you both knew it. 

You came, harder than you ever could imagine. Bucky was getting good almost too good at this. He got up from his knees and began to palm himself through his shorts. You were distraught and wanted nothing more than your pretty boy pounding you senseless now. 

“Bend over you desk, sweetheart. I’m gonna show you how much I earned those tickets.”

[sevenincubistolemyheart]

Tainting Purity

Au: Demon Au!

Tag list: @bangtans-apollo @xsmilebitesx @wilhelminalucinda @xsunnyhoseokx @okgoogul @mariacorbi @spiritualotaku @littlekitten8590  @felic-ci  @saturated-pink  @fckyouartclass  @saraisthoughts

Rating: I’m gonna stay safe and say M for this entire series!

Summary: If someone told you that demons would be an everyday part of society a month ago you would have called them crazy.  But now that they actually were, you were surprised to find them much more docile than you would’ve initially assumed. In fact, it was the Humans who were hurting them, more often than not. So when you get fed up and stand up for an innocent demon being attacked, you shouldn’t have been so surprised when your own species turned on you, including your own parents, and left you to fend for yourself. Luckily, the newly made treaty calls for a Human to live with demons if there’s 5 or more, and so, you’re now rooming with 7 demons. But not just any kind of demons. Incubi. Your life has suddenly just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

Potential triggers: Mentions of being turned on and other sexual topics, as in this au the boys are all incubi. Brief cursing, kinks including a bit of thigh riding, oral fixation, and a fair amount of dirty talk. I’m gonna go ahead and add dubious consent as well.

Pairing: BTS x Reader/OT7 x Reader

Genre: Supernatural, Drama, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort

Length: 6.2k

To say that demons were not very accepted when they came out was an understatement.

People were understandably terrified, and there was a lot of questions to be had. The demons, to their credit, were actually very accommodating. They'd been sent up here to gauge our reactions to them, and were to live here. They explained the different types, because yes, different types existed. From Incubi to Fallen Angels to Ifrits.

According to the demons, the rest were merely grunts, soldiers with supernatural abilities. As for Lucifer, and where religion fit in with all of this, the man who asked found himself pinned by the throat with the warning to never ask again. That was the one question they vehemently refused to acknowledge. They wouldn't even say if angels or God existed at all.

As for you? You actually thought it was some elaborate hoax at first. You'd always believed in the Supernatural, very strongly in fact, but the idea that demons suddenly just decided to reveal themselves was just too unbelievable. Until you saw their powers first hand, anyway. When you saw fire burst forth from an ifrits hand right before your eyes to light his cigarette, it hit you all at once.

This was real.

It took you a few more days to fully come to terms with it of course. You did a lot of research and unfortunately weren't surprised to find many hate-based groups, determined to hate them in the name of “good” or “God”. Many protests and fights had broken out, both from demons, fed up from being discriminated against and Humans, scared of the unknown and in defense of beliefs that were now called into question.

But in addition to the hateful people, there was another group that fetishized them, especially the succubi and incubi. Since they fed on sexual energy, it was often a win-win but some of them were disgusted by it. After being the ones to use Humans and manipulate them for millennia, it just wasn't the same to have themselves be used as sex objects. Others still, felt it was a give and take, and many incubi and succubi liked it that way, rather than merely being used for their abilities. Many found amusement in it, but the ones that didn’t were often shunned by the fetishists just as much as those that hated them.

Then, of course, there was the largest group, made up of the ones that were afraid or caught in the middle, unsure of what to believe, and how to act around these new, intimidating creatures we’d all been taught to fear. Eventually, a representative stepped forward for the demons, and talks began with the united nations. Experiments were shot down, immediately, but low-grade demons who underestimated what Human technology was capable of were sometimes able to be subdued. Sex trafficking was a booming market for demon slaves. Sometimes, demons turned and helped Humans capture them, either for their own safety or even for food, in the case of Nogtisunes.

Eventually, a compromise was reached. The demons would not kill any Humans, and only fight back if genuinely threatened, and the Humans wouldn't exclude them from establishments or try to harm them. Needless to say, both sides weren’t exactly happy with the arrangement, especially the Humans, and the law was frequently broken.

You were on your way to your favorite cafe to meet up with your parents for a late brunch when you saw it happen. There was a person being kicked and attacked by a group of surrounding people, men, and female alike. You stood in shock for a moment, surprised that people were walking past this like nothing was happening before you huffed and sprang into action, pushing past the people forcefully and standing in front of the person to shield them. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you!? Who do you think you are to pick on this innocent-” You checked behind you at the male struggling to get to his feet. “Boy?”

A boisterous male stepped forward and shouted at you.

“Boy? As if! That thing’s a beast in Human form, it deserves nothing but the pain and suffering they gave us for so many years!”

You looked over as you felt a hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you back a bit, seeing the bloodied male rising to his feet. He spat some blood out of his mouth and grinned at the man. “Actually, my kind gave you nothing but pleasure. Just because you get off on inflicting pain on others, doesn’t mean we all do.” He said cheekily, eyes glinting as the man’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. You gasped pulling him behind you in panic as the man lunged. “Watch out!” You winced as the hit of the man's fist met your stomach, doubling over in pain as he scoffed.

“You stupid bitch! Why would you stand up for this disgusting creature?”

You rolled your eyes, even as you grit your teeth at the pain, forcing yourself to stand up straight again, even as your stomach pulsed in pain. “The only disgusting creature I see is standing right in front of me. This incubus didn’t do a damn thing wrong, and you had no right to assault him like this!!” You hissed at him in return, eyes alight with anger.

“Jungkook! There you are!”

You looked up towards the unfamiliar voices only to gasp as you were violently pulled into the crowd by your hair. You tried to get free but heard a voice you knew all too well scoff. “Can’t believe I actually raised a filthy monster fucker.” You wretched yourself away from the hand even though you lost some of your hair with a pain that had your eyes tearing.

“Dad!? I know you don’t like demons, but abusing them when they haven’t done anything to deserve it is wrong! The treaty was made for a reason!!” You said back coldly. “And I’m not “fucking” any of them, I just have the basic common sense to know that hurting anyone innocent, whether demon or Human is wrong. I thought you did too. Clearly, I was wrong.”

You turned towards your Mother, expecting her to be on your side as she typically was only to find her looking on in terror at something behind you. You turned and watched in awe as the injured boy, Jungkook’s wound healed, despite being openly bleeding when you’d jumped in to help him.

“Leave, and never come back.”

You abruptly turned back to look at your Mother in total shock, eyes wide at her quiet words.

“W-What?”

She shouted then, voice louder than you’d ever heard it. “I said leave! You’re no longer welcome in our household! I can't believe my own flesh and blood would betray her own species like this!! If I ever see your face again I’ll personally make sure you regret it!” She stormed off with your father in tow as you stared at the spot she’d once occupied, numb with shock and fear slowly creeping in.

“She’s right! You’re on your own now little girl, and you deserve the same as the filthy monster you stupidly tried to protect.” The few remaining people of the mob turned their attention to you, and you couldn’t even find the strength to bring your arms up to try and protect yourself as another boy lunged at you, about your age.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” A deep voice spoke from behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin as he held the boy's wrist in an ever-tightening grip beside your face. He must’ve stopped the boy before he could hit you.

Another voice spoke up to your right.

“Try and hurt her again, any of you, and you’ll never get off again, got it?” This voice spoke in a cheerful, more high pitched tone, and you turned to look at him, causing the shortest male of the bunch to smile kindly at you. You finally processed what was happening and backed up further, going towards the group of incubi and sighing in relief as they circled around you protectively. You mumbled a “thank you” but you saw Jungkook nod out of the corner of your eye, so clearly he at least heard you.

The attackers were clearly on edge now at the shortest boy’s threat and reluctantly backed off though not before shouting at you one more time. “That’s right you filthy whore, run back to your demonic sex toys!”

One of the boys huffed a breathless chuckle and you could’ve sworn his eyes flashed fully black before he snapped his fingers and hissed back to the boy spitefully. “Have fun trying to cum now you little shit!”

This was all a lot to take in and you were starting to feel a bit lightheaded, as it all hit you.

“Hey, Seokjin hyung, are Humans supposed to be that pale?”

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind and get your bearings as you groped for something to hold onto, taking a deep breath to keep calm as your hand was guided to a muscular arm which you squeezed gratefully. Eventually, you managed to come back to yourself fully, and blinked a few times, thankful you could see properly without the world spinning as it had been.

Once you looked around you flushed as you realized the men who’d stood up for you earlier were now observing you intently. You looked to your right and quickly released the tall boy beside you’s arm, blushing further in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! I just got a bit dizzy is all.” You apologized to him, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck.

He smiled at you, but it seemed forced. Your attention was brought to the one you now know was Jungkook as he bounded confidently over to you. “Thank you for standing up for me. I can definitely make it up to you…” His voice trailed off into a seductive growl that had you swallowing, and you stepped back in surprise as his nimble fingers briefly slipped beneath your t-shirt to skim your bare sides, making you jump away. “AGH, n-no that’s really not necessary!!” You squeaked out nervously.

You gasped sharply as you felt someone nibble playfully on your sensitive earlobe from behind, and you quickly surmised it was your savior from earlier, as his deep voice clued you in. “Oh, but we really wouldn’t mind princess. It’d be our pleasure, and yours too if your currently soaking panties are anything to go by~” He purred in your ear, grinning as you wrenched yourself away from him and put a bit of a distance between you and the other boys, suddenly dizzy for a much different reason.

“That’s enough, I mean it!” Your voice cracked and you nervously avoided their gaze, not used to boys being so...direct like this. It was flustering beyond belief, and if you were being 100% honest with yourself, hot as Hell. You finally looked up and felt another rush of pleasure go through you at the sight of one of them tonguing the inside of his cheek as he looked you up and down. His intense gaze suddenly met yours and he smirked, causing you to blush a darker shade of red as you ducked your head once again.

“I-I don’t even know all of your names.” You pointed out meekly, hating how submissive these 7 men were making you feel with just brief touches and looks.

The one whose arm you’d been clinging to snorted in amusement at your dazed state but obliged you nonetheless, with a simple nod. “Fair enough then. I’m Kim Namjoon.” He motioned to his friend beside him and he took over with a grin. “I’m Kim Seokjin!” He blew a kiss your way and chuckled as you looked away shyly. “The name’s Yoongi, Min Yoongi.” Your attention was brought to the person who spoke and you found it was the one who’d cursed the boy earlier. “Hello!! I’m Park Jimin, and you don’t need to be so shy cutie!” He giggled as you smiled his way, realizing he was the other one who had stood up for you. “I’m Jeon Jungkook, though I think you know that by now.” The youngest spoke up with a smirk.

“Aww you’re so adorable!!” you tensed before forcing yourself to relax under the sudden attack hug, returning it before he pulled back. “Hi!” He chirped. “My name’s Jung Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi if you want!” His cheerfulness did wonders or your nerves and you found yourself smiling back as you nodded, stepping back and turning to face the last boy in the bunch. He looked you up and down slowly before he chuckled in that deep voice of his. “Kim Taehyung, but you can just call me Tae sweetheart.” The way that nickname sounded coming from him was not helping your arousal and judging from the way his smirk widened, you guessed he knew quite well what effect his words were having on you.

You waved quickly, offering them a smile, along with your name even as you were trying not to clench your thighs and give away how truly horny you were. “I really should be going but I’m glad I could hel-” You were abruptly cut off by Yoongi.

“Going where, exactly? We all saw what happened back there, do you have a place to stay?”

You winced at the blunt reminder but hesitantly shook your head. “Well, no, but I’m sure I’ll find someplace!” You scrambled for an excuse to leave, trying to brush it off but Jungkook intercepted your path before you could go any further. “I can’t just throw you into the streets after you stood up for me, and lost your home because of helping me. Please, come stay with us.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Seokjin spoke up before you could. “We need a Human anyway. You may not know this since it wouldn’t affect a Human such as yourself, but in the fine print of the treaty, it was made clear that groups of 5 or more demons need to have a Human live with them if they want to obtain lodgings. They...heh.” He shook his head with a sarcastic snicker. “They don’t trust us demons as it is, and they don't like the idea of us banding together without Human supervision.”

You saw Namjoon roll his eyes at that, and you mulled it over. You checked your phone and quickly came to the conclusion that you didn’t have much choice. You were just about to start college, and you’d dropped out of contact with your high school friends after you’d graduated so it wasn’t as if you had many options. “Well...alright, fine. But we’ll need to set some ground rules when we get to the house, okay?”

Namjoon spoke up with a nod. “Sure, that’s fine. C’mon, you can just sit on someone’s lap in the back of the car.” He said casually, beginning to lead the way. On the way Hoseok slung his arm around your shoulder once again, making you notice he was quite the touchy-feely type, not that you minded. He was pouting though, which made you tilt your head in confusion. “Something wrong Hobi?” He seemed to perk up a bit at the nickname and nodded, if a bit nervously. “Well...why do you want to set rules? Do...Do you not trust us?” His voice is quiet, but resigned, like this is something he was used to.

Your eyes widen in surprise and you look up to see the others, while still walking, had an ear tilted towards your conversation. “Is that what you guys think? Oh my God, no, nothing like that! It’s just because there’s 7 of you guys and 1 of me. Plus, even though I know a little about demons and such, I really don’t know too many specifics. I didn’t even realize you guys were incubi until Jungkook pointed out that one guy was a sadist. You are all incubi, right?”

You jumped back as you accidentally bumped into Seokjin’s back as they’d all stopped out of the blue.

“What’s-?”

Your mouth went dry as you saw every one of them glaring at you intensely.

“You want to make rules? Fine, here’s the first one. Never say that name in our presence again. Got it?” Seokjin’s voice was a low rumble, a clear warning held within his words as he looked you up and down.

It took you a moment to put it together before your eyes widened and you nodded in understanding. Of course they wouldn’t want to hear God’s name come from your lips...they were demons after all. “Sorry I really wasn’t thinking…” You mumbled, shrinking beneath their gaze. At your frightened form, the boys all softened a bit, and Hobi squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, as Jimin spoke up to the left of you.

“No worries sweetheart, we just really don’t like hearing that name. Especially from those that belong to us. It may not make sense to you as a Human, but it brings out the worst parts of all of us when we hear it. The last thing we want to do is lash out at you when you haven’t truly done anything wrong.”

Namjoon piped up from aways in front of you as you all began walking again. “Anyway, to answer your last question...yes, we’re all incubi. We have a few friends who are other species but the 7 of us like to stick to each other most of the time. Safety in numbers and all that. Not to mention the amount of trouble some of our other kind cause.” He said conversationally.

You nodded in understanding and got lost in your thoughts as the boys bantered between each other. Your arousal was finally calming down to your utter relief, and you jumped in surprise as Taehyung waved his hand in front of your eyes, an amused grin tugging at his lips as he startled you. “Sorry for frightening you, but we’re here and you didn’t hear us calling you...” He chuckled.

You smiled apologetically as you shook your head to shake away your leftover thoughts, laughing sheepishly. “Sorry about that guys, guess I’ve got a lot on my mind. Where should I sit again?” You asked, feeling shy all over again as you remembered you’d need to sit on someone’s lap so there’d be enough room.

3 voices overlapped as they spoke at the same time. “You can sit with me!” Jimin chirped, while Jungkook leered at you. “My lap’s always open for you angel~” He purred with a smirk, and the irony of him calling you angel after just telling you not to say God in their presence wasn't lost on you. Taehyung meanwhile, looked you over unashamedly, before he shrugged. “Whatever will make you more comfortable.”

Seokjin huffed at the three youngest. “You three are shameless. Give the poor girl a second to breathe, she just calmed down.”

Jungkook’s smirk only widened and he met your eyes when his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. “Exactly. Makes it all the more fun to get her wet for us again…” His voice was low and seductive and you found yourself blushing again as you pouted at him, even as you felt yourself growing slick. “Cut it out, this isn’t fair!”

Jungkook merely raised a challenging eyebrow in response. “Oh? Am I getting to you that much?” He huffed a breathless laugh as you crossed your arms in addition to pouting. “You’re so easy. I’m not even really trying you know.” He boasted.

You scoffed at that, and rolled your eyes, ignoring the way you saw his own narrow. “Whatever. Would you mind if I sat with you Jimin?” He’d been the one to mess with you the least out of the younger ones, so you were praying he’d have more self-restraint than the other two and show you a little mercy. You’d definitely need a nice cold shower once you were alone.

Jimin perked up at the sound of his name and sent you a boyish grin that had you smiling back unconsciously as you ignored the glare you felt burning into your back. “Of course you can!” You all piled into the car then, even though Taehyung pouted and you could still feel Jungkook’s eyes on you.

You hesitantly sat on the edge of Jimin’s leg in between Jungkook and Taehyung, barely sitting at all due to nerves as you held the handle tight enough that your knuckles cracked audibly. It wasn’t Jimin that you didn’t trust, he was nothing but sweet to you so far, but damn, if you weren’t still a horny mess from Jungkook working you up again. You yelped as Hoseok suddenly stopped short, causing Jimin to instinctively grab your waist protectively and pull you into him, and also rubbing your clothed core right into his thigh in the process. You couldn’t help your whimper and 6 pairs of knowing eyes were on you in seconds.

A loud honk at the back of you confirmed that it was actually 7 though Hoseok reluctantly returned his eyes to the road. You could still see his gaze flicking to look at you in the mirror anytime he could though.

You ducked your head in embarrassment as your cheeks burned, the intensity of all of their gazes not helping your dripping arousal any as you crossed your legs, and cleared your throat, trying to at least maintain some of your dignity.

The atmosphere of the car was thick with sexual tension, and you could distinctly feel how much from Jimin’s boner at your back.

“You don’t need to be ashamed, it’s us who should be. We're typically much better at controlling ourselves than this. I'm sorry babygirl.” You flinched as the sound of Namjoon’s voice broke the silence after a few minutes. You met his gaze and he suddenly inhaled sharply as your pussy clenched at the nickname that left his lips, cutting himself off. “You’re just-” He let out a chuckle and bit his lip, trying to fight his urges. Noticing his struggle, Seokjin piped up from beside him. “You smell so good, and because you’re a virgin in so many ways, that’s only enhancing every sensation, and making us want you more.” He admitted, voice a quiet mumble.

You blushed at Seokjin’s crude words. “How did you-?” Yoongi cut you off. “We innately know any Human’s sexual experience, and their biggest desires typically as well. Even the smallest kinks, things you want to experiment with, even if only once...we know it all, at just a glance.”

Hoseok suddenly stopped short again as someone cut in front of the black SUV, making you cry out in a half-whimper, half-whine, without conscious thought.

“Hoseok please-!”

A few groans emitted from the boys as they fought desperately to hold themselves back, but others were quickly starting to lose their composure. Hoseok met your eyes in the mirror at the next light, eyes hooded with lust, but with a dangerous glint you hadn’t seen before. “Sweetheart, if you call my name like that again, there is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to stop myself from pulling over and fucking you raw.”

Yoongi snickered huskily, and hummed, knuckles white from how hard he was clenching his fists. “Calls your name? If she makes another fucking sound I’m personally going to make sure she screams instead.”

The dirty words made your mouth dry and you swallowed, but nodded obediently, biting your lip hard to hold back God forbid Hoseok stopped short again. You started as Jungkook and Taehyung suddenly decided to teasingly walk their fingers up each of your thighs, making you try to lunge for their wrists, only for Jimin to easily hold your hands back, with a strength that took you off guard. When you looked back at him in surprise, it was like he was a different person entirely from the sweet boy you’d met earlier. You’d taken his silence and stiffness for control, and clearly, that was a mistake. He smirked at your shocked expression, leaning forward to leave a kitten lick on your ear that made you squeak before you quickly bit your lip harder than before at the warning looks Hoseok and Yoongi sent your way as he continued to toy with your sensitive ears, driving you absolutely mad.

Your ears, neck, and inner thighs were all highly sensitive areas for you, and it looked like the three boys were going to take full advantage of it.

