#I guess that's probably the point of cosy crime?

[celestial-tapir]

I try to be open-minded with reading as in all things, never disdain a genre, give it a try, but I am nonetheless somewhat begrudged to admit that I don't mind the cosy crime book I'm currently reading

[scoobydoodean]

dean would be the most dedicated boyfriend/husband & i hate the way people talk about him like he’s a player who could “never settle down”.. please he just needs a moment of affection 🥲

People love to rewrite literally every single fucking thing that happened with the Braedens into various made up stories passed on as fact, but when Dean was with the Braedens, he treated Ben like a son. He taught him how to work on cars. He cooked Lisa and Ben breakfast every morning. He contributed to the household. They specifically wrote a scene where a pretty waitress passed her number to Dean while he was out with a neighbor and Dean disposed of it without a second thought (6.01). He didn't leave the Braedens so he could go fuck someone else. He left because his presence put Lisa and Ben in danger and then soulless Sam (who had ulterior motives) convinced him he was going to ruin their lives and probably get them murdered and his PTSD went haywire and 6.01, 6.02, 6.05, and finally 6.21 reinforced all his fears about them being hurt because of The Curse Of Loving Dean Winchester, and it left him feeling so upset and scared of them being hurt that he thought it was better for their safety if he cut ties.

Long before all that, Dean was so in love with Cassie that he told her about hunting after just a couple of months and then he was heartbroken when she rejected him and he was willing to be vulnerable enough to tell her so directly. The idea of Dean as some kind of suave playboy who could never settle down because he likes to fuck and suck too much is just ???? Like quite arguably, Dean seeks out casual sex as a substitute for the affection he wishes he could share with a life partner, but liking sex and having casual hookups isn't a crime and doesn't preclude a person from being interested in a long-term relationship and/or a stable home (something we know Dean was actively aching for at various points from episodes like 1.13, 2.20, 3.10, 5.12, 5.17). It was that he felt he couldn't have those things because of the circumstances of his life, and the narrative repeatedly reinforced that belief, and Dean eventually settled into peace with the fact that he has a family anyway despite everything!! It just isn't a traditional family. And he also gets a stable home and his own room!!! It's just underground and warded so he feels safe and cosy. People not recognizing that Dean DOES have a family and a home carry the same confusion as John in 14.13 (who also—btw—always knew that Dean wanted a home THE MOST).

JOHN My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you – you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you. I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would… get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family. DEAN I have a family.

HE HAS A FAMILY. It just isn't the traditional family!!! And Dean is very loyal to that family and he takes care of that family he is the hearth of the house!!!

[secret-rendezvous1d]

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

hi, hello!

this is a part two to my spencer reid imagine ‘you owe me’, which is linked here, which hit well with a lot of people and this part was requested by a few of you who wanted to see where the next part would go. smut isn’t necessarily my strong suit and i deeply apologise for the horrific scenes you are about to read; i’m working on it, i promise. i guess we’ll still have to see where it goes. i tried to make it as good as possible, it probably seems like a fail (which i’d completely agree with), because smut is not my strong suit when it comes to writing and i do try my best but i can’t reassure it’ll always be good but i wanted to get a part out that people wanted and it felt like a good time to post it.

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

-

“you have no idea what you do to me” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 3.0k

summary; after they were interrupted, yn’s still horny and spencer enjoys teasing her after they arrive in another state for a new case.

-

As soon as YN stepped foot on the jet, ready for take off that took them off to the next kind of case they were investigating, nerves always managed to fill her stomach.

She wasn’t a nervous flyer; absolutely not, given the number of times the team had to fly to and from state capitals in a month to get to murder scenes and towns hit with sudden attacks from killers where the police chiefs had called with a need for their behavioural analytical help. The nerves that appeared and fluttered round her stomach in the form of butterflies came from the unexpected and the feeling of the unknown. In a meeting before they board the jet, which was held by a brightly spirited Garcia who had no reason to be as energeticas she was so early in the mornings, they were only given small snippets about a crime scene - the typical information like the victims names and whether they were in cahoots with another victim or unrelated to, say the least - and images of the victim in such horrific situations that you really didn't need to imagine anything because it was all there in print, and the name of a potential unsub they were asked to check out by higher authority. That was all. There was no expectations as to what they would see upon their first viewing nor were there any expectations about how they would feel upon arriving at a dump site or the ground someone had died upon.

This time around, she was full of all kinds of emotions. The typical amount of butterfly flutters that she was used to, the strange feeling of excitement for working on a new case that got them chaotically running around and using their brains for the good, a feeling of anticipation because she wanted to be there as quickly as possible so they could solve it as soon as they gathered all of the correct information but, deep down, there was some kind of frustration sitting deep in the bottom of her belly, that had been sat there ever since they stepped foot out of their front door just hours ago, because she couldn’t finish what she had started with Reid before they were called in.

As soon as the pilot had them at cruising level, hitting an altitude where they were then allowed to move about the aircraft, YN had moved from her place opposite Spencer, who had chosen to seat himself at the other end of the plane with his book and his case file set on the table before him, and found her way to the soft comfort of his lap. The blanket, that came with the jet (which she was sure Garcia had knitted because it was such a Penelope thing to do for her colleagues) and have been folded on her lap for the duration of take-off, was know draped over their legs and keeping them warm from the chilly atmosphere of the jet. His leather bag tucked under his chair and out of the way of tripping anyone up, her bag left behind on her seat but she didn’t care who moved it if they wanted to sit down because it wasn’t there to occupy it as hers, his phone was sat on the table beside the brown envelope whilst hers stayed in her bag because she had no reason to be contacted, and they felt like they were in their own world.

“I know we interrupted whatever you two were doing back home but,” Morgan sat opposite the two of them, moving YN’s bag to the floor beneath the table so he could perch down comfortable and lean back, looking at how they were all cosy and cuddled up in the singular chair toward the back end of the private jet with the woven blanket covering their laps, “you reckon you could pop the bubble you’re both in and, you know, include yourselves in the conversation we’re about to have on the case?”

“I didn’t know you were the jealous type, Derek,” YN teased, a laugh leaving her mouth when she saw him roll his eyes and fold his arms over his chest in disbelief, a grin on his face. Her body shuddering and jostling Spencer’s body beneath her as she let out a bellowing laugh, “alright, fine, mister Morgan. I’m going to go and catch up.”

She squeezed Spencer’s knee before she moved and stood to her feet, a little uneasy with the flight path being a rather bumpy one this time around, taking the woven blanket with her and taking the comfort from Spencer. Wrapping it tight around her shoulders, like she was wearing a cape, and letting it drag across the floor behind her as she took scuffed steps down the alley and perched down on the sofa beside Emily.

“You don’t hide it well, you know? Neither of you,” Morgan said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stayed focused on Spencer’s face whose eyes were locked on the woman who had just left the warmth of his lap, the corners of his lips twitching a smile that he didn’t want anyone to see, adjusting his seated position so he could reach forward and grab the brown envelope holding the case information. Trying to ignore having the conversation, that seemed to hint and fish for details in his personal life that he didn’t wish to share, that Morgan seemingly wanted to have and hold in such a tight confinement. “YN never wears scarves because we’re usually going somewhere warm. And she’d have taken it off by now, and she definitely wouldn’t wear one with a blanket because she gots warm so easily, so she’s definitely hiding something from us. And you, Reid, anyone who isn’t a profiler can see that something happened before we all got called in and we all know what that something was.”

“What?”

Spencer tried to fix his face into a look of curiosity but… he just couldn’t. What was the point in hiding the truth when his friends knew him inside and out?

“You were about to hit home base and Hotch just had to be the cockblock,” he snorted, Spencer’s eyes never lifting from the page he was reading; and, for someone that could read 20,000 words a minute, he sure took a look time to read whatever was written on the page between his fingers. And, as much as he tried to hide the burning in his cheeks by ducking his head down to his chest and using the paper to cover half of his face, Derek could still see the pink hot-flush taking over his face. “I think that blush says I’m right. Play on, playa. Am I right?”

“I didn’t come to work to be profiled, Morgan,” Spencer stated, a stern voice dripping from his tongue but, to Derek, he could hear Spencer’s well hidden sense of humour begging to make an appearance; he’d been sussed so dodging the conversation was all he could try and do and Morgan wasn’t about to let that happen, “I advise you not to profile me because I can profile you ten times better. Now, are you going to fill me in on the case? Where who is going after we land, etcetera, etcetera?”

Derek smirked in accomplishment and pushed himself up from his seat, turning his back on Spencer as he carried on reading over the case file, walking towards the back of the plane to grab himself a bottle of water to quench his thirst and to click the coffee-maker on so everyone could have a coffee to wake themselves up. He squeezed YN’s shoulder on his way passed her and made her shyly look at him and smile; it wasn’t like the chat he had with Spencer was quiet enough not to be heard..

“Hotch is keeping you two separated,” JJ spoke from her seat amongst the seat of four near the middle of the plane, much to Hotch’s dismay because all eyes were now on him as they awaited why he had chosen to separate the two people who worked fairly well together when they were ordered to, surprisingly for them because of the distractions that could possibly keep them from , “you have a hotel room though. You can do all the catching up there, if you get what I mean.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at YN and YN just wanted the floor of the plane to swallow her whole so she could escape the embarrassment.

“We’ll all head to the hotel tonight, we’ll get some sleep, hopefully wake up with fresh heads and then we’ll head to the station before we assign roles on what we do,” Hotch said, reassurance in his voice, and YN was thankful he spoke up before the conversation went down a route she hadn’t planned to be involved with. She glanced at Spencer, who tried to suffice the smirk that was begging to show on his face, and she swore she could have taken strides down the alley of the plane to swipe him across the back of the head. “Phones on though. Anything can happen through the night and we might get called in.”

+

YN had never felt happier to be between the four walls of a hotel room.

There was something about being on a plane, sitting and sweating in the same seat and barely moving for hours, that made her always want to freshen up at any given chance. And any given chance she would take. Even if it was a tiny airport cubicle, which was one of four in a row and smelt appallingly like they had been cleaned for days, and she had nothing but toilet paper and wipes and sanitiser and a little spritz of deodorant from her handbag to work with, it was still a chance she would take it.

As soon as they’d said their goodbyes to the team and found that they had drawn the short straw on sharing an adjoining room with someone from the team, aggravatingly, they settled in for the night and went about their business like they normally would when staying overnight on a case. Trying to forget that they could be walked in on, at any point, from Rossi who had politely offered to take the room because the looks on everyone’s faces told him they were skeptical after catching hints from the gossiping mouth of Derek Morgan. Spencer disappeared for a quick shower whilst YN hung her blouses up in the wardrobe and paired her flared trousers with the correct top, the same pair of shoes she always wore - white and incredibly tattered Converse boots - left by the door so they were easily found and easy to slip on in a rush.

“Do you reckon Hotch will call to wake us up in the morning or-”

“I assume he’ll want us in the reception lobby by eight so we should probably sleep now,” Spencer claimed, patting the empty side of the bed beside him once she walked out of the en-suite bathroom, after she had finished freshening up and brushing her teeth and had turned the light off behind her. It wasn’t the biggest bed in the world that they had been given, and it made their double bed at home look like a queen-sized bed with the size of it, and YN was sure it was classed as a single room for one person just by the size of the mattress Hotch had expected the two of them to sleep comfortably on. It wouldn’t surprise her, in all honesty, that someone had given a tip to the bossman to give them the smallest room because they need not worry about being cuddled up so tightly together. “Come on. Stop flaunting your naked body around, please. Rossi is next door and I really don’t need him making tomorrow awkward if he walks in and sees breasts pushed in his face.”

“I’m wearing a towel, you goob. And I definitely wouldn’t push my tits in his face,” YN scoffed, hands running up and down the soft material of the towel given with the room, the white cotton bringing out the deep purple bruises around her neck and the red bite marks that still littered around her collarbone from earlier that evening. Something which Spencer felt pretty proud about when he let his eyes linger. “Besides, Rossi’s probably asleep so we can do whatever we want.”

“We can not,” he warned, shaking his head and slipping his glasses from his nose, folding them up and placing them on the bedside table, just like he’d do during his routine at home. Switching the lamp on, which barely added more light to the room, and using the switch adjacent to turn off the main lighting of the room so save having to move when they were comfortably tucked up under the covers. “We can wait till we get home. More privacy.”

YN grinned to herself and used the opportunity to strut across the floor with a swing to her hip movements, the carpet rough beneath the soles of her feet, her mind focused on walking to his side of the bed so he could gain some kind of understanding of what she wanted to happen. Being as seductive and as sexy as possible in an attempt to try anything to get him feeling horny for her. One leg lifted to straddle him, her other coming up and set the other side of his legs, feeling the cotton of his boxers against the insides of her thighs. His hands came to sit on her hips, fingers circling the cotton covering her body, a curious look on his face.

“They never said we couldn’t do it when we were alone,” she reminded him, forearms resting on his shoulders and her fingers sat in the damp hair at the back of his head. He smelt like his soap - a beautiful pinewood smell that always lingered on his skin and left the bathroom with a delicious aroma - and his shampoo and looked so fresh and soft and the curls atop of his head hadn’t quite curled into their typical wisps yet and they hung lowly around the sculpt of his face. “Can we? Since we didn’t get to do it back in Virginia?”

He pulled her closer, lips puckering as he pressed a litter of kisses to her forehead then the bridge of her nose then her left cheek before her right cheek until he landed on her lips, where he lingered and left behind a tingling sensation that had her reeling and begging on the inside for something more than that.

“Don’t,” she whined, eyes closing in frustration and her thighs tensing and holding him in one positon on the bed to keep him from going anywhere, her head rolling back on the ball of her neck with a frown on her face that soon dissipated when she felt his lips graze the base of her neck. Just below her collarbone, where she could feel his warmth breath escape his nose, yet just above her the blossoming curves of her breasts where she wished for his hands to sit. Dry lips dragging across her soft skin, hands holding her hips down upon his own, leaving a string of gentle kisses across her chest. “Spence-”

“Like that?” He hummed, his damp hair tickling at the underside of her chin, his head nestling into the space at the base of her neck, pecking and nibbling at the skin below her ear, “tell me you like that.”

“I like it,” she whispered, gently holding fistfuls of his hair in her hands and pulling his head away from her neck so she was able to look him in the eyes, a dark look behind his coloured orbs that had her tingling between the legs, “I love it, Spence.”

He smirked.

“That’s enough then,” she heard him say, her mind spinning, “come on, early start tomorrow.”

“No..”

“Yeah,” he grabbed her by the waist and rolled them onto their sides, her body colliding with the mattress and the springs coiled up before re-coiling loudly, a gentle ‘oof’ escaping her as she hit the bed and came free from his body which had now switched positions. Arms bracing his weight and hands pushed into the pillow behind her head, legs straddling her own as she laid flat beneath him, eyes focused on her. “Bedtime, now.”

“You can’t have me feeling like this and then end it,” she pouted, hands snaking up his chest and back to his shoulders, palms flat against the back of his head as she pulled his face a little closer to hers, “baby, please.”

“Think I might save it, go all out with you when we get back home,” he pondered, more to himself than for her to actually hear him but her heart skipped a beat, “yeah, I think I might just warm you up, get you ready, till we get home.”

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, a hint of seduction in her words, lips touching his with every word she enunciated, “you would.”

He laughed maniacally and nudged his nose against hers; “you have no idea what you do to me.”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she retorted, bringing a bent knee up to knee him up the bum in annoyance, “I hate you sometimes.”

“Rubbish. You love me so damn much,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her lips before he rolled back to his side of the bed and stretched out beside her, face turned in her direction, “besides, I’d much rather have our own room and not an adjoining one and I’d rather have the neighbours hear us rather than Rossi. Less awkwardness at work, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes playfully, “goodnight, you annoying human being.”

“Goodnight, you equally annoying human being.”

[flowercrown-bard]

This is the secret santa gift for @yarpfish. thanks @thewitchersecretsanta for organizing this.

content warning: Christmas. I get that for those who don’t celebrate Christmas, it can be annoying to have the holiday shoved in their faces.

summary: Geralt really doesn’t want to play Santa for the primary school, unlike Jaskier, who may or may not be a bit angry that this handsom stranger got the part. And if they have to meet again to discuss Geralt’s audacity, well neither of them is going to complain.

Read on AO3

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Geralt stared at the text he had just gotten from his ex. Somewhere behind him, Lambert snorted und suddenly things made much more sense. Not complete sense, but at least he now knew whom to blame.

Geralt glared at Lambert. “Care to explain why Yen just send me a text saying Get the costume ready?” The days when he had worn costumes for Yennefer were long past.

“That, dear brother, means that you are going to be Santa. At the primary school.” Lambert barely managed to get the words out before his own laughter cut him short. “Oh you are going to look great! You already have the white hair. Now all you need it – “

“I need fuck all,” Geralt growled. “I am not going to play Santa.”

--

Yennefer looked up at Geralt from where she was sitting at her desk with not a hint of surprise, but abundance of smug amusement.

Geralt had all but stormed into her office past the young man who had just left it, looking crestfallen. Geralt didn’t care. He didn’t have time to think about some young father who had seen the principal of the primary school to complain about his child’s bad grades or whatever it was the man had been doing. Geralt had far more important things to care about. Like telling Yennefer that he was absolutely not going to dress up as Santa Clause and give gifts and sweets to the students.

“And why not?” Yennefer asked, one eyebrow lifted and her lips in a smirk.

Geralt huffed. “Are you serious, Yen? The real question is, why the hell would anyone think it would be a good idea to have me dress up and make an idiot of myself.”

“Lambert made some really good arguments.”

“Like?”

“Like it would be hilarious.” She ignored Geralt’s growl, suddenly turning serious. “And it would make Ciri happy.”

Geralt deflated. Fuck. Of course, Yen had to pull out the big guns and talk about Ciri. Christmas had always been her favourite time of the year and ever since she had found out that there would be a Santa coming to the school before the holidays, she had been adorably exited.

Geralt sighed.

“I really don’t want to do this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But fine. I’ll think about it.”

“You better do. If you decide to chicken out, I will have to accept the only other guy who volunteered-“

“I didn’t volunteer. Lambert dragged me into this mess.”

“- and he is an overexcited idiot. I’d rather dress up myself than have him in my office again.”

Geralt sighed and left the principal’s office. He had barely closed the doors behind him, when a shout made him turn around.

“YOU!” Geralt furrowed his eyes at the man stomping over to him, one hand on his hip, the other pointing at him, as if accusing him of a heinous crime. “How dare you!”

“Do I know you?” Geralt asked, suddenly unsure.

“I am Jaskier. And you, Sir, are the reason why all my hopes and dreams are crushed.”

Geralt blinked at him, dumbfounded. “I think you have me confused with someone else.” Looking more closely, he kind of looked like the man he had just brushed aside to enter the office. That had been rude, sure, but it didn’t classify as ruining someone’s dreams.

“Oh do I?” Jaskier came even closer, blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Then you aren’t the one that principal Vengerberg just told me about when she said they already had a better candidate for the –“ he looked around, scanning the halls for any passing students, before he whispered “ for the Santa actor.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shot up. That was what this is about? That man had jabbed a finger at a stranger’s chest because he didn’t get to dress up as Santa? Slowly but surely, Geralt started to understand what Yennefer had meant when she had said that the other volunteer was overexcited. He certainly was passionate, judging from the way his eyes were blazing and his chest was heaving. But Geralt wouldn’t exactly call him an idiot for it. His passion for dressing up as an old man with a beard was certainly strange. It was amusing. But for some reason it was also oddly charming. Especially because Jaskier seemed to do his best not to appear charming. If anything, it looked like he wanted to intimidated him. Geralt’s lips quirked up.

“Oh, don’t go smiling like that.” Jaskier said, angrily brushing his brown fringe out of his eyes. “I am clearly the better choice here. I mean look at you…”

He trailed off, taking his time to follow his own advice. Geralt felt strangely insecure under his scrutiny. Still, he felt disappointed for some reason when Jaskier looked back up again.

“Well, I mean… you…” Jaskier stumbled over his words. His tongue darted over his lips and Geralt had to force himself not to let his eyes linger.

Jaskier’s stuttering was interrupted by the sound of children running through the halls. Immediately, Jaskier shut up and Geralt found himself almost missing the sound of him searching for the right words.

Once the kids were gone, Jaskier relaxed slightly. He sighed, but his eyes were still narrowed at Geralt.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this with children around. Wouldn’t want to ruin any dreams of Santa.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. “So, should we go somewhere else?”

Jaskier looked away. “Oh, like, you mean right now?” He started to fidget. “I don’t really have much time.” He let out a tiny laugh. “To be honest, I thought I could just berate you a bit and you would relent.”

Geralt’s half smile turned into a full on smirk. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

That laugh escaped Jaskier again, louder and more sincere this time and something in Geralt’s chest started to glow. He wished he could hear that sound again. “Of course,” Jaskier said. “You have to get past the masses in the stores somehow. It’s fight or go home without having bought presents for your loved ones.” He stopped himself and knitted his brows, as if he was berating himself for saying that. Geralt supposed it was a bit strange talking like this with someone he had just yelled at. But he found himself wanting to hear more about Jaskier’s fight to buy presents. Or about anything really.

He hesitated. “Maybe we could meet some other time?” His smirk widened. “So you can yell at me for crushing your dreams some more?”

Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck, lowering his eyes. “Ah, yes, sorry about that. I guess I was just really disappointed. Still am, to be honest.” For a moment, his smile faltered, before it came back full force. “But sure, let’s discuss this later. I promise I won’t yell at you then.” He thought for a second. “How does Saturday sound? At 5 pm? That’s when the Christmas market will begin and I’ve been waiting to go for months.”

Geralt nodded and tried his best not to let the warmth spread through him at the thought that Jaskier – who was still practically a stranger, as he would do well to remember – wanted to spend time with him at a place he was excited about.

“Great!” Jaskier beamed at him. He looked like he was ready to leave, when he halted. “I forgot to ask your name.” His smile turned mischievous and he winked at Geralt, as if he wasn’t already flustered enough. “I think I should know the name of the man who is crushing my dreams, don’t you?”

Geralt could just tell Jaskier the truth. That he didn’t even really want to play Santa. That Jaskier could have that honour all to himself. He could just turn around, go back into Yen’s office and announce that he had made his decision. And yet… that would mean that this would be the end of his short acquaintance with Jaskier.

“Geralt.”

“Well then, Geralt. See you on Saturday.”

--

Geralt was late. He cursed himself for not thinking about the traffic. Of course everyone would rush to get to the opening of the Christmas market.

He weaved his way through the crowd, doing his best to spot a mop of brown hair or catch a glimpse of blue eyes. It was practically impossible. He was searching for ten minutes already. This was useless, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and leave.

He was just about to give up, when a shout reached his ears.

“Geralt!”

He whirled around, embarrassingly quickly. And there he stood. Squeezed between couples and exasperated parents running after their kids was Jaskier. He was beaming at Geralt, making his heart skip a beat.

Geralt should probably go towards him, but he was frozen to the spot. He could only watch, as Jaskier scrambled through the crowd until he was finally standing before him. His cheeks were red from the cold, he wore a cosy looking scarf and a beanie that hid almost all of his hair.

“So that’s why I couldn’t find you.” The words slipped out of Geralt’s mouth before he could think about how stupid they sounded. When Jaskier cocked his head to the side with a questioning look, Geralt could feel the heat rise into his cheeks. Gesturing vaguely towards Jaskier’s head he added: “The beanie. I was looking for your hair.”

Jaskier laughed, loudly and unashamed, but it didn’t sound like he was laughing at Geralt.

“And here I was thinking you wouldn’t show. Not that I could have blamed you,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I guess I didn’t make the best first impression.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Geralt hesitated. “You were…memorable.”

