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blccdiedhands asked: “You haven’t slept for days, have you?” (Helena)

She exhaled, letting out of a huff, eyes rolling the SECOND she heard Helena’s voice. One glance up from her desk, buried behind a pile of paperwork. Helena might not have even SEEN the eye roll, but her Mahatmas no doubt had, and passed the message on to her. Not that Olga had ASKED them to, mind you. “Some of us do not get the LUXURY of being a spirit, Blavatsky. I have neither a mark left on the world NOR all the time IN the world to furrow away chasing after megalomaniacal tigers and histrionic blowhards.” Eyes turned back to the pile of paperwork strewn around, dipping her quill in the ink and getting back to it, only to pause again, head tilting bitterly. “And unlike you, I don’t have God on speed dial. Let alone an entire pantheon of them.” Pantheon wasn’t exactly the most ACCURATE term, but it would do. The Mahatmas were largely a collection of Gods under one doctrine, after all. “Perhaps if YOU’D given up your brain for the sake of science, my work would already be done, and I’d be three hours deep into the warmest, snuggest sleep of my career…” She finally relinquished her quill, pushing aside the papers, training her intense gaze upon the intruding spirit. “But THAT didn’t happen now, did it?” A short pause before she added a to the point… “What do you want…?”

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Source

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blccdiedhands asked:"You're drunk. Go to bed." (helena)

“Oh, c’monnnnnnnn….” Droopy head, hazy eyes, words slurring, aimless hand reaching out into the darkness to grab for Helena and pull her into a nice, friendly (not friendly enough) HUG. Cheeks nuzzled together, tiny tits pressed into arm. “’m the Queen of Conn-HIC-t…” Full body weight dropped dead on Helena’s shoulders threatening to tip the poor thing over. “Wazza Celt ta do OTHER than drink?” Was a good question. Beer and conquering other nations were HARD CODED into their very culture. “B’siiiiiiides, am a spirit now. And spirits don’t need ta sleep.” They also didn’t need to DRINK. Helena was so gonna point that out to her, huh? “S’might as well enjoy the rest a’ it.” WHAT DID THAT EVEN MEAN?! “Ya ever drank in yer life, or d’ya just read books for a livin’?”

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blccdiedhands asked: ❛   touch  yourself   &   think  about  me.   ❜ (helena @ medb)

Gritted teeth. Helena always knew just how to SMART Medb. It wasn't as if she didn't WANT to think about Helena while touching herself, oh no, no, no, don't get it twisted. In fact, left to her own devices, Medb would often (ALWAYS) find Helena playing on her mind, pon de la replay, whenever she was alone, or indeed, those increasingly less frequent interludes in which she'd use MEN to get what she wanted. Helena was to blame for those, too. Not that Medb would admit it. Both the one's that still happened -- Nigh exclusively at times of Helena busying herself with OTHER PEOPLE and PISSING MEDB THE FUCK OFF. And the one's that NO LONGER HAPPENED. Those had been entirely a subconscious shift in Medb's personality. A very troubling one at that. And part and parcel the major contributing factor in how Helena PISSED HER OFF. Because, as far as Medb could tell... Helena didn't seem to be feeling the same way.

That had been Medb's FOOLISH MISTAKE. Despite having full knowledge of the near-zero percent chance that she'd ACTUALLY MEAN IT, Medb had found herself increasingly frustrated with the tension that perpetually perpetrated itself between herself and Helena. Like a tightly bound string, threadbare and set to SNAP at any moment. The two were arguing and Medb? Well, her exact words, what were they again? Something along the lines of... "WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO GET YOU TO ACCEPT MY STUPID APOLOGY?!" Yeah. She'd seen that shift in Helena's expression. That mischievous SPARKLE in her eyes. Medb should've known better. See, the entire POINT of fucking herself to Helena ALL ALONE was a PRIDE thing. Helena wasn't to know that Medb's sexuality (& sexual preferences) had been thrown into tumultuous turmoil ever since she and Helena had come face to face once more. (As if she didn't ALREADY know.) She wasn't supposed to ever find out exactly how DEPENDENT & OBSESSED Medb was growing. (Again, as if she didn't already know -- MAHATMA & ALL THAT.) It reminded Medb of her first life with Cu. Only way, way, worse. Cu was but a guy who refused to give Medb the time of day. The ONLY guy that did so. Helena? Well... Helena was the ONLY GIRL that Medb WANTED to give her the time of day... And Helena DID. ...But only on HER terms...