Jimin's lips moved from your ears to your neck and began to leave playful nips and kisses on the exposed area while Taehyung and Jungkook's fingers reached the top of your pants. They shared a long look for a moment before you heard Taehyung let out a quiet huff, and abruptly his mouth took over Jimin's previous position, nibbling and teasing your ear, not unlike he had done in front of the cafe earlier.

Your attention was quickly brought back to Jungkook as he slowly pulled back the waistband of your pants, making eye contact with you and smirking as his hand slipped into them. You glared at him, opening your mouth to protest when he let one finger caress your clothed core teasingly, making you flinch violently enough that Jimin had to tighten his grip on you while Taehyung giggled quietly in your other ear, sending shivers down your spine. "I almost forgot how sensitive virgins are...ah, it's just so fun to tease you like this!" He mumbled, before returning to attacking your ear with renewed vigor. Your breathing hitched, the pleasure becoming enough to really make you want to cry out, as you tried to squirm in Jimin's iron grip.

You felt him smirk against your neck, but were once again distracted by Jungkook as he leaned forward to tease your other ear, whispering quietly. "Aww, is it too much for you? Scared you're gonna bring attention to yourself?" When you nodded, starting to turn submissive as your situation finally hit you, you felt Jungkook's teeth suddenly pull teasingly on your earlobe in unison with Taehyung, making you slam your eyes shut at the pleasure and frantically kick the air, while desperately trying not to vocalize how you were feeling. "Look what a good girl you're being for us princess." You registered that it was Jimin's voice by your neck now speaking. "Don't worry we'll help you be quiet~" Taehyung's deep voice at your left ear was the only warning you received before he offered you his index and middle finger. "Open." His command made you want to obey but your stubbornness won out at being humiliated like this and you instead tried to move your head away from him...and went right into Jungkook. "I'd do what he says little girl. You don't want to have us force you, and then punish you do you?" His voice was teasing but when you scoffed and turned to glare at him, the seriousness in his gaze made you shudder.

By now, your panties were completely soaked through, thank God you chose to wear black pants today so it wouldn't be too noticeable. You gulped, but tried to stay strong in your decision. You couldn't let them win, not when they'd decided to play dirty like this. "F-Fuck all of you." Your voice was a hoarse whisper but they all clearly heard it. Taehyhung let out a positively bone-chilling chuckle by your ear. "Oh, you're going to wish you didn't say that." Jungkook merely hummed. "I had a feeling you were a brat when you rolled your eyes at me earlier but to think you'd use such language? Tsk..." His hand cupped your core so unexpectedly that you couldn't hold back your gasp as he hissed in your ear. "We'll fix that." Jimin was oddly quiet and it was only when you'd calmed down and Jungkook pulled his hand away that he spoke, voice even and gentle. "That wasn't very nice of you to say, you know. We were even going easy on you." That made your eyes widen. Easy!? You'd never been so horny in your life, he had to be joking!

"Oh well, guess we'll just do this the hard way. Open."

This time, you heard his voice in your mind as well, and when you tried to fight it, you found yourself steadily growing more and more turned on. You tried to squirm in his grip but Jimin simply giggled and forced you still again with his superior strength, voice still deceptively light. "Bad girl. I said open." It was steadily growing harder and harder, and you were fighting desperately against his instructions until your eyes were literally tearing from so much pleasure. Jungkook relished in this, wiping away one of your tears as it fell and cooing at you. "Aww look how cute she is, trying to fight us. C'mon little girl, it'll only get worse the more you resist." His voice turned serious, as he growled. "Give in...Open your mouth." His voice merged with Jimin's in your mind, and you finally crumbled under the power of their suggestion. But you didn't just open your mouth. You begged, the second your lips separated. "Please stop it!!"

Your eyes opened wide as you panted...and locked eyes with the other 4 boys, all watching your predicament. When had the car stopped? You couldn't remember or focus on anything besides the pleasure the 3 younger demons had been giving you.

Now that you were back to yourself though, it hit you like a train what had just happened and you scrambled out of Jimin's now lax grip, desperate to get out of the vehicle you'd been trapped in. You caught your breath, completely humiliated and eyes teary for a reason much different than pleasure. You felt a hand on your back and actually jumped away. "Don't touch me!" You demanded, even as your voice shook with held back emotions. You saw Hoseok looking at you guiltily and looked away from him to glare at the three who'd put you in this state.

"What the Hell did you do to me? You...You were inside my head."

Truth be told...that made you feel more violated than any of their other touches.

Jimin looked genuinely sheepish as he stepped forward to explain, frowning when you took a step back, but staying where he was. "It's an ability of ours. We can suggest ideas in Human's minds. We typically disguise it better by tricking your mind into thinking it's coming from yourself but we didn't do that this time."

That made you scoff. "There won't be a next time, make no mistake of that. You had no right to do what you just did okay?" You snapped, clearly irritated, though truthfully, you were also disgusted with yourself, because part of you liked it and you just didn't know what to make of that. As if he'd read your mind Jungkook spoke up as he saw Jimin's face fall.

"You're overreacting. We made you feel good and deny it all you want, but you liked every minute of it."

You blushed but shook your head. "Even if I did, that's not the point! You need my okay first, you can't just overwhelm me like that without any notice!"

"So we're okay to do it if we ask you first?" Taehyung asked, eyes hopeful.

You sighed, shaking your head in exasperation, "I can't do this right now. I need a cold shower and a pair of clean clothes first and foremost. Then we're setting ground rules. Alright?" Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin all reluctantly nodded and you turned to check on the older one's responses. Seokjin spoke up as you thought he would.

"I'm sorry, I should have stopped the-" You shook your head, holding your hand up with a tired smile. "Jin, I appreciate it, I really do. But I mean it when I say I can't do this right now. I feel absolutely disgusting, and I need a shower stat. Please tell me this house has a shower I can use to clean myself and calm down?"

"Oh, so you're still-ow!" Jungkook winced as Yoongi smacked him over the head for the suggestive comment he was about to make and you nodded at him in thanks.

"Yeah, I know where the shower is. C'mon, you can follow me inside." Namjoon interjected, starting to walk to the gate. It was only then that you bothered to take in where exactly you were. This place was so charming! "Woah...how the Hell are you able to afford this quaint little place?" You asked as you followed after him, trying to push what just happened to the back of your mind, at least for the moment. Namjoon smiled a bit despite himself at your childlike awe as he led you into the entry hall, the other boys not far behind, though they quickly separated to do their own things. "We've been demons for way longer than most, and while we've never had a need for Human money, whenever we recieved it, we kept it. You'd be surprised just how many of your kind tried to pay us for our services. It came in handy when we came to the surface, and let us get this place and any other necessities or things we wanted. We've got more than enough between the 7 of us to last us several mortal lifetimes."

You nodded in understanding as he led you further into the homey cottage, taking in its simplistic beauty as he opened a door and let you go first before closing the door behind himself. "I know you don't really have any clothes yet so I'm going to lend you some of mine for now. They'll be big on you for sure, but we'll go out and get some proper clothes with you tomorrow. The bathroom is right there to the left of you and there are fresh towels inside. I'll leave the clothes outside on the bed for you." He bowed his head and turned to leave when you asked him the question that'd been plaguing you since you'd first interacted with him.

"...Do you not like me for some reason Namjoon?"

He turned to face you with a smile that was a little too wide; eyes a little too perceptive.

"Why do you ask? I haven't given you any reason to believe that, have I?" He asked, voice calm.

You shook your head and shrugged. "No, admittedly, you haven't done anything outright. But all of the others have either shown explicit interest in me somehow or made an effort to be friendly, and you haven't really done much of either. In fact, the few times you have spoken to me, it's been very..." You searched for the right word. "business-like, I guess."

Namjoon observed you for a moment with an unreadable expression before he suddenly strode towards you, backing you up until you hit the wall behind you with a light thud. Your cheeks heated as he placed his hands on either side of your head, bending down to your height to look you in the eyes. He observed your expression for a moment, before he smirked suddenly, something you hadn't seen before. It changed his entire demeanor, making him seem much more intimidating, and suddenly you were hyper-aware of the fact that he was close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips. It smelled like cinnamon, and his cologne was intoxicating.

"Do I seem business-like now?"

His words snapped you out of your stupor as your gaze jumped from where you'd been observing his lips to looking into his eyes. You felt meek under the borderline possessive glare he was giving you and shook your head stumbling over your words as you were taken aback at his sudden change in demeanor. "I-N-No you don't!" His lips twitched into a smile then, and you found your mind going blank as his tongue darted out to wet them.

'I really want to kiss him.'

The thought came as your gaze flickered to his lips again, your thoughts drifting to how nice and plush they looked, and would surely feel against your own...you went to lean in, but he pulled away just as you were about to close the last remaining inch. Just as suddenly as he'd cornered you, he was leaving with a simple wave of his hand. "Go ahead and take all the time you need in the shower, the clothes will be there when you get out, and we'll have lunch once you’re ready."

You blinked once. You blinked twice. Then, you let out the breath you'd were holding and sank to the floor, cheeks blushing a ruby red as you recalled just how close his lips had been to your own. Your fingertips brushed against your lips and you sighed. You'd been so close to losing your first kiss. Seokjin wasn't wrong when he said you were a virgin in more ways than one. It was a bit embarrassing for you to be entering college, never even have experienced a real first kiss yet. Though living with these boys, you had the sinking feeling that wasn't going to be the case for much longer, no matter what rules you put in place.

What the Hell had you gotten yourself into, agreeing to stay with these people?

A/N: And that’s a wrap on the first chapter! I really, really hope you guys enjoy this, since I kid you not I stayed up until 5am last night typing all of this out lol. I worked really hard on it, so I hope it paid off! I think this’ll be a really fun world to play in so I’m excited to continue the journey with all of you guys! 

Please send me an ask and let me know your thoughts since I crave validation and praise as much as Jimin! Also, feel free to tell me who you like the most so far, or who you’re looking forward for the reader to have interactions with! Kinks you potentially want me to explore would be super cool too! I take all of your feedback into account when I write! 

Okay, bye-bye thank you so much for reading!

[hordakin]

On the Subject of Hordak, His Parallels with Catra, His Bond with Entrapta, and the Possibility of Him Getting a Redemption Arc

Obviously this is a subject of MUCH controversy within the Spop fandom, and I'm probably just going to stir up even more issues, but the aforementioned things are subjects i find INCREDIBLY fascinating and dammit I want to talk about it, because as usual (almost*) everyone else is glancing over it and not giving it all the in depth analysis it deserves.

Just a preface, my 'screenshots' are probably going to be absolutely hideous because I do not have the time nor the resources to get high quality ones--sooo I'm just taking pictures with my phone!

I'm no good at keeping my posts organized, so please forgive any other messiness as well--I'm hyperfixated and filled with frantic energy.

Lets start out simply with the Juiciest meat on the bone--Hordak's Could-Be Redemption Arc!

This is the topic that has the most people in a tizzy--for completely valid reasons, to be fair! Hordak, as of right now, is a horrible person. There's no skirting over it, there's no sugar coating it, he's a grade A piece of shit manipulative dictator, and things he's done are unforgivable.

What joy it is, then, that being forgiven has absolutely nothing to do with redemption!!!

Redemption is about changing your ways, and doing what you can to FIX or make up for the villainous things you've done--NOT being forgiven for them, which is what seems to be the hang up for a lot of people who are against the idea of a Hordak redemption arc, the people who don't like his sympathetic backstory.

I've seen more than a few posts of people Screaming in fury, proclaiming their anguish and disgust that the writers are trying to make them """forgive""" Hordak, when.... That's. Literally not what the writers are doing. They are just giving a character a backstory and human characteristics. So he'll be relatable. You know, like characters in media are SUPPOSED to be. Funny how that works, right?

Anyway, his frustrates me immensely, especially when these are the same people still pushing for a Catra redemption arc (to be fair, i am still one of those people too, but her choices in the last season have severely lowered my enthusiasm and hopes for it. There’s a long, tiring road ahead of her, as well as for us as an audience, if she is going to be redeemed at all). It frustrates me because of Hordak and Catra's lifestory parallels. These people act as if they are leagues different, when they really... Really aren't. If Catra still deserves redemption because she was abused into thinking the way she does, then so does Hordak, because he was obviously abused too.

The way I see it, Catra is like... A younger Hordak. Hordak right before and during Prime discovering his defects and sending him off to die. For a lot of season 1 and 2, she was in her prime in regards to her standing as a member of the Horde. She became force captain, and she did her work well, just as Hordak had once been Horde Prime's top general--but then they showed some kind of weakness, some kind of incompetence, and then they were cast away;

And it doesn't even stop there! Because right after being exiled, guess what they both do? They take over and begin to Rule the local denizens of the place they were exiled to--Hordak forms the Etherian Horde, and Catra takes one look at the Crimson Waste gangs and says "My City Now".

The main differences I see between Hordak and Catra are, Firstly, their friendships. The bonds they've formed (and broken) during the series (as well as if/how they changed them).

Hordak --

Total number of friends, past and present: 2 or 3 (Entrapta and Imp, 3 if you count Emily)

How much he values them: given his tract record of abandoning and belittling people, he doesn't belittle or mistreat Entrapta or Imp, in fact openly showing affection for/praising both of them rather openly--which is to say, he must value them a lot.

How he treats them: like i said up there--with open praise, affection, and respect. He takes care to never actually harm or yell at them in a way that targets them--when he yells or snaps, its not because hes mad at them, its because of something else. On top of that, he keeps it limited--he does not go on rants. He shouts his bit, takes a breath, then turns around and asks them to leave. Which is something i guarantee EVERY person on the face of the earth has done before. Ppl lose their tempers, it's normal, and does NOT make them abusive.

Catra --

Total number of friends, past and present: 6 or 8 (Adora, Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio, Scorpia, Entrapta, and 8 if you count Kyle 2 and her four armed Lizard friend)

How much she values them: this is tough one. Clearly, her main priority is Adora--shes Catra's endgame Bestie, the person she really WANTS to be friends with the most. She puts effort into her relationship with Adora. Second comes Scorpia--Scorpia is very slowly weaseling her way into Catra's heart, and it shows, especially on this last season. Catra starts to show more vulnerability around her, and they have more emotionally charged interactions, that clearly have a positive impact on Catra. Catra is BEGGINING to put effort into her friendship with Scorpia, but it is a s l o w process. Everyone else.... Catra frankly couldn't give less of a shit about. They're an ontourage to her, not friends. But they see her as their friend. She doesn't put any effort there--everyone else does.

How she treats them: just like i said above again. She doesn't not care about most of her relationships. She fixates on one or two, and leaves the others in the dust until she has a use for them, because she doesn't see them as friends, she sees them as lackeys.

Secondly, another difference is their motivations and the choices they make because of them.

While they were both originally seeking recognition and praise from their superiors--Hordak trying to take over Etheria for Horde Prime to prove he's still useful despite his defects, and Catra...:

And then, after that, the Shadow Weaver issue comes to Catra’s attention, and Catra’s Motivation shifts COMPLETELY, because she hasn’t been given the time she needs to heal and let go of that portion of her baggage.

--I’m losing shitloads of eloquently worded paragraphs sharing my points over and over again so I’ve moved to desktop now because i am NOT giving up on sharing this, let me try again, sorry if it suddenly feels offtrack, i swear the connections are still there--

Now that their current motivations are in play, let’s talk about how their CHOICES (and their friendships) tell us which of them is more ripely suited to a redemption arc at this point in the series.

Hordak makes a friend. This is most likely the first friend he has EVER truly had, but they make it work, because they have similar interests and there is no sense of hierarchy between them--She is very clearly not afraid of him, and he is long past trying to make her afraid. She doesn’t push him to be better, no--She thinks he’s fine the way he is. She has no desire to ‘fix him’, because she doesn’t see anything wrong with him being a ‘bad guy’. However, I will say that (albeit unintentionally) she is... Gently nudging him towards being neutral. Hordak’s goal since day one has been to contact Horde Prime, because he likely had been brainwashed or indoctrinated to believe that there WAS no other option than to do so. Seek approval, and nothing else. “For the Horde” and nothing else. Because he hasn’t fully realized... That Horde Prime can’t touch him. He’s like... A young adult, who just moved out of his parents house--You know the posts! He’d become so accustomed to the lifestyle he had before, that now when he goes shopping and thinks “Hey I want ice cream for breakfast tomorrow!” he deflates and walks on to the veggies aisle because of the parental voice telling him “You can’t have ice cream for breakfast” in his head, but now... The parent isn’t there. He CAN have ice cream for breakfast, it just hasn’t hit him yet. Then, Entrapta shows up. “For science!” she says, and Hordak probably quirks his eyebrow, because she is odd, and thats an odd thing to say--but that, right there, is the little thing that starts to help him realize that, ‘hey.... Horde Prime isn’t here. I can do anything I want!’ And tat Anything can easily include turning around and becoming a better person.

Catra makes a new friend. Catra has had many friends before, at least one of which she cared about VERY deeply, who has since then left and moved on to other friends. She tried to get Catra to follow her to the better, healthier side of life that she’s found, to make friends with the other people too--but Catra refused, and it would not be a stretch to say it was because of jealousy/possessive feelings. Catra is like that toxic friend who lurks on the social media of someone who’s cut them off, simultaneous seething with anger and looking for reasons to hate them, while also vying for the chance to be friends with them again, and go back to the way things ‘used to be’. Now, she has that new friend, who cares about her just as much if not MORE than the last friend did--she sees how Catra wallows in self pity and negative emotions over the last friend, and how unhappy it’s really making her. Scorpia wants to help her move past that--to live her life free from the reigns of her past, and to embrace the happiness that other, new parts of life can give her. But Catra. Doesn’t. Listen. She doesn’t care. She sees the possibility of happiness, dips her toes into it (Crimson Waste party), but then decides “No, I don’t want this. I’d rather be spiteful. I’d rather be vengeful. I’d rather be unhappy, and I want everyone else to be unhappy too.”

People get so mad that Hordak is a trying to take over Etheria, trying to RULE over everyone on it--They call him ‘genocidal’ even though, by definition, he’s literally not--and demand that people admit how bad he is because of it, as if we weren’t already. Yet... The only people I see condemning Catra for doing something SIGNIFICANTLY WORSE for just as selfish a reason, is most notably NOT those people demanding we condemn Hordak left and right. The hypocrisy is extremely thick in this fandom right now--let’s leave it at that.

Point is; As of right now in canon, Catra is LITERALLY a worse person than Hordak, and when you really look at their actions, it’s easy to see that there are many more realistic and easy ways for Hordak to be redeemed than their are for Catra, and that’s the fuckin’ tea!

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Bone China

So, @bat-yo-us​ submitted this ages ago, but I hit writer’s block with it, since (imo) there’s no way Jumin would touch Rika with a barge pole, let alone his ween, after learning what she did to V. So this is what came out of that. MC is the idiot, not him dfgfdfgd 

No I am not over That After End. Yes this is a vent fic :’)

Jumin x MC | Mystic Messenger | Warning: contains depictions of bodily harm and dead bodies | No smut, just pain

~*~

When he thought of MC, many things came to mind.

Jumin recalled her sense of humour; her ability to laugh out loud at even the most minor of things. A single phrase in a magazine had her in stitches, a cat video on the internet left her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

He remembered her hair too; a shade that glimmered radiantly in the morning sun. Sometimes he laid beside her, watching as it went from one equally beautiful shade to the next. She used a shampoo that smelled sweeter than his and left perfume behind on her pillow. When she wasn’t there, his head would find it, enveloping himself in her scent where he could not her.

He remembered her favourite wine, her favourite shoes. He remembered the way she positioned her phone in the crook of her neck as she prepared breakfast or buttoned her shirt.

He knew her better than anyone and there was still so much he had left to discover. He did not know her inside out, did not know her completely. She indulged his curiosities with a smile, never questioning the more obscure examples. When he thought of her, it was her patience that often came to mind, explaining her opinion on things he did not understand.

He wanted her face to be the last thing he saw; her hair to be the last scent he ever knew.