Geralt should probably just keep his mouth shut. All that left it was dumb. But the way Jaskier’s eyes lit up made it worth it.

“You’re pretty memorable too. Anyway – “Jaskier shoved something at him. More out of surprise than anything, Geralt took the mug. “I’m glad you showed up, or I would have been forced to drink two mugs of mulled wine. Oh, what a tragedy that would have been!” A moment later, he left the overdramatic tone behind and became sincere again. “But really, I’m glad you came.”

Jaskier lifted his mug to his lips and took a swig. Geralt could have sworn, he was trying to hide an embarrassed expression by doing so, but then his breath hitched when Jaskier’s tongue darted out to catch a droplet that clung to his lips and all other thoughts left him.

Someone shoved Jaskier from behind and he almost toppled over. Without thinking, Geralt stepped forward and caught him by the arm.

“Oh.” Jaskier lifted his head, looking up at Geralt in surprise. For a brief moment they just held each other’s gazes, before Jaskier cleared his throat. “Ah, thank you.”

He moved back and Geralt reluctantly let go of him.

“We should probably start moving. I don’t think people appreciate us blocking the way.”

“Good call.”

Jaskier all but dragged him to the nearest stall. Geralt didn’t pay attention to the wares. He was too distracted looking at Jaskier, the excitement evident in his eyes.

“What do you think, Geralt? It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Cute.” Geralt shook his head, forcing himself to look at the key chain Jaskier was holding. It was a tiny white cuddly toy wolf.

“It’s you.”

Geralt’s brows shot up.

A blush rose in Jaskier’s cheeks. Or maybe that was just the alcohol mixing with the cold.

“Ah, you know… because of the white hair – I don’t mean that in an offensive way, it looks really good, actually. And I don’t know if you notice, but you see, you keep growling and I just kind of… you know what, forget I said anything.” He put the key chain back.

Something about the way Jaskier’s eyes were downcast and his brows furrowed didn’t sit right with Geralt. Maybe it was the alcohol talking or maybe it was just to see Jaskier smile, but Geralt plastered what he hoped was a teasing grin across his face.

“Do you think I’m cute too?”

Jaskier just stared at him for a second, the red in his face now unmistakably a flush. Shit, Geralt should not have said that. He was just about to play it off as a joke, when Jaskier sent him a mischievous wink. And didn’t say anything.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t just wink at someone and then not say anything! Maybe it hadn’t even been a wink. Maybe he had just blinked. With one eye. Surely, that’s something people did occasionally.

Before Geralt had come to a conclusion, Jaskier had already moved on to the next stall. Geralt stayed close behind him, telling himself that it was only so he wouldn’t lose Jaskier in the crowd. If their hands brushed together, then that was purely coincidentally.

Geralt couldn’t help the tiny smile, when Jaskier bought a Santa hat and put it on instead of his beanie. He spread his arms – as much as he could in the tiny space he had – and twirled around.

“How do I look?” He asked with a grin.

Geralt’s mouth went dry. Beautiful. Jaskier’s boyish smile made his heart race in his chest and the soft light from the Christmas decorations made Jaskier’s skin glow.

But then it hit him like a train, the reason why they were here. It wasn’t because Jaskier liked him, as much as it felt like they were friends. “You look like it was your dream to wear a Santa costume, for whatever reason.”

Jaskier’s smile fell a little and Geralt mentally cursed himself. He couldn’t have just let Jaskier enjoy himself. He just had to bring up the reason why they were here. He held his breath, hoping that Jaskier wouldn’t take the obvious hint and explain himself. Once this talk was over, there would be no more reason for them to spend time together.

“Ah, this is a rather fitting moment to talk about that, isn’t it?” He hesitated for a moment, before taking another sip of his drink. “Can we maybe keep walking while we talk? I don’t really like standing and facing you while I tell you my sob story. It’s kind of awkward.”

Geralt scowled, but did as Jaskier asked. “Is it a sob story? You don’t have to tell me, if it’s uncomfortable for you.” Just his luck to bring up something that took Jaskier’s joy away from something he had been looking forward to.

“Oh, no, don’t worry.” Jaskier let out a tiny laugh. “It’s not that bad. Honestly, I don’t know why I make such a big deal out of it. My parents… they weren’t exactly the loving kind. It’s fine that we didn’t celebrate Christmas, I know a lot of people don’t and that’s cool. But as a child for me, it was kind of hard to see how the other kids would get presents and go to the markets and all that. And they got to believe in Santa.” He huffed. “My parents obviously never told me about Santa and I still feel like I missed out on a huge part of that childhood experience. Except for when the guy dressed up as Santa came to our school and gave us chocolates and whatnot. I knew Santa wasn’t real, but for this one day, I felt like I was allowed to be a child.” He looked down, clutching his mug with both hands, as if it was protecting him from something. “I still don’t celebrate Christmas. I would love to. But all of my friends are visiting their parents over the holidays and heaven knows I’d rather spend time on a Christmas market with a stranger I yelled at, than going back home.” He cracked a small smile and suddenly he looked so unbearably vulnerable.  “So, thanks for being that stranger saving me from spending this time alone. I know it sounds silly, but I want to be that person for someone else. I want to be that stranger that makes others happy, even if only for a few minutes, even if it is just by me dressing up as Santa for some kids who need it.”

He avoided Geralt’s eyes and something dropped in his stomach.

“It doesn’t sound silly.” There was so much more he wanted to say, but it all sounded too personal, so he hoped that that was enough.

Jaskier glanced at him and quirked a smile. “Thanks.”

Geralt didn’t know what else to say, so they just continued walking in silence. Well, almost in silence. It took him a while to realise, but as the tension left Jaskier’s shoulders, he started humming. Geralt vaguely recognised the Christmas carols, but he was too fixated on his voice. It sounded nice. Beautiful actually, even though it was little more than a faint melody almost drowned out in the shouting of the masses around them. He wanted to say something, compliment his voice, ask him to sing louder, but there was a tiny fear holding him back. Maybe Jaskier didn’t even realise he was singing. Maybe it was just something he did when he was comfortable and happy – god, Geralt hoped that Jaskier was happy around him – and calling attention to his humming might make him stop. So he just contented himself to listening to the humming, only interrupted whenever Jaskier took a sip of his mulled wine.

“Ah, bollocks,” Jaskier said quietly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing just – “ Jaskier shrugged sheepishly. “I probably shouldn’t have finished the wine that quickly. The mug was the only thing keeping my hands warm.”

An unbidden urge overcame Geralt, to reach out and hold Jaskier’s hands, warming them with his own. He fought the urge down. It was stupid. Jaskier wouldn’t want that.

Instead Geralt grunted “Stay here.”

He didn’t wait for Jaskier’s response before going back a few stalls. When he came back, Jaskier was giving him a confused look, which changed completely when Geralt thrust out what he was holding in his hands. The smile that split Jaskier’s face was enough to warm Geralt against the cold winter air.

“Geralt, you didn’t!” There was something strange in his voice, something Geralt couldn’t quite name. He hoped it was something good.

“Just take them. I can’t have you freeze your fingers off.”

“I really can’t – “

“Call it a premature Christmas gift.”

Hesitating, Jaskier put on the gloves that had yellow flowers embroidered. For a moment Jaskier just looked at them, his eyes shining.

“You really are trying to convince me that you would be the better Santa, aren’t you?”

“I… that’s not…” Geralt stuttered, his heart clenching uncomfortably.

Jaskier laughed and shoved his arm playfully. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat, when Jaskier didn’t pull away, but let his hand linger on Geralt’s arm.

“I’m just joking.” He tilted his head. “But I am rather intrigued as to why you would want to play Santa for a primary school.”

Geralt grumbled, suddenly unsure what to say. He had known it would come to this eventually, but after what Jaskier had just told him, he felt bad admitting that it wasn’t really his own idea to do this.

“Come on.” Jaskier tugged at his arm.

Geralt growled.

“Oh hoho, my white wolf, you are not getting away with growling at me like this. I told you my story, now you tell me yours.”

Geralt froze. He didn’t know what to focus on here. The fact that Jaskier obviously wouldn’t relent? The way that Jaskier already had a Santa laugh, and an adorable one at that? Or the fact that Jaskier had just called him a white wolf. His white wolf. While his head was still processing all of that, his heart had already decided to latch onto that last detail, replaying the words over and over in his mind.

He made the mistake of looking at Jaskier. His blue eyes looked so curious, so honestly interested in what he had to say.

“It was my brother Lambert’s idea.” For a brief moment he contemplated leaving it at that, but then he remembered Yennefer’s words. “But really, I am doing it for my daughter. She has a difficult time in school and Yennefer – “ Did he imagine the sudden closed off lock in Jaskier’s eyes? “- my ex-wife, says that it would make her happy.” His voice grew softer. “And I think so too. I love Ciri and I know she loves me too, but sometimes I just have a hard time bonding with her. I don’t know what a girl her age likes to do. She likes when I take her to see my horse and she enjoys play fighting with me, but apart from that. I just don’t know if I am enough for her. I never planned on being a single dad. And Yennefer is right. Ciri loves Christmas.” He smiled weakly. “I think she might be the only person I know whose enthusiasm rivals yours.”

When he risked a side glance, he noticed how strangely quiet Jaskier was.

Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. Just because Jaskier had told him of his parents didn’t mean he had to go and tell him about his worries about his own family.

He felt Jaskier’s hand slip from his arm and his heart sank. Of course he would fuck this up. He couldn’t just let Jaskier have a nice evening at the Christmas market.

But then Jaskier’s hand found his and squeezed carefully.

“I think you’re doing a great job. I’m sure you are a great dad. Look at you, talking about your little girl like she is the most precious thing in the world.”

“She is.”

“And I’m sure she knows you love her. Making children happy. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?” Jaskier bit his lip. “I’m sure you’ll be a great Santa.” Something in his tone changed, took on a cheery note that didn’t sound quite right. “I mean look at you. You’re definitely going to be less exhausted from carrying the bag of presents than I would be, what with all your muscles.”

He poked Geralt’s arm with the hand still holding the empty mug, giving him a lopsided grin, that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, he sounded sincere when he said “It’s alright, Geralt. I can do it next year. You go make your daughter happy, will you?”

Jaskier hesitated for a heartbeat. Then he brushed his lips against Geralt’s cheek, quickly, a barely- there touch that set Geralt’s skin aflame, before slipping his hand free from Geralt’s and disappearing into the crowd.

--

“Yen, please.”

For the first time since Geralt had stomped into her office fifteen minutes ago, she looked at him. Really looked at him.

Geralt knew he was treading on thin ice. He knew that it was almost impossible to change Yennefer’s mind, especially if it was about a man she had no patience left for. But this was important. To Jaskier. Which meant it was also important to Geralt, for whichever reason.

He held his breath as he watched Yennefer contemplate what he had proposed. Something changed in her expression and a smirk stole onto her lips.

With a sigh, she finally nodded.

--

The beard was itching and Geralt was sweating under the Santa costume. He knew he looked ridiculous. When Lambert had seen him put on the costume, he had been unable to stop laughing – which was a blessing, since his laughing fits were the only thing keeping him from getting a good picture of Geralt in this ridiculous get up.

But it was good enough for the children. As Geralt asked them if they had been good kids this year, Ciri smiled at him. And when he turned and asked his elf-assistant to hand out the sweets, Jaskier’s whole face lit up. And somehow, returning the children’s smiles and relaxing came easy for him, when he knew he just had to look to the side to see that smile.

When Geralt stepped back and let Jaskier – wearing elf ears and ridiculously colourful tights and still somehow looking like the prettiest person Geralt had ever seen – sing carols with the children, his heart melted.

If anyone had told Geralt that he would long for time to slow down, while he was wearing this ridiculous costume, he would have laughed. But now the clocks all seemed to tick faster than normal, too fast, and before he knew it, his bag was empty and he was standing next to Jaskier just outside the school’s line of sight.

For a while they just stood there awkwardly, neither of them knowing what to say.

Finally, Jaskier broke the silence.

“Thank you, Geralt.” He sounded almost hesitant, but his voice is thick with emotion. “Really. I didn’t think Vengerberg would let me be a part of this and after what you had said at the market, I was so ready to just step back but then…” He looked down and Geralt’s heart dropped when he heard Jaskier sniffle and do his best to inconspicuously wipe away a stray tear. “then I got that call from her and I just… I can’t thank you enough.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “It’s nothing.”

Jaskier looked back up, his brows knitted together and a disbelieving smile on his lips. “Nothing? Geralt it’s everything! You made sure that I finally got to do what I had wanted to do since I was a kid!”

“You didn’t get to play Santa.”

“No,” Jaskier said. “But that’s not what it’s about. It’s about making others happy. And damn it, Geralt, you just keep making me so incredibly happy. Doing this with you was so much better than being Santa on my own.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say, so instead he just hummed and hoped it would be enough, that Jaskier would understand what he wasn’t able to put into words.

“Can I… this is going to sound stupid and you can absolutely say no, but-“ Jaskier wet his lips with his tongue, looking nervous suddenly. “Can I hug you?”

Geralt’s heart sped up. His mouth went dry. His mind had no say, as he opened his arms.

Jaskier lit up like a beacon, before rushing to embrace Geralt. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

Geralt wasn’t sure if he actually heard the muffled “Thank you” against his chest. His heart was beating far too loud and the only thing he could focus on was the feeling of Jaskier in his arms. It felt right somehow. He never wanted this hug to end.

His breath hitched when Jaskier snuggled even closer and –

“Oh gods, this is terrible.” Jaskier coughed, mixed in with laughter.

Geralt’s heart plummeted, when Jaskier drew back, still coughing.

“Are you alright?” It wasn’t what he wanted to ask, but it was better than Was being close to me that bad? Did I overstep by hugging you back? Did I fuck up again?

Jaskier let out another laugh, which was cut short by a cough.

“Sure, I just –“ He lifted his hand, pulling something from his mouth. “I may or may not have breathed in your beard. As adorable as it looks, it doesn’t taste very good. God, there is so much hair in my mouth.”

He spluttered, and scrunched his nose up in what Geralt could only describe as adorable. No man had the right to look that beautiful while wearing elf-ears and coughing up hair.

“I should take it off,” Geralt said, lifting his hands to finally take the itching thing off.

“No wait!” He was stopped by Jaskier’s hand on his. “I need to take a picture of us! I want to have something to remember this by.”

Geralt didn’t fight when Jaskier pulled out his phone. He even smiled – really smiled – when he saw himself next to Jaskier on the screen. They both looked stupid in their costumes and Geralt wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jaskier put the phone away and the uncomfortable silence came back.  

This was it. Every moment now Jaskier would turn around and leave and this would be the end of their short acquaintance.

Geralt should say something. Everything in him screamed to say something, anything, to make Jaskier stay a little longer. This was the perfect opportunity. He could give Jaskier his number under the pretence of being send the picture.

But the moment passed. Jaskier gave him a half-smile. He waved as he turned around and left Geralt standing in a Santa costume on his own. He had missed his chance.

--

Christmas eve was always wonderful for Geralt. It was true, his small family was chaotic and he and Lambert would bicker about anything, while Ciri and Eskel laughed at them and Vesemir grumbled something while shaking his head fondly. The Christmas tree might have the strangest decoration, due to all of them having vastly different tastes – Lambert insisted on the tackiest decoration, just for shits and giggles – and the food wasn’t very festive. Geralt wouldn’t have it any other way. It was family. It was home.

The ringing of the bell ripped Geralt out of his thoughts.

“I’ll go,” Ciri piped up and left the room to open the door.

A minute or so passed, before Geralt heard her shout from the entrance.

“Dad, can you come, please?” A pause and then added with a giggle, “It’s Santa.”

It wasn’t unusual. Around Christmastime there would always be a few people dressing up and visiting houses. Most of them expected money in return for singing some carols.

Geralt was already fishing for some cash from his wallet, as he walked up to the front door, without looking up at the Santa standing there.

As soon as he got there, Ciri dashed past him, back to the others.

“Hello, Geralt.”

His head snapped up. It couldn’t be. But there he was, leaning against the doorframe with a lopsided smile on his face and wearing the Santa hat he had bought at the Christmas market. Where the hat didn’t cover him, a few stray snowflakes covered his hair.

Jaskier was the last person he had expected to show up on his doorstep today – or ever. The small part of him that wasn’t occupied with how radiating Jaskier looked, had a hard time comprehending that he was really here.

And so the first thing he said to the most beautiful man he thought he’d never see again was as smooth as sandpaper.

“How the fuck did you find my house?”

Geralt winced as soon as the words had left him. That was the stupidest thing he could have said. The last thing he had wanted to do was make Jaskier feel like he wasn’t welcome.

But Jaskier snorted. “I asked Yennefer. It was terrifying.” With a cheeky wink he added, “but absolutely worth it, if only for the warm welcome I received from you.”

“I… ah. Fuck.” Jaskier’s smile widened as he watched Geralt stumble over what to say. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” Jaskier hesitated for a second, his hands rubbing together nervously. Something warm and fuzzy swelled in Geralt’s chest.

“You’re wearing the gloves,” he said without thinking, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. “The ones I bought you.”

Jaskier startled. “Oh, yeah. Of course! They are my favourite; they are just so soft. Do you want to feel?”

Geralt nodded automatically. He would agree to anything, if it meant Jaskier would stay here a little longer, before realising that he had absolutely no good reason to be here and left. Geralt expected Jaskier to pull off one glove and hand it to Geralt. Instead, Jaskier took a step closer to him and reached for his cheek. Geralt didn’t dare breathe, as Jaskier caressed him. Despite the cloth preventing their skin from touching, it felt like Geralt was on fire where they touched. He prayed Jaskier didn’t notice him leaning into the touch.

It was over far too quickly.

“Well?”

Geralt swallowed. “It felt nice. The glove, I mean. It’s… it’s nice.”

“Yeah…” Jaskier cleared his throat. “In fact it’s so nice that I figured I should give you something in return.”

Geralt drew back. “You don’t – Jaskier, I didn’t give them to you because I wanted anything in return. You were just cold and I thought…. I won’t take your money.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Good thing I don’t want to give you money then.” He reached inside the pocket of his jacket and brought forth a small present, holding it out for Geralt. “Merry Christmas.”

Geralt barely registered the uncertain look on his face. His heart was too preoccupied pounding in his chest.

“It’s not much. And the packaging sucks, because I still have no idea how to wrap gifts. But I thought maybe you’d like it. As a reminder of when you didn’t crush my dreams.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh when he peeled off the wrapping paper with Hohoho written over it. It should have been festive, but it only made Geralt think of Jaskier’s laugh.

The last of the paper fell away and Geralt held two key chains in his hand.

Jaskier rubbed his fingers together. “I told you it’s not much. I know it’s not the greatest gift.”

“A horse?” he asked without thinking.

“You mentioned that you took your daughter to see your horse sometimes. So… I assumed you like horses.” He pulled a face. “Sorry, that sounded weird.”

“I mentioned Roach once. In passing. And you remembered?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, a timid smile appearing on his face. “Of course I remembered. How often do you meet a guy who actually has a horse? That’s pretty cool. You don’t just forget something like that.”

Geralt was sure his face was fully red. In a pitiful attempt to distract from the fact that he was incredibly close to hugging Jaskier once more, he looked back at the other keychain. He couldn’t keep the smile of his face.

“And a wolf.” He held it carefully in his hand, just like Jaskier had when he had seen it on the Christmas market.

“I went back there and got it for you.” There was the smallest hint of hesitation, before Jaskier added, “And to answer your question…I do think you’re cute too.”

Geralt’s words of thanks got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t have heard correctly. But the words repeated over and over in his head, the suddenly timid look on Jaskier’s face the proof that he had actually said it.

“Anyway.” Jaskier rubbed his neck. “I just wanted to give that to you. I probably should go now. Wouldn’t want to impose on you.” The words were rushed and he was already turning around. “So, have fun with your family. Merry Christmas.”

Panic rose in Geralt. He had missed so many chances, he couldn’t let this one slip through his fingers as well.

“Stay with me,” he blurted out, desperate to keep Jaskier from leaving. If he left now, Geralt was sure he wouldn’t be granted another chance. “You said you don’t have anyone to celebrate with. So do it with us. Lambert, my brother is a bit rough, but I’m sure you’d get along with Eskel.” Geralt knew he was rambling, but he needed Jaskier to stay. “And Ciri already adores you for dressing up as an elf and I’m sure my father would like to meet you. And we always cook too much anyway and -”

Jaskier came closer again, a soft expression on his face that Geralt longed to see more often.

“And it would make me happy,” he ended.

A heartbeat passed. And Geralt realised what he had just said. He had invited someone whom he had known for less than a week to spend Christmas with his family. It was stupid. No one in their right mind would say yes to that. Least of all Jaskier, who was sunshine and loud laughs and soft hums. There was no reason he would want to spend this day which he loved so much with Geralt of all people.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You don’t have to,” he forced himself to say. “Forget I said anything.”

“I’d rather not forget it,” Jaskier said softly and suddenly his eyes lit up like a lighthouse, shining through a tempest. “I’d love to celebrate with you.”

He hesitated for only the briefest moment, before standing on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss against Geralt’s cheek.

With a grin he added, “And I’m sure, Lambert isn’t so bad. If I remember correctly, he’s the one I have to thank for meeting you.”

“Don’t you dare thank him.” Geralt’s grin belied his growl. “If you tell him that something actually good came out of him going behind my back, he will never let me live it down.”

Jaskier laughed. “We can’t that now, can we? Don’t worry, I won’t tell him that I owe him my happiness.”

He followed Geralt inside the house and throughout the evening stayed true to his word. Still, Lambert sent Geralt a knowing smirk. Geralt was sure he wouldn’t hear the end of it, but looking at Jaskier smile and laugh with his family, looking like he fit right in, made him think that this was definitely worth enduring Lambert’s smugness.

[imagineswelcome]

Beauty and the Beast

Joker (Heath Ledger) x reader

Events take place during the 2nd Nolan movie, The Dark Knight.

Prompt : You meet the Joker, he kidnappes and you end up to take part of almost all his crimes. How did you come to that?

You’re Y/N L/N, a famous physicist in Gotham. You work for the Wayne Compagny on sustainable energy sources, you have a great job, a great flat in Gotham and basically a great life !

You wake up as every morning but you realise you already have receive a letter. You are invited to a party at the Wayne penthouse, yes, the billionaire burn his house to crisp, who does that ? Anyway. The party is a found raising for Harvey Dent. The name seams to ring a bell but you’re not sure.  But the party is this evening, you reaaaally need to do some shopping, fortunatly it’s Saturday and you’re not working. You go to your favorite shop and you find a black dress which seems to be made for you. It perfectly suits you and you look incredible. You already know that it will match perfectly your Louboutin heels you offered yourself for Christmas. You will be stunning even if you are not a billionnaire as probably all of the other guests.