-- "TOUCH YOURSELF AND THINK ABOUT ME." --

-- ...THIS WAS ON HER TERMS... --

"Tsk. You really are a cocky bitch, you know that?" Still she found her clit THROBBING, a rush of arousal aching between her thighs, focusing in on that tiny bundle of burning nerves. The thought of touching herself in front of Helena. Shameful. HUMILIATING as it may have been. The thought of Helena WANTING HER to touch herself... And the explicit permission that Helena wanted, no, DEMANDED, for her to think of her... Heart raced, she bit her lip, letting out a murmur as thighs pinched, breath hot and heavy. FUCK. "They all think I'm the big, bad, evil, bitch. They just haven't slept with YOU yet..." Right hand trembled, fingers itching, bones flexed, fingers arching, curling up, knuckles bone white. "So what? I come while thinking about you, and you'll go with me to ServantFes this year? All sins forgiven?" Probably not ALL. That was asking... A LOT. America. Imprisoning her during Ishtar's race. The time she tried to murder two ten-year-old girls because she wanted to be the most powerful magical girl in all the realms. (Long story. Don't ask.) In fact, almost ALL of Helena's worst memories came from Medb RUINING HER LIFE. Was kind of Medb's hobby. Though, in her defense, she'd say that if Helena didn't WANT to have Medb ruining her life, then maybe she shouldn't have been the best damn sex (and the most genuine fun) Medb had ever had in her life.

(And she definitely shouldn't have abandoned her back when they were magical girls. See? Long story.)

"Okay. but, don't blame me if you can't keep your HANDS to yourself. They don't call it my GOLDEN BODY for nothing~..." She smirked and fell back against Helena's bed, readily peeling away the red jacket, parting her thighs to flash red lace beneath her skirt skirt. Perhaps wearing THIS outfit while asking for forgiveness was also a little... STUPID AS FUCK. But, hey, just because she committed evil atrocities in it, didn't make it any less cute to wear, right? Fingers fell to thighs, tracing up milky, faultless flesh to rub at soaking lips through bright, now dyed dark with lust, red panties. Thighs instinctually parted further of their own accord as she let out a HEAVY BREATH, gasping and raspy, fingers moving up to massage at her panty-clad pussy, thumb brushing over engorged clit through the material. "Define THINK ABOUT YOU. Can I just watch you? Or do I have to close my eyes and use my IMAGINATION~?" Medb wasn't sure which one would best favor her, to be honest. On the one hand, watching Helena would save her ego from actually FANTASIZING ABOUT HER. (Like the pathetic little slut she was.) But at least if she FANTASIZED about her, she'd have an excuse to get VOCAL and maybe, just maybe, drag Helena down to their shared utopic oblivion. Hand reached up, pushing aside her red bra to cup at her perky tit, pinching at her sore and aching nipple, pinching hard, twisting and pulling, nails threatening to SCRAPE, SCRATCH & CUT. And she cooed out, gentle and whimpery, right fingertips now circling her clit in tight, fast, strokes. Moans began to spill, long and sing-song.

"Mmmh. Mmmhhh... Mmmhhh... God you're such a... Nnghh... Bitch... Better hope no one comes in and finds you getting off to me~..."

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blccdiedhands asked: ❝  wait,  stop you’re bleeding.  ❞ (marie)

This was WAR. Though, not for the first time in Jeanne d'Arc's many lives. Part of her always feared things would end up going the same way as the FIRST -- BEING BURNED ALIVE BY THE PEOPLE SHE'D FOUGHT SO HARD TO PROTECT... In many ways, she was so sure she'd ACCEPTED her fate. Accepted that she'd die as many times as she needed. Be burned as many times as it took. To keep France safe. So why... Why was SHE the one BURNING IT TO THE GROUND...? She didn't have TIME to rest, to think, to stop, to cry-- "What?" Words snapped her out of a sad reverie and her gaze turned to Marie then down to her armor... Sure enough... Blood seeped between plate mail, one of their blades must have slipped through the plate, right between her ribs. Now that Marie pointed it out... IT HURT... "Oh... You're right... It's okay..." Blood was blood. Better it spill from her than anyone else. "You don't have to worry so much, Marie. We can't afford to stop. Seig needs another Saint. And we NEED to stop Jea--... We need to win this war. For Orleans, France, and... The entire history of mankind..." Heart stopped, something TWISTED UP in her rib cage and gut. How did they end up like this? "Besides, it's better this way. I'm a knight. A Knight of Orleans." She was never truly a knight. That's why they killed her. "It's my job to bleed. And it's your job to live..."