It seemed a cruel irony that she should be gone so soon. That two words could erase her so completely.

“No survivors.”

In that moment, he fell cold, her voice a distant memory and her scent on the pillow rapidly fading. The more he cast his mind back to her, the more difficult it was to remember her as she was. He still had her clothes but could not imagine her in them.

In almost every sense, she was replaced by other things; fire and ashes and mysterious castles belonging to ghosts. Her name on his lips felt more foreign than “Mint Eye”, the sympathetic tones of medical practitioners all over the country at his pathetic attempts to describe her.

He did not know how to explain her, could not try and contain her in something as primitive as words. The doctors, increasingly apologetic, had never known her as he had. Within weeks he visited every Jane Doe in the county only to find that not one of them had her smile. Many of them did not recognise him at all.

His friends and family reminded him of the same thing: that he had a good deal to remember her by and she had loved him dearly when she loved him at all. He could not accept their kindness however; could not see beyond ashes and the graves left behind. Wherever she was, he could not go.

‘No survivors’ lingered at the back of his mind and imagination, far more so than any of her jokes.

Sometimes he hated her for going somewhere he could never follow. She had kissed him so sweetly the last time he ever saw her and it filled him a rage that he could not explain. If it was to be their last kiss, why had she never warned him? Why hadn’t she told him to hold her tighter, to bury himself in her body and take all of her in?

In the end, he hated himself most of all. So many things came to mind when he recalled her, yet he could not grasp a single one in detail. She was the one who left, but he was the one who forgot.

A sad irony, for that singular detail haunted him far more than any aspect of her.

~*~

One year ago

“Don’t you think this is a little...excessive?”

MC paused from icing the cupcakes in front of her, a hint of rose coloured frosting on her cheek. Despite his criticisms, Jumin couldn’t help but smile and reach to brush it off.

“This class is going to be hard for them,” she said, “I want everything to be just right.”

MC was almost too kind, an obvious fact even to people who didn’t see her as often as he did. She was the type to apologize when other people walked into her; to hand over the last slice of cake or offer up her jacket. She put her heart and soul into helping the RFA even before she knew them well. She had researched charity after charity for the party and convinced everyone to attend, likely because her sincerity practically bled through each of her emails. Jumin had no doubts that if he had not so openly expressed his disgust with Sarah and Glam Choi, MC would have shrugged off any hope of pursuing him.

She felt too much and couldn’t bring herself to hate anyone-a fact that had become only too apparent in recent weeks. Rika and her other acolytes had finally gone to trial, having spent the best part of three months in varying stages of recovery. The Mint Eye catastrophe had proven to be so widespread and deliberately vague even to its followers that individual charges ranged from fines to several years in jail. Rika herself was jailed for life, with other high profile members serving twenty year sentences. Many acolytes had suffered such extensive damage to body and mind that they were sent to recover in psychiatric wings instead of jail, which was the reason for MC’s sudden burst of inspiration. She was determined to help the victims make a full recovery and have all of the support they needed to make a successful return to society.

How exactly that correlated to cupcakes, Jumin wasn’t sure, only that she had insisted on attending one of their group meetings. He wondered if anyone present would guess or even believe she had baked and iced them all herself. Likely not, but recognition-as she frequently repeated-wasn’t her ultimate goal

“I was thinking the other day,” she said, examining her handiwork, “how long it must have been since any of them met. They spent so much time in the castle, at meetings and prayer...meeting again like this will be difficult, but it’s the right thing to do. No one understands their experiences more than they do…”

She reached for her cake tin with a weak smile.

“I can’t understand them or take away their suffering, but at least I can give them something sweet to look forward to.”

Jumin sighed, both in awe and exhausted by the kindness of his wife; the love in her heart that he hoped would never be stolen.

“Just...be careful.”

~*~

Nine months ago

“I want to see Rika.”

Jumin paused, wineglass millimetres from his lips.

He had taken MC to dinner at one of his favourite restaurants, having noticed a shift in her mood, which he almost automatically attributed it to her frequent visits to the support group. Hearing the extent of Mint Eye’s activities and intentions had not been easy on her and she had poked and prodded at her steak since its arrival in front of her.

He had had a number of guesses as to what she was thinking, but the words she actually blurted out were the last he might have guessed.

He didn’t know how to respond and lowered his glass to the table, ultimately making the most obvious observation.

“Rika is in jail.”

“I know.”

“A high security jail.”

“I know.”

She set aside her fork and reached for his hand across the table, stroking her thumb against his almost automatically.

He knew what she was going to ask and the answer he was obliged to give. His family were influential, but not above the law.

“No.”

“But, Jumin…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his wine. “I can’t.”

“Can’t... or won’t?”

~*~

Seven Months Ago

Things were different between them after that.

MC still hummed as she baked; still curled her hair and put on smart dresses when she visited the recovery group. She still chatted to him and laughed, though in an increasingly halfhearted fashion. They had once been perfect, but now their relationship was a broken vase-immaculate from a distance, but irreparably cracked close up.

She spent more time than usual at the support group, leaving at the same time that he departed for work and returning much later. She rarely took cupcakes or food anymore, instead packing notebooks and drawing paper.

He wondered what on earth was going on at the group meetings that kept her away from the house for so long. Whatever it was, it left dark circles under her eyes.

He discovered the truth by accident-a phone call he almost talked himself out of making. MC was late home and he had organised a chef for dinner. He dialed MC’s cell phone and sent multiple texts, though received nothing in response. After much consideration, he dialed the number of the community hall, only to end up with far more questions than answers.

The leader of the support group was perplexed by the very idea that MC might be there, as she had not attended any of its meetings for well over a month. Jumin apologized several times before hanging up the phone, dismissing it as a miscommunication when he knew for a fact it was anything but.

Several months ago he might have been concerned at the prospect of infidelity, but this was arguably worse. For the first time in over a year he couldn’t decide on a logical plan of action. Surely it was all a misunderstanding and MC’s lies were perfectly innocent. Perhaps she had not meant to deceive him at all and would soon come forward with a reasonable explanation.

He watched every time she applied her lipstick; every time she packed up her purse ready for the support group and went so far as to invent activities she had taken part in. He watched and waited, ready for her to speak up and prove her innocence.

She never did, though, and he rubbed off the lipstick smears she left on his cheeks as if they were unwelcome layers of paint.

~*~

Five Months Ago

“MC, you’re being illogical!”

He should have seen it coming.

No.

He did see it coming and refused to believe it.

Barely a year into her prison sentence, Rika’s sentence came under appeal.

He had read the newspaper with shaking hands, dialing and redialing V’s home number with little luck. With any luck he would still be enough of a recluse that the news had escaped his attention. He never answered, though, and Jumin buried his face in his hands every time he got through to voicemail.

MC stayed quiet about the revelation, mumbling her goodbyes as she returned to group meetings. Jumin pretended he didn’t know that those group meetings didn’t exist.

Their final confrontation was an accident in the end. He had spent the day on the phone to his lawyer, who was more than a little skeptical of the prosecution’s chances in court. They had a new eyewitness and testimony that had never been there before.

He knew it was MC without asking and spent the rest of the evening helping himself to glass after glass of wine. He was almost certainly drunk when MC returned home and knew that he should retire to bed before saying anything he would regret. The alcohol overrode his reason, though, and he smiled weakly as she hung up her coat.

“How was the support group?”

“Busy,” she sighed, crossing the room and planting a kiss on his cheek. “We went to a recruitment drive and-“

She paused at the realisation that he shrank away from her lips, too repulsed by the knowledge that she was lying to him to accept any ounce of affection. Perhaps her kisses were lies too.

“MC,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I know...about the support group.”

“What do you mean?”

She couldn't hide the alarm in her voice and that only made it worse. Had she believed him to be so naive and out of touch with the world that he wouldn’t notice the court case?

The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had believed her, after all, for longer than he cared to admit. She was a kind, gracious person who he had trusted to be honest and speak out for the unfortunate, but her naive heart was clearly a weakness too. No one with a rational mind would speak out for a cult leader. Only innocent fools would read the long list of Rika’s crimes and conclude she did not deserve to be punished.

For the first time he saw MC for the fool she truly was.

“I spoke to them. You haven’t gone to the support group for quite some time.”

MC chewed at her bottom lip; facade slowly slipping. In the end she gave a heavy sigh.

“She was wrongfully jailed,” she said, without bothering to say who. “You know it just as well as I do.”

“MC,” he said.

“No! She suffered a terrible sickness and trauma! She needs help and sympathy, not years behind b-“

He got out of his chair to set aside his wine, wishing that he couldn't hear...that he could just close his eyes and go to bed and erase the betrayal. MC followed him and reached for his arm.

“Jumin,” she said, “please…”

She wasn’t crying but he could hear it in her voice- the same way she got choked up over advertising campaigns that featured emaciated children.

“Please…”

He dragged his arm from hers and she stumbled, eyes wide at the gesture. They had never argued before, never disagreed. He had always accepted her kisses and touches, and he could see the growing horror in her eyes at the realization that their relationship was shattering around them.

“MC,” he said, “you’re being illogical!”

“But-“

“No! How can you claim to advocate and support people with traumas and illness while absolving a person like that of any blame? How could you sit in those support meetings and not see the impact of her actions? Aren’t her victims just as tortured as she claims to be?”

“Jumin…I heard about her past...she wasn’t always like this. There was a priest and-“

“Her victims were not always like this either. Do you mean to forgive this priest too? Are they beyond judgement?”

“Ju-“

“Don’t you agree that if the priest had faced judgement, things might have been different now?”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes welling with tears.

“Jumin, she wasn’t in a position to...no one believed her!”

“Answer the question.”

“Well, no.”

“Why not? What if he showed up here now and told you his father beat him? Would you forgive him then?”

“That’s different! She-she couldn’t help herself! Why can’t you understand?”

Jumin shook his head and walked towards the bedroom, meaning to end the conversation there and then.

“You loved her once,” MC whispered, “don’t pretend you didn’t. Why can’t you show her any compassion now?”

He sighed and turned to her, chest tight and hands clenched into fists.

“She lost the right to any kindness from me when she blinded my friend.”

“J-“

“When she lied to the entire RFA, who trusted her so deeply.”

“But-“

“When she preyed on the vulnerable and weak.”

MC shook her head, a bitter smile crossing her face.

“You really are cold, after all.”

“Perhaps,” he said, keeping a level tone to hide how much her observation stung, “but I am also the acting head of the RFA and it falls to me to protect its members. I cannot stop you from pursuing this or showing her mercy, but if you do so I’ll have no choice but to view you as a potential threat to our organisation.”

She blinked in surprise.

“A threat? Me? Jumin-“

“You have a choice now,” he said. “You can protect Rika or the RFA, but not both.”

He smiled sadly, recalling MC’s good heart and willing her to choose correctly.

“Choose soon.”

~*~

Present day

“This way, Mr Han.”

The coroner’s assistant led him into a dimly lit room and reached over the autopsy table.

No survivors.

He had heard it clearly, yet it didn’t feel real.

“When you’re ready.” 

He gave them a swift nod, sucking in a deep breath when they reached for the sheet.

Since her disappearance many months earlier, he had visited every hospital and left no corner of the city unturned. He missed her laugh and gentle touches and refused to allow that argument to be their last. She might still see sense if he phrased things properly; he had to believe she wasn’t so good and innocent that she would willingly put herself in danger.

He had to believe that she would choose him at the end of it all.

It took an explosion to uncover her and a second castle. It belonged to a previously disbanded cult, built alongside the first as a contingency plan. The acolytes there were more desperate than the others and lined the grounds of their home with explosives. Their leader did not hesitate to have them pull the trigger to hide her sins, regardless of who or what remained inside. She held onto her convictions even at the end of everything.

No survivors.

They returned to that fact far more than any others.

Everyone, from media outlets to police officers, called the explosion a tragedy but Jumin knew otherwise. He had seen it coming the moment Rika’s bright smile graced his television screen as she thanked her lawyer and the courts for allowing true justice to prevail. 

The lawyer’s body was one of the first they found, identifiable only by his fillings. They found Rika’s body in bed, unscathed by the explosion and dosed on poison.

None of the story so far had shocked him, from the mangled remains of acolytes to the rubble at the scene. Even now, as he stood before the final body, he knew exactly what he was going to find. They had found this one in the same room as the Saviour, untouched by fire. She had not died from smoke inhalation or burns, but hands at her throat. 

This body was far more intact than any of the others, which if anything was worse. She appeared to be smiling in her sleep, hair shorn by a clumsy set of scissors and only bruises at her throat to prove otherwise. There was a smudge of blue on her cheek in just the same position she once had frosting.

“Sir?”

The assistant had taken note of his contemplation.

Jumin took in the body’s collarbones; far more pronounced than when he had draped necklaces over them. MC certainly hadn’t been eating as well as before. There had surely been no one to take her to dinner.

She was not MC anymore but a broken doll, as lifeless and transformed as a china vase reassembled in the wrong order. If he listened closely, he could still hear the shatter; could see the cracks in her ghostly skin.

He looked up at the coroner, the silence of the room deafening on his senses.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know them.”

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG129 /o/

    - Overall, I’m… so, so proud of Jon since the season has begun? He’s trying! Trying so much and so hard! And it’s still the same Jon who is prone to outbursts, who can say mean things… but now, he’s also learned that his actions and his words can be destructive, that they can hurt people, that he can hurt people he cares about simply because he voiced what he felt! It’s not so much that his snappiness disappeared; it’s more that he’s now able to quickly understand that it can have consequences and wound even when he didn’t mean to?

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: No, it’s fine, I know you’ve got… whatever this is, I’m not going to question you. MARTIN: Thank you. ARCHIVIST: [SPITTING] Even if it looks like you’re doing something really stupid. [SILENCE] … Sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. I get it. ARCHIVIST: I just– I worry. […] [SIGHS] I suppo– … I miss you.

I mean!! Look at him!! He could compulse, has decided not to, and reassures that he won’t; he still snaps, but understand when he went too far and was actually demeaning; he explains his reasoning instead of clamming up! He caught himself when spurting one of his “I suppose”s and openly admitted something meaningful instead! Yes, alright, that should be basic, but that’s still a lot of progress and very impressive for someone who regularly fails to understand people around him, has trust issues, and used to go on the offensive when feeling cornered or criticised. (Would season1!Jon have behaved this way, uh?)

I’m also so fond of the way that Jon is once again… trying to make Martin talk? Restarting the conversation when the silences stretch out, talking about Martin? It’s horribly sad, but… the aesthetic of Jon trying to reach Martin feels so satisfying at the same time…

- I’m, however, a bit tad worried about how Jon sometimes flirts with becoming a The Eye apologist. 1°) He has been casually dropping a bit of an “us vs. them” mentality, lately, and it isn’t clear if it’s pure pragmatism (because they’re chained to the Institute) or Something Deeper:

(MAG123) BASIRA: [SIGHS] Alright. Best I can understand it, Beholding, or The Eye or… whatever you want to call it, we’re one of the only powers that hasn’t actually taken a shot at our ritual. Yet. And everything out there knows it. ARCHIVIST: … No, I mean, we… we can’t be the only ones, surely? BASIRA: I don’t know. Probably not. But we made a big noise with The Unknowing and… other stuff, and… now they’ve taken notice.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: You’re working for someone… really bad! MARTIN: Yes, I’m not an idiot, Jon, but it’s no… worse than working for something really bad, so… ARCHIVIST: At least The Eye hasn’t gone after our own. Lukas has vanished two people!

“we”, “our own” can be neutral and coming from an objective fact (the Institute is still their workplace, it’s about their colleagues!), or from a strategic point of view, or… a deeper feeling of belonging. I’m not sure. I hope that Jon is aware of what he’s saying and that it’s not the latter option ;;

2°) Jonathan “The Eye Did Nothing Wrong” Sims, DO WE TALK ABOUT IT. Elias killed Gertrude and Leitner! He allowed Sasha to die! He manipulated and chained them to the Archives! He traumatized Melanie! Jon should know that even without knowing that he also traumatized Martin (which… yeah, is only one of the things Elias has done in a long list, but in this particular case, especially horrible: Jon telling MARTIN, of all people, that The Eye ISN’T HURTING THEIR OWN…). That’s a lot of harm against its own people, even without taking into consideration the few Beholding statements that have popped up, including Albrecht’s death two episodes ago? What the heck, Jon? (Melanie would stab you again for this.)

It actually sounds like, overall, Jon is equating Peter’s actions with the Lonely, while at the same time… totally separating Elias’s from Beholding? I don’t know if it’s Jon being casually hypocritical, personally biased, or if there is something behind that (Elias not being Beholding’s Best Avatar, after all?).

- I don’t know if Martin realizes how much what he says makes it sound like he’s being coerced into avoiding everyone in exchange for Peter not harming the staff any further, and like there is no bigger plan beyond that – like Martin is just a victim with everyone else being used as hostages?

(MAG129) MARTIN: Oh… … Okay? W–well, sorry, but I’ve… I, hum… ARCHIVIST: You have to leave. Suddenly. […] Lukas has vanished two people! MARTIN: Yeah, and if it wasn’t for me, it would’ve been a lot more. [SILENCE] This isn’t helping anything. […] ARCHIVIST: If–if you do need to talk, I– MARTIN: I can’t. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–of course. [INHALE] Listen, Martin, you should know– MARTIN: Jon– ARCHIVIST: –Daisy might be alive, Basira is– MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m…

It’s never “I’m not interested” or “I don’t want to” – it’s always how about Martin can’t by obligation. However, the way Peter presented it in MAG126, Martin’s “isolation” is not the main goal: it’s a means to an end, since Martin agreed to all of this in order to stop the New Threat that Adelard was investigating. We know this. But from an external point of view, with just the glimpses of conversations Jon has had with Martin… Jon would have many reasons to think that there is no plan, no further motive for Martin, and that Peter is simply forcing Martin to do things while threatening everyone else? That… could actually make Jon worry even deeper, if Jon ends up thinking that Martin is not even working on something, but only coerced into not having any contact with the others because Peter is messing with him?

(It’s possible, and even likely, that Peter’s agenda actually involves a lot more than what he’s told Martin: that this is also a way to separate the team that had managed to defeat Elias, and/or to give Jon a taste of the Lonely, and/or to deprive Jon of potential anchors, and/or to keep using Elias’s “learn to fly by falling” approach to force him to develop his powers in a semi-hostile territory, and/or to prevent Martin and the assistants from meddling with The Lonely’s or Beholding’s plans… But I’m still a bit hopeful that Peter didn’t completely bullshit Martin about the New Threat as a cover for other reasons – that it’s still, indeed, an actual thing that will need taking care of? Martin is wary of him, that’s good; I don’t think that he sees Peter as trustworthy, and he’s probably expecting backstabbing or a twist before the end. But there would be something… really pathetic if there was actually no New Threat and that Martin had been roped into a series of lies, without managing to achieve anything. So many things have already been pathetic in Martin’s life (his one-sided crush, the fact that he doesn’t seem to be close to a lot of people even outside of the Institute since nobody had checked on him during the Prentiss siege, the fact that he sacrificed his whole life for a mother who hates him because he physically looks like his father), it would be… very heartbreaking to add more to the list with this;;

- I’m so relieved that Martin is aware of and acknowledging Peter’s sketchiness very naturally ;; 1°) And on the subject of Beholding being no better than a Lukas: Martin is not wrong, technically? Beholding is one of the Fears – it’s not a ~good~ option either, it has never been? The fact that they used to accumulate, read/record and archive statements can’t be good on the long run if it’s serving It? Maybe even preparing The Watcher’s Crown? Martin himself used to be a bit complacent about the work in the Archives (even post-reveal in MAG092), while Tim was the one to constantly remind the others that the Institute was bad, too:

(MAG098) MARTIN: [Elias] did suggest I try to get you involved and– TIM: And I suggest that he not be a scary, magic psychopath. … Whoops! Too late. MARTIN: … Yeah. TIM: [SIGHS] Sorry. MARTIN: No, I– I get it. Heh. They’re not exactly much fun. TIM: Look, it’s not that. I… [SIGHS] This place is evil, Martin. And I think doing what It wants? Probably makes us evil. And It wants those things to be read. I mean, I’m not going to stop you, but, at the same time… MARTIN: I– I get it.