The time has come. Party time. You don’t know what you expected but definitely not that : you’re « talking » with an annoying billionnaire who isn’t even listening to you and believe that the earth might be flat. As a physicist you have loads of strong points to prove him wrong but he is a rich white man who don’t care about what you have in your head since he likes what he sees. An helicopter sound saves you from this terrible conversation. It seems that Brune Wayne is really a drama queen, you believed he is brilliant but never thought he would be the kind to be late and showing off with three top-models. After a very little speech on Harvey Dent, the party start again, this time you rush to the barman to enjoy a well-deserved drink. This man was such a pain. You were enjoying your free drinks when a gunshot was heard. The terrorist from the TV has come out of the elevator and is asking for Harvey Dent. You don’t know why but you wanted to see the man, the Joker, with your own eyes so you come closer to the scene. Harvey Dent girlfriend has the courage to come to the Joker and to tell him that Dent isn’t here. But he starts to come closer to her with a knife. You don’t know why, maybe you has a sorority instinct, but you call out for the Joker, he turns back to you and Rachel kicks him. And everything went so fast. Batman was here and starts to fight the Joker men but the Joker grabs Rachel and throws her out of the window. Batman jumps to safe her. But if Batman just jumps, who stays to protect you ? Once the Batman jumped, the Joker comes directly for you. You are paralized, all the courage you had just vanished. He grabs your arm and says « You come with me, beautiful. » You try to fight but there is no way for you to escape the Joker and his men push you in the elevator and in their van. You’re being kidnapped, of course you left your phone on the bar and you have no way to call for help. After a long enough moment, the van stops. Someone opens the back door and you hear : « Hi. I’m the Joker. Nice to meet you Y/N. Very nice indeed. I’m following your work at Wayne Enterprises and I can say that I’m, uhm, very impressed to have you here with me. » You were expecting everything but that. The Joker is a fan of physic ? Moreover a fan of you ? You must have look surprised because he adds «  Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you. Let’s have dinner. » And you find yourself answering ackwardly « uhm, ok. »

And you actually spend a really good evening, the Joker is a gentleman, he likes quantum physic and to make jokes (as his name made you guess). But it seems to be too good to be true. He is a killer and as charming as he wants to be with you, he kidnapped you. He told you you needed to stay at his place for a few days, that he can’t bring you back just now. People will think you’re part of the plan but he doesn’t want you to get involved in all the chaos. He shows you an incredibly cosy bedroom, there were several outfits in the closet. Not that bad for a kidnapping. You spend three days in this mansion/warehouse : it was a warehouse, at least you believed since you never saw the outside but the inside was a mansion with staircase and rooms. It was simple decoration but the place in itself was curious in the good way. You could discover it even if there were guards at every entrance to prevent you from any kind of escape. Every evening you had dinner with the Joker, he never talked to you about his evil plans, never screamed at you. He was nice but it was wrong.

The fourth day, a bodyguard came to you and told you to go on a truck but like a big big truck, the ones that usually have huge cargots inside. The Joker was at the back with an arsenal and something that looked like a bazooka. You were on the passenger sit. The Joker told you that he had something to do before bringing you home. You understand that it is definitely something dangerous and illegal probably involving murder and explosion. Great. You’re in the same car as a murdering psychopath. You don’t seem to have been kidnapped. You hope that the GCPD will not think that you are an accomplice or something like that.

But it was only the beginning of your problems, the Joker just shot an officer so he can drive through a closed road and he is now targetting a GCPD van with the bazooka. Oh lord. Is it the Batman outside ? Damn. An helicopter just fell on the ground. This is chaos. Batman is charging the truck you’re in now. Did he miss ? Oh god, he did n…

You blacked out for a little and wake up, you seem to have been thrown through the windscreen. Every muscles and bones of your body hurt. Several pieces of glass have cut you. You try to stand up and you see the Batman on the ground, lying like a dead man on his back with the Joker on him. Suddently you feel someone grabbing your arms on your back. « You’re under arrest, you fucking cop killer ». He pushes you against the reversed truck and handcuff you. You’re incapable of saying something, everything hurts.

Once in the GCPD department, the not-so-kind officer take your prints and your belongings and threw you into an interrogation room. You try to explain several time that you really need to see a doctor, you are in so much pain but they aren’t listening to you. The female police officer in charge of your interrogation comes closer to you and press her finger on an open wound you have on you arm. « Now you talk. Tell me everything you know. » It hurts to much. Maybe the only way to make them call the doctor is to force them to make you see a doctor. Because they don’t care about what you have to say. The female officer is still close to you, since you’re sitting on a chair with only handcuff on you wrists, you rise up and block her neck with your handcuffs. « I. Want. A. Doctor. », you run out of the room with the officer as your hostage and head for a big place where there are a lot of people. They probably can get you a doctor. They are celebrating something or what ? Is it applause that you’re hearing ? You scream out of despair « I need to see a doctor ! » They all turn out to you and start reaching their guns. You repeat with a softer tone « I’m really injured, all of my body hurts, I really need to see a doctor, please. It was the only way for you to hear me. She wasn’t trying to help me, she hurted me even more. » As you were explaining the situation, you saw that the Joker was in the room too, behind bars. And his gaze was full of compassion and a bit of anger but it wasn’t because of you. It was because of the police-men. An officer with a mustache and glasses start to talk « It’s ok Miss, let her go, we will help you ». « I won’t let her go before I see the medic in this very room. I don’t believe you » was your answer. The officer order to bring the medic here. And you finally let the woman go. The medic bring you into a cell for more privacy and also because you were a suspect and you will probably not get out of the GCPD any time soon. The medic was actually pretty kind to you, he diagnosed a broken forearm, four broken ribs and several contusions all around your body but there may be more, he couldn’t tell exactly how broken you were without a radiography. He took care of your wounds and left you to sleep. He told you that you’ll go to the hospital tomorrow and that you should rest now. You almost instantly fell asleep.

You have been waken up by an explosion. You try to see something through the little window of your door but everything was dark. You sit on your bed, listening to everything, trying to understand what happened. A little after that, you heard footsteps and a key in the hole of your door. When the door opened, you realise that it is the Joker. You start with visible confusion « How… did you… ? » The Joker cut you « We don’t have much time. Come ». The Joker wasn’t alone, an other prisonner with handcuffs and several of this complices were there too.

The Joker let his men go with the prisonner and ask you how you were. You told him what the medic said. « You’re going to see my doctor » he said. With a stolen police car, you were now heading to where the Joker lived in town and see another doctor who, this time, could do some bandages for your broken arm.

The Joker actually lives in a mansion. Maybe he is a guy of simple taste but when he can, he choses comfort. He brings you food, clean clothes and show you a room where you can rest. You took a shower and inspect you body. You never have been this injured before. And you promess yourself that you will never be this injured expect if you chose to be in a dangerous situation. Noone will ever hurt you again. You’ll not let them. Even if they are the police. Even if they are supposed to do the good. What’s good ? Does this word still have a sense in this world ? The Joker is a bad guy but he was good to you, he respected you, was interrested in what you had to say, listened to you while the « good » policemen did not. The Joker may be a mad man but he could be very kind, and funny, and he sometimes makes sense. Deep sense. When he talks about the established order and all the hypocrisis of the world.

After all this thoughts, you decide to sleep and you sleeped for a whole day. Your body and your soul needed it. When you wake up, your first reflex is to turn on the TV to check the news. The Joker has blown up an hospital. But it was actually an empty hospital. Everyone has been evacuated before the explosion.

It was dark outside. You dressed up and went downstairs to find something to eat. You were starving. You were surprised to discover that you were alone in this house, no one was there to guard you, no one was here to stop you from getting outside. Incredible. You were free. Again ! And you made another promess to yourself, you’ll be free forever. When you arrived in the kitchen, you saw a note on the table. It was from the Joker :

« Dear Y/N,

I am sorry for all the trouble I caused you. I truly am. Tonight is the final act. We’ll probably never see each over again but I had a great time talking with. You are a truly amazing person. Never let anyone make you think you are not. You are capable of everything you want to accomplish.

Love.

J »

But. But. But you don’t want not to see him again. You realise that you actually care for him, that you want to know him, to talk to him. As a friend first but maybe you are ready for more.

You turn on the TV with the hope to find where the Joker is and to join him. And it worked. He is filmed fighting Batman. He’ll never win. You know it and you know he knows it. He must have an ace in the hole. You check on the internet where this tower is and it is very close from this house. You run  in the house to find where the arsenal is. There must be one. It has to. And you found it. There are all sort of guns and accessories. You check the infos again. The Joker is in the air upside down with one feet tied. You have to rescue him. Even if that means that you become a criminal. You want to do it therefore you have to. You’re looking for a huge safety net of something like that. The thing that is used in circus. He must have one. You are incredibly lucky because he actually does. You take it and walk as fast as you can to put it just under the Joker since this is pretty heavy. The SWAT is helping the hostages and arresting the accomplices. They don’t notice that you were installing a big net. You have also bring with you a kind of sniper. You never shot anything with a weapon like that but you have so notion of how to use a gun. You’re an american afterall and even with a broken arm you can use a weapon. After one missed shot, you manage to cut the wire which was holding the Joker. His fall seems to be eternal laugh. But the net does its job and you save him. You help him to get out. He seems surprised to see you. « Thank you Y/N. I am impressed. But for now take my hand and run.»

So you do and you both disappear in the darkness of Gotham small streets.

GIF not mine, credit to the owner.

[starrysebastians]

Of blood, sweat and mishaps

Summary : you’ve had a long journey in order to fight your way back home, and home sometimes holds surprises. Destroyer!Chris x reader, description of violence and sex. (i’ve never written smut before i have literally no idea what i’m doing don’t mind me) 

This was written for @baezen​’s the other guys writing challenge, with the prompt : i really wish you told me your mother was in town ; thank you for giving love to these other guys, I hope this will do!! 

It’s already dark outside when you leave the building, duffel bag hastily swung over your shoulders without you even registering its weight on your bruised body — you’ve been carrying this thing for over a month and you’ve become immune to it. Rather, your shoulders already constantly hurt and it doesn’t matter anymore because you just want to go home and spend an entire hour in a hot bath to wash away all the sweat and blood and dirt of the last few weeks.

"Hey!" You stop in your tracks, a tilt of your head being the only sign that you have actually heard and acknowledged the voice of your colleague rushing behind you, the precinct doors slamming behind the both of you. "Are you sure you don’t need a lift?"  

Sam catches up with you, a little out of breath, probably because he took the stairs and tried to beat you to the door. You smile, shaking your head. He’s looking you up and down and you know he wants to say you clearly are in no state to drive, or even to be standing upright. And driving you to your appartement isn’t a problem because it’s on his way to his own.

"It’s okay. I think I’m gonna crash at Chris’, it’s closer anyway." You shift from one foot to another, transferring the weight of your body and your weapons on the leg that hurts the least. Sam’s face morphs into understanding, a knowing smile stretching on his lips. You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help but chuckle.

"Right." He nods, taking a step back, then lifts up his chin. "Take the week off, you deserve it."

"Wasn’t planning on asking for permission, but I’m glad to know my break was approved."

He snorts, probably because you both know it’s true that you never ask for permission and you’re one of those agents who are literally their own boss, to their partners and bosses’ despair. It usually works out, and you’re one of their best. You’re about to cross the street when Sam’s voice echoes again in the busy street, slightly muffled by the sound of cars, honks, suitcases rolling on the ground, hitting holes and bumps on the pavement, the same ones that make people trip on their own feet.

"He was worried about you." You’re not facing your literal partner in crime anymore, and you don’t turn around to show him your little smile, but he probably knows anyway.

Green lights turn to red and you breathe in before crossing the street, taking in the sky and the stars starting to appear and twinkle around a full moon, clouds almost perfectly still on this day — it was sunny, apparently, but you spent the first half of the day fighting your way home, the other half writing a report and delivering long-awaiting data and compromising documents to the Bureau. Then you had to spend another hour promising everyone you were alright and not injured to the point where you had to go to a hospital, and now you could finally go home.

And in that case home isn't necessarily your cosy apartment, the one you had just finished re-painting and decorating before you left for your mission, but as cheesy at it sounds, home might have become a person.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach his apartment complex, but at least seven to cross the stairs when you realize the elevator still hasn't been fixed, painfully dragging your battered body up the wooden steps, a hand pressed to your ribs and stomach, and finally, another three minutes to dig out your spare key from that little pocket in your duffel bag, hand shaking as you miss the keyhole a few times before getting it right.

You don’t bother knocking or making your presence officially known because even though you've been gone for a month no one else has that key and he probably heard that your mission was over anyway. The slam of the door echoes behind you and you audibly groan, voicing your pain and exhaustion for the first time today.

"Honey I’m home," you call out sarcastically, letting your duffel bag hit the floor with a loud thump, slowly shrugging your leather jacket off — it falls from the coat hanger as you turn around but you don’t bother picking it up. Your body wouldn’t let you. "Remember when I said I was going on a small mission that would only take a few days? Well I was wrong."

Something drops on the kitchen table. A knife, a fork, a spoon — whatever, but something drops and clings and you hear him cough. A chair scrapping against the floor. You enter the bathroom. You smirk at your reflection in the mirror, splashing your face with water and watching droplets of blood trail down your cheeks and neck, hitting your already stained shirt.

"Turns out, it was the same group of freaking mad scientists we thought we dismantled last time. You know, that time Sam got shot?" You turn the faucet off.  "So I had to stay undercover the whole month." Hands all dried up, hair tied into a messy bun. A band-aid covering the cut on your forehead. Cream on your nose and bloody lip. "So. Yeah. That wasn’t planned."

You exit the bathroom, passing the entrance again, carefully avoiding tripping on your discarded combat boots lying on the wooden floor. They're full of mud and there is probably a lot of blood that you can't see. It’s usually very neat and clean here, all sorts of shoes lined up and in their place, a spotless wooden floor that contrasts with the white walls, and Chris would probably scold you if you didn't have a valid excuse right now.

You sigh, feet following the noise. "And my cover got blown yesterday. It was honestly one of the hardest missions I have ever been on." You shiver, pausing for a second as you close your eyes and try to shake flashbacks and images off your mind. You clear your throat, plastering a smile on your face even though Chris can't see you yet.

"Anyway — " There’s a small table right at the entrance of the living room, where you drop your gun and badge with a deafening bang.

There’s a small shit that’s being muttered over and over again but that you don’t really register, still not looking up. " — now that I killed them all I’m allowed to discuss secret details — remember their boss, Helmer? That was a nasty fight, ugh. I had to shoot him at point-blank range and I think I’ve still got pieces of his stupid brain in my hair." You shudder. "Ugh." You massage the back of your neck, rolling your head from left to right, cracking your bloody knuckles, while taking in the smell of his cooking with closed eyes.

You follow the smell, smiling softy as you enter the kitchen.

"Hey!" Chris rushes out of the room at the same time you step in, eyes wide as he takes in your form, his hands gently grabbing your forearms, caging you. Gently, tenderly, as his fingers run on your skin, but with a grip that feels urgent.

"Hey," you reply more softly, your voice still raspy. You blink, head titled to the side, grabbing onto him as well. Your hands find his toned stomach, relishing the warmth you have missed as you sigh contently. You refrain from resting your forehead on his chest, remembering the blood still splattered on your face and burning your skin, and the smell that has been invading your senses ever since you escaped literal hell.

So you gently cup his face with your hand, thumb brushing against his skin before stepping aside in order to enter the kitchen. Chris' arms reach out to you, in an attempt to keep you from entering the room, but you slip out of his embrace.

"Wait — "

"Oh — "

Your breath gets stuck in your threat, everything going still around you. You can’t even gasp or express your surprise, because every single bone and cell in your body has gone completely rigid. You stand here by the door, Chris' arms still outstretched in vain behind you, a new set of eyes staring back at you.

"You're… — " You gulp. No. “I didn't know you had company.” 

Not like this. It can't go like this. This gaze is unblinking, confused, curious, disgusted as it seems to scrutinize your outfit — ripped combat pants looking huge compared to your small feet and their dirty socks stained with mud and dust. Crumpled white shirt — more red than white. There's a wound on your stomach that won't stop bleeding. Arms painted red, blue and black with scratches and bumps and dirt smeared across your skin. Swollen lips parted and face sporting what probably looks like the stupidest facial expression ever.

Your hand find the back of your neck, angrily scratching your already chafed skin as you feel the discomfort settle into your chest, until you hear Chris clear his throat behind you, hand gently peeling your fingers off your skin, then sliding down to rest on the small of your back. You wince and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"Y/N," Chris sports a smile that looks very painful, mentally and physically. "Mom. Mom, Y/N. My colleague." A side glance. “And girlfriend.” 

There’s a small beat of silence where you think you’re going to pass out. She manages to look so composed despite her eyes literally screaming terror and horror and get this woman out of my son’s appartement ; and you, the FBI agent, look like a deer caught in headlights, a stuttering mess, shoulders dropped in despair. Maybe she would do a better job at being an undercover agent.

"I - shouldn’t shake your hand. Or, touch you...at all. I think you can guess why. See why. Clearly see why," your voice wavers. "But, um. It’s very nice to meet you. Ma’am. I should probably take a shower." You turn around, avoiding Chris' gaze, but only taking a few steps before stopping and turning back to him, resignation painted on your features.

You sigh, and try to whisper as you add : "I didn’t want to go to the hospital but I kinda need you to stitch me up right now." His blue eyes go to your stomach and his hand to his forehead, rubbing it tiredly.

"Yeah," he nods before twisting his body to face his mother, still quietly sitting at the dinner table. "Mom, I need to take care of her. We'll be here in half an hour, okay?"

You don't wait for her answer before heading straight to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat with your eyes closed and lips in a thin line. You hear his feet on the bathroom tiles, the sound of his dress shirt ruffling as he crouches down in front of you, palms spreading warmth on your aching thighs.

"Hey," he mutters again, soft eyes looking up through his lashes as you open your own. The beginning of a smile and a small greeting is quickly turned into a wince as his fingers gently lift the hem of your top, to fabric sticking to your skin. "Sorry."

You stay silent, sighing and hissing and biting your lower lip as your eyes stay glued to the ceiling. Chris works in silence, like he always does, and like you always do when the roles are reversed. What is there to talk about? You both know it hurts, you both know the other is sorry that they're hurting you, and it's part of the job. But the silence isn't really about your wounds right now, and you're too mortified to even glance at his face. His bottom lip is probably stuck between his teeth, eyebrows set into a focused frown, hands steady as yours still tremble from this encounter.

"All done." Hands gently pressing a bandage to your wound then sliding back to your thighs, a sigh escaping his lips.

You meet his gaze and there's this small pause where you gaze into someone's eyes and both of you are serious but you don't know if it's truly serious or if you should laugh. You raise your eyebrows, slowly, gradually, until a smirk makes its way on your fellow agent's lips.

"You do have bits of…red stuff…in your hair."

You chortle, throwing your head back, tension in the shoulders easing.

You put your hands on his shoulders as your legs spread to let him get closer to you, between your knees, and as you look down to him and his locks you feel a sense of comfort wash over you - it's been a month, and you’ve missed his hair and the smell of his shampoo.

"You could have warned me," you say. Fingers trail along his neck, beard tickling your palm and fingers. Traces of his last undercover mission are almost gone - shaven head and this sort of big goatee. It wasn’t your favorite look on him ; and now he’s gone back to this softer version of himself.

"Yeah, well, that’s kinda hard when you disappear undercover for a month, right?"

He does have a point. He holds your gaze for a moment, a slight crease between his brows, and you exhale softly, watching as he looks down to your bare stomach, bloody shirt discarded on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry. You know how it works."

"Yeah, I do."

A small pause, where you both get closer, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, scratching.

"Maybe you can make it up to me."

"I have bits of brain in my hair." Chris' lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, along your neck, your collarbones. Protests dying away and replaced by whimpers, already desperate for more. It has been a long month.

"Good thing we're in the bathroom, right?"

Hot breath on your skin, face nuzzling between your breasts, down your stomach, carefully avoiding your bandage as your back arches. It doesn't take long for you to find yourself pressed against a tile wall, legs wrapped around his bare body, limbs quivering - pleasure, the exhaustion of the day and the last month.

The sound of water hitting your bodies before crashing on the floor is enough to conceal your frantic heartbeats, strangled whimpers and mutters, feverish pleas. A fuck escapes your lips in the form of a low moan, Chris’ lips crashing into yours in an attempt to hold in the sound. A hungry kiss, sweet, loving, yearning.

"I've missed you - so - much." It comes out as three little gasps, matching each thrust into your body, each time your back hits the wall, each time you feel like you're finally complete. The pull in your chest, heart - it's so fierce. It almost hurts, how much you've missed him.

"Every day - " A muffled moan, fingers digging into the skin of his tense back. "I was just trying - to come back to you."

Skin prickling and tingling as droplets of water follow the curve of your tangled bodies, chills running down your spines, he buries his face into the crook of your neck as the last thrust takes all the strength that was left in your body. And as you're left quivering and panting and heaving, in this daze, there's this shared gaze that holds a thousand moments - everything it took to get here. Dodging, hitting, ducking, kicking, shooting, stabbing. Blood splattered on your face, the taste of iron in your mouth, the smell of death forever rooted in your senses. The lethal instinct that overtakes your whole body and mind when you have to fight your way home.

A throaty laugh resonates in the bathroom, traces of blood on the floor soon wiped clean, sewing kit back to the white closet right above that plant you insisted on buying specifically for his bathroom, ruined shirt thrown into a corner as if the laundry basket wasn't right next to him - you don't comment on that, relishing the feeling of a warm towel on your skin with your eyes closed and head thrown back. Different moans this time, as you get dressed painfully.

It takes a few minutes for someone to talk again, steam still fogging up the room, warmth embracing you. The mirrors are misty, and so is your mind. You roll your head from right to left, make your neck crack, stretch as far as your body lets you.

"Well," Chris drawls out lazily, visibly fighting a smirk. "I have to go back. I suppose you want to stay in my room and avoid further humiliation?"

You huff, dragging a hand across your face. "Scared I'm gonna start another extremely graphic depiction of my mission? I bet she wants to hear more about bits of scattered brain."

You wince as your hear yourself - it's gross.

"I really wish you had told me your mother was in town."

[soveryanon]

Four months late and with a coffee, ~*MAG160’s review*~ (and the last season 4 proof that I can’t do anything without a deadline.)

- This time, the tiny detail making me love the show even more was: the location (“If nothing else, I’m hoping there’d be some… jurisdiction complications in Scotland, or something?”). We know from MAG050 that Jonah Magnus used to be based in Edinburgh, or was at least operating from there in the 1840s (“Certain uncharitable quarters would have it that your life consists of little but rattling around an Edinburgh townhouse, surrounded by piles of ghostly accounts and lunatic documentation.”); Gertrude had created and hidden the ritual tying her to Agnes in “the middle of a forest, in the Scottish highlands. Furthest place I could find, from anything, and anyone.” (MAG145); the first episode of the series had happened in Old Fishmarket Close in Edinburgh (MAG001). How fitting, then, that the end of the world would be unleashed in Scotland, close to Jonah’s roots, close to the ritual that had been one of Gertrude’s first actions against the Fears, close to the place where the Anglerfish had been taking victims in the first statement Jon ever recorded?

(+ Obligatory “Hm! An Englishman returning from Scotland with a fear of bagpipes and sheep. I’m sure we can all relate…!” (MAG125) snickering reminder. Cross your fingers that the sheep do not get Flesh’d around you, Jon.)

- Obligatory “Oh, Martin, No” because Jon is rubbing off on him (ha) when it comes to saying things that end up biting him in the butt way later:

(MAG079) TIM: Alright, fine. Fine. What do you want? What’s your light at the end of these spooky damn tunnels – and don’t say “everyone happy forever”, because that’s not happening. … Well? MARTIN: I don’t know. I don’t know!! I want to find out what’s going on; I want to save Jon; I want everyone to be fine, and you know what? If we were all happy that wouldn’t actually be the end of the world!

It was a succession of “Everything Is Fine(-ish)”, Martin was happy for at least one week…

(MAG160) MARTIN: Everything alright? ARCHIVIST: Just… making sure it works…! […] MARTIN: Are we… … Are we safe here? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Safe as anywhere else. […] But I think we’re okay. […] MARTIN: You’ll be okay here? ARCHIVIST: I’ll be fine. […] MARTIN: I assume it’s her attempt at a… a–a “varied diet”? Eating your greens, you know? ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLE] Probably! I’m sure it will work fine.

… so, of course, the world just had to end.