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@blccdiedhands asked: ❝  you don’t understand.  i need you safe.  not because i don’t think you can handle yourself but because i can’t focus on anything else if there’s even the smallest possibility you’re in danger.  ❞ (david)

Step forward, one hand on his spear, the other being... CAUGHT by David... He stopped in his tracks. Kind of had to. David wasn't a strong guy. Or a big guy. Achilles was likely to drag the poor thing to ground if he took another step without even trying. Head turned, gaze shifting back to the once-king-of-Israel. And in the next few moments, he found himself briefly, briefly, stunned to silence... "Hm?" He smiled and let out a single laugh, head dipping. "Hahah. You know I'm the hero of the Iliad, right? Not being safe is kind of my thing..." He gave David's hand a more sincere SQUEEZE BACK. "Besides, you're gonna hate me for saying this. But I can be a pretty stubborn guy. When I wanna protect someone, I protect them. And right now? The guy trying to kill you is a guy I happen to EXCEL in killing." HEKTOR. "And the rest are MY PEOPLE." JASON, SPARTACUS & MEDEA. But he trailed off. There was something about David's gaze, so stern and certain, that grip on Achilles' hand. Maybe Achilles COULDN'T pull him along quite as easily as he'd previously mused. "You're right, I don't understand." Achilles was a man of many skills, kills, adventures, stories, legends, and victories. He wasn't exactly used to people CARING about him. Killing him? YES. Caring about him? ...Don't be stupid... "You said you can't focus, right? Now what exactly is THAT supposed to mean?"

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@blccdiedhands asked: ❝  just give the word and i’ll kill every one of them.  ❞ (robin)

BLINK. BLINK. BLINK. "Huh?" Why was his heart skipping a beat? Oh, why did he even CARE? He smiled and gave Robin a pat on the back. "I didn't say I wanted them DEAD, silly..." Voice picked up, dancing on a delicate tune before catching an off-key note and faltering slightly. "Heheh. You're always so seriously." Step forward, bounding before Robin, turning on his heel and throwing his arms behind his head. "I'm fine. I'm fiiiine." He wasn't fine. "You know what it's like. Holy Grail Wars. Masters. Homunculii. We do as we're told. If that means being used, abused, raped and killed, well..." He shrugged with a kind of hum, intoned with an I DON'T KNOW. & He really didn't. If anything, he kind of DESERVED anything that came his way. At least, according to the rules of a Holy Grail War. He was a traitor, after all, no?

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@blccdiedhands asked: ❝  i love you just like this.  i love you when you touch me gently like no one else ever has.  and i love you when your hands are bloody and your knuckles are bruised. ❞ (tomoe)

What was this life? What was the MEANING of this life? Sometimes Hyunwoo wondered. A LOT of the time, Hyunwoo wondered… Surely, there was a time in his life when Hyunwoo felt… NORMAL… When his life wasn’t… THIS… Tomoe Enjou wasn’t the ONLY ONE Soren Araya had trapped in an endless loop… If only the people knew just how deep his machinations ran… How many times had he killed himself? How many times had SHE killed him? How many times had he watched HER die? By HER hands? He was just a punk. No one could love a punk. Hyunwoo truly believed that. Truly believed that his life had no meaning. That he himself had no one to care for, and no one who cared for him in turn… Oh, how quickly such a thing could change… How quickly ONE PERSON’S LOVE, or, no, perhaps not even their love… How quickly ONE PERSON’S PASSION -- Passion for the PEOPLE he was so SURE he loved… How quickly that could change one’s perspective… There remained still much to be said, between Tomoe Enjou and Jang Hyunwoo. Much they themselves had not yet said. Everyone had their story. Everyone had their secrets. Hyunwoo supposed. Still, to him, it didn’t matter. Because no matter the particulars of Hyunwoo & Enjou’s individual suffering. Here they were… TOGETHER…

Hyunwoo hadn’t asked what Enjou was running from. And Enjou hadn’t asked where Hyunwoo kept going. At least not yet. Hyunwoo honestly FEARED that day. And he had a feeling Enjou did, too… Some questions were better left unasked. It had been another day in the eternal life of Hyunwoo. Fifteen minutes ago, he had BEATEN SOMEONE TO DEATH. He’d been declared the victor. THE SOLE SURVIVOR. But he knew better. There was no surviving this game of immortal souls. Even death served no escape. Trust him. He knew. All he could do was stumble home and sleep. Only to wake up to the likes of Jackie, Magnus and Rosalio alive once more and OUT FOR HIS BLOOD. (They were always a petty bunch…) It had been like that for so long. So long, he had honestly forgotten what it was like to live his life any differently. And then HE showed up. Or, well, honestly, ran FACE FIRST into Hyunwoo. And now here they were. Hyunwoo stumbling home  from “work” covered in blood, the blood of the dead, dripping from bruised and blistered fists, cuts littering his body that would suddenly be healed by the morning light. And Enjou…? ENJOU…