Martin never really fought or tried to escape the archival work, but he’s aware enough to point out that it’s not a Good Option vs. A New Bad Option (which would be Peter); they’re all… bad.

2°) First there was Martin’s stern “Peter.” in MAG126 that just made Peter stop trash-talking Jon, now the mention that Martin is ensuring that no more staff members get wooshed into the Lonely… Martin has an iron grip on Peter, uh.

3°) Martin feared that he could be perceived and described as “Martin Blackwood: he was always scared, then he died. The end.” BUT SERIOUSLY. If he dies (and if there is a body), put “I’m not an idiot, Jon.” on his gravestone.

(- I’m ;; still hoping that those two researchers are aliiiive and that they’ll be able to get out from the Lonely. I mean. They resisted against the shady new management and against orders from a boss who 1°) is apparently incompetent at the job since he delegates all his tasks to an assistant, 2°) was probably chosen for reasons having to do with his privileged background, 3°) didn’t allow them to see him even once since he arrived, and yet had Ideas about how to rule the place. You’re brave, researchers! Fight against the system!! You don’t deserve to die for this!!)

-When listening to MAG129’s statement, I was a bit lost and went back and forth between many guesses as to which power was at work. I was expecting a Buried one from the title, but then, discovering to the statement itself, I kept wondering if it wasn’t something else: Corruption, since there was the sense of decay and the disgust when Kulbir went to the firm’s building? Dark, with the lights slowly fading out? Lonely, since everyone seemed to have disappeared? Vast, with the sky joining in that mess? Still Buried, since the firm used awful puns that sounded very Buried? I think I was just a bit surprised to see the Buried associated with water, of all things, despite the fact that it was nothing new in (what-we-assume-to-be-)Buried statements: MAG015 (cave diving), MAG088 (with the “DIG” book found on the beach)… Which makes sense considering what drowning is about? But because of MAG051 (“High Pressure”; hi Simon), I had come to naturally associate water=ocean=Vast, which I feel a bit stupid about since it’s obviously not how The Fears work; it’s not about elements or symbols but what they do to you. Still: I had that moment of “Oh? … Oh, right!!” during MAG129. It’s… a bit more obvious when relistening, given Kulbir’s main concerns and how the world shifted around him:

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “but by that point, I was already too deep in debt and there was just… no way I was going to be able to stay. […] I felt… disgust rise in my throat, the awful, humid air of the waterlogged place sitting heavy in my lungs. […] The water was warm, and after the heat of the summer’s day, I breathed in, expecting the smell of petrichor. But the scent of the rain was something else – something earthy and cloying I couldn’t quite place. […] I tried to relax, to let the rhythmic tapping of the rain lull me off to sleep, like it always had when I was a boy. But I could find no comfort in it. It sounded too much like it wanted to get in. […] I was tired, I was hungry and, without the motion of the rain, the air had become intolerably humid. Every breath I took filled my lungs with that thick, wet scent, and it felt like I could barely get enough oxygen to think. The walls of my house were slick with moisture now, and there was nowhere I could go to be dry, no way out of this oppressive, cloying damp. […] Inch by inch, foot by foot, everything was descending into the water’s embrace. It would wrap itself around me, reach down my throat and fill me with its choking darkness. There was nothing I could do.

Aaaand obviously, given the many double-entendre opportunities revolving around “crushing debts”, of course The Buried would be targeting poor people feeling ~pressured~, anxious about their situation.

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “The first words did nothing to dissuade me from my assumption it was junk mail: “Drowning in debts? We can help!” in big friendly text that seemed at odds with the pseudo-respectable image the rest of it seemed to be striving for. […] At the bottom, in that same friendly typeface, it assured me: “We can help with the pressure.” I don’t know what I expected. I really don’t.”

(It feels, more and more, like Puns are a way to get More Powerful when you’re serving an evil power. Only One True Fear: Puns.) Interestingly: it was also the case for Jackson Ellis in MAG097… but his dire situation got alleviated a bit after he had moved in in Bucoda:

(MAG097, Jackson Ellis) “My parents were dirt poor themselves, and couldn’t help. […] The forest pressed in on all sides, like it did everywhere in the Pacific Northwest, I suppose, but it was an effect I was struggling to get used to. […] As it turned out my situation wasn’t quite as dreadful as I thought. I discovered the next day that my work had actually paid me a small amount. It wasn’t clear whether it was meant to be salary or severance, and I couldn’t get through to anyone who might have been able to explain it, but it was enough to ease the relentless pressure, if only a little bit.”

Was it thanks to the fact that his situation got better than Jackson wasn’t entranced by The Pit like all the other residents?

- This wasn’t the first time that people escape through a near-death (or death?) experience: Antonia Hayley (MAG051, Vast), Carter Chilcott (MAG057, Lonely) were prime examples:

(MAG051, Antonia Hayley) “I should be dead, really. It’s a weird feeling. You ever had a near-death experience? I’ve had a few – they’re not uncommon in my line of work, but this… it feels different. It’s not like I put myself in danger and managed not to die; I should be dead. Decompression sickness that severe is almost never survivable, and I should have had an embolism. The fact that I didn’t… blind luck. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding of a death you feel… should have been yours.”

(MAG057, Carter Chilcott) “[…] I began to very seriously consider the idea… that I had died, and this was hell. Given that worry, the way I finally escaped could be considered ironic: I starved myself to death. Well, not to death, I suppose, given I’m alive enough to talk to you, but close enough. […] After everything else, I had no guarantee it was even possible for me to die, but I had to try. When I finally faded from consciousness, for what I hoped was the last time, it was the greatest relief I have ever felt. … I don’t… know exactly when I realized I wasn’t dead. There were various moments I… faded back into consciousness, and I know that I felt the re-entry, very hard, but it’s difficult to pin down clear thoughts before the hospital.”

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “I don’t know if you’ve ever drowned, but it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I tried to remain calm, to think of my grandfather and his firm, stony face […] My lungs spasmed painfully, desperately trying to wring air out of the warm, rancid water that filled them. And as I felt the water embrace me, fully pressing in on all sides… I gripped the last connection I had to the world I knew. The last thing I was conscious of… was the water getting colder. I don’t… remember them fishing me out of Regent’s Canal. Or most of my treatment, to be honest. At a certain point it all blurs together. I’m alive. And that’s what matters.”

I remember that Jonny more or less said that it’s impossible to truly understand how the Fears operate, given how they’ll always escape our rationalizations – but anyway: I get the impression that when they’re going all out, they kind of trap people in a reflected reality, and when people manage to escape them, they get spat out and back into our world? We had multiple witnesses whose testimonies didn’t match the official findings of later investigations, and it’s hard to tell who is lying and who is telling the truth: is the Police twisting some information in their official records since they’re alluding to Section’d events? Are the witnesses mixing up some details because their memory is at fault? When spook happens, there often seems to be two realities: and sometimes, there is no difference between the two; sometimes… something happened in one and had other consequences in the other (I mostly remember how the guy in MAG072 got his fingers cut yet they were still on his hand when everything stopped, though he saw his fingers cut with his ring on one of them, ring that he didn’t have on “his” finger anymore).

Here, Kulbir both got to “die” (or almost? or died for real?) and to hold on to an anchor (an item symbolizing someone that he loved):

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “I could feel that warm, grasping water cover my feet, my ankles, slowly working its way up my calves, but at that moment, all I could think about… was my grandfather. And how he had looked when they had given him his diagnosis, calm and solid. […] He had always endured his problems, never tried to squirm out of things he felt he had to face. I gripped the sheath in both my hands and waded to the window. Corpses floated by, slowly waving at me gently, their lifeless hands grey and bloated. I ignored them. And stepped out into the water. […] I gripped the last connection I had to the world I knew.”

Which is something we’ve mostly seen in statements dealing with the Lonely, I felt? Naomi Herne heard her dead fiancé’s voice leading her out in MAG013, and Gerry had advised Andrea Nunis to think about her mother in MAG048 (which indeed allowed her to escape the anonymous crowd).

 - Regarding Kulbir’s grandfather: I wonder if he had a tie with something that was mentioned in MAG076, amongst the reports of William W. Hay about World War 2 dug up by Melanie?

(MAG076) “what I saw in the infirmary at Amritsar. Two dozen Ghurkhas tearing each other to pieces, consumed by the terrible butchery they had inflicted. Such things are not to be dwelt on, but serve to illustrate my proposition that violence, inflicted, received or even just witnessed, can not only deal injury to the body or the mind, but to the soul itself.”

The grandfather was specifically said to be a Ghurkha and brought back his weapon from it…

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) “We actually got into a… blazing row over his old kukri. He had been a Gorkhali, serving in the Fifth Gurkha Rifles during the Second World War. I have… complicated feelings on his military history, of course, but… he had always been fiercely proud of it. And that old knife had been one of his most treasured possessions. I didn’t keep it polished like he had, even at… ninety years old, but it reminded me of him. I could see his calloused hands on its hilt, as he meticulously, almost mechanically, cleaned it. Humming a tune the name of which I never learned.”

(Could have been Slaughter-infused, but I’m really not sure that it was even relevant here? What mattered was apparently the emotional connection.)

- ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; So that’s what happened to Jan Kilbride in the end (take that, myself, for sometimes daring to hope that he could have still been alive). We had heard Gertrude mentioning that she had Plans revolving around him back in MAG099 (recording from September 2nd, 2007):

(MAG099) GERTRUDE: […] For the Buried, however, I do have what I believe might be quite an effective plan forming – assuming, of course, that my suspicions about Jan Kilbride are correct, and that’s something that should be easy enough to determine once he’s back on Earth. Considering what’s probably happened to him up there already, I feel almost… bad, but there’s ten years yet before I can afford a conscience.

And Melanie had read Jan’s statement in MAG106 (left on February 10th, 2008) observing that the statement ended quite abruptly, and that Jan himself had disappeared from public views or records since coming back to Earth:

(MAG106) MELANIE: […] Also I, hum… I can’t find Jan Kilbride. He definitely returned. I’ve got more than one photograph of the trio’s arrival back on Earth, Carter Chilcott being attended by medical personnel, and the other two looking tired… but alive. There are also a couple of short newspapers stories mentioning their safe return. But it seems as though Kilbride made his way over to the Institute, a few weeks after touchdown, made his statement, and then… nothing. I can’t find any sign of him. And neither can Basira or Martin. Not on Earth, at least. I really don’t want to say he vanished into thin air but… he’s vanished into something.

Did Jan live in the tunnels for a while or something? He apparently managed to totally vanish from official records, and we know from MAG097 that the Buried’s “Sunken Sky” took place (or at least attempted to) on June 17th, 2008 – in Bucoda, America:

(MAG097, Jackson Ellis) “[…] [The pit] was bigger. And the road had swelled, to encompass it. There was someone else looking at it, though. An elderly woman, face pinched and thoughtful, stood at the edge looking down. I didn’t recognise her, or the car she stood next to. She definitely wasn’t from Bucoda. Sat in the car next to her, I could see a young man who had clearly been crying. I couldn’t get over how blue his eyes were… The old woman caught my eye, and looked from me, to the pit, and back again. I thought about saying something when she gestured for me to leave. And I did. I decided that I was no part of whatever was happening. So I drove away and didn’t look back. That night, the earthquake struck that destroyed Bucoda entirely, so I guess I’ll never know what was going on.”

Given that Jon mentioned that:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] But I don’t want it. I don’t want to know. … I don’t want to see. … No more than I wanted to see how Gertrude stopped The Buried and their ritual, but that came to me as well. [HUFFS] They called it “Sunken Sky”! And she calculated, correctly, that casting a void-touched body down The Pit at the right time would be enough to disrupt it. Something she found in… Jan Kilbride. … But Gertrude also realized that the body need not be alive. Or in one piece. She thought it was a mercy. It wasn’t.

(Tim’s voice from MAG086: “Regarding a… blanket. Dead friend. Monster. Regarding his unavoidable and gruesome end. How he tried to hide. He couldn’t.”)

… it was apparently a gruesome end, and the tears might indicate that Jan knew what was coming. Gosh, the way Jon mentioned that it wasn’t a mercy… He got too much information about it, uh é_è

- *cough*

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: One thing that always strikes me when I read statements like this is… the bias of survivorship. With one or two notable exceptions, the only statements the Institute receives are those where the witness has… successfully escaped whatever terrible place or being has marked them for a victim. … I wonder how many don’t make it out. How many of those shapes in the water were once just like Mr Shakya. Hm.

1°) Yeah, without even counting the survivors describing how they witnessed someone dying or disappearing, we got a few statement-givers who flirted a bit too heavily with death (Nathaniel Thorp in MAG029), or were on the verge of turning into something else (Jane Prentiss in MAG033), or should be dead (Trevor), indeed. It happens. Also, Jon could add himself on the list, maybe, since he hasn’t managed to escape the Institute.

2°) I’m still so relieved every time Jon uses keywords indicating that he’s not perceiving the events these people go through neutrally – “terrible place or being” and “victim”. We saw a few monsters/avatars torturing people like it’s a game, but it is definitely not Jon’s case, and that’s a relief…

3°) ;; And it’s indeed a sad reminder that the only stories we get are from people who managed to get out (even if some of them met a gruesome end shortly after giving their statements, as we learn through the follow-ups), and that we can’t hear about the ones who were consumed/eaten alive/killed with no surviving witnesses… (Do you sometimes think about the fact that Jon gave that role to the tape recorder, in season 1 already? That he wanted to use it to chronicle what was happening in the Archives, to not become “another goddamn mystery”, because he didn’t want to end up like Gertrude or statement-givers? I wonder if Jon still thinks of a life after him and after the assistants, by now – if he still thinks it’s possible that maybe someone, one day, could find the tapes they left behind and reconstruct what they experienced. It doesn’t seem like the tape recorders are cooperating lately, though; they come and… go, and don’t allow people to hear what was said elsewhere.)

- I’m… intrigued by the fact that, so far, all of the things that Jon has suddenly Known (the leaks through the door) were information that had not been recorded on tapes – or, more precisely, that he hasn’t got any random outburst of Knowledge about things that have been recorded. Jon hasn’t mentioned anything about knowing that Basira had visited Elias (MAG127), nor about Martin’s conversation with Peter (MAG126), and we still haven’t heard any hint about whether or not he has listened to MAG118 and MAG120’s tapes; given how he gave his condolences to Martin about his mother, it’s more likely that he indeed still hasn’t been able to access MAG118’s. Are the tape recorders and the Spooky Magical Knowledge complementary things, or… actually competing against each other? (=> Does conversations getting recorded make them unavailable for Jon’s Spooky Powers?)

- Anyway: The Tape Recorder either liked Martin again, either knew that Jon was coming, since it clicked on in the room Martin was in before Jon entered.

- Where is MAG118’s taaaaape ;___; I’m pretty sure that Jon hasn’t consulted it since:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I, er… I heard about your mother. MARTIN: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: I am… so sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Thank you. [INHALE] It’s… [SHAKY EXHALE] It’s better, this way. ARCHIVIST: If–if you do need to talk, I– MARTIN: I can’t. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–of course.

I feel like Jon would have said something… more, here, if he had heard that one? Giving his condolences neutrally like this feels like he still only knows Martin’s mother from what he learned in season 2: that Martin sends letters to her, that Martin dropped out of school when he was seventeen because he had to care for her and to sustain them since she got terribly sick. (And Martin’s “It’s better, this way” makes me hate Elias even more, since… it can mean that Martin thinks that it’s better if she’s not suffering anymore? Or… that he thinks that it’s pulling him out of an unhealthy situation, since she hated him anyway and he had built so much of his life around being able to support her – sacrificing his education, having to lie to get hired somewhere, getting hired in Spooky Dangerous Institute to get a salary. If Elias hadn’t said anything, Martin might have been able to keep deluding himself into thinking that she wasn’t good with him because of the sickness, because it can make people meaner to close ones witnessing their decay…? But no, Martin Knew The Truth when she died. Did Elias know, in MAG118, that she wouldn’t be living for much longer…?)

And am I a puddle on the floor at the fact that JON TOLD MARTIN THAT HE WAS THERE IF MARTIN NEEDED TO TALK ABOUT IT? Yes, I am a puddle of whimpering feelings on the floor. It’s… something that I would have never expected Jon to say. He usually offers his presences for spooky stories, not for… emotional support.

Jon

told martin

he would be there

for emotional support

I still have trouble letting that sink in.

- And!!!

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: … What happened, Martin? [SILENCE] MARTIN: You died. ARCHIVIST: I came back. MARTIN: Yeah. [OPENS DOOR] I’m not gonna let it happen again. ARCHIVIST: … wait… Wait! W– [DOOR CLOSES] [SIGHS]

1°) Is this the first time that Jon has acknowledged (implicitly, since he rolled with the mention) that his “coma” wasn’t exactly a coma? Unless he took that “You died” as an exaggeration. So far, it had been euphemisms (“dreaming” in MAG122, “coma” in MAG123, “when I was… away” in MAG126), so! Does he know that it wasn’t a normal coma by now? Or is he still unaware of it?

2°) Martin’s answer… ;__; Not “my mother died”, not “Tim died”, uh. We did hear Martin begging for Jon in the season teaser, and it didn’t sound like it was only because of his crush – they objectively needed help and the fact that Jon wasn’t there forced them to find alternative ways to deal with what they were facing (Melanie&Basira holed themselves up in the tunnels, Melanie defended the Archives against the Flesh attack, Martin reached an agreement with Peter to help him against a new issue). The fact that Jon “died” changed things, logistically. But it also sounds so personal, in Martin’s mouth (a bit bitter?), and once again, I’m remembering how he had lost all his deepest connections at that point: Sasha, Tim, Jon, his mother… and yet, he took the decision to work for Peter, and we know from the trailer that he checked if “they” (Basira and Melanie, and probably the Institute’s staff) would be safe. Martin ;__;

(Okay, I freaked out at first with Martin’s answer, because… “I’m not gonna let it happen again.”: was he referencing Jon COMING BACK FROM THE DEAD? But it was probably about Jon ~dying~ in the first place. Or about Jon finding him a third time. I hope so?!)

- I wonder if… if the situation had been different, if it had been Tim inside of the coffin, if there had been a chance to save him, and not Daisy… Would Martin have reacted differently?

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–of course. [INHALE] Listen, Martin, you should know– MARTIN: Jon– ARCHIVIST: –Daisy might be alive, Basira is– MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right.

Martin didn’t like her much, but Tim… Tim was another story. Maybe that would have been enough to shatter the fragile equilibrium and to make him try to help with it, even while still working with Peter.

Even outside of “what if”… It’s ironic, because Jon tried to reach out by talking about people around them – barely mentioning himself (except when it came to his feelings over Martin’s work and busy state, and the quick mention of his powers at the beginning of the exchange): “Basira is off doing… God-knows-what, and I can’t talk to Melanie.”, “I, er… I heard about your mother.”, “If–if you do need to talk, I–”, “–Daisy might be alive, Basira is–” “What happened, Martin?”. And right now… it might actually have been more effective if Jon had behaved a bit more self-centred? Breekon sneaked into the Institute and could have harmed them: meaning that Peter won’t raise a finger if they’re attacked and that they’re probably more vulnerable than Martin thought. Jon’s powers are growing, now with an additional invasive dimension, and there is the risk of his inner door opening (and of him drowning). Even Melanie’s surgery: Jon was hurt! Mentioning that would have been enough for Martin to freak out, usually!

Conveying that Jon is at risk, that Jon could become a risk, could have made Martin reevaluate his priorities? Martin’s deal with Peter is based on the assumption that Jon and the others would be safe at the end; if they’re harmed and snatched by something else beforehand… it changes the configuration a bit.