- Fluff first: it took me a long, embarrassing while to understand what was happening in the first scene! I can’t guarantee it but it actually sounds to me like Martin was unloading a load of wood, and had been taking care of it (finding it, moving it, maybe even chopping it outside?!), hence why he perfunctorily asked what Jon had been doing inside (and made clear that he hadn’t gone to the village yet, since he was heading to it at the end of the sequence)?

(MAG160) [CLICK–] [LOAD OF WOOD BEING SET DOWN] MARTIN: Everything alright? […] [BITS OF WOOD BEING PILED UP, ONE BY ONE] MARTIN: You’re unpacked, then? ARCHIVIST: Mm? Oh, yes. [INHALE] Much as I can without any wardrobes to speak of, at least. MARTIN: Yeah, it’s… it’s not exactly the Ritz! […] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] … Not much in the way of food, is there? MARTIN: Hm? ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE] MARTIN: Oh! N–no, not yet. I was actually gonna head down into the village to go pick something up. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: Maybe give Basira a call to check in, ‘cause: Daisy apparently couldn’t pick a safehouse with a signal, so…! […] [ZIPPER PULLED] You’ll be okay here?

I’m not saying that, given how Jon was a bit distracted at the beginning of the episode and minimising how much time he had needed to unpack, and how there was glass shattering towards of the episode so most likely a window breaking, there is every likelihood that Jon had just been spending a lot of time eyeing Martin chopping wood through that window at the beginning of the episode, but. You know.

- Overall, I love how the cosiness and domesticity was so quickly installed amongst Other Serious Stuff, mysteries and the bigger plot: we’re being told/shown that Jon is taking precautions, wants to not use his powers, that Martin is the one heading out to go to the village (and the one leaving again in the second scene – Jon might be avoiding coming into contact with outsiders at all, in case they have “stories” or to avoid Knowing about them?), that Jon was planning to go back to only reading(/listening to) statements, after having taken Peter’s the episode before. So, still trying to not hurt more people, and also planning to rely on the tape recorder like he had done in MAG141-143 (if it clicks on on its own, then something is close), which is why and how we heard the first exchange:

(MAG160) [CLICK–] [LOAD OF WOOD BEING SET DOWN] MARTIN: Everything alright? ARCHIVIST: Just… making sure it works…! [SHUFFLING SOUNDS] MARTIN: I still don’t think we should have brought it. ARCHIVIST: Oh, it’s better than no warning at all. MARTIN: Mm. ARCHIVIST: Especially if I’m trying not to, uh… “see” things, you know? MARTIN: I guess. […] I was actually gonna head down into the village to go pick something up. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: Maybe give Basira a call to check in, ‘cause: Daisy apparently couldn’t pick a safehouse with a signal, so…! […] You’ll be okay here? ARCHIVIST: I’ll be fine. […] ARCHIVIST: How was she? MARTIN: Oh, same as last week. ARCHIVIST: Institute still crawling with police? […] MARTIN: Still, she did manage to talk them out of burning the whole place to the ground? Oh, ah! Actually, that reminds me. Hum… [RUSTLING OF PAPERS] ARCHIVIST: Ah! These, these are the… statements. MARTIN: Uh, yes. Basira said last week she’d send some up as soon as the Archives weren’t a crime scene. ARCHIVIST: Yes… MARTIN: And she wasn’t sure which ones you’d read already, so she–she just said she’d send a bunch. [CLATTERING SOUNDS] ARCHIVIST: There’s… tapes in here, as well. D… did she say anything about tapes? MARTIN: She… didn’t mention it? But… I–I didn’t check it until after the call. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: I assume it’s her attempt at a… a–a “varied diet”? Eating your greens, you know?

… Implicitly, that first exchange probably wouldn’t have been recorded if Jon hadn’t been checking that the tape recorder was working, which makes us go back to the usual questions of “what are they?”, “why are they only recording some scenes and not others?”, particularly in regards to the tapes that Martin brought back in the second scene.

I also appreciate how their exchanges were still grounded in… material concerns. How everything was installed for the listener to not think for a second that the apocalypse was coming close, given Martin and Jon’s preoccupations? They were still focusing on preventing Jon from harming other people, on food, on the identified people&monsters threatening them (Julia&Trevor, the Not!Them, potentially Daisy, Elias being on the loose again) and on legal matters regarding their involvement in MAG158’s attack (“If nothing else, I’m hoping there’d be some… jurisdiction complications in Scotland, or something?” / “… Does she know who they’re looking to blame?” “They’re not really talking to her about it? Sectioned or not, I guess ex-police only gets you so far.”). I think that this last point was the most impacting for me: food and other characters/threats will still be a concern during the apocalypse… but “legal jurisdictions”, Section 31 and the investigation in the Institute’s attack probably won’t be, and that would be the sign that “society as they know it” is crumbling? That the rules have profoundly changed?

- On that note, YEAH, “TERROR ATTACK” was indeed the way to put it:

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: Besides, I’m more worried about the other Hunters. Or the… “Sasha”-thing. Last I heard, they still hadn’t found any bodies. [INHALE] A lot of destruction, a lot of blood… [EXHALE] But that’s it. [MORE WOOD SOUNDS] MARTIN: … You think they’re still out there. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Hopefully a long way out there. […] Institute still crawling with police? MARTIN: I mean, they’ve finished all the interviews? Apparently, they’re calling it a “terror attack”. ARCHIVIST: Doesn’t surprise me. [CHUCKLE] Appropriate, in a way…! MARTIN: Mm. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: … Does she know who they’re looking to blame? MARTIN: They’re not really talking to her about it? Sectioned or not, I guess ex-police only gets you so far. ARCHIVIST: Mm. [SIGH] Does she know if they’ve found the old prison yet? The… Panopticon, Elia– … Magnus’s body. MARTIN: I don’t know how hard they’re looking, to be honest? Basira says a few of them got lost in the tunnels for over a day, and… ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLE] MARTIN: … it’s not like the promise of an old man’s corpse is much of a motivator. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: Still, she did manage to talk them out of burning the whole place to the ground?

* Was this implying that there weren’t any deaths amongst the regular staff? I know that it’s a bit of a moot point given the whole apocalypse-thingy, now, but still, glad for it because… I… really… don’t like… bystanders getting hurt as peripheral casualty when protagonists were the target… in fiction… (Though the staff have been hurt even if they survived, and now everyone is hurting given the circumstances, but, still. I really, really don’t like random deaths when their main point is to give angst to main characters.)

* Trevor&Julia and the Not!Them still on the loose. Given how the Not!Them operates, it’s possible that one of the Hunters hasn’t actually made it, and that we will meet Not!Trevor or Not!Julia in season 5? I’m guessing that they will come back in some shape or form (or Not) next season.

* I love how Section 31 was SO DONE with the Institute – Basira had established that the whole building meant an automatic Section 41 (MAG043) and we saw how Elias was handling police matters with blackmail and the likes (MAG082, MAG092, MAG120, MAG158). I’m surprised that Basira apparently explained Magnus’s deal, since they were searching for the body and the Panopticon? I thought they would avoid explaining it, since Section 31 would be the most likely to go for the kill if they ever found his body? And although Elias wasn’t sure about the consequences, he had still highlighted that killing him would still cause a risk for regular staff and Basira.

* I also love how the default way of destroying the Institute is always “set it on fire”:

(MAG060) ARCHIVIST: [Rosa Meyer] unloaded the van’s normal cargo of filing paper and envelopes, before filling it with several barrels of petrol. She was apprehended just south of Vauxhall Bridge, after she jumped a red light and collided with another car. Luckily the petrol did not ignite, and she was picked up by police as she tried to flee the scene. […] The one detail that still nags at me is that the company the Danilo Kostitch worked for, Paper Unlimited, is the same company that, at the time, supplied most of the stationery to the Magnus Institute. I have a nasty feeling about exactly where she was taking that petrol.

(MAG079) ELIAS: What did you want from him? LEITNER: The files. The ones you took from Gertrude. ELIAS: Planning a little light arson, are we Jurgen? LEITNER: It’s not just the Institute and you know it.

(MAG118) MARTIN: Case… 0071304. Statement of… Ivo Lensik. [BREATHES] [LIGHTER FLICKED ON] All right. [BURNING SOUNDS] [EXHALES DEEPLY] Statement ends, I guess. [PAPER RUSTLING] Hm… Harold Silvana! Number 0020406. Will probably do. [PAPER RUSTLING] [LIGHTER FLICKED ON] Alright then. 0140207, Dylan Anderson. [PAPER RUSTLING] Yeah? Okay~ [LIGHTER FLICKED ON] [EXHALES] There’s plenty more on the pile~ [AGGRESSIVE KNOCKING AND DOORKNOB JOSTLING] ELIAS: [MUFFLED AND DISTANT] Martin! Martin, open the door. MARTIN: Sorry Elias…! I can’t hear you. There’s a door in the way. […] ELIAS: Tell me what you’re doing, and why. MARTIN: I just thought I’d, y’know, drop a couple of ideas in the old suggestion box! Turns out my suggestion is… fire! [LIGHTER ON] ELIAS: And yet you haven’t set the whole Archives alight. So I assume this is… what’s it called… A cry for attention.

(MAG158) ELIAS: What exactly were you hoping to achieve here? Why not come at me directly instead of burning everything first? GERTRUDE: I was rather hoping the fire would occupy you while I did just that. ELIAS: I see…! […] So you burn the place down, use it as cover to reach my body, and then we die together. [CHUCKLE] How… poetic. Doesn’t seem like your style at all. GERTRUDE: I wasn’t actually planning on dying.

(Re: MAG060, I’d already been wondering, before the Jonah Magnus reveal, whether James Wright had somehow been involved in Rosa Meyer’s accident (thus preventing her from reaching the Institute) and/or had sent evidence to the police to incriminate her for the murder, ensuring she wouldn’t get another chance. I… guess that’s what really happened, uh ;;)

… A bit yIPS for the fact that Elias used to get harsh very fast as soon as the Archives were threatened with fire… and in MAG160, it’s now Basira who dissuaded police to burn the place down.

- On my first listen, I got a Big Worry over Basira because:

* “James Wright” had been Head of the Institute from 1973 to 1996, so during 23 years; “Elias Bouchard” had been the new one since 1996, so it’s been… 22 years, almost the same length. If Jonah is body-hopping regularly, we would be close to his next one.

* The weird Elias-Basira bits all through season 4.

* The fact that we haven’t heard Basira since MAG158, when Daisy told her to “go”: we… don’t really know what happened to her afterwards, we didn’t hear how she had interacted with Jon&Martin.

* The fact that Basira hadn’t mentioned the tapes and that Jonah’s statement was amongst the ones she sent to Jon:

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: Ah! These, these are the… statements. MARTIN: Uh, yes. Basira said last week she’d send some up as soon as the Archives weren’t a crime scene. ARCHIVIST: Yes… MARTIN: And she wasn’t sure which ones you’d read already, so she–she just said she’d send a bunch. [CLATTERING SOUNDS] ARCHIVIST: There’s… tapes in here, as well. D… did she say anything about tapes? MARTIN: She… didn’t mention it? But… I–I didn’t check it until after the call.

… So: I panicked a bit about the idea that Jonah could have hopped into Basira before Jon and Martin left The Lonely, or when they had left for Scotland already?

BUT, on the other hand, it wouldn’t really fit thematically: she is still a character, I feel, we don’t “know” a lot; she spent the entirety of season 4 getting manipulated by Elias and ultimately losing Daisy again; she has a new arc opened (her promise to Daisy that she would find and kill her, in MAG158). It would be a bit too harsh to do Basira dirty like this right now, so I doubt that it’s something that happened (losing both Daisy&Basira like this, while Jon&Martin&Elias are still relevant, would be a bit too obviously imbalanced genders-wise too). But. Still. I got a Big Worry.

- Though: given Daisy’s last words in MAG158, I was assuming we were saying goodbye to her as “Daisy”, but now I’m not even sure? Because, yes, TMA characters often sarcastically joke about things that are upsetting and sad, but it didn’t feel like they were talking about someone they had lost forever as a person here?

(MAG160) MARTIN: Yeah, it’s… it’s not exactly the Ritz! ARCHIVIST: Well, it technically still belongs to Daisy, so… I’m just glad it’s not… some sort of… kill room. MARTIN: Or… [CHUCKLE] Or it is, and she just cleaned it up really well! [CHUCKLE] ARCHIVIST: Uh…! Yes… [CLEARS THROAT] [SILENCE] […] MARTIN: Some-somehow, I don’t think Daisy will be worried about “jurisdictions”…! ARCHIVIST: I– [SIGH] I don’t think she’d come here. [RATTLING SOUND] Doesn’t look like this place has been used for years. MARTIN: [POINTEDLY] And if she does? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … Well. At least, we’ll know where she is.

… I mean, yeah, there was Jon’s blatant discomfort, but: this is not how you would talk about someone who had resisted for months against a Fear that had influenced almost all her life, who tried to get Jon out of his misery pit after he had rescued her from the Coffin, who tried to repair a bridge with Martin, who was firm in front of Jon about the fact that obeying to a Fear’s influence wasn’t worth it, to ultimately succumb to The Hunt again after she had stayed in order to give Jon time to run after Martin who was in danger and possibly to protect Basira?

I really really felt that we were absolutely saying goodbye to her in MAG158, but with Jon&Martin’s exchange in this episode, I’m not quite sure anymore – it would be a bit too heartless and disrespectful if it was the case, to summarise Daisy once again as a violent monster, while she had fought it for months? But: Daisy had already lost herself to The Hunt during The Unknowing, and had been rescued from that state once, plus Basira promised to find and kill her (which sounds like a Last Promise, something you can’t go back on); I doubt they could “get her back” another time, even if the whole paradigm has changed?

I really don’t know ;; If we are indeed saying goodbye to Daisy-as-Daisy, I kind of hope that there will be more sensitive words about her in season 5, because it really didn’t feel like she was absolutely gone, given the way Jon and Martin were talking about her – this was a conversation that could have been had about Daisy in season 3, not after season 4 and all the work she did…? I don’t really feel like it was a “meaningful death” on its own either: it didn’t feel to me like it was a sacrifice she was ultimately choosing to make, but The Hunt taking over her anyway because of the violence and the stress around. It works extremely well as a very sad death – Daisy caught back by her patron after some time, because she couldn’t escape it forever (as she had said), and what mattered was that she allowed us to discover the Real Her during season 4 – but I’m still hoping a bit that she could go out a bit more on her terms, if this isn’t her final disappearance as a sentient being able to choose whether or not to cause harm…?)

- So: unsure about Daisy’s current status; worried over Basira (but overall narrative tends to indicate that she hasn’t been taken over); while Martin…

(MAG158) PETER: But you do serve The Lonely. MARTIN: Oh, I’m getting there, but if this is the final test or something? Then bad luck. The answer’s still “no”.

(MAG159) MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] This is where I should be. It feels right. ARCHIVIST: Martin, don’t say that. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] Nothing hurts here. It’s just quiet. Even the fear is gentle here.

(MAG160) MARTIN: … Well, as fun as listening to you monologue is… ARCHIVIST: Hm. MARTIN: … I will give you some privacy. Go for a walk. ARCHIVIST: Let me know if you see any good cows…! MARTIN: Now, obviously I’m going to tell you if I see any good cows…! ARCHIVIST: [AMUSED HUFF] [FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING]

1°) … Somehow, I find it hard to believe that Martin, of all people, wouldn’t want to listen to Jon monologue. But aouch, the fact that he went for self-isolation so spontaneously gives me the impression that The Lonely might have impacted him quite deeply, and that it might come back to relevance in season 5…

2°) Daisy was barely mentioned in this episode and yet, once again, I’M SO SAD ABOUT DAISY, because it feels like everything was a reminder of her ;_; Who used to stay around when Jon was reading statements?

(MAG133) DAISY: You sure? ARCHIVIST: No, uh, it’s, hum. It’s fine. DAISY: It’s just… Basira’s busy. ARCHIVIST: I–I understand. Ho–honestly, er, I’d actually appreciate your insights, er, for this one, just… You know, keep quiet during the statement and that. DAISY: Sure. I, I can do quiet.

(MAG136) MELANIE: Well… uhm. Daisy’s been, erm… I’ve been keeping her company. Er, while… while Basira’s busy. She’s, er… ARCHIVIST: Oh, no, I, uh… I–I know. MELANIE: W–well, I’ve kind of got to… uhm. I’ve got somewhere to be. Do you mind if, if… she hangs around, with… ARCHIVIST: Er… I suppose… Not at all. She’s very welcome. […] DAISY: I didn’t ask her. To do that. ARCHIVIST: I–it–it’s fine. DAISY: [QUICKLY] You’re not babysitting me, alright?! I know that’s what the others think, sometimes, but… that’s not it. I just… don’t like… being on my own if I can help it. You know. Flashbacks, panic attacks, the usual. Just trying to avoid it if I can. ARCHIVIST: I know, Daisy, I–I do. It’s hard. DAISY: Yeah, well. Don’t let me get in your way.

(… And if she had been there, she would have found a way to stop Jon from reading, even if that meant harming him, uh…?)

- Obligatory “GOOD COWS” point:

(MAG160) MARTIN: Cool. … Well, as fun as listening to you monologue is… ARCHIVIST: Hm. MARTIN: … I will give you some privacy. Go for a walk. ARCHIVIST: Let me know if you see any good cows…! MARTIN: Now, obviously I’m going to tell you if I see any good cows…! ARCHIVIST: [AMUSED HUFF]

We know that Martin hadn’t travelled much in his life:

(MAG113) MARTIN: So… how was it? ARCHIVIST: Uh? MARTIN: A–America? And–and China? I’ve, I’ve never really actually… done any, y’know, travelling. MELANIE: It’s not all that. Sometimes you get shot by a ghost. ARCHIVIST: And refuse to give a statement about it. MELANIE: Yup! ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] It was… nice, Martin.

So… Eloping to Scotland with Jon might have been his first time seeing actual cows? I love how it already sounded like an inside-joke between Jon&Martin – you feel like there are small stories behind it, that either Martin, Jon or both of them have already cooed about “good cows” in the time they have spent there. Same cute point with:

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: Anyway, don’t tell me the phone box down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic…! MARTIN: … It… might. ARCHIVIST: [AMUSED HUFF] MARTIN: Maybe.

It’s adorable that it’s both a nod to Martin’s taste indeed (… and technically Alex’s!):

(MAG039) TIM: Why do you have a second tape recorder, Martin? MARTIN: Oh, um… well, I’ve been using it to record myself. I write poetry and I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm. ARCHIVIST: … I see.

(S1Q&A, 17’20) ALEX: So, when Jonny originally pitched The Magnus Archives to me, there was a period of testing, where we actually ran a few episodes that will never see the light of day…! And what we were doing is seeing what sounded right. And, part of that was to do with the sound of it – so we did versions of The Archives, uh, without the tape deck, just to test? I didn’t like it. I think that it’s got a sort of low-fi charm. JONNY: [CHUCKLE]

And Jon had remembered!

… So, confirmation that Martin likes and is into old things. … There is a definitive pattern there, because Jon absolutely does fit into the “retro” and “low-fi charm” aesthetic himself, and I’m not sure if Jon was aware that it was a self-burn (or if, like in MAG039 and his “only an idiot would stay in this job”, that was the joke).

- And on the other hand: Jon is Living The Archers Life in the countryside. I still want to Believe that the show became a guilty pleasure for him.

… ;_; I’m randomly sad for Daisy, because it feels right that one of her safehouses would be located in a remote area, without signal, a bit distant from the village nearby…? Was she even able to listen to the radio there? Did she listen to Archers episodes alone there?

(Well. “Alone”. Martin&Jon learned about the safehouse somehow, and I can’t tell which idea I preferred more: that Basira tipped them about it (and it was something she had shared with Daisy, and she told them despite that little secret of theirs), or that Daisy had tipped Jon before MAG158, in case something bad were to happen, because the two of them had this weird little friendship-thing going on…)

- I’m still going to use “Elias” for Jonah out of habit, and I like how different characters now in the known also have their own ways of referring to him? Peter used “Elias” out of habit too:

(MAG158) PETER: What are you doing here, Elias? […] Don’t let him distract you. ELIAS: Peter. PETER: Elias.

(MAG159) PETER: But it’s moored now, and I came on land, at Elias’s request. My crew is out there waiting for a call I think I am now unlikely ever to give them. … I will call him “Elias”, for that’s how I’ve known him for most of our… acquaintance, though I originally met him when he was still “James Wright, Head of the Magnus Institute”.

Martin quickly learned to reconfigure his knowledge and use “Jonah”:

(MAG158) MARTIN: Elias– … Jonah had nothing to do with it.

… Meanwhile: Jon is still stuck on “Elias”, though he’s been shown correcting himself:

(MAG158) ARCHIVIST: Uh– yes. And I’d wager that Elias’s body, uh… BASIRA: Gotta be Jonah Magnus, right? ARCHIVIST: I’d say so.

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Safe as anywhere else. If Elias wanted to find us, I imagine he could, but… I doubt the police will be able to. […] Does she know if they’ve found the old prison yet? The… Panopticon, Elia– … Magnus’s body.

It was a very strange season in the fact that Jon and Elias only interacted directly once, and very quickly (MAG158): in past seasons, we were hearing them regularly (even in season 1, when they directly interacted only twice), and it was implied that they were discussing more often than what the tapes were recording. But in season 4, no additional interaction than MAG158’s is possible given that Elias was in jail and Jon was forbidden from visiting him… though there was a form of communication through different means – Jon read Jonathan Fanshawe’s letter to Jonah because it had “called” to him (and Elias “called” Jon towards the Panopticon; was he the one responsible for that one?), and Jonah’s letter in MAG160.

How long will it take before Jon and Elias come face to face again in season 5? And will Jon still call him “Elias” then, or “Jonah”?

- I had been wondering for so long how Jon was supposed to fit in Beholding’s ritual, as one of its agents! Would Jon keep embracing his powers to the point that pulling in The Eye into the world would seem acceptable for him? (That was my main worry when Oliver gave his statement and told him he had to make a choice: were we supposed to trust Jon when he was telling Basira and the others that his “priorities haven’t changed”, or was she right to be cautious around him? In the end, it was a mix of both given that Jon wasn’t trustworthy (he hid to everyone that he had been taking statements behind their backs) but he still wasn’t keen on bringing the apocalypse, which was cemented later in season 4 when the others made sure that he wouldn’t hurt other people.) Would Elias manage to convince Jon that Beholding was a lesser evil, possibly to “protect” the world against Extinction? (Absolutely not.) Was Elias simply waiting for the right time to blackmail Jon into it doing it, by threatening to hurt Georgie, the assistants or specifically Martin? (No, but my blood ran cold when Jonah mentioned Martin in this statement, since… Martin was outside… alone… and out of reach…, and for a few seconds, I really thought he had been kidnapped and/or hurt and that this would be it.) Given how Elias had a “complicated” relationship to the apocalypse and didn’t seem to be doing much, did he really want Beholding’s ritual, or was he passively sabotaging it…? “The Watcher’s Crown” had been a concern and a frustration from the moment it was first mentioned:

(MAG111) GERRY: She worked out they’d all be happening quite close together. She’d already been doing it a while, and The Unknowing was the next on her list. That and The Watcher’s Crown. ARCHIVIST: The, the what? GERRY: Uh, The Rite of the Watcher’s Crown. It’s what she called the ritual for the Eye. She didn’t tell me much about that one, just that she knew how to take care of it. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH]

(MAG123) BASIRA: Best I can understand it, Beholding, or… The Eye, or whatever you wanna 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.

(MAG126) PETER: [LAUGH] Because, behind all his bluster, Elias’s just like all the rest. He’s so preoccupied playing the game, he doesn’t pay attention to the big picture. He managed to convince himself that he could get his ritual off first, which would have made all of this a… bit moot, but that’s not really an option anymore. So it’s down to us. You and me. The dynamic duo.