“I love you, just like this.  I love you when you touch me gently like no one else ever has. And I love you when your hands are bloody and your knuckles are bruised… And…”

Hyunwoo’s heart skipped a beat. The first emotion he’d felt other than FEAR since he woke up with this fucking THING in his arm. And he felt sick to his stomach. Not because of Enjou’s words. But because of who he had become. Who Enjou was speaking such soft words to… He fell into bed behind him, bloodied, trembling fingers slipping beneath his shirt, drawing patterns of red on the other boy’s stomach. Other hand propping up his own head. He was SOAKING WET, TOO. Right. It had been raining tonight… Hadn’t it? “You shouldn’t trust people so easily. At least not… People like me…” Did Enjou trust people? No. At least, Hyunwoo didn’t THINK he did… Which made him turning his back to a man he knew came home drenched in blood even weirder… “You know my father’s a murderer, right?” Was he? Hyunwoo honestly didn’t know. But of all the memories taken from him, it had been the look of HORROR on his mother’s face whenever she looked at him that had managed to stick. Maybe there was a criminal gene after all. He was a criminal, too, wasn’t he? A MURDERER. -- JUST LIKE HIS FATHER... “Heh. You’ve got a strange definition of gentle, Tomoe Enjou…” In truth, they were the same, in more ways than they knew. LOVE? He hadn’t heard that word in a really, really, long time. Had he ever heard it before Tomoe? He wished he knew. But he had a feeling that was another question better left unasked. “I love you, too, Tomoe Enjou. Just like this…”

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@blccdiedhands asked:[ STEADY ] for sender to catch or steady receiver when receiver tries to stand up too early or to push their body past what it’s ready for (shiki out of instinct not care)

It hurt. It hurt. It. Hurt. But she had to grin and bear it. No matter what Keita had done to her. She wasn’t even SURE. He’d stabbed her. That was it. But weren’t such wounds supposed to HEAL? Wasn’t such pain supposed to PASS? -- WHY WASN’T IT PASSING?! Why did she hurt…? Why did it hurt SO. GOD. DAMN. MUCH. Hand reached to cradle her stomach nails DIGGING INTO flesh as if trying to rip the knife back out. She shuddered. She SHOOK. Muscles spasmed and convulsed as she TREMBLED. She needed to get away from here. She couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. TOO PUBLIC. And then there was Azaka to worry about. Besides, something told her SHE wasn’t about to let ANYTHING happen tonight. Gaze flickered across to the empty, soulless, nauseating look of Ryougi Shiki. How could she stand there like that? Judging her? As if she was somehow BETTER than her. She wasn't better. She was worse in EVERY LAST WAY. So. Much. Blood. There was so much blood on HER hands… Blood spilled from people Shiki didn't care. People Shiki didn't see as PEOPLE.

SHE SICKENED HER.

“I need some air…” Fingertips dug DEEPER in her stomach as she tried to push herself to her feet, reaching for her coat before her foot slipped, ankling rolling, shoving away the table DRAMATICALLY before-- WARMTH. Weight. SOMEONE caught her. No, not just someone… She quivered briefly. Was that in pain? Fear? Or… SOMETHING ELSE? She didn’t exactly understand anymore. Same gaze shifted, corrected itself, head turning to see--... “SHIKI!?” She tried to pull away, to shove the older woman back. “I don’t need your--...” Words cut off as her ankle struggled to bear her weight again, and she almost collapsed-- Somehow really needed to thank God that Shiki was holding her up. Azaka Kokutou more than likely. Because Lord knew Fujino never would. “I’m fine. I just need to get home. And…” She needed to find Keita… She needed to KILL HIM.