(- BUT JON CHOSE TO PRIORITISE WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO THE OTHERS!!! HE TRIED TO INFODUMP TO MARTIN WHEN HE HIMSELF IS DEPRIVED OF ANY INFORMATION, BECAUSE MELANIE DOESN’T WANT TO TALK TO HIM, BASIRA IS FORBIDDING HIM TO “KNOW” ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT SHE’S DOING, AND MARTIN REFUSES TO SHARE ABOUT HIS OWN AGENDA WITH PETER!!!

I don’t know why, but this is… one of the aspects that punch my feelings the deepest? That Jon is desperately trying to share what is happening around him, to rebuild bridges, to avoid miscommunication or leaving others in ignorance? Because he has known first-hand, since the beginning of season 4, what it is like when nobody wants to share their plans with you? Because obviously, obviously we’re heading towards a Disaster if they don’t manage to unite what they’re doing and what they’re thinking, when there is so much at stake and when they have multiple potential ends of the world to thwart?)

- MAG126 confirmed that Martin is Concealing and very much feeling; that he’s forcing himself to pretend indifference. And yet, he still slipped from that self-inflicted behaviour at the beginning? (Highlighting that Peter is not his first evil boss?) And sounded like he panicked when Jon began infodumping?

;; I would like to be able to feel GLAD that Martin is showing some determination in the path he chose; he’s clearly not fine but also firmer and… hanging on to what he planned. And it surely feels, already, that he’s barreling head first towards complete disaster. Jon and Martin feel more and more that they will compete for the role of Most Self-Sacrificing Idiot in order to protect everyone, instead of working together…

- Given Peter’s reaction after Martin had barely talked with Jon:

(MAG126) PETER: You talked to him. MARTIN: I… I, I tried not to, I–I, I didn’t mean to… PETER: You talked to him. And that’s understandable, Martin, of course it is! Please don’t think I’m upset, it’s just… not ideal. Shows how much work we still have ahead of us. […] I had hoped that all this time apart would have given you the space you needed, but… MARTIN: … You said he’d probably never wake up. PETER: And he beat the odds. Which is good. But it does make things more complicated. It doesn’t… actually change… anything. MARTIN: A–a simple “hello” isn’t going to make any difference to– PETER: We’ve been over this. The sort of power you’re going to need relies on your– MARTIN: [SULKY] Obedience. PETER: Isolation. It needs to be you, Martin. You’re the only one who could possibly balance between the two.

… yeah, I’m not eager to hear what Peter thought about Martin and Jon talking again this time. I hope that Peter won’t ~generously offer~ a way for Martin to be completely out of Jon’ reach ;;

At the same time: really not sure that Peter’s (official) plan is working and that Martin is doing much progress? Yeah, he had it audibly rough, sounded bitterer and drier. But he doesn’t sound hollow or indifferent? He doesn’t sound like he’s in his natural state when forcing himself to be isolated? And after this conversation, I’m not sure that Martin will be able to do any progress Lonely-wise: I mean, if he had a crush on Jon back in season 1 already, when Jon was… like that, HOW could his heart remain still with current!Jon? When Jon is trying hard to share things and moments with him, when it’s Jon who seeks him out and wants to know what is happening in Martin’s life, when Jon apologizes spontaneously, when Jon is showing that Martin not being around him is hurting him? When Jon is showing so hard that he cares about him? I hope that Martin gets to stock up on these feelings to fight off the Lonely’s influence :|

- *crawls on the floor* everything hurts and I hate it and I’m loving it at the same time hhhhh…

(MAG053) MARTIN: [SIGHS] I just worry. You needed five stitches after you “accidentally” stabbed yourself with a breadknife. If you’re still claiming that’s what happened. ARCHIVIST: I am. MARTIN: Then you’ll forgive me for worrying when you use sharp knives.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: Even if it looks like you’re doing something really stupid. [SILENCE] … Sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. I get it. ARCHIVIST: I just– I worry. You’re working for someone… really bad!

OOOOOOH

(MAG126) MARTIN: … It’s because he’s back, isn’t it. [SIGHS] He’s back, so now you’re going to be… around, again. Listening in. Mff. You missed him, didn’t you. … Yeah. … [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] Yeah, me too.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] I suppo– … I miss you. MARTIN: [SNORT] ARCHIVIST: I’m just… MARTIN: Lonely. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] Yeah.

DID THE DYNAMIC

(MAG102) MARTIN: […] Look I’m, I’m so sorry, Jon, I– Elias didn’t even tell any of us that you’d been kidnapped– ARCHIVIST: Oh. MARTIN: –I didn’t know– ARCHIVIST: Hey– MARTIN: No-one else was telling me– ARCHIVIST: Hey, hey, hey… MARTIN: And there wasn’t any— ARCHIVIST: It’s alright, it’s alright. Elias didn’t tell anyone, there was, there was no way you could have known. I-I mean, I wasn’t exactly here before. MARTIN: No, you weren’t. … But I am sure that if you could have been, you would have.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I, er… I heard about your mother. MARTIN: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: I am… so sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Thank you.

FLIP AROUND…

Martin used to be the one worrying for Jon!! To think about Jon when he wasn’t there!!! To feel like he had let Jon down!!!! (When he apologized in MAG040 for leaving Jon and Tim behind, too… ;;) There are many reasons for Martin to be one of Jon’s concerns, indeed: concern, because he hasn’t been there for the past months. Guilt, because Martin is the last of the original assistants left alive. Worry, because the Lukases are not known to be harmless people. Defamiliarization, because Martin used to seek his presence rather than avoid him.

But Jon also sounds so sad, trying to connect with Martin again… His voice was still dragging and a bit brooding when he introduced the statement right after – Martin’s behaviour is leaving him miserable, uh…

- Jon agreed to not try to see Melanie, and sticks to it. He also accepted to try to not Know about Basira’s errands, and… unless he’s dissimulating it from the tape recorders, it looks like it has worked so far? (He hasn’t even opened the coffin!) (Yet.)

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: I, er, I should probably… talk to h– BASIRA: You should probably stay as far away as possible. She doesn’t want to see you. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–o–of course.

(MAG128) BASIRA: Right. [SILENCE] [INHALES] Right. Keep it safe, I’ll be gone a few days. I have some leads I need to follow up. ARCHIVIST: Sorry…?! BASIRA: You heard me. Don’t ask about them, and don’t know about them either. ARCHIVIST: I can’t exactly control that! BASIRA: Learn. […] I’ll try and be back in a week or two. Don’t think about me. ARCHIVIST: Right. BASIRA: And don’t open the coffin.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] I haven’t heard from Basira, since she left on whatever secret errand, and I feel like I’m no closer to understanding any of this.

… I wonder if Jon will try to do what Martin asked of him:

(MAG129) MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right. MARTIN: Please, stop finding me.

… or if, precisely, he’ll keep trying to see him. (Or if he will Know and… pretend he doesn’t.)

- Meanwhile, Jon’s powers are getting a bit out of control, uh… It’s, I think, the first time that Jon has expressed disgust at the idea of seeing/knowing things?

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] Or perhaps I shouldn’t wonder. [HUFFS] Even as I say it, I can feel the knowledge, pushing in my mind. Eager to find a way in. But I don’t want it. I don’t want to know. … I don’t want to see. … No more than I wanted to see how Gertrude stopped The Buried and their ritual, but that came to me as well. […] I don’t like this. I don’t like… not being sure what’s going to be in my mind. What thoughts are mine and what are from… elsewhere. Why I just know some statements are what I should be reading.

Jon’s complaint is the complete opposite of how Elias had described the Beholding folks! (MAG092: “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.”) It looks like the knowledge of what happened to Jan Kilbride shook him pretty badly (it sounded… especially gruesome), and… indeed, Jon would fear losing himself with what is happening.

… So I’m really Not Impressed at him for suddenly forgetting his recriminations when he got the Knowledge of what he was supposed to understand from this statement. Is Beholding trying to appeal to Jon? Jon’s anxiousness and irritation totally disappeared right after he got the Additional Knowledge, so if it was the case… it worked. Jon, don’t be so easy!! It’s not because you’re getting the information you’d like to that it’s a good thing… ;;

- Okay, I’m probably granting too much consciousness and purpose to something that is supposedly (re)acting on instinct (“like a muscle spasming on reflex”, Jon had offered in MAG080) but.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] I don’t like this. I don’t like… not being sure what’s going to be in my mind. What thoughts are mine and what are from… elsewhere. Why I just know some statements are what I should be reading. I assume this one is related to the coffin. To Daisy. … I haven’t heard from Basira, since she left on whatever secret errand, and I feel like I’m no closer to understanding any of this. … [SIGHS] I suppose if this one managed to free himself from The Buried or, to find a way out of… whatever part of Choke embraces drowning, I… [STATIC] I need an anchor.

It really sounded like Jon: i don’t know what to doooo, i have no direction, no idea… Beholding: *sends Jon towards a Relevant Statement* (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。 Jon: k thanks that’s a buried one, what’s the point of it then ¯\_ಠ_ಠ_/¯ Beholding: (ilu but you’re so slow, do I have to SPELL IT OUT) Σ(￣ロ￣lll) *sends static-y additional knowledge* Jon: oh– OOOOOOH.

To be fair with Jon, there were multiple things that I thought about when assuming that Jon had been directed towards this one (which was then implied to indeed be the case during his post-statement)?

* First: it’s a bit surprising that Jon is learning so much about the rituals that Gertrude managed to counter, considering Beholding’s is coming close? It’s like Jon is being given tips about how to possibly… ensure that Beholding’s won’t happen. We saw in MAG126 how Gertrude learned the location and some elements involved in the Spiral’s Great Twisting; and Jon apparently saw/felt/got first-hand knowledge about Gertrude’s reasoning, and what she did with (/to) Jan Kilbride in order to stop The Buried’s Sunken Sky ritual. I don’t know if there is a sort of intention in Jon’s outbursts of knowledge: if Beholding is simply answering Jon’s curiosity calls, or if it’s able to select what to give and hide from Jon. Giving information about Gertrude’s counter-rituals feels a bit dangerous considering how Jon’s loyalty to his patron isn’t… well, we’re still not 100% sure that Jon would be down for the Watcher’s Crown since he hasn’t specified anything in that regard (I mean, it seems obvious that Jon doesn’t want it to happen! And he’s probably remaining silent about it because it’s not safe to be a bit too openly antagonistic to your own patron in its place of power? But at the same time, Jon Made His Choice to be able to wake up, and we still don’t know what happened exactly.) On the other hand, there is… something to be said about how the two last Archivists weren’t exactly super into their own patron: Gertrude was actively working against it, Jon is maybe a bit more ambiguous (or at least passive) at the moment… is ot a Beholding thing to shoot yourself in the foot just to see what happens?!

* When I wondered about how this statement could tie in with the coffin, I thought about the rain, actually!

(MAG002, Joshua Gillespie) “It was a hard, heavy rain, the sort that falls straight down with no wind to disturb it, until everything is dark and wet. It was barely past midday, but I remember the sky was so overcast and gloomy that I had to get up to turn on the light. And that was when I heard it. […] It was almost… melodious. It sounded almost like singing, if it was muffled by twenty feet of hard-packed soil.

(MAG129, Kulbir Shakya) It started raining on the walk home. … When would you start to worry about the rain? I don’t mean about it ruining your day or wrecking an event you’re planning, but at what point does it stop being normal, and start to alarm you?

I thought it might be because reaching The Buried (or allowing The Buried to reach you) might be easier when it’s raining, or something of the sort?

* Orrr if the point might have been to tell Jon to ~dig~ into the “[Eberhart?] and Strauss” firm. (Not sure about the name, it was never mentioned before? One “Harry Eisenhard” had disappeared in MAG099’s statement, which was a Buried one, but it’s clearly not pronounced the same.)

* Or if it wasn’t something about needing to Face The Fears in order to find a way out.

* Or maybe it was Beholding telling Jon (to open the door and) to allow himself to get drowned, because it’s Inevitable anyway. (The whole anchor thing would be even more relevant given Jon’s situation! Give him reasons to care, give him safeguards able to tell him off if he slips!)

* tl;dr Can’t blame Jon for being too oblivious about what was supposed to be “the clue” in that statement, since I… didn’t bat an eye about “anchors” either – I mostly perceived them as a way to escape the Lonely specifically until now >>

- I’m!!! so happy that

(MAG099) ARCHIVIST: Is it… Why are you so insistent on keeping me around? GEORGIE: Because you’re trying to cut yourself off, and that’s… that’s really bad! Look, when’s the last time you spoke to someone who wasn’t me? ARCHIVIST: That’s… I… I–I talked to Martin a, a… a… a few weeks ago…? GEORGIE: Did you talk to him? Or did he talk to you, while you tried to find a way to escape? ARCHIVIST: I… uh… GEORGIE: Look, you’re worried. I get it. But if you really think you’re turning into something… inhuman, you need people around you. You need anchors. ARCHIVIST: All my “anchors” are just as deep in this as me. GEORGIE: Well, you still need them. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] Maybe you’re right. I… I’ll talk to the others. […]

Even if she’s not there, Georgie was right! “Anchor” was the word she used! ;w; (She was also the one to coin “avatar” before we learned that Gertrude also used it! Georgie is good at finding the right word when people are describing concepts!)

… Though it’s not a matter of stopping Jon from turning “inhuman” now ;; Elias had told Jon it was an irrelevant distinction back in MAG092 (“Jon, what does human even mean? I mean, really? You still bleed, you can still die. And your will is still your own, mostly. That’s more than can be said for a lot of the ‘real’ humans out there.”), Jon mentioned that he didn’t feel as heartless as he expected to with that development (MAG126: “I thought… moving away from my humanity would have made that seem more acceptable. That sort of sacrifice… but it just makes me sad…”), and it indeed feel like it’s not at the top of Jon’s fears anymore? (But he would still need anchors for this precise reason, probably ;;)

- Jonathan “I need an anchor!” Sims, why are you so relieved about that fact as if it were a helpful indication; must I remind you that

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: Georgie, I– GEORGIE: Jon. If this really is a second chance… please, try to take it. But I don’t think that it is. ARCHIVIST: Georgie, I don’t und– GEORGIE: Take care of yourself.

nobody

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: How’s Melanie? BASIRA: How do you think? ARCHIVIST: I, er, I should probably… talk to h– BASIRA: You should probably stay as far away as possible. She doesn’t want to see you. ARCHIVIST: No. No, o–o–of course.

currently

(MAG128) BASIRA: I’ll try and be back in a week or two. Don’t think about me. ARCHIVIST: Right.

wants

(MAG129) MARTIN: Stop. Stop, please, I–I shouldn’t know any of this, I… [PACKING UP] I–I–I really need to go, I–I’m… ARCHIVIST: Right. … right. MARTIN: Please, stop finding me.

to see or talk to you. I mean. Even friggin’ Elias, of all people, doesn’t want Jon to see him (for nebulous reasons):

(MAG127) BASIRA: [SIGHS] Fine. So you won’t see him, but you’re happy for him to hear our conversations. ELIAS: He can listen all he wants, but he’s at a very delicate stage right now, and I… fear my presence would be a… a distraction. I’ve made it clear my cooperation’s contingent on his not seeing me, and my terms have been accepted thus far.

Well. To be fair, Jon didn’t present it as the Solution – it’s a lead:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: […] I need an anchor. I… I could go in… myself, I, I could find her. And… then, I just need to get out. I need something out here. Something I can know the way back to. I, I don’t know what. But… [HUFFS] It’s a start.

I don’t know what or whom he would be choose, though? Georgie elected to leave him to his own devices at the beginning of this season; Basira has repeatedly mentioned that she doesn’t trust him; Melanie is currently healing and not fine (and she didn’t like Jon even before getting tied down to the Institute). Even worse, for Basira: Elias made it pretty clear in MAG092 that if anyone is Daisy’s anchor, it’s Basira. And Basira presented Daisy in a similar way, too:

(MAG092) ELIAS: […] Should I, or the Institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit. […] And it would not be a pleasant death. DAISY: Bullshit! ELIAS: Then shoot me. Just squeeze the trigger, and watch the only person you care about die screaming. Your last connection to humanity. Do it. BASIRA: Daisy…

(MAG117) BASIRA: […] But at least Daisy’s coming along. I mean… I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But… she’s solid. She’s a fixed point. And if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing relative to her. She has no doubts. […] Despite everything she’s done, she’s… she’s still the best partner I ever had.

(MMMMM, Elias’s line to Daisy is very close to Kulbir’s “I gripped the last connection I had to the world I knew”, isn’t it?)

Given Daisy and Basira’s relationship, and given how Jon presented the “anchor” as something that would help you to get out, it kind of excludes right away that Basira could potentially go inside to rescue Daisy; she would need her to remain outside of it in order to find her way back to her? Though, with how Basira managed to escape The Unknowing by herself in MAG119, and how she mentioned the events in MAG128, maybe she would be able to find her own way out of this one by herself, too (is she her own anchor, after all?) – but Daisy would probably not be able to leave the coffin if they’re both inside of it.

* Regarding Jon: I wish that Martin could turn out to be his anchor, because this season is breaking my heart, but I feel like their exchange at the beginning of the episode was kind of… making it clear that it couldn’t be him, that he wouldn’t agree to it (or then, Jon would have to push for it, and maybe push too far). On the one hand, Jon has been able to find him twice (MAG124, MAG129) thanks to Spooky Powers, when Martin wasn’t expecting Jon to be able to; on the other hand… they have never been especially close – mostly because Jon isn’t especially close to anyone. They used to look a bit closer from the outside, but I felt it was mostly because Martin hadn’t given up on Jon in season 2 (unlike Tim)? Jon trusted him in season 3, Jon tried to talk to him in MAG102, Jon is currently missing him and worried for him and trying to talk and reach for him (AND I LOVE IT, OKAY), but Jon barely knows Martin and I wouldn’t say there is a deep, stable emotional connection between them at the moment? If it had to be someone, I would be leaning towards Georgie.

* (Or The Admiral, but I doubt that Jon would be willing to involve him. Though: I have trouble picturing him making Georgie come to the Institute, too… He didn’t want to involve her much, making her enter The Eye’s temple would sound very risky in that regard, especially with Peter Lukas currently running it?)

* (I keep thinking about Helen because of the doors and because LISTEN… listen…

(MAG127) BASIRA: And don’t open the coffin. ARCHIVIST: [HUMOROUS EXHALES] It is addressed to me! [SILENCE] … Yes, alright. … Alright. [CLICK.]

=> if you get inside the coffin through another door, you don’t need to open the coffin! No breaking (implicit) promises! >:D)

* There is still the possibility of Jon’s grandmother, but I didn’t get the feeling that they were especially close when Jon recalled his childhood with her in MAG081…?

* If the “anchor” is an item: there are the tape recorders, though it’s mostly them who seem to find their ways to Jon, these days. There is also the Web lighter, the status of which is currently unknown: did Jon still have it on him during the Unknowing, or had Martin borrowed it to burn statements in MAG118? What happened to it during Jon’s coma? Same as the tape recorders, though: is it the lighter that follows Jon, or Jon who is drawn to it?

(MAG111) GERRY: […] 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.

* Other contender: the Archives themselves, or the Institute overall?

(I regret even deeper that Basira hasn’t apparently shared with Jon her discussion with Elias, because it implied that Elias still has plans regarding Jon… so if Jon really can’t make it out alone, I wonder whether someone would bulge to save him this time, if things were to derail horrendously. If past experiences are any indication: no, nobody would help him, especially not Elias since Jon was kidnapped for a whole month outside of The Eye’s reach and he only got saved because “Michael” went to finish him, even when The Unknowing was coming up. But. Still.)

Anyway! The lighter made me think again about how it’s not exactly that, but I feel like there is a bit of “Ariadne’s thread helping you through the maze” imagery in the idea of descending into the coffin? Not exactly since it doesn’t seem to be about marking the way back but having something to go back to, but! As I said, a bit. (Fun fact apparently, web strings used by spiders when they go from one place to another can be called “Ariadne’s threads” in French. The more you know.)