(MAG135) BASIRA: [DRY SIGH] What was the point? You won’t be getting your ritual off from in here so, what do you need him for?

(MAG137) ARCHIVIST: Ever since I crawled out of that damn coffin, I feel like I’ve been… adrift. Filling in blanks and diving into History, but only…! [EXASPERATED SIGH] The breadcrumbs I’m finding are… stale. Old. … What the hell is The Watcher’s Crown? So far the only mention of it I’ve had is from Gerry, and he didn’t seem to know much about what it actually meant. [PAUSE] And he’s gone now. But if it is the grand ritual of Beholding, then I– … I mean… I need to know about it. Right…? I feel like I’m on a deadline, like I’m running out of time somehow – and I don’t even know where to go! What to look for, o–or… [EXHALE] Just casting around blindly for more clues to just… drop into my lap. Everyone else is… running towards something, or running away, and I… [SIGH] I don’t know what I’m doing.

(MAG138) ELIAS: For all his… many faults, Peter is legitimately trying to stop the end of the world as we know it. MARTIN: So why haven’t you helped him?! ELIAS: My relationship to the apocalypse is more… complicated. MARTIN: [UTTER DISBELIEF] Oh, seriously? ELIAS: Seriously.

And in the end, I’m so satisfied by what was revealed, since it entirely checked out.

* Indeed: before season 4, it had seemed logical to assume that the Institute had been founded in 1818 and that the Beholding faction had been accumulating power ever since, preparing for The Watcher’s Crown, given how The Dark had apparently waited for 300 years before trying again, and The Stranger 230 years. However, in Smirke’s letter to Jonah (MAG138), we learned that Jonah was finalising a Beholding project, which resulted in Smirke’s death. So that was the time of The Watcher’s Crown attempt!

* Elias “My relationship to the apocalypse is more… complicated.” Magnus had already tried his ritual once, and knew now that the others’ were all doomed to fail – unless going for his ritual of them all. That was why. F u c k e r.

* Annabelle had already taunted and/or warned Jon about the fact that reading a statement was a weak point, since he had reached a point where it was impossible for him to stop once he had begun:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “… I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading, there’s every likelihood you’ll… just hurt yourself. So just listen. Now – shall we turn the page and try again?” [PAINED SOUND] [PAGE GETTING TURNED] ARCHIVIST: [STRAINED] … Statement of… Jonah Magnus… regarding… Jonathan Sims… the Archivist. … Statement begins. […] “Now. [CHUCKLE] Repeat after me.”

(MAG147, Annabelle Cane) “Of course, that’s not the real crux of the free will question that’s… bothering you at the moment, is it? I think that one probably comes down to whether or not you’re choosing to continue reading this statement out loud. You didn’t mean to, did you? No, I’m sure you told Basira and Melanie that you were going to glance over it and report back. Perhaps they asked you if you were going to record, and you shook your head – “Maybe later”. That sounds like the sort of thing you’d say.

But think about it, Jon: when’s the last time you were able to read a statement quietly to yourself without instinctively hitting record and speaking it aloud? It is just instinct? Habit? Or is it a compulsion – a string pulled by the Ceaseless Watcher or the Mother of Puppets? Or both? I know the summaries have started to confuse you. Where did they come from, when you read a statement fresh? How do you just… sort of know what it’s about, before you even start to read it…? But by then, you’re away: the rollercoaster is dropping and you’ve no real choice but to hold on and hope that… I don’t crash you.”

(What had struck me with Annabelle’s is that, although it was true that Jon had not been interrupted during a statement past season 2, the concept of Jon not being able to glance at a statement without making an official record was fairly recent: he had provided some follow-ups during season 4, having previously done some work using details mentioned in the statements.)

… It might be that Annabelle showed off the trick of Jon being forced to keep reading a statement even though the content was unpleasant precisely to give Elias the idea? Elias knew how to get his completed “Archive”, but I doubt that hijacking Jon through a statement in order to get him to summon the Fears was something he had planned for long, and not something he had devised recently, copying Annabelle.

* + Bonus from Martin, who had absolutely jinxed it / been too On The Nose about it, since he had put out there the idea of an incantation to bring about the end of the world, though crackily:

(MAG144) MARTIN: [LONG INHALE, EXHALE] I believe you. PETER: You don’t still think I’m trying to trick you into a grand ritual? MARTIN: I mean, I’m not about to start chanting stuff for you, but… but the details you’ve given me all seem to check out. So far.

The end of the world happened thanks to someone chanting stuff for someone else, in the end!

- Same feeling with how the episode was framed: we did have clues that ~something was coming~, we knew since MAG121 that we were now in 2018 and that it was conveniently the Institute’s anniversary, Jon himself acknowledged this early in the season…

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: Hm. “Jonah Magnus”… I’ve never really given much thought to him. Not nearly as much as I should have. I suppose I had always hoped there was a chance he was… innocent, in all this. I know, I know; but I had… [SIGH] I had just… hoped that maybe the founding of the Institute was in earnest…! And not simply the foundation stone for all the… terrible things that have happened here. … But no. Whatever is happening now… has its origins two hundred years ago. In the work of an evil man. … [INHALE] Exactly two hundred years, in fact. Don’t think that little detail has evaded me. I don’t know the precise date the Institute was founded, but I do know that it was in 1818. [INHALE] Something’s coming. I know it is. But I just… don’t know what I need to do.

But WOW did Everything highlight Elias’s sense of drama.

* 2018 was indeed relevant, but worse, Asshole Boss Man picked October 18th as the Apocalypse Day, making the statement case a palindrome (#0181810). Knowing this posturing fucker, there is every likelihood that this was the anniversary of the exact date the Institute was founded or something.

* He probably bribed Simon or used Ex Altiora’s Spiral thing just to be able to get the storm rumbling ominously in the background on that day.

* Once again, HE USED TO BE BASED IN EDINBURGH (and confirmed in this letter that the building of the Magnus Institute was constructed or moved into only after his failed Watcher’s Crown attempt, so around the time of Smirke’s death in 1867). He struck when Jon&Martin had precisely taken refuge in Scotland, so the country of his roots.

* I’ll go all-out about the content of his letter, but the sense of self-posturing and dramatisation was through the roof, he probably spent most of the prison vacation thinking about it and about how Jon would probably react to craft the most obnoxious letter ever. Fucker.

* The PUNS. He punned SO MUCH. It’s nothing new (“Don’t forget to keep in touch, Martin. There are so many people in here, but without one’s friends… it does get rather lonely.”, just for one), but he was absolutely insufferable in this one:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Admittedly, given the advent of The Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered – but what’s the old saying about hindsight? […] Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. […] How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you?”

(+ “It does tickle me, that in this world of… would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the “Chosen One” is… simply that: someone I chose!” Someone remembered The Tingly, uh.)

* About the Posturing: Elias definitely confirmed to be a Bones Connoisseur, dude, please, you were two centuries late for the Baroque movement.

(MAG092) ELIAS: And it was not out of malice, or because [Jonah Magnus] lacked affection for Barnabas Bennett: he retrieved those bones sadly enough when the time came. Bones that you can still find in my office, if you know where to look.

(MAG127, Jonathan Fanshawe) “… Do I need to tell you what I found, Jonah? Do I need to detail what covered his organs? His bones? The inside of his skin? What clustered together in their dozens, and all turned as one to focus on me as I opened his chest? Their pupils constricting in the light, with irises of every hue and colour. Because whatever it was that did this to him, I know in my heart… that it is your fault.”

(MAG131) JARED: The letters started comin’ in about two years ago. Good white paper, large print. Nice and simple. Dunno who sent them; they were never signed, and I dunno how they kept finding me. […] I don’t blame people for thinking that all bones are the same, most people don’t have much experience – but it’s not true. There are good bones, and there are bad bones, and Regan Hasnain had some very good bones in her. They were solid, healthy, and they jumped at my touch. I didn’t doubt the letters again.

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “Do you know of Alexander Cunningham? He’s been working with the Viceroy of India on the Indus Valley digs, and he’s discovered some quite remarkable things. Burial pits full of burned bones and ash, skulls with markings as though the eyes were removed, and others that seem… buried alive.”

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “[…] though I waited until the worms were in you to pull the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.”

… Assuming that Jon didn’t leave with it, I’m unfortunately picturing Jonah getting his hands on Jon’s rib just to add it to the secret stash in his office.

- I really loved Jonah’s “little trip down memory lane”, because… it was answering interrogations or suspicions (regarding his past actions), still managed to surprise me in small little things that I hadn’t suspected and hadn’t been hinted but worked perfectly (shoving Helen into a car?!), and was still extremely functional (terrorising Jon and readying him for the final incantation, by reactivating all his old fears and pains). The first part of it was almost a “gift”, in a way, since it… answered and “hooked” us/Jon, but wasn’t really necessary when it came to messing Jon up; but it was, after all, a statement, so it’s only logical that it would begin with some gloating and posturing. Gods, the posturing. Anyway, a… lot of things suddenly rearranged themselves, so I’m just going to follow his words for that one without trying to organise it thematically:

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: [CLEARS THROAT] Statement of Hazel Rutter, regarding a fire in her childhood home. Original statement given August 9th, 1992…! Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins. [PAUSE, PUNCTUATED BY THE CRACKLING OF THE FIRE] “Hello, Jon. [STATIC RISES] Apologies for the deception, but I rather wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself. I’m assuming you’re alone – you always did prefer to read your statements in… private. … I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading, there’s every likelihood you’ll… just hurt yourself. So just listen. Now – shall we turn the page and try again?” [PAINED SOUND] [PAGE GETTING TURNED] ARCHIVIST: [STRAINED] … Statement of… Jonah Magnus… regarding… Jonathan Sims… the Archivist. … Statement begins.

* The sneakiness was extraordinary because, given the first words, you were meant to be already trying to guess what this statement would be about – we tend to associate “fire” with Desolation, and the very present and physical crackling of the fire in the background… was adding a very ominous touch to this.

* I must admit that before Jon confirmed that it was Jonah’s statement, I didn’t know whether it was him or Annabelle? There was something very carnivorous and cruel in the tone Jon used, which reminded me of her rather than Elias. (And, overall: I felt “Jonah” a bit more than in Ben-as-Elias’s words! It’s probably because of the huge amount of posturing, and the… slowness? of Jon’s reading, rather than Elias’s usual chirpy bitey comments.)

I have to appreciate, also, how this season began, continued and ended… with people saying hello to Jon and/or calling him “Jon” when he was physically unable to answer.

(Season 4 trailer) MARTIN: Hi Jon. [PAUSE] H–how are you? [LIGHT CHUCKLE] … Yeah. Yeah, same here. It’s… it’s bad all over, you know?

(MAG121) OLIVER: Hum… Hello, Jon. Do you… m–mind if I call you Jon? I… I mean. You don’t actually know me, it’s just… well. “Archivist”, it’s so… formal, isn’t it? And I do kind of know you…? Haven’t had much choice, really.

(MAG147, Annabelle Cane) “‘Free will’ is a funny old thing – isn’t it, Jon? Can I call you Jon? I’m going to call you Jon.”

Elias had been spending a loooot of time watching Jon, indeed.

* The struggle in Jon’s throat noises was heart-breaking, we could hear that he was clearly trying to resist… to no avail, and Elia’s little taunt was just the nail on the coffin…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Why does a man seek to destroy the world? It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality, and power […]; to place yourself beyond pain, and death, and fear. It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, Jon, the freedom of it all…! I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers, all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction, in that choice. I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die. I believe there are far more people in this world who’d take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.”

* We had learned through Robert Smirke’s letter that Jonah was afraid of dying (MAG138: “I beg you, do not pursue this goal; if only a single lesson may be gleaned from my life of long study, and longer hardship, it is that the fear of Death is natural, and to flee from it will only bring greater misery. Repent of your sins, Jonah. Seek forgiveness. I am certain the Dread Powers cannot take a soul that keeps faith in the Resurrection.”), that absolutely confirms it. Things have changed indeed, and the separations we used to rely on will probably be less relevant, but… still, it’s interesting that this season began with an agent of The End visiting Jon (sent by The Web). Oliver had precisely highlighted that you can’t really escape death (MAG121: “That was it with the old woman too. That was different, though. Way I figure it? She stuck her nose in just about everywhere it wasn’t wanted and stirred up hornets. ‘Till all the precautions in the world couldn’t stop Death from finally catching her.”), I’m curious about whether or not it will be relevant for Jonah too.

* Adding to this: Jon had explained that he had woken up because he was afraid of dying (MAG136: “My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die.”), and it was a lingering theme in this season: is it worth it to not die if it relies on harming others? We’ve had various examples of people accepting this deal in their own ways (Helen who chose to “stop feeling guilty” about it, Tova McHugh who justified to herself that she deserved to live more than others…), and others who actively refused it (Daisy who pointed out that it wasn’t worth it, Melanie who had decided to stop any complacency with Beholding even if it would cause her own death, before she found a way out). The beginning of the episode established that Jon was still trying to not use his powers, and the prologue confirmed it once more: after the harm he caused and kept hidden during the first half of season 4, he’s still following the conscious choice to not hurt others at the present. I had felt that MAG138 was implicitly contrasting Jonah and Jon (agreeing to let his friends get consumed for his own gain / wanting to protect the assistants and refusing to lose anyone else); given how Elias was absolutely deadpan about the fact he had embraced the Fears for his own gain, the contrast is definitely cemented.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott and the rest – to discuss and hypothesise on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner… I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear. But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was still so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of their patrons: I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world. At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be… an inevitable transformation, was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment… soon became a race. Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror? I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked. It – took – years for the dread of the prisoners that passed through to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man by the time I made my first attempt at The Watcher’s Crown, sat in the centre of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet. It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were; and none of the inmates survived, as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was build consumed it. But it left me a gift: for sat in that watchtower, I could see… everything I turned my mind to. It was a dizzying power; and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. [DISTANT RUMBLE OF THUNDER] Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organisation I had founded to assist in my research down to London. And the Institute, as you know it, was born. I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own. Surely, my interpretation of The Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.”

* ! I had felt like season 4 was… really giving the idea that an “old” generation of avatars or people involved with the Powers had been wiped out? The Lightless Flame was almost entirely eradicated by Gertrude, a few recent failed rituals damaged some factions (The Stranger, The Dark, The Flesh), a lot of recurring figures were revealed dead (such as Adelard) or are “officially” dead (Mikaele Salesa…?), Peter was recently eradicated, etc. Simon Fairchild, Jonah and Trevor Herbert (if he has survived) seem to be the oldest; the only ones left seem to be Jared Hopworth (since 1996), Jude Perry (since 1991), Daisy (in whichever state she currently is…), Oliver Banks (“died” and came back after 2015), Annabelle Cane (turned in 2010), Helen-the-Distortion (took over in 2017), Julia Montauk (embraced The Hunt in summer 2010), Jon (Beholding, gradually groomed into avatarhood from late 2015 to early 2018), potentially Martin (Beholding-touched Lonely, late 2017 and 2018). That’s not many, compared to the old guard. But it did fit with both the idea that the apocalypse would be brought around now, and that Jonah had lived it as a “race” against others?

* We don’t know what happened to George Gilbert Scott as an avatar of The Buried in the Magnusverse? He was described in MAG050, but I wonder if he’s still around, given how Elias took great care of finishing off Rayner by sending the police after him. (Technically, we don’t know how Mordechai Lukas ended either… but the Lukases are still prosperous and financing the Institute, so the family and Elias are still in good terms.)

* It’s an implicit correction to Jon’s conclusions that the Institute had never been founded “in earnest” and that Jonah Magnus had always been “an evil man” after reading Jonathan Fanshawe’s letter from 1831 (MAG127): Jonah really taking it to heart to point out that his opinions had changed a bit over the matter of the Fears, uh? Although it was a quick decision: if we’re following our History, Robert Smirke began working on Millbank around 1816. If Jonah was the one who pushed him in that direction for his own plans, it means that he was already planning to bring in Beholding when Albrech had sent him his letter (MAG023) about The Eye’s tomb in the Black Forest. Was it the case, or is the Magnus timeline diverging a bit from our own history (maybe Smirke began working on Millbank later in the Magnusverse), or did Jonah rewrite history a bit there, retrospectively telling himself that he had convinced Smirke to work on Millbank for his own gains? Jonah, at least, let Barnabas Bennett die in 1824, and the way Elias presented it, it had still been a sad choice albeit one made without any hesitation (MAG092: “And it was not out of malice, or because he lacked affection for Barnabas Bennett: he retrieved those bones sadly enough when the time came. […] No, it was because he was curious. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all.”); according to Jonathan Fanshawe’s letter from 1831, he had grown a bit more ruthless towards Albrecht von Closen by then.

* … How old was Jonah when he pushed Smirke to work on Millbank? “I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind” would mean old age… but he was still alive in 1867 (Robert Smirke’s letter). He couldn’t have been more than 40 in 1816, and that’s already stretching a lot! So either Real Life’s and Magnus’s Histories diverge as mentioned above, either he was really a Victorian asshole getting worried over his first wrinkles and white hair, gooooods, Jonah, please…

* It… does explain the “Opperior” in the Institute’s logo, if he wanted for more than half his life that Millbank would be contaminated by the fears…………

* I love how he casually explained that The Watcher’s Crown had already happened, when we were panicking about it, and yet! We should have suspected! Since Smirke’s letter mentioned that Jonah was likely working on a Beholding project:

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “It is telling that of those I have brought into my confidence, it is only you and I who have continued this far without falling to one Power or another, despite all my instruction and work. This is, of course, assuming you have not taken the path of The Eye that I know has called you – called us both – for so long, even since before we began our work on Millbank. […] I am not a fool; I know well enough what this dream is likely to mean, and I warn you again that if you have any remaining ambitions to use our work, to try and wear The Watcher’s Crown, you must abandon them! Not simply for the sake of your own soul, but for that of the world! I have always had the utmost respect for you as a man of dignity, and learning. Do not allow yourself to fall to this madness. […] I am choosing to assume that these manifestations are unintentional, Jonah, and you have not… simply decided to implore a Dark Patron to end the life of an old man. I further find myself supposing that they may emanate from your own intrigues and preparations to culminate those plans which we agreed to abandon so many decades ago! […] The Eye has marked me for something, of this I have no doubt. My… humble hope is that it may be a swift death, an accidental effect of your own researches, which I once again implore you to abandon. It is likely too late for me, but I will not…”

Letter interrupted because He Dead. I’m a bit surprised that Jonah didn’t take credit for his death, so it might have been Beholding just growing more powerful at the time and touching Smirke without even Jonah doing anything purposefully?

* And again!!! It made sense re: the current building of the Institute. We knew that the Institute had been founded in 1818, but Sampson Kempthorne’s letter (MAG050) had mentioned that Jonah was “rattling around an Edinburgh townhouse, surrounded by piles of ghostly accounts and lunatic documentation” in 1841. Breekon, while describing an event that had happened around 1853 (his time serving on the Robert Small), had mentioned that it had been “the first time we saw what would become this place, The Eye’s Pedestal” (MAG128), implying that it wasn’t yet The Eye’s pedestal at the time. That’s because Jonah only moved the Institute to London after his failed Watcher’s Crown attempt, past 1867! And all to protect the Panopticon and his actual body inside of it!

* Just the mention in passing that a huge amount of people died during his attempt, but it’s not really surprising from Elias-Jonah. Though, he was a bit more handson than Peter had credited him for, in the end?

* It’s interesting how the failed rituals impacted avatars differently. Peter almost lost himself; Tom Haan certainly did (as pointed out by Gertrude); Rayner was severely diminished; Simon just kept going after each one (only one attempt amongst many, in the big universe?). Jonah… got a power boost out of it. If the Fears work on a Whatever Feels Right basis, is it because he was so self-centred that he couldn’t even imagine not getting personal gain out of it or something?

* It still makes so much sense that his own way to “not die” was to take hosts: he knew Rayner, and that’s what Rayner was doing, so it worked because he had an example of it working for someone else; it had to work this way for himself, too!

* Really interesting too, that… The Eye was not mentioned in the first part of his statement. We know that The Watcher’s Crown was The Eye’s ritual, but it’s really telling that Jonah didn’t explicitly introduce it as his god: in his mind, he was clearly doing it for himself, for his own interests, for his own survival and gain, and not at all out of devotion or fascination or unwilling service to a patron (though there are clear indications that… he was actually much more Beholding than he was aware).

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus. You see, the role of Archivist has been part of The Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers: most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain… throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings. But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about collecting experiences or compiling the fears of others – she was driven to stop those who served the Powers. More than once, I thought she must secretly be of The Hunt, [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times. I once asked her… what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me The Desolation had killed her cat…! I don’t know if she was joking and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.”

* So ;; Kinda leaning into the idea that Johann von Württemberg and the creature under Alexandria were indeed Archivists of their times? (And I’m D: all over again about Jonah confirming that he had researched on Beholding, because of what happened to Albrecht von Closen between 1816 and 1831 because of him and the books…)

* Gotta love how he didn’t mention any other Archivist before SHE happened. Gertrude Robinson was That Special, uh. (Well, he had acknowledged that “I suppose we both got a little complacent. Fifty years is a long time!” in MAG158)

* I love how I can absolutely not tell either whether she was messing with him or if it was the truth. She could very well have dedicated a huge amount of her life to fucking over The Lightless Flame in particular because they had murdered her cat, it would have been entirely understandable.

* I love that JONAH was TOO SCARED of Gertrude Robinson to peer into her mind ever. Also:

(MAG159) PETER: Gertrude was the one that scared me. She seemed to have no interest in meeting me whatsoever, something… I appreciated, but there was something in her eyes when she looked at me, as though she was making a calculation and I was an unwanted integer she was deciding whether to remove.

Lonely Eyes, united in their shared fear of the scary old woman.

* That was one of the first moments I remembered that Jon was listening to this with us – and how upsetting it must have been to be reminded of “the Archivist” being a function, when he had been so afraid to have inherited a “mantle” like Michael and others in season 3…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years. In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded? Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinson throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed? She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with… the People’s Church. When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realised she was putting into practice a theory – and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain, as mine had all those years ago. Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated; but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realised what needed to be done. You see… the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the panic of hunted prey? When does the mask of The Stranger become the deception of The Spiral? Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as “up” relies on “down”. To try and create a world with only The Buried… makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only “down”. Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself… impossible. They could bring their patron close, but could not sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back to the place next to reality where they dwell.”

* I Did Not Share That Opinion because… honestly, the rituals seemed quite easy to derail? The only thing that surprised me is that Gertrude took care of them on her own, only thanks to a few (sometimes unwilling) allies: Adelard, Gerry, Michael and Jan Kilbride. Even with past taxonomies, there might have been dozens of different cults worshipping different things (Jonah did acknowledge that Beholding&Archivist was an old constant); we got a glimpse of old conflicts in MAG053 (Those Who Sing The Night fighting against the site of an Archive) and MAG117 (The Stranger’s last ritual attempt getting interrupted by what Gertrude interpreted as Slaughter avatars). It sounded logical to me that a lot of these rituals had failed in the past because others had opposed it: they weren’t planning their ritual in a vacuum, but with a dozen of cults opposing yours.

* BUT THE EXPLANATION WAS A “OH SHIT” MOMENT BECAUSE!!! It… made sense, and we had glimpses and hints and we should have guessed that it was the case!!

(MAG080) ARCHIVIST: So the creatures are, what, priests? These books their holy texts? LEITNER: I told you it was an unhelpful analogy. Let’s try another one. Um… Imagine, you are an ant, and you have never before seen a human. Then one day, into your colony, a huge fingernail is thrust, scraping and digging. You flee to another entrance, only to be confronted by a staring eye gazing at you. You climb to the top, trying to find escape and, above you, can see the vast dark shadow of a boot falling upon you. Would that ant be able to construct these things into the form of a single human being? Or would it believe itself to be under attack by three different, equally terrible, but very distinct assailants? ARCHIVIST: So the books, the monsters, they’re part of these beings? Just extensions of them? Fingers being pushed into our world?