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blccdiedhands asked: [ 📲 sms: ]  surprise! i got you flowers: 💐 (helena)

Caitlyn had been trapped here for FAR. TOO. LONG. From the moment Helena Blavatsky had been granted passage by the Mahatma, like a theosophical parting of the Red Sea, The Clock Tower had known that it would be an inevitability, A MERE MATTER OF TIME, until the woman was reborn as a HEROIC SPIRIT. The likes of Blackbeard and Gilles de Rais had been accepted into the Throne of Heroes for FAR LESS, after all. And Helena's truth far outweighed even the greatest of scientific understandings of the inner workings of the known universe. Knowing this, it had been equally inevitable, nigh almost immediate, for The Mage's Association to maintain vigil for that coming day. For three generations now, the best of the best had been chosen, HANDPICKED, for this purpose. Caitlyn was the fourth. And after ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY LONG YEARS... Here she was... In truth, Caitlyn was the only real remaining presence of The Clock Tower in Chaldea. Not that Olga Marie or Roman realized as much. They'd been abandoned under the watchful eyes of Caitlyn Kiramman. And in that abandonment? Caitlyn had seen Chaldea THRIVE. ...And then she'd seen it DIE. ...And now here they were. Fighting for survival with Helena Blavatsky... To call what happened next... COMPLICATED... Would be an understatement...

( sms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky ) Did I ever tell you what happened to the last bouquet of flowers someone sent me? ( sms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky ) Though I suppose since they're digital, it hardly matters. ( sms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky ) So are they a peace offering? ( sms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky ) Or...?

In truth, she worried that they meant something MORE. Complicated was right. And Caitlyn Kiramman did NOT have the mental faculties right now to figure out what happened next if she and Helena went the way of Helena and Holmes. A second fugitive to Scotland Yard? She'd be a DISGRACE to The Clock Tower. She'd kept her distance for a reason... Though, the fact she was even ASKING such questions to begin with was worrisome...

( sms. Helena Petrovna Blavatsky ) You know, technically, you're not even supposed to HAVE this number...

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blccdiedhands asked:"I figured better for you to hate me than to face whatever was coming." (robin)

“Umu?” Brow raised, eccentrics of the young, budding, and already legendarily adored actor, utterly belying the GRATING FEELING in her stomach and chest. Did Robin really just say that? That it’d be better to be HATED than to SUFFER? “I don’t get it? There’s nothing WORSE than being hated. And as Emperor of the Once & Always Glorious Rome, I love ALL my subjects with all my heart. Even the ones responsible for my assassination.” Was that ENTIRELY TRUE? Edmond Dantes would likely suggest otherwise, but the real question was: DID NERO CARE? OF COURSE NOT. “Would you rather hate me and have me face the PERILS OF THIS GREAT ADVENTURE all on my lonesome? No! Of course, you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t leave me all alone to suffer and die without knowing TRUE LOVE. That would be so cruel. And heartless. And heartless. And cruel.” The hastiness with which she answered her own question suggested she wasn’t half as confident in this spiel as she let on. “So why would you ever CHOOSE to go through something as horrible as that yourself? You really are such a weirdo…” Shake of her head and she sighed before wrapping one arm around Robin’s shoulders, pulling him into her bosom. “What’s a few bouts of suicide inducing torture and several more horrifying deaths between lovers, hmm?” They were NOT lovers, but that didn’t stop Nero from acting like they were. All theatrics, that girl. “The stories they will write about us shall be MAGNIFICENT.”

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blccdiedhands asked:"As angry as you are right now, I think you'd regret adding another death to your tally today." (helena)

TREMBLING. JEANNE WAS TREMBLING. Sword in hand, towering over the WHIMPERING FOOL. Gilles de Rais was not, somehow, Jeanne Alter’s worst enemy or nightmare. No. He was just a fucking psycho that had brought her into existence. But that didn’t mean she was going to just sit IDLY BY while he tried to parade around her life like he still MATTERED AT ALL. And she damn sure wasn’t going to sit by while this SICK. FUCK. Commented on the puerile innocence of her SANTA LILY COUNTERPART. Soon as the words left his mouth, and that perverted gaze shifted across to the one good thing about Jeanne Alter’s putrid existence, the elder version of herself snapped. Was damn LUCKY she hadn’t burned the entirety of Chaldea to the ground. Helena’s words echoed in her head. Reminding her that there still remained OTHER good things, too. Not about Jeanne herself, but AROUND Jeanne. Good people. BETTER people. “Bastard deserves it.” Still, there was a slight hesitation in her voice. “You know who he is. You know what he’s like.” But did that have ANYTHING to do with it? Helena’s words had nothing to do with whether Gilles deserved to die. But whether Jeanne Alter TRULY wanted to kill. Besides, they had no choice. The Master AND the Throne of Heroes had seemingly decided. For better or worse. Gilles de Rais was part of their twisted, fucked up family. Though what good purpose he could serve was BEYOND Jeanne. But then again… What good purpose did JEANNE HERSELF serve? Another tremble. “The bastard lives. But let me get three things straight. One. If he EVER looks at Jeanne Lily like that again, I WILL gut him. Two. YOU are my new distraction, Hel. And three. You owe me a fucking drink.” Sword clattered to the floor. No, it hadn’t actually been hers. Uhh… WHOSE was it again? She was sure someone would figure it out.