- I Can’t Expect Things To Go Greatly In This Series, so: I wonder if even Jon manages to get in and to find Daisy… either she will be either far too gone already and they’ll have to confine her somewhere instead, either Jon will make a mistake resulting in her death – while Basira was working on her way to get her out of it alive. In the latter case, it would definitely cement the fracture between Basira and Jon in such a way that they would both be at fault: Jon would have tried to help but would have broken the interdiction of not opening the coffin; Basira would have wanted to save Daisy but, by refusing to share what she was doing, only nurtured Jon’s eagerness to try to fix things. So yeah. There are many ways it could go very bad, and I have had too many moments of “actually, things are only getting worse, I miss the time when they were less Worse” to hope for how the situation could improve :|

(But maybe it could not be a disaster. Maybe Jon could wait for Basira to come back before trying anything; maybe they would manage to save Daisy; maybe Basira would come back with Simon Fairchild on Elias’s recommendation because he still has a terrible sense of humour, and Jon could take example on how Gertrude stopped the Sunken Sky by throwing Simon into the coffin, neutralizing two threats at the same time. Would make him (rightfully) lose humanity points in Basira’s eyes, though.)

(- Melanie’s bullet was removed, tho!! Which is definitely an improvement, even if she’s currently a wreck.

First was Melanie, now is Daisy… even if the Mission To Rescue Daisy ends in a disaster, maybe trying to get Martin back will come after. Even though we know that Martin has an agenda.)

- If Jon does end up going down into the coffin: I wonder if we will hear him live? Or if he’ll describe what happened afterwards? …………….. or if the scene would switch to Elias describing the events for us. :||||| 

- CHEERS!! The Pit (MAG097) had teeth inside and a tongue, so we know that Buried things can bite. That leaves plenty of opportunities for Jon, who *gasps* is still missing a Buried scar, to get it from there.

The Dark also had the creature that can wreck you. The Flesh has plenty of ways to twist you a bit. As for the Lonely:

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: […] It’s… frustrating, to be honest. I finally feel myself, I feel… focused, and ready – and I find myself basically alone.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] I suppo– … I miss you. MARTIN: [SNERK] ARCHIVIST: I’m just… MARTIN: Lonely. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHS] Yeah.

Whether it’s part of Elias&Peter’s plan or a nice bonus snack for Peter: the Lonely is already affecting Jon. Slowly completing the “collection”, uh.

  MAG130’s title is already out, and MMMMMMM. Biggest plot-twist would be if The Flesh wasn’t involved, uh. (Can we have Melanie back a bit? ;w; Maybe giving a statement about how The Flesh attacked two months ago? ;w;)

[baehraini]

i cbf screenshotting her posts again so ima just quote her

1) when I’m disagreeing with an small obessed group all of which have Some cluster b disorder in common, yes I’m going to call you the cluster gang

out of all of the women that have been agreeing with me about u... im the only one i know of that has BPD or any cluster B disorder. the others with the same are hardly the majority.

2) yes you have a problem with the g spot if you think it leads to ripping a woman’s vagina open. I told you that story about a lover I had who I gave a G spot orgasm too that freaked out over it before reading up on what happened . You have piss poor reading skills if you think that was about me fisting her. As I simply didn’t fist her at all. I don’t fist every lover I have either, just the few who express they would enjoy it.

heres ur exact statement

why the fuck bring it up in the middle of a convo about fisting? no im not opposed to fingering or .. the g-spot. the fuck. back-pedaling @ its finest here.

3) why complain at all about how many hrs another woman has sex? That’s all on you guys. I can eat sleep sex for weeks if I want to and have before, who cares what you think about it.

girl no one’s complaining, ppl just think its bull as do i. but like, do u. again, ur sex life is urs. normal people dont go aroudn talking about how much they fist women and these womens specific experiences & orgasms with descriptors of said women. thats personal shit. thats 99% of where people’s criticism is coming from. boasting & bragging about shit like this is so disrespectful to YOUR sexual partners and thats why youre being compared to straight men. 

4) I’m not into penetration myself and have said this many times, obviously I wasn’t talking about having that preference in any judgements way. I simply pointed out the fact if you bleed from more then one finger in you then that’s something you should check out as how do you even put a tampon in. Fact is that is not normal for most women and your vagina should not bleed so easily. I’m simply looking out for you by saying this.

i bled because she was very rough and bad with her hands. she also added in a second finger when i wasnt even wet enough for the first one to begin with. it usually takes me time to get to the point where im able to handle penetration bc im relatively tight. with my girlfriend, ive never bled. the entire point of me sharing that story was to explain why i personally cannot even comprehend vaginal fisting, not to say that no female can handle more than 1 or 2 fingers.

5) if a lesbians sex life is her business she should be able to openly talk about it without you flipping yr shit especially since this is my blog and you are a stranger I’ve blocked from it and told that if you don’t like reading it you are free not too.

why are you reading my blog tho? youre 20 years older than me & have gone as far as say theres something wrong with my genitals & made comments about how my sex life must be boring or w/e. does that seem appropriate to you? consider that my mom is 47. youre nearing 41. does it seem appropriate to you that you’re talking like this to someone that much younger than you? 

ANYWAYS, the issue isnt you being open about your sex life. its how you speak of the women involved & how much you boast about it. plenty of the women i follow talk about fucking women regularly, the difference is how they talk about it. 

7) I’m none of those anon or other pages. You can stop making up profiles and sending yourself bs or at least stop trying to blame me for it. We all know I take too much pride not to let people know when I’m behind something and I would tell you off directly like I always have everyone else ever.

thats cool. you’re not the main suspect for those anons and the people i know that know u well enough also think it’s unlikely that its you. its pretty likely to be one of your buddies & most likely RAIDS. this is nothing new for her. 

i definitely haven’t made extra profiles to harass myself nor have i sent myself anons. 

8) let’s agree not to have anything to do with each already or unblock and continue this till forever cuz I was done with you the 1st day I saw you tranny stanning saying rape by deception wasn’t real rape and told you I wish you death by tranny cock, but obviously while I didn’t literally mean it you lived only to annoy me ever since instead of just fucking off and leaving me be.

you seemed to mean it literally and only started to say u didnt mean it recently. either way, the graphic shit you said about me sucking dick or w/e.. thats wishing me rape. especially when i said over & over im penis-repulsed and especially repulsed by the thought of having someones penis in my mouth. as for my stance on rape by deception, i changed my stance there & owned up to it being ignorant & wrong at first. either way, i never ever went to any victims of that and told them their experience wasn’t Real somehow.  

months ago i wouldve been alright with talking to you PROPERLY and directly but u refused to stop reblogging my posts while still having me blocked, which is the entire reason why i blocked you. bc it was annoying talking to someone who keeps reblogging from me and directing stuff at me on my posts while having me blocked. if u want to unblock one another and talk, i could maybe consider it at this point but ive been saying this for a while now: all i want is for u and ur buddies to stop lying about me, twisting what i say/said/do/did, and the like. i also want them to stop sending me disgusting anons. 

at the same time, though, if i see something shitty u or ur friends say (same as for anyone else), im bound to question & criticise it especially considering how aggressive & harsh you all are to anyone you disagree with. 

9) You and Eve are no tumblur therapists stop projecting yr mental issues onto me. The only problem I have with cluster b disorders is your group not leaving me be. If there was treatment for that which could make you all you away I would gladly take that magic pill as many times a day as it took.

honestly eve is pretty well off mentally esp when compared to you, and im trying to say this in the least insulting way possible. there’s a reason why so many people find you unreasonable, manipulative, bizarre, hysterical, dramatic, and sometimes comical. either way, trust me im not fond of diagnosing people online. i only ever bring stuff like this up bc its hypocritical for someone to diagnose people online as cluster B all while exhibiting just as many if not more symptoms themselves. either way, this is something youve been doing and refuse to stop doing to other people. just because someone doesnt like you or is critical of you doesn’t mean theyre somehow mentally ill, and it also definitely doesnt mean theyre not a lesbian. 

[phantastic-izu]

Dear Future Husband

Pairing: Jimin X Reader Word Count:  1.7k [it’s pretty short, i know ): ]

Genre(s): fluff and rom-com; overall cheesy

Summary:

"Dear future...husband one thing you should know–" 

"Damn it, Eun Jae I know! I have to learn how to braid your hair, right?"

"Hey Eun Jae?” The said person turned her face when someone called her, it was her friend Taehyung, smiling solemnly at her. Eun Jae arched her brow. "Ara is here, I bet she's going to try and insult you." He spoke to Eun Jae over her shoulder, wearing a nasty expression. Eun Jae shrugged when her friend gave her the useless information, "Doesn't she always?" Eun Jae and Taehyung talked as they sat down in the coffee shop. "You want anything specific?" Eun Jae offered to buy him a drink, making Taehyung smile his signature box smile. “Yes. Iced Latte!" Taehyung always got excited when he was offered free stuff.  Eun Jae shook her head and chuckled. "Be right back." Eun Jae grabbed her purse and made way to the counter to order. "Avoid that bit–“ Taehyung paused as he was about to curse because he saw Eun Jae’s eyes on her, with a scary scolding look. "S-sorry,” he muttered an apology before he buried her face in his phone lying in-front of him. "Hey,” Eun Jae casually greeted the employee with a smile and he gladly copied. "The usual?" He asked Eun Jae who was busy fishing her cellphone out of her purse, "Yeah but one iced latte for Eun Jae, Chimchim” “Taehyung? Is he here? He rarely comes here." Jimin furrowed his brows and asked, "Seems like you notice your customers." Jimin chuckled hearing Eun Jae's response and how she rolled her eyes, "Are you jealous?" "Me? Get to work, idiot." Jimin was turning around when someone pushed Eun Jae to the side to stand in her position instead. He could only raise his brows. "What the heck, Ara?" Eun Jae growled, steadying herself with the help of the glass counter. "Sorry about that." Ara rolled her eyes and fake batted her eyes. It made Eun Jae want to throw up. "You two seemed… chummy,” Ara spoke to both Jimin and Eun Jae, eyeing the latter in a disgusted manner. "Yeah... I mean considering she’s–“ Ara cut Jimin off when he was answering. "I hope you know..." Ara trailed off on purpose and Jimin set aside his notebook to focus on what she was saying, with a curious expression. Eun Jae simply rolled her eyes. One of these days, her eyes would roll all the way back to her brain and Ara would be the one to be blamed. "You know what?" Jimin conversed with her while Eun Jae stayed quiet observing how Ara was leaning towards the counter in a unusual manner with her cleavage on full show. Eun Jae hoped Jimin was looking elsewhere. "That she has a crush on you. I hope you know that.” Eun Jae wanted to laugh like a maniac when she heard Ara attempt to make things awkward with Jimin. "Haha.” Jimin chuckled lightly making Ara raise her brows, he stayed quiet before he turned to face Eun Jae. "I hope you do,” he said with a blush on his cheeks. Eun Jae smiled softly. “Me too,“ Eun Jae winked playfully at Jimin and grinned cheekily when she saw the confused expression on Ara's face. "What?" Ara growled crossing her arms. "I mean..." He paused before chuckling again, "I mean of course she has a crush on me…she is my girlfriend." As soon as Jimin broke the news to Ann's rival, she deadpanned. She looked at a loss of words. "Try again, Ara." Eun Jae flipped her hair over her shoulder, turning towards her boyfriend, Jimin. "Hurry up, boyfriend. Your girl isn’t exactly patient y’know.” Eun Jae smirked when she saw Ara fume in anger, she stomped her feet on the ground and left.

"Here is your order, princess.” Eun Jae was frowning when Jimin returned back with the ordered drinks in his hand. "What happened, love?" Jimin used the endearment she secretly loved to cheer her up. She threw her head back and huffed, "She's so frickin’ annoying." "Let her be." Jimin smiled and plopped down in the free chair. He placed his head on the coffee table with his hands cupping his cheeks and his elbows supporting his weight. He openly stared at her like she was the most precious in his life. "What time are you getting off?" She quizzed. "Right about now,” Jimin said glancing at the watch on his wrist, “and where did Taehyung go?” He looked around and noticed the lack of the happy-go-lucky guy. “He left, Kookie called. Poor guy. He’s smitten,” Eun Jae said sipping her drink and gave the iced latte to her boyfriend. "Let's go to my house."  Jimin proposed in a cool-manner making Eun Jae red instantly. "W-why?" “Because…it’s been a while since we hung out, idiot." He said now standing by her side, he gripped her wrist gently and whisked her along. “Get your mind out of the gutter.” Jimin ruffled his pouty girlfriend’s hair and earned a smack on his shoulder.

"This movie is so... emotional." Eun Jae managed to speak in between her tears. "You're the only one crying..." Jimin muttered sniffing but in fact he was bawling his eyes too. Eun Jae shifted her head which was on his chest. Both of them were sitting on the couch alone in his apartment while they watched this movie 'Me Before You'. "I... don't want him to die!" Jimin broke out in ugly sobs– letting out his feelings but little did he expect that instead of being a supportive girlfriend,  he would receive a loud laugh from her. He quickly wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his shirt and attempted to make a strong expression. "Why are y-you laughing?" He paused the movie. "I-It's just that." Eun Jae burst out in laughter and could not continue what she was saying. “Yah, you stop at once.” The boy protested but his girlfriend only laughed louder. "S-stop it,” He repeated and when she did not stop, he jumped on her and trapped her between his arms. The laughing immediately died. Jimin grinned. "W-what are you d-doing?" She asked feeling flustered. "Y-you were being annoying, I'll have to teach you a lesson." He was about to claim her lips when Eun Jae's phone rang. “Shit." Jimin cursed in disappointed and sat up straight, freeing her. Eun Jae pushed her boyfriend off her and grabbed her phone from the side table. "Oh my God really?" Eun Jae spoke cheerfully on her phone. "I'll check it out right now!" "What is it?" He pouted feeling left out as she typed something on her cell phone excitedly, momentarily forgetting about his presence. "Meghan Trainor released her song, ‘Dear future husband’!” She squealed happily and Jimin could not help but sigh. "Let's check out the music video,” She said and scooted closer to him on the couch.

"Baby girl, I know your voice is really sweet but can you stop singing the God damn song?" Jimin threw his hands up in the air in an exasperated manner and announce angrily. Eun Jae just smiled at him and continued getting on top of the table, singing loudly and ignoring his protests.

"Dear future husband can you please not tell me to stop!" Eun Jae twirled around happily, throwing in a few sexy moves too. Jimin could only stare at her. "Dear future husband can–“ Eun Jae couldn't complete herself because her leg slipped and she was about to fall of the table and she did but her boyfriend– like a hero he is– caught her just in time. With wide eyes and a horrified expression on his pretty features, “Oh my god,” He whispered putting her down from his arms. “Dear future husband... always catch me when I fall!” She said gathering her breath and gave him a light peck. "Can you stop saying that!" Jimin said in an annoyed tone. "Only after you complete my three wishes." Eun Jae smiled sweetly– a little too sweetly for Jimin’s taste– and winked suggestively. "Oh god..." He gaped at her. "Is that a yes, dear future husband?" "Fu– okay!" He threw his hands up, defeated. Ann got excited already dancing around in happiness. "What's your first wish?" "Let's cook together." Eun Jae pulled his hand. 

She was such an annoying brat at times.

"Baby, can you stop complaining? Just eat the stupid curry!" Jimin narrowed his eyes at her. She was teasing the hell out of him. "It's too salty! Make it again!" Eun Jae whined and smirked at her boyfriend.

"Dear future husband, do aegyo! “ “Hell no! You know how I hate those cutesy thing." Jimin argued. “But you're cute..." Eun Jae muttered and batted her eyes, pulling on his cute fluffy cheeks. "Did you just call me cute. I'll have to punch the wall to ever feel manly again." “Enough whining, Chimchim.”

"It's just a simple braid how many more tutorials will you watch?" Eun Jae complained to her boyfriend as she literally stole the iPad from his hands and gently threw it away. "Dear future husband, one thing you should know." She was cut off. “Damn it! Eun Jae I know!" He mumbled as he plopped on the couch and sat behind her, while she stayed seated on the carpeted floor. "Let's start,” He said gathering all of her beautiful hair and placing one strand of hair over the other. She was such an annoying brat at times. But she was his annoying brat and he loved everything thing about her. "But there’s one more thing…” Eun Jae muttered, "Most of all.., dear future husband. I want you to love me forever and ever.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Jimin secured the weird– and completely wrong looking braid than what he had seen on the internet– braid. "I will do that." Eun Jae turned around to give him a smile, and Jimin seized this opportunity to settle his mouth on hers in a loving and gentle kiss. “Dear future wife, I’ll never stop loving you.”

For my ARMY friend <3 Ghashia <3 you the best, FAM.

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Bound By Chains - Chapter 20

Pairing: Eric/OC Fandom: Divergent Rating: M - This story will continually portray sensitive subjects. Trigger warning.

She’s bound to a monster. And he has personality issues.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for the continuous support/messages/asks. It means the world. 

Tags: (If you want on or off the list, just ask/PM) 

@dauntlessmetalmom @equalstrashflavoredtrash @badassbaker @red-diary @pathybo @murmelinchen @insertamazingwords  @feminamortem @halefiresurvivor @suchlonelymuchsoul @elaacreditava @lauraaan182 @synnocence @jcause @glittergiirlgg @platitudinise @frecklefaceb @mimigemrose @sparklemichele @beltz2016 

This is anger,

Sarah finally decides while hidden beneath the shadows of the archlike corridors. Her hands tremble by her sides, face flushing almost instantly at the sight.

There on the other side of the pit, she watches Wayne flirt, touch, and lean in dangerously close to another woman. From his body language and the way she’s acting, there is more to it. The piercing shriek of the woman’s laughter cuts through Sarah’s body and by now she’s had enough, turning away from his wandering eager hands, pawing all over another person and not her sister.

She felt physically sick for Mary. Mary who didn’t know, but a Mary who had messaged when apparently she hadn’t heard from Wayne for days and wondered if there was a problem. God damn right there was a problem.

Sarah turns a little too hastily, almost walking straight into Four who had crept up behind her. “Oh, my god! You scared the life out of me.”

He snorts, trying to hide his smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Another loud shriek of laughter has Sarah frowning out into the crowd. “Wayne Tulver. Now that’s a fine specimen.”

“He’s nothing but an insect.”

Four cocks his head, “I know he’s been with your sister a lot. Must hurt to see this.”

“I’m becoming numb to the surprises of Dauntless. No wonder they are the warrior faction.”

“Congratulations.” Sarah’s brow puckers, not at him but riled from everything happening in front of her. “-On the baby.” Four grimaces when Sarah quickly folds her jacket over the top of her continuously protruding stomach, feeling somewhat guilty now that he had mentioned it.

“Thanks.” For a minute they stand in silence, staring out together, till eventually Sarah clears her throat. “I better go. I can’t watch this anymore. I’ve seen enough.”

“Sarah, wait…” Four turns, diverting his eyes, something Sarah had finally tried to push from her everyday demeanor. Going head to head with Eric every day; the floor would become very boring. “I just wanted to say to take care…” Sarah stares at him a little while, her lips parting a fraction, trying to suss him out. “…to be careful.”

“I’m perfectly well.”

“It’s Eric I’m talking about. I shouldn’t really say anything, but I can’t, not when-” Four motions to her stomach. “there is a child involved.”

“Eric would kill you for this conversation we are about to have.” Surprise creeps up on Four’s face. “If you think for a second I’m blind to what Eric is capable of, think again. If you think I haven’t seen the happenings between factions and the side mishandlings of situations, you may as well have called me a fool.” However, her words aren’t malicious, and she tenderly touches his shoulder. “Thank you for your concern, Four.”

The petite blonde then walks away without another word, leaving Four in his thoughts staring out after her. The Abnegation was learning, she was smart, smarter than he had originally thought. Now he saw what Clair saw. What they all saw.

Potential.

The choice of food was detestable but however inedible, convenient.

Sarah flips the fatty looking pork, suddenly feeling incredibly full and decides to eat only the small selection of carrots and green beans.