(MAG111) GERRY: And when our fears change, so do these things. But it’s not quick. Gertrude reckons they’ve basically been the same since the Industrial Revolution. She and my mum both liked to follow Smirke’s list of fourteen. ARCHIVIST: [DISBELIEVINGLY] Th– I mean, there are a lot more than fourteen things to be afraid of in the world. Where do you draw the line? GERRY: Hmmm. I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. […] And like colours, some of these powers, they feed into or balance each other. Some really clash, and you just can’t put them together. I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour. O–Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like– ARCHIVIST: An infinite amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in every direction at once. GERRY: Now you’re getting it. ARCHIVIST: Like colours, but if colours hated me.

(MAG137, Wallis Turner) “The crew, hungry for death in their stolen uniforms, at first cried out in joy with each new murder; then, they cried out with expectation; and at last, with what sounded like concern, casting their eyes up into the empty sky as though waiting for something. As fewer and fewer of us remained, I could feel something like panic begin to spread through them. […] The crew… did not… stop me. They simply watched me with expressions of despair, and the deepest disappointment I’ve ever seen.” […] GERTRUDE: Still the anti-climax is fascinating: I can only assume they were supposed to be… bombed at the height of the ritual. Maybe by Japanese aircraft, maybe Allied, maybe… both. I wondered what stopped it: a Japanese radar filled with… spiderwebs; a US destroyer, finding itself suddenly alone in the open ocean? [HUFF] We’ll probably never know.

(MAG143) MANUELA: I… don’t know exactly when it all started to come undone. I think Maxwell first felt the ripples four days before the eclipse was due. [SIGH] It was strange… Like a pause in the hysterical whimpering and fruitless prayers of the sacrifices. And a ripple that was felt through the waters, and the stagnant blood that bound us. A disruption. We would later learn that this was the collapse of the ritual at Hither Green – but it was only the first. […] And as we unveiled our new and absent sun, the sacrifices who remained screamed, and fell in holy agonies, and the world of endless night we had been promised began to pour in, shining out and all around us. It touched and caressed our souls with the soothing fears of night, and I heard Maxwell weeping with joy at what we had done. And then… it stopped. It just… stopped. All at once, that loving embrace was stripped from us, and it began to retreat, to recede back into the place that it had come from. We were so close…! … We were so close…

(MAG151) SIMON: Do you know when the last ritual I attempted was? MARTIN: I… I don’t know, that space station? SIMON: Oh goodness no, that’s the future my boy! But no; it was 1853! The height of the aquarium mania! All over the Empire, people were starting to understand the depths of the terrible unknown below the ocean. And I thought that was a rich vein to be tapped. Even bothered old Halley into helping me design a special diving bell for the ritual. I called it “The Awful Deep” – and between you and me, I was rather proud of myself. MARTIN: … So why didn’t it work? SIMON: Because it… wasn’t a very good idea…? The Fear wasn’t out there, not like I hoped it was. It all sort of… fizzled. Also, a Hunter broke in and destroyed the mechanism, sent me and all my sacrifices plummeting to the bottom of the ocean.

Gertrude had recorded MAG137’s statement in October 2014: a few months before The Dark’s attempt… so it’s probably thanks to this one that she suspected that The Dark would fail on its own…

* And we did, thematically, have many clues during season 4! MAG122 was a very polarising episode when it came to which Fear(s) it was about; MAG126-MAG136 made us wonder if it was the same Spiral avatar “Gabriel” who had been collaborating with Web(?) Neil Lagorio; we (and Gertrude and Martin) felt like Extinction-statements were reminiscent of other Fears; Robert Smirke’s letter in MAG138 had him refuse to admit that his taxonomy wasn’t perfect and didn’t really work; MAG145 had Arthur Nolan complaining about Diego Molina calling their god “Asag” when that aspect encompassed Corruption traits; Jon admitted after reading MAG153’s statement that it was “The Corruption at work, if I had to guess, though with unsettling echoes of a… ‘Fleshliness’”… We had so many moments in which the divisions weren’t really clear, and implicit reminders that Robert Smirke’s taxonomy was one amongst others and certainly far from perfect…

* I wonder if Gertrude felt something, upon learning that… she had sacrificed Jan and Michael (and probably many others) for nothing, and that she could have “just” derailed punctual actions without making many victims… (Though: the bombing in Alexandria was implied to be her doing, and the old Archive wasn’t a current threat. It’s possible that she did that in case Elias-Jonah was planning to use it for Beholding, or to just to try to diminish Beholding… but still, she caused collateral victims quite casually.)

* How ironic, that Gertrude and Elias both understood what was happening thanks to The Dark failing, when Beholding was presented as an opposite power… (And even more ironic for Jonah&Rayner, since it’s through Rayner that Smirke (and therefore Jonah) learned so much about the Powers, and that Rayner was probably Jonah’s direct inspiration when it came to snatching bodies to extend his life…)

* Gertrude took A BIG RISK with the idea that The Dark’s ritual would fail on its own, and I’m really curious about Jonah’s comment that “Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated; but she had not.” => did she really have a backup plan? A way to undo The Dark peering through? I… don’t think that the whole apocalypse at the end of MAG160 can be undone, but that small comment could leave a bit of hope in that regard…? (Unless Gertrude thought she could undo such things, and it’s revealed to not work in season 5.)

* I’m “glad” (ha) that Tim… really didn’t care about stopping The Unknowing in itself, and that his goal was clear:

(MAG117) TIM: … I’m gonna hurt them, though. I’m gonna hurt the things that stole my brother and wrecked my life. I’m the distraction! If it looks like any of the… “circus folk mannequins”, whatever, are gonna see the others, I’m to make the biggest mess I can, draw them away, keep them busy. [SCOFF] I know what it means! They gave it to me because they think I’ll get angry and do something stupid anyway. And they’re probably right. So maybe it’s for the best.

… He did achieve what he wanted in that regard. ;; (I mean, it was heartbreaking, and I’m Constantly Sad About Tim. But at least… he got what he wanted, which was to hurt the Circus and avenge his brother. The ritual would have failed anyway, but there would have still have been mannequins running wild, maybe even Nikola. So. He took them down with him.)

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “The solution, then, is simple: a new ritual must be devised, that will bring through… all the Powers, at once. All Fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new Powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under The Eye’s auspices, of course – we mustn’t forget our roots.”

* AHAH for Jonah still going for a “fourteen” categorisation + isolating The Extinction. He was still fairly influenced by Smirke’s taxonomy, and this reflected in his incantation (on the one hand, the neat categorisations don’t work… but he’s using them anyway) (… which is what I’m doing too, but pssh.)

* OH SHIT for the announcement that he was planning THAT. We could have had a bit of hope given that The Watcher’s Crown had failed already, and was doomed to fail anyway… but nop.

* AHAH about the “we mustn’t forget our roots” because Elias-Jonah reaaaally doesn’t sound super-devoted to his patron.

* I wonder if The Extinction will get relevant in season 5 as an “outside of the box” Power, since Elias was adamant about not including it and trying to do his thing before it would become a concern:

(MAG126) PETER: [LAUGH] Because, behind all his bluster, Elias’s just like all the rest. He’s so preoccupied playing the game, he doesn’t pay attention to the big picture. He managed to convince himself that he could get his ritual off first, which would have made all of this a… bit moot, but that’s not really an option anymore.

(MAG138) MARTIN: Yeah, but… if he’s right about… The Extinction, what it is… then why didn’t you say anything before? Why am I only hearing about this now, and why doesn’t Jon know?! ELIAS: In my case, while Peter has talked of it before, it is only very recently that I’ve been forced to admit The Extinction is real.

Was he fearing that it would complicate things too much? Is that an aspect of Fear he didn’t understand? (One bit in the Q&A pointed out that There Could Be More Fears unaccounted for, so I wonder if they’ll get purposefully developed in season 5 as a counter, or if not at all…)

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: the Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s… ill-timed retirement plans. Because the thing about the Archivist is that… well: it’s a bit of a misnomer. It might, perhaps, be better named “the Archive”. Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, Jon – you are a record of fear. Both in mind, as you walk the shuddering dread of each statement; and in body, as the Powers each leave their mark upon you. You are a living chronicle of terror. [CREAKING] Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one, and each in turn instil in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this… nightmare kingdom. … Do you see where I’m going, Jon? It does tickle me, that in this world of… would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the “Chosen One” is… simply that: someone I chose! It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your… destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.” [THUNDER CLAPPING]

* “Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans” is that the name of your own gun, Elias.

* If we’re going with “audio recording by The Archive” at the start of season 5, I’m going to scream.

* Elias’s sense of drama with the background sounds…

* The dehumanisation was THROUGH THE ROOF, and made for a very AOUCH parallel to Peter’s snarky comment to Martin (MAG126: “I’m just saying, that we’d all be better off if your Archivist actually knew how to archive.”). It was just… horrifying already, that he casually admitted that he had been setting up Jon getting hurt and marked? It was the most common hypothesis, we had been screaming with the last ones getting ticked off during season 4, we knew what was to happen when MAG159’s title had been revealed to be “The Last” (the last assistant, the last Fear to mark Jon), we had no doubt that Elias had been pulling strings in that direction… but still, there was something so unsettling about Jonah casually objectifying Jon and mentioning that he needed Jon to be hurt and afraid for his own goals…

* Oh GODS, the fact that Elias casually answered Jon’s questions about being “chosen”…

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: Why were we chosen? Agnes was created – crafted with a specific purpose so finely tuned that even a grain of uncertainty threatened the entirety of her being. [CHORTLING] But I’m so full of doubt it feels like there’s no room for anything else, and… I’m sure Martin is the same…! Is there “destiny” here? B–bloodlines and… prophecies, or did we just… stumble into this? Maybe we’re the opposite of Agnes; maybe our doubts are exactly what we need. I–if that’s the case, I’m a… an amazing chosen one. … [LONG EXHALE] Don’t know how that would work, though.

Tim had mentioned that the Fears attacking you was just “bad luck” (MAG117)… and it’s one side of the coin. The flip side, in Jonah’s case, is that no, someone picked you and chose to hurt you. That’s coherent with Elias’s ~paternalistic~ comments about “choices” in MAG092, but really, I do hate (it’s well-done!) how far he goes when it comes to casual victim-blaming, gods.

* How is your hubris today, Jonah. Reminder that characters characterised by their hubris (Leitner, Smirke, Mary…) fell and crashed pretty harshly in TMA, Jonah.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “I’ll admit my options were somewhat limited, but – my God! When you came to me already marked by The Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as a sort of… implicit blessing on my whole project, and… do you know what? I think it was…!”

* Still refisdhnjerfdujbrefduhejkzfsd over the fact that Jonah went basically “oh, The Web probably approved?” when… from what we can guess of The Web, NO, IT PRECISELY SENT JON TO USE YOU, YOU DUMB VICTORIAN!!

* “What does the Spider want?” is still the eternal question – why did it want/allow this apocalypse to happen? If it wanted to prevent it, it would have had many occasions to prevent Jon from coming into contacts with other Fears, so… What does the Mother want out of it?

* Jon had mentioned that The Web had “touched” him first:

(MAG081) ARCHIVIST: I do not know how many of them there are, or precisely how they separate, but I do know that the Eye – Beholding – was not the first that I encountered in my life. The first was the Spider. The Web. And I have no idea what that might mean. […] The first of the dark powers to touch me, perhaps, but it did not claim me.

… And it just added up to Jonah’s terribleness: just reminding Jon that he had been picked because of the Web-story that had terrorised his youth…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push; learn how you worked. So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and while she was always prepared… I made sure you would not be. I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all Fourteen. So when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start. You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how much further you would get – though I waited until the worms were in you to pull the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.”

* … It explained why he Elias was occasionally almost praising Jon’s survival skills:

(MAG080) LEITNER: And what’s he going to think when he gets back? ELIAS: Well, he was always going to need to fly the nest at some point. Go out and see the world for himself. LEITNER: He might die. ELIAS: It’s always a danger. Almost always.

(MAG092) ARCHIVIST: What do you want? ELIAS: Honestly? To offer some congratulations. You’re doing a lot better than I expected. ARCHIVIST: Feels like all I’ve managed to do is… not die. ELIAS: And believe me, that is a remarkably rare skill.

* Re: the dehumanisation, it was incredible how it sounded like Jonah was talking about a small animal that he had to tame (and… even that, taming it in a bad way). It put such a bittersweet light on their exchanges in season 1? Because back then, it was still obvious that Jon had some respect for him…

* When I had listened to MAG040 for the first time, I had pictured Elias having a coffee, a smoke, another coffee, waiting for it to cool down, before pulling the lever; I mean, how much time would it take for him to reach it in a small Institute? I was already spoiled that he was Bad, back then, but… the fact that Jonah casually admitted that HE had been the one who got to decide whether or not Jon had the “right” to live at the end of MAG039 is another kind of terribleness………

* He was casually insensitive towards Jon’s wounds in MAG040 (comparing them to Swiss Cheese), and I’m not sure if that was a conscious effort to mess with Jon, or just his very natural lack of empathy showing through.

* The only “help” they had gotten against the worms had been provided by Michael, through Sasha, with the tip regarding the fire extinguishers… How much did Jon have to insist for Elias to provide them with some…?

* Not even a mention of Tim, who had gone through hell at the same time as Jon – and it was very telling… that for Jonah, Tim had only been collateral damage, not really mattering.

* There was something incredibly cruel in that “all the way to your bones”, and Jonah was absolutely just reopening old wounds and reactivating Jon’s trauma and terrors, uh…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “The discovery that one of The Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that “vague wrongness” you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark… it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct, and affecting, manner. Admittedly, given the advent of The Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered – but what’s the old saying about hindsight? More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with The Distortion. If “it” had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path. So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement. … Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost on those… narrow London side streets. It worked, though. Between the stabbing, and at least two desperate flights into its door… you’re marked very deep by The Spiral.”

* Again: Fork U, re: “hindsight” joke.

* Not!Sasha had mentioned as soon as MAG040 that Elias had stared at her “funnily”, which was a good indicator that he knew… but I’m surprised that Elias admitted that he had not noticed the moment The Stranger had infiltrated the Institute, before it was too late? He should have known the risk associated with the table, right? The Not!Them had been bound to it for fifteen years at this point!

* Get a double slice of Stranger in your face, Jon.

* ;; Tim wasn’t mentioned at all in Jonah’s statement, and that’s the only mention of Sasha… just as someone who had allowed The Distortion to come closer…

* I DIDN’T EXPECT AT ALL THE BIT ABOUT HELEN!!! FUCK!!! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO GO “Poor Helen” AT HER, YOU HORRIBLE NASTY MAN!! That was one of the cruellest new things in his statement, the fact that he had sent her to give a statement and shoved her into a taxi, only to nudge Michael towards Jon??? I wonder whether Helen-the-Distortion remembers it: it might get relevant in season 5…? We never saw Elias interact with The Distortion, after all, and he had a very poor opinion of Michael in MAG092.

* Yeah, “marked very deep by The Spiral”, uh. Uh. (Stabbing from MAG047 when Jon tried to save Helen, first flight into the corridors at the end of MAG078, second journey through the corridors at the end of MAG101, small adventure in the corridors in MAG131, another journey through the corridors at the end of MAG143. No wonder Jonah has a hard time keeping track of the amount of times.)

* ;; No mention at all that both Tim and Martin had experienced the Not!Them’s deceptions and that they also went through Michael’s corridors… once again, collaterals who didn’t matter much to him, uh…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to… improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast. I… justified it to myself, saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.”

* So: it wasn’t necessarily that Elias didn’t want Leitner to tell Jon about the Institute being a temple to Beholding and Elias being bad (which Leitner did tell Jon), but about Gertrude’s own conclusions regarding Elias being in fact “Jonah Magnus”, and the rituals not working. So once again… Gertrude withholding information and not sharing it all actually worked in the world’s disfavour – Leitner was still concerned about The Unknowing, when the priority should have lain elsewhere…

* Confirmation, once again, that Elias had indeed no idea about Leitner living in the tunnels back then. We still don’t know if he truly has trouble seeing down there, or if it was solely A Disappearance protecting Leitner from his sight…

* Funny thing is that Elias has been pretty consistent about the fact that Leitner was a bit of a mistake:

(MAG092) ELIAS: So. For the avoidance of any doubt. I killed Gertrude Robinson because she intended to destroy the Archives. And I killed Jurgen Leitner because he was… an unnecessary complication. Likely to tell Jon too much, too early.

(MAG102) ELIAS: I have been trying to give you the information you need. ARCHIVIST: Sure, when you’re not bashing its head in with a pipe. ELIAS: Leitner was… I will admit I possibly… overreacted to his sudden re-emergence.

(MAG108) PETER: Oh. That doesn’t sound like the Elias I know. He killed people himself? MARTIN: I mean, I wasn’t, I wasn’t there, but that’s what he said…? And I did see the body. Er, bodies. PETER: Elias Bouchard, getting his hands dirty. Well-well. Must be the End Times.

* Obligatory “oh my GODS, ELIAS…” re: “I justified [Leitner’s murder] to myself” because… talk about something that feels like a Web-thing. It was repeated many times that the violent impulsive bit was surprising from Elias, and Jon had precisely left the room to smoke a cigarette (recurrent theme of the Web, Jon in possession of a Web lighter etc.), leaving Leitner alone. That. Sounds awfully like Elias being a tool of The Web, rather than making that decision by himself………

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body, in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.”

* Elias revealed that he had used his ways to get her assigned on the case… while their first interaction in MAG082 consisted in Elias blackmailing her right away. Typical.

* So, in a way, people that Elias feels he “chose” so far: Jon… and Daisy.

* … So that was why he just threw out that random bit about Jon Being Very Dangerous:

(MAG082) ELIAS: I leave the matter of Jonathan Sims up to you, though I will not tell you where he is. I suggest you close the case and move on, but if you find yourself unable to do so, my advice is to kill him quickly. There’s no telling what he might be capable of.

He didn’t really need to, though, given how Daisy had her own grudge against Jon (the fact that he had unwittingly forced her to give him her statement against her will). But I do appreciate how Elias tried to frame him, and Basira just waltzed in, told Daisy “For god’s sake look at him!” (MAG091) when she was threatening him… and yup, indeed. Does not look like a murderer. (Although nowadays, Peter would like to differ.)

* Obligatory I’M SAD ABOUT DAISY, because, back then, she wouldn’t have minded much… but if she were to regain her sense in season 5 somehow (ha), how upset would she be to learn that the time she had hurt Jon (strangled or sliced his throat a bit) had worked as his Hunt mark, crossing another one off…? (Though, later, Julia&Trevor also did the work: Jon was hunted by Julia, and hurt by them both when they threatened him in season 4.)

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a… few avatars I thought were likely to harm you, but probably would stop short of actually killing you. Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr Crew – marking you for The Desolation, and The Vast.”

* I call bullshit on Jude, since trying to track her down… wasn’t the only conclusion you could make of Gertrude’s recording in MAG087: Gertrude mentioned she was back in London, sure, but it was a Stranger-related statement about the imminence of The Unknowing, and there were many leads to take from that one (investigating the forest? The skin aspect? The mannequins?), especially since Jon knew he had to try to stop the ritual. So, on that one, pretty sure it was Jonah making sense “retroactively”, but that he really had no idea where Jon would go with it.

* Though I can believe that he had made sure that “rumours” saying that he had been the one to kill Gertrude would reach the Lightless Flame, as Jude as heard (not fundamentally to make sure she wouldn’t harm Jon… but to make sure that they wouldn’t attack the Institute after Gertrude’s death).

* Same, Jude directing Jon towards Mike really was a fluke, thanks to Jon&Jude’s conversation!

* Jonny trying to hammer that Mike Crew Is Absolutely Dead And Done, once again.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Honestly, I had… nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here; so whenever her rage bubbled over, you were right there, a ready target. I didn’t foresee the mark coming from… surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.”

* Alllriiight, so that’s what he was checking in MAG084, when we heard static when he was talking with Melanie! He discovered the bullet in that moment.

* ;; Slaughtered!Melanie was blaming Jon for being responsible of the fact she was trapped here… and she was wrong, but a bit of truth was in there – Elias had trapped her because she would be useful for his plans regarding Jon.

* List of people Jonah “chose”: Jon, Daisy, Melanie.

* OH GODS, AND THAT WAS WHY HE WAS SO CHIRPY IN MAG102…………

(MAG102) ARCHIVIST: I get, I get that you hate being here, Melanie, but do you really want to trade it for prison? MELANIE: No! But the way I see it, the police seem really keen not to investigate crimes committed here. ELIAS: That’s actually fair. ARCHIVIST: Shut up…! Melanie, please. […] We, We will… We will find a way to deal with… with him. Not today. A–and not like this. ELIAS: I am still here, you know. ARCHIVIST: And if you weren’t, I assume you would be watching this conversation, so... Melanie, we can’t do this. Not yet.

I had assumed, back then, that he was just very dumb, but… no. He was probably throwing oil on the fire on purpose, to try to get Jon stabbed by her right then, right there.

* ;; Same, I wonder if Melanie will learn that her stabbing him was actually a Slaughter mark, engineered/hoped by Jonah…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something The Unknowing served to test, though it posed no… actual danger in the grand scheme of things.”

* And that explained Elias’s comments about what he considered Jon’s necessary progresses, successes and failures!

(MAG116) ELIAS: I have been doing my best to prepare you, Jon, to See. You should hopefully have it a bit easier than the others. ARCHIVIST: Another of my… powers? ELIAS: More… an aspect of your becoming.

(MAG120) ELIAS: You’re doing well, Jon. I only hope you can continue your growth without my guidance.

(MAG135) ELIAS: Fine. Consider it a test – things are… coming, things that will need Jon to be far stronger and more willing to use his connection to our patron. His performance during The Unknowing was… disappointing. I needed a way to force him to harness his ability more acutely than he had before. The coffin was a useful tool; Daisy an adequate bait. BASIRA: Then you messed up. Way he tells it, he doesn’t know how he got out of there. ELIAS: But he did. And his powers were no small part of it. Even if he required some assistance, they were what saved him. And he’s still achieved what no one – mortal, monster, or anything in-between – has ever been able to. He climbed out of The Buried.

Elias praised him for his dreams, because they were proof of his records of fears; he lamented what he did during The Unknowing, since Jon was barely able to survive in it (ultimately resorting to compulsion, giving Tim the tools to press on the detonator)…

* And that was also why he was pushing for Jon to go in person despite the plan not relying on him:

(MAG117) ARCHIVIST: Tim isn’t going to sit home and wait, and Elias seems pretty insistent I go along. Part of me thinks it’s just so that we can see if whatever this… preparation he’s been trying to do on me works. And you know what? That same… petty little part of me… rather hopes it doesn’t; that all this time, all his… cryptic nudges and “learn to fly by falling” attitude ends up being a complete waste of time. Just to show him. Even so, I–I– it wouldn’t… feel right to not go.

… because ultimately, he was testing Jon in a controlled environment.

* (Still no mention of Tim who died there, and it was just adding to Jonah’s overall cruelty? The fact that Sasha and Tim died… and that it didn’t matter at all in his plans…)

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront Death – a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die; too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why. As it was, it was just right; and once again you came through with flying colours.”

* No wonder that Jonah was the most worried about The End’s mark, given his own personal relationship to the fear of dying, uh.