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JEALOUSY. That’s what it all came down to. JEALOUSY. How could Olga Marie Animusphere. THE OLGA MARIE ANIMUSPHERE. The grand progeny of the late, great, celebrated and universe altering Marisbury Animusphere. Possibly hold her head up high, so trapped as she was in this endless position of DEPENDENCY on lesser Masters and said Master’s Servants to accomplish any single one of her own goals in life? Where was her fight? Her strive? Her AMBITION. Why the Hell was she so damn gifted with an EX level circuit, only to be hamstrung and limited to an E grade aptitude to actually USE IT. Was embarrassing. SHE was an EMBARRASSMENT. And that had been exactly why, once her father had passed away, the Clocktower had all but given up on her father’s research. After all, who else could POSSIBLY bring his vision of Chaldea, Sheba, Trismegistus, Laplace, and the FATE system into reality? But Olga Marie had been STUBBORN, exactly stubborn enough to become an even greater LAUGHINGSTOCK in the eyes of the great families than she already HAD been. Her? The girl who couldn’t even summon a servant to save her life? The false master? A woman with all the potential in the world only to hit rock bottom ground zero in terms of ACTUAL ABILITY? SHE was going to save her father’s long-lost project? She got their permission, but only to allow them to BANISH HER from the Clocktower, to stuff her away on a frozen mountain with no way back down, like some kind of DIRTY LITTLE SECRET. It had been YEARS since she’d seen inside the walls of London’s Museum. And she supposed she might never get the chance now.

It was in this stage of vulnerability and insecurity that Olga Marie Asmleit Animusphere had come into contact with Helena Petrovna Blavatsky. Perhaps also known as one of the Mage Association's GREATEST failures. Helena had the rare ability to commune with the Gods Themselves. Mahatmas. As she so dutifully and unflinchingly called them. And she had the magical attunement to match. In short? She was everything Olga Marie NEEDED to be in order to bring her father’s dreams into reality. And wasn’t that just ironic? Because the Mage Association, despite their best efforts to use propaganda to publicly smear and defile Helena’s new Theosophic religion, proceeded to hunt Helena for the rest of her life. Not to silence or imprison or kill her, no. They weren’t hunting her to make an example out of a FALSE IDOL. No. No. No. Don’t get it twisted. See, for all their propaganda, The Clock Tower had been chasing down Helena from the moment she published that little book of hers. The Secret Doctrine… Not for the lies held within, but for the secret truths it represented. -- “It is most remarkable that, while confessing their entire ignorance of the true Nature of even terrestrial matter--primordial substance being regarded more as a dream than as a sober reality--the physicists should set themselves up as judges, nevertheless, of that matter, and claim to know what it is able and is not able to do, in various combinations.” -- Olga Marie had that quote memorized. After all, it had been that quote that made her father believe. Believe that Helena’s voice was not some cheap grab for attention. Her tongue spoke no lies. But rather, served as a medium for which these unknowable Gods of the cosmos had begun to make themselves known. Helena Blavatsky was no false idol, but in fact a PROPHET, echoing a reminder of the kind of philosophies so practiced by those of the Hindu and Buddhist faiths in the Eastern World, so entirely FORGOTTEN to the Western World amid their so-called AGE OF ENLIGHTENMENT. 

Born twenty-nine years on from the Age of Enlightenment, it had been Friedrich Nietzsche who so boldly claimed that God was dead, and that humanity had killed Him. And it had been Friedrich Nietzsche who had so boldly pushed humanity, celebrated or otherwise, regardless of Hitler’s bastardizations of his wisdom and philosophies, it had been him who placed the future of this once and ever great world into the hands of Humanity itself. Who so told us we had the ABILITY & MEANS & TECHNOLOGY within and of ourselves to ensure the continued evolution, growth and survival of humanity, in direct opposition to whatever great plans God may just have had for our fleeting and transient existence. But before that? Born SIXTEEN YEARS after the Age of Enlightenment, it had been Helena Blavatsky that had challenged humanity’s rejection of the Gods, and criticized their emboldening of science and technology. The two would neither realize it nor be recognized for it. They would maintain a worldly distance and ideas on opposing ends of wildly radical extremities, but it had been in those thirty years of writing, in the books of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, The Secret Doctrine, Beyond Good And Evil, and The Key To Theosophy. These contradictory and challenging ideals would serve as the basis of the world, of Olga Marie’s very own father and grandfather’s theories, a union of technology and religion as Marisbury thought to forge himself into somewhat of a MAHATMA OF HIS OWN. All seeing, all knowing, and all encompassing, stealing the fate of the World from the Gods and robbing humanity of the means to tamper and sabotage it with their piteously selfish technology. Indeed, it was in marrying these two extreme ideals that Chaldea had been born. For those within the Mage’s Association, within THE CLOCK TOWER, it had come to no surprise, then, that such an extravagant effort had been made to track down Helena, and regardless of her own will and wants on the matter, turn her from a medium of the Mahatmas to a DIRECT LINE OF NON-NEGOTIABLE COMMUNICATION TO THE MAHATMAS THEMSELVES. 