“No, eat the meat as well.” Eric claps her on the back lightly, then swings his leg over the bench imposingly close to her.

“Have you seen that meat?” She cringes, probing it with her fork. “Anyway, I need to speak with you.”

“Oh, please, please don’t let it be another work based, unimportant, minor question about whether or not the office furniture is ineptly placed, I can’t take it.” She had never said anything like that in her life. He was mocking her, and she knows so because Eric smirks.

Regardless of Eric’s uncontrollable night terrors, he had been somewhat more cautious and softer with her in the day. Maybe trying to make some palpable way to make it up to her, or disguise the fact he was still suffering. Eric was the master at pretending his problems didn’t exist.

“Actually, it’s nothing to do with work.”

Eric puts a piece in his mouth and chews, his face slowly begins scrunching up, his chewing suddenly hesitant. “You’re fucking right, it’s disgusting.”

“I told you.” Sarah begins snorting, then full on laughing behind her hand as he openly shows his disgust, “You’ve gone really pale.”

“I’m so close to heaving right now,”  Eric mutters, deadly serious. Eventually, he swallows. “Need to look into that today, whoever is cooking this shit.” He’s scouring the table for a drink.

“Here, eat this, cover the taste.” Sarah holds up a floppy green bean while still giggling, and shoves it towards him. Oddly, he does, in fact, eat it.

Even if Eric looked pale and their relationship had been come and go, she does notice how handsome he is while casually sitting next to her. Especially while not so stressed as usual. His hair had recently been cut, the sides impossibly short and left with an easily manageable length on top. Nothing fussy like when she had first met him. There was only a shadowing of his facial hair, his complexion clear. The thought was amusing that perhaps he got a more manageable haircut for becoming a dad, preparing himself already.

“You’re staring again.”

“No, I was thinking… I’m really angry.”

“Yeah, you really look it.”

“You distracted me. But I am really angry. I saw Wayne-“

“Sarah, don’t. I’m not getting involved in your younger sister's problems.”

“But Wayne hasn’t spoken to her, nor given her any idea why-“

“You want the truth? The truth hurts,” Eric says while grabbing a bread roll.

“Something would be nice.”

“Why does any man suddenly stop talking to someone they have been chasing for weeks?” Sarah shrugs. Of course, she wouldn’t know and he sighs in pain of her virtue. “…They got what they wanted.”

“You mean?...oh my god…” Unwelcome flashing images of Wayne and Mary together haunt the back of her mind, suddenly reddening her cheeks.

“It’s for the best. You don’t want her in a relationship with him, do you?” Sarah shakes her head and he nudges her leg with his. “She learned the hard way.”

“It’s going to destroy her.” Eric’s too busy shoving food into his face and she gives a long sigh, still mad, but something else clouding her thoughts.

“So…” she draws out, glancing at the table, “…that means you didn’t get what you wanted. And still haven’t…from me…”

There’s only the slightest pause in his movements and he cocks his head to the side. “Are you flirting with me?” Sarah’s cheeks turn a whole other shade of pink and he moves closer.

“No…you just said…”

“I know exactly what I said. Are you looking for me to compliment you? Tell you how important you are to my life? How I can’t live without you?” Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, he watches her tongue dart out, moistening her lips, exactly as he’d predicted. Eric moves closer till their noses almost touch, forgetting exactly how publicly noticeable they were.

“You know I hate compliments.”

“And you know I hate lying to you.” Eric moves his body to shroud them, her own turned towards him with his hands somewhere in her hair, gripping the back of her neck, the only thing keeping her from melting into the seat.

Sarah had missed him like this. The ever-knowing Dauntless Leader. Quick thinking. Alert. A few days ago she couldn’t stand to be within a few feet of him, now, she wanted nothing more than to have his hands against her skin. It had been a while since affection had been either one of their priorities. Not even comforting words had been shared.

Eric had nightmares. Eric didn’t sleep. Eric was obnoxious in the day. That’s how the usual scenario played out. She just wanted something.

Those blue oceanic eyes swim between his as she asks in a whisper, “Lie to me.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Sarah can’t answer while caught under his attentions, and he knows, using his thumb to pull on her bottom lip. “I can’t live without you.”

“Now don’t lie to me.”

“I can’t live without you.” He smirks, closing the small distance, kissing her publicly for the first time. But the moment their lips touch, quickly the moment is gone as he pulls back, still with that all-knowing gleam to his mouth. He watches Sarah's face twist and she puts a hand on her stomach. “He’s moving?”

“I think he heard your voice,” Sarah says shyly, her chin tucked down, comforting herself with dainty fingers swirling over the material of her dress.

Eric continues to watch her, the way she holds herself too maturely, wiser than many other girls her age. He would almost be daring to say motherly.

There were many things that always grabbed his attention, causing him to pause at her appearance that little while longer than necessary. But at least he was a little more subtle about it and not caught outright staring like she usually would be. However, watching her now, he was sure he would never forget these small instances, burying them deep within his memory to recall at a more troubling time. But doting moments like this always came with backlash and guilt; something that had been gracing him more often than he liked. And that’s what forces his next words. “I’m not going to the gym tonight. I’ll be home early.”

“Oh.”

“Did you have plans?”

“I was going to look at a few baby things, you know. It’s typical, I only decided this morning. I didn’t know you were going to be home.” She’s still keeping her eyes downcast, flattening imaginary creases from her skirt.

“If I can get off earlier I’ll join you.” Sarah smiles faintly on his words but doesn’t keep her hopes up.

The only tailor shop in Dauntless is exactly how she had expected. The choice was minimal, the clothes for children shoved at the back of the small shop that was situated in excavated rock. She sighs, holding up a blue romper, one of two.

They even smelled like rock.

“Most of my stuff I got tailored.” Clair walks up behind her.

“Is that a thing here?” Sarah is still frowning at the simplicity and how, overall, Dauntless didn’t seem to take the time to invest in children too much.

“Do you know how difficult it is to find a decent tailor, though? For my kids, I had an old lady who I met completely coincidentally because we ended up moving next door to her when Adrianna was due. She’s now retired and in the home.”

“Home?”

“Don’t see many old folks around here, do you? Where do you think they go? Dauntless doesn’t have time to run a nursing joint plus military.”

“I suppose.”

“But, you’ve hardly seen half of Dauntless.” Clair’s bluntness doesn’t affect her anymore and Sarah sighs, again, for the fifteenth time. “Eric must be busy.”

Just the mention of Eric and her back stiffens. “I don’t want any of this. I’m done here. You ready to go?” In Clair’s hands are a few hangers of stuff for her daughter. The older woman merely forces a smile and nods.

Sarah had her own tailor anyway, a lot closer to home.

Mary’s phone rings for a long time before she answers. “Hello,” Sarah says a little too sweetly, buttering her toast she’d made herself and balancing the phone precariously on her shoulder. Ironic.

“Give me a minute. Let me go upstairs.” In the background, she can hear Mary’s labored breathing, her feet stomping up the stairs. “Okay...”

Sarah licks the butter off her fingers. “I think there is something we need to talk about. Well, more than one thing…” Mary doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “Have you…” She purses her lips, fighting the words. “…have you slept with Wayne?” Just as the sentence falls from her lips, Eric enters the apartment, shrugging off his jacket and looking at her curiously.

“He said he loved me.” Mary’s voice breaks, the tell-tale sign of her crying quietly to herself. “Now he won’t speak to me.”

Rubbing her temple in vain, Eric’s hands skim around her waist, pulling her back against him. “I’m sorry, Mary. I tried to-“

“I’m an idiot.” Mary sniffs, “I should’ve known,” she then coughs. “...How’s my nephew anyway?”

“Fine…perfectly fine… Mary just know that-“

“What was the other thing you wanted to speak about?” Sarah turns to face Eric, his eyes lingering along her neck, flashing up to meet hers suddenly. It was obvious Mary didn’t particularly want to talk about Wayne.

“I need baby clothes. I’ve checked Dauntless out and it’s pretty basic.”

“Ouch,” expresses Eric quietly.

“You want me to make them?” Mary’s voice gets higher. “Are you sure? I’ve never done babies stuff before?”

“Only if you wanted to. If not, I’ll try and find another alternative. But I really wanted you to as I know how amazing you are.” Sarah bites her lip, smiling, hoping, praying for her sister to say yes. Unexpectedly Eric leans down, claiming her lips.

“Get off the phone,” he whispers.

“Okay, let me have a look at a few basic designs and I’ll get back to you.”

“You are the best. Are you going to be okay?” Sarah picks up a slice of toast, biting into it under Eric’s watchful eye.

“I’ve got some school work. I’m just going to concentrate on that and, well, your request.”

“You can call anytime.”

“No she can’t,” Eric mumbles, lifting her suddenly to sit on the counter. Sarah still grips her toast in hand but grows continuously ticklish to his random prodding touches. Especially the ones that reach for the buttons at the top of her dress, undoing them one by one till she whacks his hand away.

“I’m so unsure now of when I’m next going to be able to see you.”

With another massive bite still to chew in her mouth, Sarah only manages, “Soon.” Fending off Eric’s assault.

“I hope it’s not too long. I really wanted to see the week by week difference…”

Eric rips the top part of her dress open, the significant noise of the fabric shredding from his strength and exposing the pale bra underneath. Sarah’s chest heaves, managing to catch herself as she tilts back with his needing hands on her thighs, pulling them impossibly closer together.

The toast becomes a casualty.

“Listen, Mary…” Sarah barely hears her sister's reply as Eric whips the phone from her hand and cancels the call. “That was mean.” But her voice is airy, her mouth parting till his lips press against the valley of her breasts, his tongue swirling up towards her neck.

“Shoot me.” Eric smiles on her skin, picking her up and making a break for the bedroom.

“I really, really, like this.” Eric looks smug over the report of the renovations, mainly at Sarah who is furiously pink, quietly sitting in her plastic bucket seat to one side in his office.

Sarah’s pillow talk the night before was delightful.

The confused Dauntless personnel standing at attention in front of him shifts uneasily. “Er, thanks.”

“Is it almost finished?”

“Just a week. If everything goes according to plan.”

“Great, so that means the end of February...” Eric mainly says to himself. “So March. I want it finished by the fifth. That’s plenty of time. In the meantime, I’ll be checking progress. I’ll be visiting this evening.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eric merely nods as dismissal. With the door shut and alone, Eric pushes her embarrassment further. “I want to do it again.”

“Stop.”

“Well, I liked it. What can I say?... shit.” The little Abnegation had also let that little cuss fly as he took her from behind.

Sarah is basically sweating from the heat. “I think you did actually like it.” Eric swigs the water next to him. Whatever was in the vials that he was dropping into his water, was working. Two days, no nightmares. Sarah didn’t particularly feel comfortable with it, though. But as long as it helped.

Just as she smiles cheekily from her reply and Eric still keeps his casual simper on his face, the door busts open.

“Sir…” Two Dauntless guards; the definition now Sarah saw from one simple strip of mauve on one arm, drags a rather volatile, spit-talking man into the room. Eric just stares flatly, barely moved by the scene in front of him. “…This was a domestic, but he’s officially assaulted two officers now.”

Eric sighs exasperatedly. The volatile man lifts his chin towards Sarah’s wide eyes, spitting. “What the fuck you looking at?”

“Has he taken anything?” Eric asks the guards and they merely shrug.

“I’m down here!” The irate man bunches his shoulders together, then relaxes, holding up his hands, “Look, look, I’m alright. I’m cool.” The man looks older than Eric, his head shiny with a V-shaped looking beard hanging from his chin. The red sleeves under his black bodywarmer are frayed and ripped and he looked like he had been in one of Eric’s intense training courses for about ten weeks.

Sarah inwardly tells herself not to back away, or move, or even breathe.

“If you’re cool, you can tell me what you have done, then? Can’t you?” Eric taps a pen on the desk. “No hearsay.”

“My wife is fucking another man,” he mumbles from his kneeling position.

“Boo fucking hoo,” Eric retorts quickly and the bearded man's eyes narrow.

“Nobody does that to me, nobody!” His voice crackles as if all the screaming he’d been doing at everyone had finally taken its toll. “I cut the little bastard. I don’t give a fuck. He’s lucky I didn’t skin him!” The man stumbles to his feet, the guards pinning his arms back behind him again.

There is a shift on Eric’s face as he peers between how disgusted the guards are and the anger resonating off him. “What of your wife?”

The bearded guy throws his head back and laughs.

“He maimed her, sir.”

“No prick will look at that silly cunt again!” he  proclaims, still with his hoarse laughter and Sarah gasps, putting a hand to her mouth. Like a vulture, he catches it immediately. “You’d look pretty with a lovely slice down your face and all! Stiff bitch. Fuck the lot-“ He doesn’t get to finish.

A shot cracks into the room, whipping the man’s head back and forth, forcing the guards to jump to each side, letting the bearded guy slump heavily to the floor. His blood sprays the room behind him, but the droplets ricochet and fan across the room, hitting Sarah’s face. The guards get the brunt of it as they stare down at the unexpected horror.

“Problem solved,” Eric calmly puts.

Sarah stands, arms tensed, a squeak just leaving her throat. Wiping with numb hands at her face, she turns for the door, running the corridor till she gets to Clair. The old woman’s eyes widen significantly. “Get it off!” The more she rubs, the worse it gets.

“Stop, wait.” Clair grabs a tissue, licking it to wipe her face and batting off Sarah’s flailing hands.

“Clear this up,” Eric orders from his office and strolls out into the lobby with timely steps, completely at ease with what he had done.

“She’s pregnant, Eric!” Clair finally snaps, still dabbing at Sarah’s face. “She’s a Stiff!” The motherly and worried tone in her voice stumps him. “She’s not used to this. You can’t do that!”

Eric rolls his eyes. “She’s seen worse.”

“Worse than blowing open somebody's skull?”

Eric studies Sarah, face white and shaking. Clair pushes her down into her seat. “He threatened her. I used my initiative. And if you don’t mind, I don’t like being spoken to like that.”

“It’s extreme. This is above you, Eric.”

“Oh, shut up. Go eat someone else’s ass.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll take her home.”

“No.”

In the background, Sarah mumbles, “His head…it…” with her eyebrows bowed significantly while recalling the incident.

Clair takes a step towards him. “I’ll take her to mine. You and I both know you won’t be able to stay with her all day.” Eric chews his cheek. “You know I will look after her. For the sake of the child... Keep this up and I wouldn’t be surprised if she lost it, then how do you think she would cope with that?”

Eric’s face glazes over. A faint shudder in his chest. He backs off almost immediately. “Fine… I want you to call me every hour.”

When he walks away, Clair watches him pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. She takes a deep breath, bending down to Sarah. “Come on. Let’s get you to mine. Careful now.”

 Sarah’s eyes flutter from her position on Clair’s couch. It’s bright, clean and light in the secretary's apartment. But that’s not what wakes her, it is the sound of children.

However groggy she is, she sits up slowly, letting her senses come to. There is a partition wall separating the lounge from the kitchen. In the middle sat a square opening so it was easy to see between the two rooms, and, Sarah guessed, to serve food as well.

As she rounds through a small doorway, there, at a perfectly square table sat Clair’s two children, busying themselves with drawings. The two bright pairs of eyes glance up at her and they still.

“Hello.” Sarah cups her hands, and Clair turns from the sink, smiling quickly.

“Kids, why don’t you go start getting ready for bed?” Jacob, Clair’s son, hugs her quickly and Adrianna is quick to push him, racing each other down towards what she could only fathom as the bedrooms.

“How are you feeling?”

Sarah shrugs, taking in all the personal memorabilia on the walls. One specifically being a family of Erudite. “Are you Erudite?”

“I was. A long time ago.” Clair places the dishcloth on her shoulder. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Clair opens her mouth to respond but the front door swings open with a tall man with bags in each hand. “This is my husband.” She introduces him as he marches over, grabbing Sarah’s hand and roughly shaking it. He doesn’t seem to know his own strength, but however burly, his smile is beaming.

“Greg.”

“I’m Sarah.” Sarah does notice his eyes fall to her stomach, then to Clair questioningly. She watches as he immediately goes to his wife to peck her on the cheek, cooing a sentimental word. In fear of imposing, Sarah looks away till they are finished.

“Nice to meet you. I’ll, um, I’ll get the kids ready for bed.” He nods in parting, the kids giggling when he finds them messing about in their rooms and they shriek in excitement. Sarah’s gut drops. This was normal family life. Two hardworking parents who loved each other. Their kids were beautiful, well-mannered and adored. It stung like salt in a wound that the realization of this possibly being her and Eric was very few and far between.

“Sit down,”  Clair orders, pulling the seat in front of her. “We need to talk.” The chair legs squeak on the floor and the older woman places her hands neatly in front of her. “What Eric did was wrong. He does a lot of things...wrong.”

“I’m well acquainted with him.” Politely she sits, stiffly and altogether cautious of where this was going.

“I’m going to be honest here. When I first met you, I didn't care for you. You were another stranger, a gray walking through our doors.”

“I’m not looking for sympathy.”

“I don’t have sympathy for you. I have sympathy for your child unknowingly being born into this. You knew about Eric.” She points provokingly.

“By that point it was already too late.” Sarah sternly says back, keeping Clair’s eyes that seem so determined to break her.

“Is that what you are going to be saying when Eric one day loses his temper? Are you still going to sit around and hope for the best? ...It’s what you’ve done since you’ve got here…”

“I don’t know whether you are trying to insult me, or aggravate me, or make me feel any more worthless than I do already.”

“I’m trying to teach you…And god damn you do have spirit...you are so stubborn!” Clair rubs her brow furiously and Sarah tries to keep her composure, suddenly feeling presented with her school teacher or being potentially investigated by authority. “I’m trying to teach you that it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“You could lose your job over this, Clair.”

But Clair’s too caught up in her swelling of emotions. “My god, I’m trying to teach you because your own parents are incapable! I don't know why, but I feel responsible for you. You remind me of my daughter.”

Sarah is speechless, she inhales through her nose quickly, peering down to the ground. “I never intended-”

“Stop with the Abnegation shit. Stop pretending that having this baby it will make things suddenly get better. Stop pretending that you can live like this, like a…caged bird all your life. Stop deceiving-”

“I love him!” Sarah stands, her whole body shaking. “I love him…” she says more quietly, trying to grip her furiously trembling hands. “I love him because not everything he does is always bad. I love him for the unguarded, off-duty leader at night when we are alone. The smiles that he doesn’t show anybody. The only person there for me when my sister died, when I really needed someone. He was there.”

“And so is the delicious traps that tempt its prey down from the tree.”

“I want to leave.” Sarah’s crying, rubbing at her face with her sleeves and pacing. “Let me out, I want to leave.”

“Sarah, please, think about it. I’m trying to help you. I know I can help. I know people.” Clair cautiously steps towards her, arms outstretched, waving in comfort. “There is someone I-”

Just the touch of her fingertip and Sarah pushes her away. “Get off of me!” Her voice screeches, causing the older lady to startle backward. “Don't touch me. Don’t come near me… Keep away from me and my baby!”

Greg appears from one of the bedrooms “Is everything okay?” and Clair waves him off.

“I’ll take you back to Eric’s.”

“You will do no such thing. Thank you for your hospitality, but I’m one hundred percent sure I have now outstayed my welcome.” The Abnegation shoves on her boots by the door, grabbing her gray long strapped bag from the floor and placing it over her shoulder before impatiently waiting without a word for Clair to type in the code.

As the golden blonde hair disappears down the corridor, Greg slides his arm across Clair’s shoulders. “You tried.”

“It takes time to come to terms with reality. She’s stubborn and equally afraid. That’s all it is. ”

“Perhaps it’s time to think of a new way.”

Clair narrows her eyes. “...perhaps. But with Eric, we don’t have to do too much.”

 Having not been to Clair’s before, navigating the way home proved tiresome. But once Sarah found herself at a twirling staircase caked in dust and dirt, a place she guessed wasn’t used often, she was fascinated to find it to be a staircase linked to the rooftops that she’d never used before. Sarah’s phone begins vibrating in her pocket, she knows instantly who this is. “Hello, Eric.”