* And :) The Web :) Sent :) An avatar of The End to wake up Jon and make him “choose”. Which Jonah didn’t mention at all, and it seems like a huge oversight – Jon didn’t “come through with flying colours” on his own, he was given the keys to decide what would happen of him, and it’s not Jonah who provided them, but Oliver, sent by The Mother.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “By this point, your abilities were coming on in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you… knowing something you shouldn’t. I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal. All that remained, then, were The Dark, The Flesh, The Buried and The Lonely.”

* Confirmation (once again after MAG120) that Martin HAD surprised him with his plan, and that Elias wasn’t really preparing Peter as an Interim Director because he thought the assistants would get him arrested, but because he had something else in mind.

* Was he planning to go hide in Scotland, or in a Lukas estate.

* So confirmation that indeed, he was trying to hide his main reason for preventing Jon from seeing him:

(MAG127) 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, hum… [LIGHT JANGLING OF HANDCUFFS] a distraction.

(MAG148) ARCHIVIST: You should have let me come with. BASIRA: No. Besides, he wouldn’t have seen me if I had.

He had explained this right after Jon had described to Basira his inner “door” of knowledge, and how he tended to Know things when close to people or concepts… So it was indeed Elias trying to avoid Jon from compelling him or forcing a statement out of him or knowing about his plans.

* And yeah, this is how we had begun season 4. Only four remaining. orz

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then… Oh! You should have seen my face, when you voluntarily went to him. I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.”

* Alright so: Elias confirmed that he was behind Jared’s letters:

(MAG131) JARED: The letters started comin’ in about two years ago. Good white paper, large print. Nice and simple. Dunno who sent them; they were never signed, and I dunno how they kept finding me. There was never much in them; normally just a name, and a place, or a time. I ignored the first couple, but they kept coming, and eventually I got curious. So, I followed the instructions in one of ‘em. […] I didn’t doubt the letters again. They came pretty regular after that. And they always led to summat good. Quality bones, a new mate, or some unlucky fool who wouldn’t look at me for the fear. It got so I trusted them. The letters, I mean. So I didn’t question them. There’s a lotta stuff in this world I’ve never understood, and these were no different. Then I got one about your lot, your Archives. Told me to go there and kill you. They even sent a picture. So I did. Well, I tried. Didn’t know about those tunnels, or wherever this place is, but the pipes… they were wide enough for me and a few mates to squeeze through, bit by bit, one bone at a time.

… Back when the episode had aired, I had multiple suspects: Annabelle, obviously (since there was the matter of the big font in MAG123), potentially Adelard (because what was he doing?? … we didn’t know at the time that he was already dead.), potentially Peter (to push Martin towards him), and also Elias… because of the “bones” + the irony of the “pipes”. I can’t believe it was Elias, I hate everything.

* We had speculated a lot about the intentions of the person who had sent Jared after the Archives: was it to “punish” the assistants? To make sure they would fragment and avoid for them to plan together again like they had at the end of season 3? Was it to push Martin towards Peter? To enhance Melanie’s Slaughter effects? Was it someone targeting Jon himself, and just not knowing that he was currently in a not!coma? … And nop: it was indeed targeting Jon, and the letters had been sent by someone who knew that Jon was currently away from the Archives.

* I mean. Elias. Elias, my dude, my Victorian bro. What did you expect, by making Jared used to attack people on sight as soon as he would receive letters with his next target, when you sent him a letter with his next target? WHO was really the idiot there.

* “I couldn’t see what happened in there” is an unfortunate confession: so Jonah… can’t see in Helen’s corridors. That could come in handy during season 5…

* This is an implicit confirmation: Elias is not the one listening through the tapes, since Jon’s encounter with Jared was recorded, but Elias only drew his conclusions when he came out.

* HEY ELIAS. HOW FUNNY THAT THE WEB HAD SENT A FLESH-RELATED STATEMENT TO JON, DRAWING HIM TO THE CONCLUSION THAT HIS OWN BODY COULD BE USED AS AN ANCHOR, AND THUS CONTRIBUTING TO HIM GOING DOWN TO SEE JARED AND ASKED HIM TO REMOVE A RIB, THUS MARKING HIM FOR THE FLESH. HOW FUNNY HOW THE WEB BASICALLY SAVED YOUR PLANS’ BUTTS WHEN YOU HAD DRAMATICALLY FAILED.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting. Honestly, Detective Tonner has proven invaluable through this whole process. [CHUCKLE] I was racking my brains for month about what I could use to lure you in.”

* Breekon wasn’t sure why he was going to the Institute, and that’s another “potentially the Web” thing.

* ;; Sad because “wild goose chase” has been the recurring way of referring to Basira getting misled and manipulated… (MAG134: “Then, your detective friend went on one of Elias’s wild goose chases, then Jon wilfully hurled himself into the coffin.” / MAG148: “So, what now? Another wild goose chase?”) There was something gratuitously mean about calling her “restraining factors” instead of her name…

* I’m SAD about DAISY, okay orz The fact that he presented her as a tool for his goals…

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “And of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting; so when it came time, I whipped up another apocalypse, and sent you on your merry way.”

* It was a very strange thing that he would just begin to talk about the Dark Sun right after Jon had learned about it through a statement, indeed, so… I guess that he got inspired by Jon, rather than having that one under his sleeve all along?

* Also: he made sure that the police would get rid of Rayner and a few cultists during season 2. If he hadn’t done that, there would have still been a few powerful but diminished Dark avatars roaming around, who could have been used to mark Jon. So really: lots of posturing but actually lots of improvising, though Jonah isn’t really admitting that – but it’s interesting to focus on what he doesn’t talk about to clear that up a bit…

* Still laughing in retrospect that he… didn’t really try to Sell the Dark ritual much. It was mostly a “you can’t afford to be wrong about it being nothing” to Basira, and she had ample preexisting reasons to think that The Dark could be a threat (since she had lost a colleague against them, and that it had put into motion the chain of events leading her to quit the police).

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Then all that remained… was The Lonely. Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. [CHUCKLE] Or just done what I’d asked in the first place. Ah, well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him… a little wager about Martin. Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.”

* Fork you and your puns, Jonah.

* ;; Peter did explain to Jon that he was weak to a wager, in MAG159…

* I’m a bit sad that we never saw Elias&Peter interact a bit more… cordially, since they had been acquaintances for at least 20 years – we didn’t really see why they were putting up with the other, and Jonah didn’t sound heartbroken (at all) over Peter’s annihilation? On the other hand, the bitter exes dynamic was hilarious but… you know. I’ll miss Peter, he was so awful and fun.

* Confirmation that Martin was Jon’s anchor… and Elias knew it full well.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] He’s earned that.”

* Big “OH NO” moment on first listen, because I got seized up by the dread that something was currently happening to Martin (who was outside, alone), and that would be how Jonah would be striking… I really didn’t expect the final incantation.

* Fork you and your puns 2.0, Jonah.

* I HATE that “he’s earned that”, implying that Martin made efforts and sacrifices just to be taken care of and/or that he ~served Jonah’s plans so well~ that he’s earned to get his love story during the apocalypse.

* …………….. But also….. Listen………………. Elias->Martin is one of my favourite ships, okay……. And it was just candy……. that Elias would randomly remember him……

* Or: not so randomly, since the point of his whole statement seemed to have been to make Jon’s old fears and pain bubble over the surface all over again. What could be more efficient than suddenly bringing up Martin, when Jon knew that Martin was alone outside?

* I have a Lot Of Feelings over the fact that the last person to (unwillingly) serve Elias’s plans… was Martin. For his plan to work, Jonah needed to be sure that Jon would go after Martin (we heard a lot of pining through season 4, and so did Elias, uh.), and that Martin would be the key for Jon to come back (which is something he likely deduced from The Buried?). It’s still the thing that scares me much about Jonah: you would want him to underestimate and overlook affection, friendship and love between people… but no. He’s fully able to take those things into account — and to turn them against you.

(Though: I’m really not sure that he knew that Jon had feelings for Martin, or was likely to develop some, back when he sent Peter to Martin in MAG108, nor that Martin would fork Peter over (since he hadn’t taken Elias down yet)… He could have been relying on the fact that Martin had a crush, back then, to make sure that Martin would stick to Jon’s side and not lose himself to The Lonely? And Jon was already adamant about protecting his remaining assistants: he would have gone to save Basira, Daisy or Melanie in The Lonely, too, just like he rescued Daisy. I’m not sure the idea of an anchor to find his way back had crossed Jonah’s mind before The Buried… Jonah presents a lot of things organically and logically through his statements, but he’s probably rearranging details in his advantage: he got very lucky, quite often. … Or, well. The appropriateness of the term “Lucky” depends on how much The Web will be revealed to have contributed.)

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “And there, I think we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but… past here lies only impatience. You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of The Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here. Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here – in the world that we have made.”

* At this point, I still didn’t know how he would strike, and still not expecting an incantation.

* I hatehatehate Jonah’s use of first-person plural. It’s nothing new:

(MAG092) ELIAS: [SIGH] What are you? ARCHIVIST: I… The Archivist. ELIAS: Precisely. It is your job to chronicle these things, to experience them, whether first-hand or through the eyes of others. To simply be told, well… ARCHIVIST: It doesn’t please your master? ELIAS: Our master, Jon. […] We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown. If you are to stop them, you need to get better at seeing.

(MAG135) ELIAS: Fine. Consider it a test – things are… coming, things that will need Jon to be far stronger and more willing to use his connection to our patron.

… but here? Absolutely making complicit, almost like an associate, when he was forcing Jon to read, when he had pointed out as soon as his first lines that Jon would try to resist reading? Awful.

On the incantation in itself:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “You who watch and know and understand none; You who listen and hear and will not comprehend; You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right; Come to us in your wholeness! Come to us in your perfection! Bring all that is fear, and all that is terror, and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies! Come to us! I – OPEN – THE DOOR!”

* It’s still interesting that, when it comes to aspects of the Amorphous Blob Of Terrors, Jonah still went for the good old fourteen regarding Jon’s marks and the incantation (Beholding + Corruption, Buried, Dark, Vast, Spiral, Lonely, Stranger, Web, Desolation, Hunt, Slaughter, Flesh, End). Indeed, he was planning on doing things before the Extinction would fully emerge, but I wonder if other potential aspects, that have been left out, will get relevant in season 5…

* Aaaaaaaaaaaand… there was a general expectation/fear in the fandom, since Jon had mentioned his inner door of knowledge, that it would be opened at some point:

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

On that one, I think that Jonah might have used the imagery of the “door” specifically because it was a really strong symbolic element for Jon: Mr Spider’s door, that he hadn’t knocked on; Helen’s door in his dreams, that he refuses to open (MAG120: “There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out. The Archivist turns away.”) as well as his refusal to knock on her door through season 4 until MAG146; there is also the fact that people who knew Jon rarely tended to knock on his door in season 1 and 2 (they just barged in), as if they knew knocking was something he didn’t appreciate.

Independently, Martin got kind of a warning (?) with The Extinction (MAG134: “It talked of Garland Hillier’s “new revelation”, about the absolute change of the world in terms that seemed at first elegiac, but later seemed… almost panicked, with the final entry simply repeating the words [STATIC:] “La porte est la porte.” “The door is the door.””), although it was another sort of movement: leaving your comfortable world to go into another, and coming back to yours safely. Not sure it will be that simple in season 5.

* New all-Fears ritual doesn’t have a name but would be tentatively called “The Magnus Archive” according to Jonny-on-discord, which. Sob.

- What I find interesting in what Jonah didn’t mention at all:

* It was revealing that he didn’t mention the assistants (or barely): didn’t mention Tim or Sasha’s deaths, Melanie’s escape, Daisy turning into a beast again, Basira being still trapped there. He had presented the assistants as disposable in MAG092, he really wanted to hammer in that it was the case here, uh… (Although he might have appreciated Basira a tiny bit this season?)

* I’m still curious about why he didn’t want Tim to go to The Unknowing. Was it because he was fearing that Tim would go rogue and definitely kill Jon there? … Or was it because he was fearing that Tim would die there while he had other projects for him? (… Next host…?)

* Nothing about Jon’s relationship to the tape recorders, which, mmmmmmmmmmmm.

* Nothing about Jon’s Web lighter sticking to him.

* A surprisingly short mention of The Web and that was it, despite how obviously it appeared that The Web had been a bit more involved than this in Jon’s adventures.

* … It’s still extremely suspicious to me that a Web-touched “Jonathan” began working at the Institute, while Jonah used to be friends with a “Jonathan Fanshawe” (“my namesake” according to Jon) who ultimately told him to fork off. That doesn’t really feel like narrative irony, but something pushed on purpose to get Jonah’s attention?

* It was Elias’s big moment of claiming his actions, and a few mysteries remain since he didn’t claim credit for Martin’s “intuition” of putting tape recorders around the Coffin to get Jon back, nor for putting Adelard’s last statement (originally an email!) on Jon’s desk, nor for the tape of Gertrude’s murder in Jon’s drawer. So… Web actions?

- I can’t believe that:

(MAG160) [CLICK–] [CONSTANT FUZZY STATIC] MARTIN: Wake up, wake up…! Wake, Jon–Jon–JON, wake up! [SLAP] ARCHIVIST: [YELP] Uh, wha– … Martin…?

Alex&Jonny are promising there will be no onscreen kiss… but we did get a slap.

- That was ONE HELL OF AN ENDING:

(MAG160) MARTIN: I, I don’t know if it’s just here, or if it– ARCHIVIST: No. … No, it’s everywhere… They’re all here, now. I can feel… all of it. MARTIN: J– … Jon, I’m scared. ARCHIVIST: [HINT OF A COLD SMILE] The whole world is afraid, Martin. Because of me. And The Watcher… drinks it all in. MARTIN: … Jon? ARCHIVIST: Look at the sky, Martin! Look at the sky. It’s looking back! [BROKEN LAUGHTER] [CLICK.]

I love how it was impossible to tell if Jon was genuinely laughing or breaking down sobbing, and it was probably a mix of both.

- The situation, as it ends, leaves potential for everyone to feel guilty:

* Jon already highlighted it (“The whole world is afraid, Martin. Because of me.”) – although he was manipulated, pushed in that direction, and ultimately controlled into doing it without being able to fight back. In Jon’s case, one source of heartbreak is that he had tried to cling, although bittersweetly, to the idea that sacrifices had to be made to save the world:

(MAG093) GEORGIE: Jonathan Sims, are you trying to save the world? ARCHIVIST: I… Yeah. I… I guess I am.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: … I remembered Gertrude’s notebook; we found it alongside the plastic explosives, but it rather got lost amongst the business of… [SIGH] saving the world at the cost of two lives…

(MAG150) ARCHIVIST: What about The Unknowing? We, we saved the world! MELANIE: Did we? I… I mean, I–I think it was the right thing to do, but how many people were killed to do it? We, we weren’t even a neutral party; we did it as agents of The Eye, because Elias told us to. […] You ever think that maybe this whole… ritual business is just an excuse, an–and that we’re all part of some… huge miserable Fear-machine? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I’ve… considered the possibility.

(MAG155) ARCHIVIST: I’ve… [DRY CHUCKLE] I’ve saved the world…! The whole world! Does that… give me the right to… [SIGH] take what I need to survive…? I’ve been reading nothing but these old, [FLAPPING PAPER] dry statements for so long, I… [PAPER RUSTLING] I feel weak. Like I’m… fading away. Do I restrain myself, keep my appetite in check, even at the cost of my life? Or do I try to rationalise what I am, like… Ms. McHugh?

And the end of the season was a double-slap: he hadn’t even saved the world in the first place… and he was instrumentalised to cause the apocalypse in the end.

* Martin hadn’t checked the statements, had decided to go for a walk, and had previously been used for Jon’s last mark with The Lonely (and their situation is kind of echoing what Jon had told Peter, when he wasn’t managing to get Martin back at first: “… It was for me, though. I’m the reason he…! … I did this to him as much as you.”) – although, of course, none of it was his fault.

* Basira had been the one to send the statements, and it’s unclear yet if Jonah’s was already snuck inside the pile she sent, whether he added it during the transit (… or if he had made her put it in with the others? I doubt it, but how would Basira react, if he were to promise her that he could lead her to Daisy…?) – although she had done it in good faith, to make sure that Jon would keep himself in check.

* Daisy marked Jon for The Hunt, and then was used as bait for The Buried…

* Melanie gave Jon his Slaughter scar, Melanie&Georgie refused to help Jon at the end of MAG157 because they didn’t want to be associated with the fears (and it was their full right).

I like how bittersweet it is, to see how “easily” things could have been avoided? While, of course, they didn’t want the apocalypse to happen, and they were fighting against someone who had a few centuries of planning behind him, without knowing where he would strike. They’re not responsible for any of it, objectively, but I’m curious about their perceptions of the matter…

- Still so impressed at the build-up for this season, because we had so many hints that are easy to see in retrospect, or things that were easily discernible thematically, though it was harder to see where it was supposed to go…

* The scar/marks theory had been a popular one for a long while, even acknowledged by Jon:

(MAG093) ARCHIVIST: Elias has been sending me statements, apparently to prepare me, whatever that means, but some of the people I’ve been talking to have been… very dangerous. I’m starting to feel like a bit of a punching bag, to be honest. Would be nice to meet a monster, and not have a scar to show for it.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: Oh. It–it’s fine; scalpel wounds… [CHUCKLE] they heal quickly. BASIRA: Hm. ARCHIVIST: … Too quickly, really. [CHUCKLE] BASIRA: Already? [CHAIR SCRAPES] ARCHIVIST: Just another scar for the collection!

And we were right about it ;; The question was mostly why it was necessary, the assumption was that it was to prepare him for The Watcher’s Crown… and it was even worse than that.

* A big chunk of season 4 was about investigating rituals: in season 3, we knew that The Spiral, The Buried and The Unknowing were not current threats anymore. This season, we were told that The Flesh, The Vast and The Slaughter were past concerns, that The Dark had already had its turn recently, why exactly The Buried had failed, what had neutralised The Desolation, that The Hunt’s whole concept dictates that it couldn’t really have a culmination point, that Gertrude had savagely taken care of The Lonely’s, that The Corruption might have had its try with the attack on the Institute, that The End and The Web aren’t really in the game (or are they.)… and ultimately that The Watcher’s Crown had already been attempted 150 years ago. The surprise laid with the fact that Jonah was planning bigger.

* We already had a few hints that something was off in season 1 and 2 (Elias being a filing clerk in the 70s, but joining the Institute in 1991 and… changing… a lot… to the point he had become the new Head in 1996), but it only increased afterwards: starting season 3, Jonah’s letters were systematically episodes in which Elias was appearing (MAG092, MAG098, MAG127, MAG138); Elias’s detailed knowledge of Jonah’s actions and emotions in MAG092; Manuela presenting the Head of the Institute as an old friend of Maxwell Rayner (MAG135) and not naming him; Eric Delano’s surprise about Elias changing so much (MAG154)… + Elias tending to appear in episodes with “remains” in the title (MAG040, MAG092, MAG127), which. ha.

* A whole thematic arc was, also, about Jon’s identity (as a person or a monster), leading to Martin’s “I see you” and ending with acceptance.

* So. Many. Doors. This seasons. And it led to Elias opening That One.

  Overall thoughts looking back over season 4, re: big questions I had towards the end of season 3 / beginning of season 4:

- I’m still laughing really hard that “Wow, Jon, sounds like pining” at the beginning of the season turned out to have been actual pining. I was cautious about it from experience (it could be something else, feelings don’t have to be romantic in nature to be important, you can long for someone without being romantically interested, qpp is a thing, etc.) and then! Surprise, children! The Archivist had it bad.

- Adelard Dekker wasn’t showing up… because he was dead already (died even before Gertrude). I was growing suspicious of it but ;; Ouft, the way he gave his farewells…

- No Lukas!Martin (well, one could still run with that without contradicting canon, but it would also clash with the recurring theme that bloodlines do not actually matter in the end); in the end, Peter’s interest in Martin specifically was because of 1°) abandonment/longing issues, 2°) one-sided crush (which ended up reciprocated), 3°) Elias needing Peter to choose Martin and sending Peter after him specifically because he thought that Martin would ultimately reject Peter’s plan, thus ensuring Elias’s win. At the time of their encounter (MAG108), Martin hadn’t even proved to Elias that he was more cunning that Elias accounted for! Picked Martin for gayness (at the time, Elias probably thought that Martin would cling to Jon’s side and/or that Jon would try to get him back since he was overall concerned for his assistants, thus getting scarred by The Lonely in the process?), ended up winning because of Martin being more cleverer than assumed and Elias had faith that Martin would be allowed to play Peter like the cheap whistle he is. (Look, I’m not saying that Elias->Martin is the superior ship, but–)

(Something funny: Elias sent Peter to Martin in MAG108, and that was shortly after MAG106, in which Melanie and Basira’s office gossip made it clear that Martin’s concern over Jon was not Martin’s usual behaviour, and that other characters were suspecting that there were romantic feelings behind it. Given Elias’s tendency to improvise, I still think it’s absolutely possible that… Elias hadn’t even noticed the crush before Melanie&Basira talked about it.)

- I was so cautious about the assumption that Rayner was body-hopping, I was expecting that to be a red herring or something more complicated, but nop! Occam’s Razor, he absolutely was.

Same for Jonah Magnus and also dead wrong in that regard (but it does make sense that the two operated similarly, since Jonah knew him and in this world the supernatural tends to work… the way you think it should work) =D

- … So, confirmed in the Q&A that Gertrude was meant to have been shot multiple times on tape, and that there was no foul play in the fact that we only heard one gunshot in MAG158 vs. the three holes in her body Martin had reported in MAG040. So I was off the mark about that too, and she truly was meant to have died in March 2015 during The Dark’s ritual attempt!

(Though there is still the problem of MAG087 not making any sense when it comes to the dates… so there could still be Something, but no gunshot involved?)

- I loved how one of the focuses this season was the ritual, and the conclusion it reached! Basira had introduced the concern over the rituals (and specifically Beholding’s) in MAG123, we spent the whole season cataloguing which ones had failed recently, sometimes being told how they had been interrupted, sometimes not but with some wild-mass guessing; it was a major concern all through the season, and the pay-off was grandiose and making so much sense given what we already knew!

- I’m still laughing very hard about the anticipation of the Ny-Ålesund trip, in which I was expecting butchery and Bad Things Happening To Basira (we knew, back then, that a blind character was likely coming), and maybe Rayner wasn’t truly dead?? What about The Dark’s creature?? What about the cultists and Manuela’s branch??? What about the incoming eclipse in August 2018???

… and nop, it was a bust, Elias had been a misleading arsehole, Rayner and Dark creature and most cultists dead, ritual utterly failed in 2015, Manuela alone and unable to do anything. Big “eLIAS” moment.

- Fav period was the speculation regarding Jon’s anchor, because it was wild and delightful, and I still sometimes randomly snicker remembering Lottie&Jonny’s exchange about it.

- I desperately wanted to “hear Daisy’s voice”, metaphorically (… and also, like. concretely. Fay Roberts’s voice, okay.): it was funny in MAG117 to have her skip her testament and just load a gun but, also, it wasn’t really shaping her as a 3D character? And gods, was I pleased with this season and what she had to say about what she had experienced, committed, and the feelings she had about it. I think she was my fav character this season ;_;

- We still don’t know what The Web’s deal is, but given how Jon&co were kicked out of Hill Top Road (Not Levelled Up Enough / Not The Right Time, Inspect This Area For Plot Later), it’s definitely coming in season 5.