This was The Clock Tower’s greatest mistake or, perhaps, their most fortunate. For it was in the Mahatmas very own intervention, prevention of Humanity to seize Helena’s person, that UNSPOKEN BELIEF grew into IRREFUTABLE KNOWLEDGE. The Mahatmas were real. Gods, and the souls of the Earth and Stars and Space, the rippling knowledge outward into the far reaches of the entity known as the Universe. And if all could be known, then it could also be read, learned, understood. And THIS was the basis of Olga’s father’s research. In truth? Maybe, just maybe, Helena Petrovna Blavatsky was not only everything Olga’s father WISHED her to be… But everything Olga’s father NEEDED her to be… And that, right there, would prove to be the ultimate source of all of Olga Marie’s envy and scorn. To know that the Throne of Heroes had CHOSEN and UPLIFTED and IMMORTALIZED Helena Blavatsky, all the proof in the world of the purpose Helena served to the continued determination of this world's Earthen destiny. And to have her summoned indiscriminately to quell a divide of GODLY MAJESTY from the Celts of ancient myth and the one nation who had turned the advancement of technology into an immovable art form? AMERICA. History really was repeating itself. And now Olga Marie needed Helena Blavatsky more than her father ever did. Because without her? Without her, Olga Marie knew nothing at all. Or at least, not half as much as she so claimed. After all, Lev Lainur could have NEVER betrayed Helena Blavatsky, the same way he had betrayed Olga Marie. It was almost karma, in a sense, that Olga Marie would spend so long entrapped within the unending infernal hellscape of the very apocalypse she and her father and The Clock Tower had so sought to cut open Helena’s own brain to prevent. Even knowing it would, in turn, require them to doom Helena to an agonizing eternal Hell of her very own, trapped in a perpetual state of HELPLESS CONSCIOUSNESS looking out at the world from the inside of a GLASS JAR. 

        (THEY REALLY DESERVED EVERYTHING THEY HAD COMING TO THEM.)

“You’re a caster, writer, philosopher, self-professed genius, and speaker to the Gods Themselves, yet you can’t figure out that it DOESN’T MATTER whether you’re standing in my doorway or my shadow, you’re still holding up my work.” A pinch of the bridge of her nose and she ran a hand through silver hair, glancing across to the TINY SERVANT. (Seriously, she was ELEVEN when she surpassed Helena’s current height.) “Or maybe you DO know it. And you just don’t care. Don’t tell me the Mahatmas told you to do this…” It was a POSSIBILITY. Honestly, interrupting Olga Marie’s work was one of the FEW ways to get her attention. It often came with a big risk of PISSING HER OFF & PAINTING A TARGET ON ONE’S BACK. But then, Helena had always been in her family’s crosshairs from the moment she started espousing the wisdom of the Mahatmas. So Olga Marie supposed it REALLY didn’t matter. Besides, if there was one woman she felt a begrudging necessity to respect, it WAS Helena. If that wasn’t already clear from the vortex of thoughts driving her to want to chase the bottom of a bottle like her father did in his dying years. She let out a sigh and reached for the bottom draw of her desk, tiny bottles of whiskey CLINKING as she swiped one and poured it into her coffee before taking a sip. She HATED whiskey. She was a brandy woman through and through. But her father didn’t. And he wasn’t a man for brandy, either. Face twisted at the cutting bite of her spirit infused caffeine burning down her throat. 