“Stay where you are.”

Sarah pants, her fitness having gone to pot since confined to Dauntless. “...Okay.”

“Why are you out of breath? Why didn’t you go down? Don’t answer that, just stay there.” The phone clicks when he disconnects the call and she puts it back in the annoying gray bag that's hit her hip with every step that she’s taken. Looking up through the middle, there is only one floor left till the roof exit, so she continues up regardless of Eric’s warning. The cold air from outside was dusting down and just gracing her, enough to have her long to feel it for real, against her own skin freely.

The door creaks, slamming closed behind her. The breeze is freezing, sub-zero and biting, instantly stinging her hands and forcing a dry cough from the sudden change in temperature. But from the climb it is a relief, flooding her with awakening endorphins, especially as the sun sets, beaming across her pale skin.

Sarah shuts her eyes; much like she did when it snowed, taking a moment. This was release. In her third eye, she saw herself stepping onto the ledge, arms outstretched and toppling herself forwards. Not hurtling to the ground however, floating, down towards sun-warmed grass. The density soft beneath her feet, far from concrete and ruined buildings.

Boots crunch on the gravel behind her and she lets the smile that had grown, drop, not bothering to face Eric. “Sorry, I just needed-”

“Stiffs shouldn’t go wandering on their own. It’s against the rules.”

Sarah turns so fast she almost loses her footing. “Wayne…” She’s about to ask where Eric is and catches herself, thinking quickly. “If you have come to gloat, go ahead. There is nothing you can say that I don’t already know.”

“Nah…” He runs his tongue along his teeth, stepping closer. “Just getting some air. Funny seeing you here.” Sarah turns her back to him when he becomes too imposing. He keeps shifting behind her till he bumps his chest into her back, and she can feel his breath against her neck. “You still are a beautiful little thing, aren’t you. Really what mother nature intended for natural beauty.” She cringes as a finger paws at the flyaway hair by her ear.

“I have no idea what my sister saw in you…”

“More than you took the time to notice.” When he inhales by her head, Sarah turns, raising her palm to his face. But he catches it, clucking his tongue mockingly. “Why you so mad?”

“You shouldn’t touch me like that. And-and how dare you use my sister. She’s young, and you’re just…” Sarah stammers. “...filth, utter filth.” Becoming suddenly fearful doesn’t help her train of thought. She manages to sidestep him and head back towards the door. She doesn't make it far.

Wayne spins her, pulling her out of the direct line of the door and pushing her against the brick next to it. “Listen you little bitch. I do what I want to do. So what I screwed your sister? She enjoyed it. Maybe, for the hell of it, and for your high-and-mighty attitude, I’ll go back for round two, put my dick in her mouth. I bet she’d let me. In fact, she’d beg me to.”

“Why have you got such a problem with me? Why? What have I ever done to you?”

“You exist. That’s my problem. Prancing around in front of me. Eric under your thumb...nah… I tell you what is funny, though, you always want what you can’t have.” When his hand strokes the top of her arm, Sarah peers down, connecting the dots, a disturbed breath whipping out in a coiling cloud between them. Slowly, she looks up, and he smiles. His mane of hair is falling in front of his face causing him to look all the more maniacal in that moment. The stench of cigarettes is putrid. But still, from somewhere, she finds the confidence to keep her head up.

With quivering lips, Sarah speaks through a tensed jaw, holding back the war of emotions threatening to consume her. “You’re sick.” But he’s too close now, too close to her mouth, his eyes dropping down her body. She whimpers, leaning back against the wall till she could feel the brick scratching her scalp. One hand protectively sits over her bump, the other pushing against his chest. “Don’t.”

“I have to know…”

She can almost feel his lip graze against hers. The thickness to his voice evident in blind desire.

“I have to know what you are like…”

The catch on the door chinks and Wayne turns his head. In that split second, Sarah makes a choice. It feels like in that second, to only seem like a heartbeat.

Half a heartbeat to catch Wayne by surprise. Half a heartbeat to place his hand from her shoulder unknowingly against her breast.

Eric’s bulk fills the doorway and he turns his head, quickly assessing what was in front of him. “What the fuck?”

Sarah ducks, shamefully hiding her face towards the brick wall behind her. Wayne rights himself, clearing his throat and holding up his arms in mercy. “That was not what it looked like.”

“You want to tell me what that looked like?” Eric scans Sarah again when she turns to the casual tone of his voice.

Unusually calm. Unusually collected. Completely deadly.

Wiping at her eyes, Eric holds her gaze a little longer. With her initial step being timid, she begins slipping against the wall till she falls behind him, the dainty fingers gently curling on the arm of his jacket.

However, she doesn't say anything in fear of how weak of a liar she was. Though, most of what Wayne had done was inappropriate, what she had done: necessary.

“You serious, man?” Wayne begins, motioning between them. “I... would not. She forced my hand! Look at her, playing innocent. We were arguing…”

As Wayne continues to attempt to make pathetic excuses, Eric sneers down towards Sarah latched onto his arm. Sarah’s eyes are wide, guarding against Wayne prattling on in front of them, flicking up to his warily

Eric reaches down to his knife on his leg, unsheathing it. “You wouldn’t lie to me, Sarah?” He exhales, juggling the weight of the knife in his hand. Sarah shakes her head, barely able to stand with the air constricting in her lungs.

“He touched me.”

With an effortless flick, the knife invisibly whips through the air, hitting Wayne in his thigh. The cry afterward is deafening and he stumbles immediately to the ground, straining his breath through his teeth.

Eric pushes her back, “Turn around. Face the door. But you don’t leave this fucking roof,” he warns her, stomping off towards Wayne.

Sarah tries to find a happy place to disappear to, but it’s hard when Wayne chants desperately, “What the fuck you doing? What the fuck you doing?!” his voice high and strangled as Eric edges closer. She hears his body dragged from the floor. “All of this over her. Fuck, Eric. I know her type. You know her type. I don’t know what the fuck you see in her, man. She’s just a Stiff. Bang her sister and you’ll know there is no difference. I don’t know why you waste your time.”

“I don’t care what you see in her…”

From where her back is turned, Sarah startles as Wayne screams. It wasn’t a yell or a shout. It was the sheer terror of a man in immense pain. Wayne’s boots thrash against the gravel, his shriek turning into a long sobbing moan.

Against her better judgment, Sarah turns at the audible thud of a body hitting the floor.

Balled like a fetus, Wayne whines loudly, the torrent of blood pulsing down from his face and pooling onto the gravel.   Eric stands with his right hand spread by his side, the entirety of his thumb red, splatters from the force he had used flicked upon his clothing

“...but whatever you did see in her…” Eric continues. “...Will never be the same.”

Sarah thinks of all Wayne’s backhanded comments. The time he slammed her hand down on the cutlery and threatened her. The time he stirred the knowledge of Eric and Nina together to get back at her. Sarah thinks of her sister. Then, for once, of herself.

She would do anything for the ones she loved.

An eye for an eye.

[marcusfontain-blog]

Trump, Putin & New Cold War: What The New Yorker gets wrong

The New Yorker made quite a splash with its uber long read on 'Trump, Putin and the New Cold War.' What a shame then the actual product is sloppy, misinformed tosh masquerading as something of highbrow distinction. 

When I was a ‘cub’ reporter in Ireland, juggling study with coverage of anything from Barn Dances to Basketball, payment came from lineage. A hideous measure which promoted loquaciousness at the expense of brevity. The compensation was dreadful, set at the measly sum of twenty pence a line. Thus, making a carefully crafted Rugby report worth about the price of a few beers, a pack of Marlboro and a small pizza. That said, if you padded it out, it might extend to a large one, with extra anchovies. 

One day my impressionable young self-met an American journalist in Dublin, who told me of a magazine called ‘The New Yorker’ where the generous publishers paid one dollar a WORD. Meaning its sports writers, if it had any, probably eschewed lager, chips and bus journeys for oysters, champagne, and travel by Concorde. 

Twenty years later, assuming the title has kept up with inflation, the writers must be on gallons of the fizzy stuff. Because they are clearly taking the piss. How else to explain this March’s lead story, which amounts to a small anti-Russia novella that manages, over 13,000 words, to deliver zero new information to readers. But instead delivers plenty of elementary mistakes and misrepresentations, suggesting the three authors (yes, three!) phoned it in. 

This is lackadaisical, trite, obtuse, fallacious hackery at its most inglorious. Penned by a trio of long-winded malingerers, shameless prevaricators and ghastly runtish, repellent, cheerless, petulant gnomes with an ingrained and sophistic loathing of Russia. And here they are trying to push the word-o-meter to its maximum. 

Vorsprung Durch Technik?  - To be fair, the magazine’s retro cover has been a hit on social media. Although I find the Cyrillic masthead pretentious. Then there’s the introduction to the essay itself. Featuring hellish black and blood red colors depicting an upside down St Basil’s Cathedral shooting a laser beam into the White House, like a bad illustration from a sci-fi comic book, designed by a dyslexic bat. But, then again, all art is subjective really, isn’t it? 

As ever, when Westerners profile Russia expectations are pretty low, but these wordsmiths even conspire to live down to the usual humble prospects. David Remnick, who has been editor of the title since 1998 and is evidently as stale as ten-day-old bread, is joined by Evan Osnos, a new name on the Russia beat. And their man in Moscow is Joshua Yaffa, one of those “fellow” chaps, representing a US State Department-funded concern called “New America.” 

In the parallel universe The New Yorker occupies when it comes to Russia, in common with pretty much all its peers, everything Moscow does is nefarious and if America makes mistakes, it’s never intentional. The usual Uncle Sam as an eternal toddler stuff, which must always be forgiven because of its cute smile. As a result, Washington’s open interference in Russia politics is never mentioned. 

For instance, a balanced article could draw on 1996 when Americans openly intervened to deliver Boris Yeltsin to victory over the less favorable Gennady Zyuganov. Or the outspoken support of US officials for the 2011-2012 Bolotnaya protests. In this case, the serving US ambassador even invited the leaders to his embassy. 

Bad Kremlin - Instead, it’s bash Russia time in an opus riddled with fundamental errors. Like when it pores over “anti-Moscow 'color revolutions,' in Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, and Ukraine, which deposed corrupt, Soviet-era leaders.” Without apparently realizing how Ukraine’s twice-shafted Viktor Yanukovich was a convicted petty criminal in the USSR and upon its fall in 1991 was a regional transport executive with all the power of a spent light bulb. Or how it claims former Russian President Dmitry Medvedev “made a crucial decision not to veto an American-backed UN Security Council resolution in favor of military action in Libya.” 

Because this is just disingenuous, given how Russia agreed to the establishment of a 'no-fly zone' over the unfortunate country, not the full-scale NATO “regime change” operation that followed. At no point does The New Yorker acknowledge Moscow’s subsequent disgust at what it perceived as an outrageous breach of trust by its Western partners. 

While these are especially blatant examples, there are many others. But given the length of the text, the easiest way to disassemble is to unravel it piece by piece. Here are the ‘highlights,’ but there were many more to choose from. 

NEW YORKER:  Five years ago, he (Putin) blamed Secretary of State Hillary Clinton for the anti-Kremlin protests in Moscow’s Bolotnaya Square. “She set the tone for some of our actors in the country and gave the signal,” Putin said. “They heard this and, with the support of the US State Department, began active work.” (No evidence was provided for the accusation). 

REALITY: As mentioned above, the then US ambassador, Michael McFaul invited the protest leaders to the US embassy. Which, given the relative support levels and the anti-establishment nature of both movements, would have been precisely the same as his Russian equivalent bringing Occupy Wall Street members to his consulate. Furthermore, the magazine doesn’t consider that perhaps Putin received this information from intelligence agencies? As we have just seen in America, they don’t seem to need to provide evidence for their findings to become accepted gospel truth these days. In fact, this entire article is precisely based on the assumption of how “the DNC hacks, many analysts believe, were just a skirmish in a larger war against Western institutions and alliances” (to quote the intro). As we all know, there is no actual proof of Kremlin involvement in the DNC hacks. Indeed, WikiLeaks itself has said the Russian government was not its source. And its envoy claimed that a “disgusted” whistleblower was responsible. 

NEW YORKER:  In early January, two weeks before the Inauguration, James Clapper, the director of national intelligence, released a declassified report concluding that Putin had ordered an influence campaign to harm Clinton’s election prospects, fortify Donald Trump’s, and “undermine public faith in the US democratic process.” The declassified report provides more assertion than evidence. Intelligence officers say that this was necessary to protect their information-gathering methods. Critics of the report had repeatedly noted that intelligence agencies, in the months before the Iraq War, endorsed faulty assessments concerning weapons of mass destruction. But the intelligence community was deeply divided over the actual extent of Iraq’s weapons development; the question of Russia’s responsibility for cyberattacks in the 2016 election has produced no such tumult. Seventeen federal intelligence agencies have agreed that Russia was responsible for the hacking. 

REALITY: This is not entirely true. As many others have pointed out, the NSA (i.e., the agency most likely to know, because it can monitor communications) has offered only ‘moderate’ support. 

NEW YORKER:  Another Administration official said that, during the transfer of power, classified intelligence had shown multiple contacts between Trump associates and Russian representatives, but nothing that rose to the level of aiding or coordinating the interference with the election. 

REALITY: Obama’s team had much the same level of contacts. In fact, his chief “Russia hand,” McFaul, even visited Moscow during the 2008 transition to speak to Russian officials. 

And there was nothing wrong in what McFaul did. For example, Bill Clinton's point man on Russia and Eastern Europe was considered a source of intelligence information and classified as "a special unofficial contact" by SVR. The man concerned, Strobe Talbot, correctly pointed out how it was an exaggeration of chats he had with the Russian ambassador to Canada, Georgiy Mamedov. 

Additionally, Henry Kissinger has maintained intensive contacts with Moscow for decades. Yet every recent American president has sought his advice. And George W. Bush's Russia expert, Elizabeth Jones, actually grew up in Moscow and attended local Russian schools. 

NEW YORKER:  Russian security concerns were hardly the only issue at stake with respect to the expansion of NATO; Poland, Czechoslovakia, and other countries in the region were now sovereign and wanted protection… Putin, in his first few years in office, was relatively solicitous of the West. He was the first foreign leader to call George W. Bush after the destruction of the World Trade Center towers. When he spoke at the Bundestag, later that month, he addressed its members in German, the language that he had spoken as a KGB agent in Dresden. He even entertained the notion of Russian membership in NATO. America’s invasion of Iraq, which Putin opposed, marked a change in his thinking. 

REALITY: Protection from what exactly? In the 1990’s, nobody was threatening anyone and Russia was both on its knees and desperately trying to join the Western fold, under the famously pro-American Boris Yeltsin. Indeed, as acknowledged by the magazine, during his early years in office, Putin continued the same posture, before becoming embittered by NATO expansion and the illegal Iraq War. There have been countless academic articles, from genuine experts, backing up this view. And even George Kennan, the most celebrated American Russia analyst of the twentieth century, agreed. Thus, NATO’s overreach eastwards has caused the exact problem that NATO purportedly exists to circumvent: insecurity in Europe. In this sense, it was like employing a team of golden retrievers to clean up shredded canine hair. Also, is it such a big surprise that the illegal invasion of a sovereign country, based on obviously false evidence, without a UN mandate, would affect the thinking of a government which regards its UN veto as an important defense tool? 

NEW YORKER:  He (Putin) was alarmed by the Obama Administration’s embrace of the uprisings in Tunisia and Egypt. And he was infuriated by the US-led assault on Muammar Qaddafi’s regime. 

REALITY: This is presented as something irrational, and comes without proper context. However, given that Russia is home to around 20 million Muslims, and has a history of problems with Islamist terrorism, what’s unusual about Putin being concerned about secular, stable (if obnoxious) regimes in the Middle East being replaced by (obviously even more obnoxious) radical Islamists? Also, he was infuriated about Qaddafi, because as mentioned earlier, the mandate the UN agreed to was for a 'no-fly zone' - not a fully fledged NATO campaign of airstrikes, coordinated with the opposition. 

NEW YORKER:  Russian television, of course, covered the siege of Aleppo as an enlightened act of liberation, free of any brutality or abuses. 

REALITY: Which is more or less exactly how American and British TV covered the “liberation” of Baghdad in 2003. Check out this extraordinary report from BBC’s Andrew Marr. Who later became the channel's political editor. 

NEW YORKER:  And yet Russian military planners and officials in the Kremlin regarded Georgia as a failure in the realm of international propaganda. 

REALITY: It’s not hard to see why. Even to this day, US news outlets (and the aforementioned McFaul who definitely knows better) continue to insist that Russia attacked Georgia. But in actual fact, the EU’s independent investigation into the conflict ruled that Georgia started the war. 

NEW YORKER:  The United States, meanwhile, had its own notable cyberwar success. In 2008, in tandem with Israeli intelligence, the US launched the first digital attack on another country’s critical infrastructure, deploying a “worm,” known as Stuxnet, that was designed to cause centrifuges in Iran to spin out of control and thereby delay its nuclear development. 

REALITY: This admitted act of aggression is given a sentence, but an incident in Estonia in 2007 (never proved to have been Russian state ordered) is highlighted over many paragraphs complete with quotes from the country’s former President Toomas Ilves. 

NEW YORKER:  Obama’s adviser Benjamin Rhodes said that Russia’s aggressiveness had accelerated since the first demonstrations on Maidan Square, in Kiev. “When the history books are written, it will be said that a couple of weeks on the Maidan is where this went from being a Cold War-style competition to a much bigger deal,” he said. “Putin’s unwillingness to abide by any norms began at that point. It went from provocative to disrespectful of any international boundary.” 

REALITY: Even though they have 13,000 words to play with, our heroes never consider other aspects of Maidan. Such as, was it normal for serving US and EU officials to turn up at the rallies and more or less encourage protestors to overthrow their democratically elected government? Indeed, it looked like the rock star style adulation went to their heads. Furthermore, what authority did US official’s Victoria Nuland and Geoffrey Pyatt have to choose the subsequent regime in Kiev? 

NEW YORKER:  Bruno Kahl, the head of Germany’s foreign intelligence agency, has expressed concern that Russian hackers are also trying to disrupt the German political scene, where Chancellor Angela Merkel is standing for reelection as a stalwart supporter of NATO and the EU. 

REALITY: German intelligence recently admitted that it found no evidence of Russian election hacking after insinuations of such activity was breathlessly carried by popular media last year. Notably, the “all clear” given to Moscow was ignored by the same outlets. Also, this whole premise is a bit illogical, seeing as the only realistic alternative to Merkel - the SPD led by Martin Schultz - is even more pro-EU than her CDU party. And Schultz himself has spent most of his adult life working in Brussels, home to both the EU and NATO. 

NEW YORKER:  While officials in the Obama Administration struggled with how to respond to the cyberattacks, it began to dawn on them that a torrent of “fake news” reports about Hillary Clinton was being generated in Russia and through social media. 

REALITY: It’s been proven the “fake news” was primarily generated in America itself and in Macedonia. Not Russia. 

NEW YORKER:  Russia’s political hierarchy and official press greeted Trump’s Inauguration with unreserved glee. 

REALITY: Given Clinton’s aggressive anti-Russia rhetoric, during which she compared Putin to Adolf Hitler, why is this a surprise? Especially when Trump had spoken of trying to mend fences with Moscow? The words “straw” “at” and “clutching” come to mind. 

And we shall leave it there. Because I’ve just breached the 2,500-word barrier myself and am in danger of resembling those I reprimand. Meanwhile, dear reader you may well have bitten off all your fingernails by now. If you’ve made it this far. 

As for The New Yorker, their approach to covering Russia appears to be inspired by the great Samuel Beckett and his wonderful observation: "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better." Perhaps they'd benefit from following the philosophy of my late grandfather, Paddy, born the same year as the writer, who used to say, spade in hand, "you may as well do a job properly as do it at all." He was right too.