“Oh? I didn’t know you were such a fan of my work. An INDELIBLE mark, you say? Is that a GOOD THING or a BAD THING?” Considering she’d already spent some months being INCINERATED AD INFINITUM by the very person who had supported that very mark on history so effusively through the years… She wasn’t so sure anymore… Still, it meant far more than she ever thought it would to hear THOSE WORDS from HELENA PETROVNA BLAVATSKY… She’d been measuring herself up to the woman (failing to measure up to the woman) for the better part of FIFTEEN YEARS. And she was only TWENTY-THREE. “Yes, well, lion or tiger, I’m just glad Heroic Spirits can’t contract LICE. Last thing we need is an Edison-sized flea infestation.” Still, she exhaled in amusement, lips tugging at the corner as if feeling a weight shift, if only ever so noticeably. “I notice you didn’t correct my assessment of Tesla.” So she DID know both of their names. Honestly, that surprised even Olga herself. “Faith? Now there’s an idea. I could deny it. Tell you I’m doing NO SUCH THING. But what would be the point? Your faith has earned you a seat in the THRONE OF HEROES.” She sighed again and took another sip of her now-spiked coffee. “And mine earned me the life experience of being BURNED UNDER THE LIGHT OF A MILLION EXCALIBURS.” -- MILLIONS, PLURAL, ACTUALLY… -- “It doesn’t matter what I, nor my father, nor the Mage Association believe… At least… NOT ANYMORE.” Which was kind of ironic, when she got to thinking about it. Maybe if Olga Marie or her father or those hunting Helena back in life had the humility and honor to merely ADMIT that the woman had a greater understanding of the inner workings of the EARTH & UNIVERSE ITSELF, maybe the path they could’ve trail blazed as a result would have led them to a better place than THIS. -- ANYTHING HAD TO BE BETTER THAN THIS… 

Raise of her brow as Helena replied with a surprising jovial mirth. She supposed it really was true. Whether she knew everything, or the Throne of Heroes itself had bestowed ageless knowledge, wisdom, patience and forgiveness upon the Heroic Spirits serving under its eternal conscience, Helena, along with the masses of BETRAYED, ASSASSINATED, DEFRAUDED, SABOTAGED, HUNTED, USED, ABUSED, FORGOTTEN & MARTYRED HEROIC SPIRITS continued to be reborn with a human ethicality unattainable to the likes of Olga Marie. She was far too envious, prideful and full of petty anger and spiteful resentments to ever strive for the greater good that followed in the historical wakes of the likes of Helena. Clack of boots across clinical marble as Helena let herself in ABSENT INVITATION. Though, Olga Marie couldn’t exactly call her on it. She HAD just bitched her out for NOT doing so. Though, the implication had been for Helena to simply LEAVE. “And you call them Gods?” Another raise of her brow, another sip of coffee, fingers running the rim of her coffee cup. “They must REALLY hate me…” Shake of her head and eyes just… STARED OFF INTO SPACE… Aimless, voidless… HOPELESS. “Tell me… Do you believe a word Solomon says? Is Chaldea at least on the right path? Or do your Gods have their own plans for our tempestuous existence?” A question that may have been exposing Olga Marie’s wavering faith. Helena Blavatsky was HERE after all, WAS SHE NOT? Paperwork had been ALL BUT FORGOTTEN until Helena drew her attention back to it. Blink. Blink. Blink. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, I…” Bite of her lip and she swallowed hard, hands already working to split her papers in half subconsciously even as she stopped to ask. “...Why are you doing this? I’d never have done this for you if the tables were turned…”

blccdiedhands asked: “You haven’t slept for days, have you?” (Helena)

She exhaled, letting out of a huff, eyes rolling the SECOND she heard Helena’s voice. One glance up from her desk, buried behind a pile of paperwork. Helena might not have even SEEN the eye roll, but her Mahatmas no doubt had, and passed the message on to her. Not that Olga had ASKED them to, mind you. “Some of us do not get the LUXURY of being a spirit, Blavatsky. I have neither a mark left on the world NOR all the time IN the world to furrow away chasing after megalomaniacal tigers and histrionic blowhards.” Eyes turned back to the pile of paperwork strewn around, dipping her quill in the ink and getting back to it, only to pause again, head tilting bitterly. “And unlike you, I don’t have God on speed dial. Let alone an entire pantheon of them.” Pantheon wasn’t exactly the most ACCURATE term, but it would do. The Mahatmas were largely a collection of Gods under one doctrine, after all. “Perhaps if YOU’D given up your brain for the sake of science, my work would already be done, and I’d be three hours deep into the warmest, snuggest sleep of my career…” She finally relinquished her quill, pushing aside the papers, training her intense gaze upon the intruding spirit. “But THAT didn’t happen now, did it?” A short pause before she added a to the point… “What do you want…?”