Things I overall liked less:

(Obligatory disclaimer: personal taste and opinions, things that resonated less or more uncomfortably with me. This is not a statement that these fictional things shouldn’t exist + the show is not over, there is One Last Season, so a few reveals or development could happen that would make me like these things better overall~)

- A bit sad about the “Elias was actually Jonah Magnus all along” reveal! I do admit it’s been well-done and well-played, I did pick up on the hints here and there (Elias mentioning something that had happened in the 1970s, Jon noticing that Elias Bouchard’s reported behaviour in the past was very different from the man he knows, Elias knowing way too much about Barnabas Bennett’s disappearance, Sarah/the Anglerfish’s “It’s Elias now, then?” and Nikola’s “Elias, can I call you Elias?” (The Stranger had reasons to have a kick with his identity-stealing methods!), Manuela conveying Rayner’s hello, the fact that Robert Smirke had pointed out that Jonah feared death most of all); the reveal was incredible and breath-taking… but! I do agree that it would have been a completely different story (this one is the story of someone refusing to die, and who has been sacrificing anything and anyone over two centuries to gain “power and immortality”), but I would have loved it if the local and consistent big bad had been a lazy privileged but opportunistic student who had found his calling in scheduling and paperwork twenty years ago ^^

- A bit sad, too, that it means we’ve never met an avatar of Beholding (or someone affiliated with Beholding) who wholly worships it? Clearly, Jonah is a lot more Beholding than he admitted (and there was reverence in how he described it in MAG120), but he also wants to think that he mostly used it for his own gain. No (twisted) love like Jane and the Hive, or Jude&Eugene towards The Desolation, or Manuela towards The Dark, or Hezekiah towards The Buried, or Simon towards The Vast, etc.

I wonder if we’ll meet a true and unabashed servant of Beholding in season 5?

- I loved Peter&Elias’s “divorced multiple times” energy, but I’m a bit sad that it felt so unbalanced in Peter’s disfavour in the end: it clearly felt like Elias-Jonah had toyed with him a lot, while Peter was too young and lacking experience and knowledge to be able to see when he was being manipulated?

- A bit surprised about the lack of Tim! His death was heart-breaking, and as much as circumstances weren’t great for some mourning and pondering about him (Jon woke up six months after his death, when other characters had lived through it), it… didn’t really feel like Tim had existed and died in the series, compared to Sasha (at the end of season 2 and during season 3, while they precisely didn’t remember her as a person)…? At times, it felt like maybe a Tim had once worked here, but he had quit on his own, not that… he had died. Maybe I’m a bit blinded by the fact that I experienced season 4 on a weekly basis, whereas I had just listened to season 2 and 3 in one go, but even now, even after compiling, I still feel like something was missing… (For example: Martin refusing to talk about him twice, Jon listing him amongst the dead with Sasha… versus Tim asking Melanie to describe the real Sasha to him and going to lie down, audibly upset and collapsing on himself. I feel like I was missing a bit of emotion in season 4 regarding Tim…? ;_;)

- I’m more neutral than anything about it because it’s conflicting one thing I love and something I don’t like much: Georgie & Melanie! I’m super glad that Georgie was revealed to be bi, and that she got a girlfriend! I’m super glad for a F/F couple! I’m super glad that “Georgie and Melanie as a Thing” is now canon! But I’m personally not too fond of storylines where a romantic involvement happens during or at the beginning of a process of recovery (in such circumstances I’m more invested when it’s a caring but careful friendship), so that one did miss the mark a bit for me. At the same time, I would have been a bit sad if Georgie&Melanie had become a duo without anything romantic ever, so.

- Nnnot too fond of the “terror attack” at the beginning of MAG158, mostly the fact that we heard the guns&the screams and knew it was happening. Overall, I’m not too fond of “random people get terrorised and butchered just because they’re in the way of people targeting the protags”, plus there, the whole concept that it was a cleansing felt… a bit too rough for me. So, really glad that Alex said they toned it down to avoid getting too close to real-life, as opposed to for instance having someone injured stepping in into the Archives to reveal what was happening, because yips, would have been way too far for me indeed ^^”

- Instead of “Oh! That was interesting and very sad and an amazing exploration”, I’m still mostly uncomfortable and disgusted towards the whole storyline of Jon having attacked people.

Disclaimer: I’m not very fond of stories where a twist is that your male protagonist was, in fact, an unreliable narrator doing some very cruel and horrible things while the information we had until then was designed to stir empathy for him. I also felt like MAG141-142 were very disjointed from the first half of season 4 – there had been no hint of Jon having attacked people before, while it was a festival of Jon making references to his “victims” right after it was revealed to us? And, more specifically, I find MAG142 extremely well-executed, the voice acting was fantastic on its own, but it also cemented that the most accurate comparison to what Jon was doing, to me, wasn’t “addiction” or “hunger”: it was sexual assault. It wasn’t that, I’m aware, but it did provoke in me the same visceral discomfort of… following a sexual assaulter’s woes about his own actions, and sobbing that he’s becoming a monster and did something bad when, yeah, dude, you did something bad? Especially with Jess: a woman in the middle of a romantic encounter is preyed upon, is cornered when alone; our male protagonist subjects her to something she didn’t want, hurts her deeply, thanks her for the experience, leaves, leaving her a mess… and her Narrative Purpose was to come ring the alarm about it to his male love interest. We learn that there were three victims, plus Jess and Floyd (whom we witnessed first-hand). The conclusion is that, although influenced, it was all Jon’s actions. It’s made clear that Jon knew that it was happening (although he wanted to cling to the hope that he was manipulated into doing it), that he hid it from the others while claiming that they needed to trust him, and that it only stopped “because he was caught”. And we end the season with cheering for Jon&Martin, with Jon going to save Martin in the Lonely and taking him back, and then spending a few weeks together in Scotland and being romantically involved, after having suffered from manipulation, isolation and circumstances for so long. Jess, Floyd, the three other victims? Don’t matter narratively past the fact that they’ve been hurt and messed up by the protagonist. Are they okay…? Well, it’s not their stories so we don’t know and, as much as we know, the characters don’t care much: Jon spent his time lamenting about what it meant about his (lack of) Humanity, and whether or not it would be rational or earned to do more harm, whether it was fair that he was suffering in trying to stop, whether his own suffering would stop… rather than expressing concern over his victims’ well-being, apologise, I don’t know, doing anything at all to prove that he wasn’t a plain villain. And we didn’t hear their voices anymore. Their purpose was to get hurt by the protag, and… so far, that’s it. And the circumstances have changed, so their suffering probably won’t matter, since everything is now awful for everyone.

There were a few narrative biases (the tape are not “neutral” and chose to not record Jon’s first four victims; Elias-Jonah didn’t even bother mentioning that it had happened in his big monologue, because… it was irrelevant for them – they are not people/entities we’re rooting for), but I feel that story-wise, it was a bit… showed that these victims weren’t supposed to matter much. Overall, they were basically treated as dead meat when it was discovered what Jon had done, as long as he stopped, and it felt extremely violent to me, especially in Jess Tyrell’s case given the circumstances in which Jon had encountered her and how she recalled the story; and it just felt (and keeps feeling) upsetting without any aesthetical pleasure…? I’m really not saying that Protags Should Always Be Pure (Jon… already wasn’t, anyway), and I do get that it was necessary to show what Jon’s choice truly meant, that Beholding was terrifying as a Fear-concept and not a lesser evil compared to the others. It’s something I’m finding interesting in fics, too! But canon-wise, I feel like it could have plainly worked if Floyd had been the only one, and if the exploration had been around what Jon had done to him…? Instead, Jon is a recidivist who knew from the start that he was one, and hid it from everyone until he was caught and stopped. That’s one of the points where I find it a bit hard to ignore that Jon is a male protag, and it’s a bit too reminiscent of IRL injustices (“it’s alright as long as he stops, right)”) – especially given that there’s no judiciary system to handle his actions. Of course, characters do what they can with what they have, amongst many bad options; they don’t have any way to do things perfectly or painlessly, it’s not that kind of story. But still, the “recidivist and hiding it from others” bit made everything discomforting and upsetting to me, rather than something that I was able to find compelling and interesting. That’s… a very human kind of monstrosity, and I just stopped caring much about him or his suffering for the rest of the season…? So a lot of the emotional beat of Jon getting Martin back and them being together just went over my head, because no, Jon is not only “a victim”, he’s also done terrible things to characters who weren’t lucky enough to be protagonists?

As I said, it’s down to personal experiences, squicks, triggers and narrative dislikes; I’m not saying the series or the handling was Problematic or anything like this! And it’s possible that we could hear from Jon’s victims in season 5!

(- A bit related: I do hope that season 5 is not a string of random people getting butchered or suffering while Jon&Martin are strolling through, or Jon Narrating Their Fate As Statements and moaning about how hard it is for him while said people are dying and suffering, because the emotional beat won’t work much for me if it’s the case ;; On the one hand, I usually don’t like apocalyptic stories much; on the other hand, I’m curious about what Jonny can do with the style; but on the third hand, the whole “Jon had secretly hurt people and hid from the others” subplot wasn’t really my brand in the way it was executed, so… I’ll See how it goes.)

- I felt like on its own, it… wasn’t technically a great season for female characters.

I loved Daisy and Melanie’s stories, and Basira’s was heart-breaking in retrospect (though she didn’t get any form of closure or temporary “end” as of now)! For me, they made the most striking storylines in season 4!

But when it comes to the main plot, what would dictate the overall circumstances all characters would suffer from… the main actors were all men. It was a bit “Mm” to me to end up in the situation, in the Panopticon, with four male characters as main players and nobody else – Annabelle wasn’t (explicitly) one, and Helen was apparently there to Watch&Giggle without intervening, Georgie&Melanie didn’t want to get involved, Basira&Daisy mostly made sure that Jon would be able to go rescue Martin, Gertrude has been dead for a while.

Now, it’s a remnant of season 1, which was mostly made of which members and friends of RQ were available to work with in this story (Jon, Martin, Elias are the only main characters who have survived since then, although Melanie had been introduced); if it had been a female character in the place of Peter or Martin… it would have felt iffy too (played and killed off, manipulated/used and needing to be rescued). Furthermore, it makes a lot of sense that, given that this is all Elias-Jonah’s chessboard, he would favour men in general (Victorian asshole who was mostly acquainted with men, if his correspondence is any hint).

At the same time it’s a bit obvious that Annabelle has been more active than she took credit for so far, and has her own plans (why did she so actively help Jonah bring the apocalypse, and why was it necessary for Jon to stay away from Hill Top Road?); plus, Helen is still around, Jonah indirectly pointed out that he can’t see in her corridors; Georgie can’t feel fear, and Melanie might get some immunity (at least from Beholding), so all of them have reasons to get exceedingly relevant in season 5 (if one power gets to “win” in season 5, it’s easy to bank on the Mother of Puppets). So. I didn’t feel like season 4 was super-satisfying in that regard, but also, there is a season 5, and there are enough open doors to think that, when the series will get concluded, it won’t be a gentlemen’s club moving the main plot forwards. So, I’m curious about how season 5 will unfold in that regard.

  Fav episodes this season were:

- MAG127, “Remains To Be Seen”: I loved the “voice” of Jonathan Fanshawe, and how delightful it was to hear someone tell Jonah Magnus to fork off? Plus, we got the continuation of Albrecht’s story and his demise a few years after his letter from MAG023; the whole atmosphere was… very eerie and dusty?; I feel like Jon’s description of his “door” (and the “I drown.”) was one of the most striking pictures this season; and it also marked the return of Elias. Jinglebells!Elias, letting us to know that he spends his time gesturing when he talks.

- MAG129, “Submerged”: “When would you start to worry about the rain?” gODS. Very good atmosphere in that one, too, and Jon&Martin’s exchange at the beginning of the episode made us scream so loudly (“iS MARTIN OKAY, LISTEN, HIS VOICE WAS SO OFF, WHAT IS HAPPENING–” “Actually, Alex had the flu” “oh”)

- MAG132, “Entombed”: Resolution of the Saving Daisy mini-arc, and the pay-off was delightful!! Big “OH” moment when it was revealed why Daisy had asked about Jon’s shirt in season 3! Daisy not being a wild monster inside of the Coffin, as we feared, but able to be… herself and expose her doubts and what she didn’t want to be anymore… (Plus, I really felt that indeed, Jon&Daisy had shared something in the Coffin? I loved that small fragile bond that was created out of almost nothing, it felt very genuine and beautiful ;_;)

- MAG145, “Infectious Doubts”: Arthur Nolan’s VA was fantastic, and the exemplification of how Gertrude interacted with avatars was… something, alright. Indeed, one could understand how she managed to live as long as she did. And their discussion about Agnes and the fact that neither of them really knew her keeps breaking my heard for Agnes ;_; (Still crossing fingers that we’re able to hear her in some form in season 5? Given the whole, constant thing about how we only “know” her through male characters and/or people romantically or sexually interested in her…)

- MAG151, “Big Picture”: Simon Fairchild, okay. And Martin having had Enough. Plus, obviously, the… not exactly “answers”, indeed, but the way Simon tried to explain how to look at things and concepts without freezing them into concrete like Robert Smirke had done (given that Martin was the one to be given that talk, I’m really curious about whether he will put this to use in season 5); the shade-throwing about Peter; the reveal that Jon had listened to Martin’s tapes, which was also a “!!” moment.

- MAG157, “Rotten Core”: Tfw you’re The Corruption in season 4 and you don’t get a dedicated statement until near the end of it, but when you do, there is another one shortly afterwards, and it’s. This. About Adelard’s end. It was a very gruesome one, but also so… just plain sad? When it comes to Adelard, still managing to shape him as a character with a mind of steel, with his ultimate resolve and last words. I really came out of it wondering what Gertrude had felt when receiving it, because it… indeed felt like the end of an era/a long-distance partnership. (Also, THE RETURN OF THE ADMIRAL!!! Kitty cuddles and purring!!)

- MAG158, “Panopticon”: Still so impressed that so much had been crammed into this episode, with so many different tones, and with the sense of urgency going crescendo. Plus, you know, big reveals about Gertrude’s death, Elias’s identity, what was Peter and Elias’s deal, and finally, what was hidden in the tunnels.

  Things to *squint* about in season 5, or overall questions/pondering:

- … The name of the show still works as of now, though it’s almost “Magnus’s Archive(s)” as things are right now. I suppose that characters will go back to the Institute at some point (if only to reach the Panopticon for some reason), I wonder how long it will take?

- How will the “one episode = one statement” thing fare in season 5…? I kind of hope it’s not a succession of Jon narrating/describing people’s gruesome demises, or live-statements which would make things (SOMEHOW) even worse for them. Technically, Jon had received statements and tapes, so we could explore those first… if he’s in any state to. (Obligatory: will we begin the season with “Recording by The Archive”? Or by Martin, searching for Jon, to reverse the end of season 4?)

- Who is listening through the tapes and why are they manifesting. (I was banking on Web at the end of season 3, nowadays I’m not so sure given how it’s been using them physically, a bit too blatantly.)

- What are the tapes Jon received in MAG160 about…? And were they sent by The Web? Is there another Gertrude tape amongst them? (A message about her “retirement plan”? The “little chat” Gertrude had mentioned in MAG158, which happened after Jonah had taken Elias as a new host and when she realised what was happening? An Adelard-Gertrude conversation if they manage to find The Perfect VA for Adelard? … A Jon-Gertrude conversation for when he began to work at the Institute? Jon had recalled that he had talked with her once or twice – what if it had been recorded because Jon was already relevant for whatever-is-listening-through-the-tapes…?)

- WHAT DOES THE WEB WANT / WHAT DID IT WANT AND GET

- Hey Jon, how is your lighter today (and how many cigarettes have you smoked recently)?

- Hill Top Road trip 2.0, and what the “scar in reality” means (and why Annabelle didn’t want Jon to get involved there… as of season 4, at any rate)

- I remembered about Anya Villette’s statement recently, and namely that bit:

(MAG114, Anya Villette) “I don’t know this place. They said I should come and talk to you. A few people did. People I thought I knew, but they were different. I should know this place, I think. I used to go to the Tate a lot when I lived in London, and I, I passed the building, but… I don’t know you people. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

For me, her statement was clearly Spiral, but the implication of the Institute not being there did grab my interest, because see: Robert Smirke died earlier in the Magnusverse than in our real world – Martin pointed out that he had died the day he had written MAG138’s letter, on February 13th 1867, while the historical Robert Smirke died on April 18th 1867. The difference being that, in the Magnusverse, it was implied that Jonah’s experiments and preparations of The Watcher’s Crown had directly caused Smirke’s death; the Watcher’s Crown attempt which resulted in the sinking of Millbank, and the establishment of the Institute to hide the Panopticon. The main difference between a world “without the Magnus Institute in London” and a world with it was… Jonah’s ritual attempt. It wonder if this is where two realities may have shifted and diverged, in the Magnusverse? We still don’t know much about this “scar in reality” lying at Hill Top Road, and why it’s hidden, or what it could cause…

- Given how Peter wasn’t sure why The Web had never tried to push for its own ritual, was it because the Mother knew that it would fail anyway? Was is something well-known amongst Web agents that it was All or Nothing, or was Jonah a pioneer in that area, and Annabelle (?) decided to lend him her support?

- … Or maybe not at all: I’m curious about other avatars’ stance on/in the new world, if there will be divergences, if most will embrace it, it if it will cause dissatisfaction because they’re not needed as vessels to feed their patrons anymore? Having the time of their lives, or dissatisfied/now useless when it comes to feeding the Fears?

- Elias hinted that Gertrude might have had a backup plan to stop The Dark, if it had turned out that their ritual could succeed – could that help with the whole apocalypse? I’m… not really convinced that the apocalypse can be undone or tuned down, and it’s likely that season 5 ends even more badly than season 4, but we shall see… Reminder that:

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: … I remembered Gertrude’s notebook; we found it alongside the plastic explosives, but it rather got lost amongst the business of… [SIGH] saving the world at the cost of two lives… It… it’s borderline incomprehensible, not because of any code, or cypher – there’s every chance I could read those; just simply because… most of it is… numbers or fragments of sentences that would no doubt mean something to her, but… well, not to me. I have been staring at it for hours, in the hope something from it would just… come to me.

Jon hadn’t managed to decipher her notebook as of season 4, I wonder if it could get relevant again.

- How many episodes before we hear Elias again.

- I’m not sure how Elias is supposed to get “on top” of this, since Jon had been the one to “open the door” to the Fears? Why is Elias so confident that he will never die? Given how he had mentioned “an eternity of terror and suffering” for all at the beginning, I wonder if people might not become “immortal” in the new landscape – in the sense of not being able to die at all, of The End being a fear but also out of reach, putting people in a state worse than death? Still, curious about why Elias was so sure that he would get an edge and not share the same fate as everyone else, since I doubt the Fears could feel anything, to say nothing of gratefulness? So, what protection does he have?

- How will Elias die/be neutralised, and by whom or what? (I kind of randomly hope that Georgie will do something? I always found it a bit interesting that she was introduced as a talking character right after Elias had been revealed to be the villain… while Georgie is connected with The End and knows the words that killed her friend.)

- Will we learn a bit more about “Emma”, Gertrude’s third assistant named by Eric?

- Are we absolutely done with Agnes’s story, and/or is there a tiny chance that we could hear her voice in some way…?

- What happened with Salesa, and what was the broken lens he retrieved supposed to do?

- Was Eduardo Acosta’s statement relevant, for Tim to interrupt Martin in MAG104.

- Will Jon’s two missing ribs become relevant again? Did Jon leave his rib at the Institute, or did he take it with him in Scotland? (Jon, putting it on the fireplace lintel as soon as he unpacked–)

- There is still the matter of Extinction and whether it was a partial bust (that is now irrelevant) or if it will come into play after all; perhaps we’ll meet or witness the creation of one of its first avatars or something. (Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if Gertrude hadn’t been one for the Fears, given how she had pointed out that she was Desolation To The Desolation…)

- Martin spent a lot of time studying the Fears in season 4, to the point that he received Simon’s guidance about how to perceive them… so I wonder if that will be relevant, too, since he wasn’t able to use that knowledge at all in the season finale. It really felt like he was growing as a main character, until he was cast into The Lonely and took a backseat so… I’m expecting for it to come into fruition? Jon had the rigid knowledge of the Fears, and the knowledge given by Beholding, but Martin was taught to get the feeling of them, and it might be more efficient now that they’re here?

- How will the connection between Martin and The Lonely manifest? Martin had to suffer Peter’s influence for almost a year, has been shown to be able to use powers in front of Georgie, and still wanted to isolate himself a bit in MAG160, so I doubt that The Lonely will let him go this easily.

- Will Martin’s studies over the entities help in some way? Will The Extinction (and other aspects of the Big Blob Of Terror that weren’t contained in Jonah’s invocation) be relevant?

- Was MAG158 the “true end” of Daisy, and will it lead to her being absolutely unhinged and lost in season 5…? It felt like it when it happened, but the way Jon&Martin mentioned her in MAG160, it didn’t really feel like she was lost-lost – but that card has already been played with the Coffin…

- I found the season incredibly harsh on Basira overall: she tried to handle the situation while Martin was jumping ship and Melanie was getting more erratic; she got manipulated by Elias multiple times; she wasn’t even the one to rescue Daisy from the Coffin; she hadn’t noticed that Jon had been attacking people behind her back; she “lost” Daisy emotionally a bit further by initially refusing to respect her wish of not going back to The Hunt; she ultimately lost Daisy a second time… Except for punching Elias, she didn’t really get any “win”? I mean, everyone’s lives suck, but it feels that comparatively, Basira got the worst of it (Jon managed to save people, to elope with Martin; Melanie managed to flee from the Institute and has Georgie with her; Martin was finally found and cared for… but Basira?). I wonder how it will come out in season 5, and if she will manage to get… something. Anything. There were a few red threads (ha) thrown around with the fact that she was trying to track Annabelle, we’ll see if it leads somewhere… (If anyone was desperate for control, it was Basira in season 4…)

- On that note: is Basira still vitally “tied” to the Institute, even in this new world paradigm?

- I’m really curious about how Melanie will be handling things in season 5 and how she will fare in the new world, given how she cut herself off from Beholding, which is still supposed to be reigning a bit over the other Fears in this apocalypse. And she mentioned being “not scared anymore”, so…

- Same thing with Fear-less Georgie.

- I’m curious about Jon’s state at the beginning of season 5: absolutely collapsed on himself? Barely responsive? Already centred back while also still depressed? Already with a plan? Stuck for a while before Martin&him begin to move for one reason or another (trying to find Basira, Georgie, Melanie, or getting a clue regarding what to do?).

  Bits about the trailer/teaser for season 5:

- I like how it was casually introduced that life in Scotland hadn’t been that idyllic, since they had run out of tea even before the apocalypse. Englishmen in Scotland, raiding the tiny village shop until it was out of tea. Amazing.

- … Martin still not getting Jon’s sense of humour with the “knock-knock” joke.

- And it meant A LOT that JON was WILLING to make a knock-knock joke, given his relationship to doors and especially Mr Spider’s!! ;w;

(- This is how Web!Martin can still win, given the parallel.)

- … Aouch for Martin suggesting coffee instead. Jon doesn’t drink much of it, according to season 2.

- Not!Tea is canonically ~something that isn’t tea~, and I’m… mostly D: about the fact that Martin was convinced that it was tea. He was thinking that he had brewed and prepared this thing – did he really? – and sounded absolutely certain that it was plain ordinary tea he was holding… so the world is really messing with people’s heads and perceptions, uh…

- And it makes me worried because anyone else wouldn’t have had Jon’s “advantage” of seeing through deceptions and fears, and warning someone about it. Quite honestly, I’m not really worried about Jon&Martin (bad stuff will happen to them, but we will hear their thoughts about it); my worry is mostly about regular people, because again, I don’t like random innocents being canon fodder around protagonists for the sake of their own progress or because of their actions. (And yes, I’m aware that s5 will probably be a lot of this, especially given the short comment about the village orz)

(- It’s possible that the village would be the theme of the first “statement” if Jon begins to narrate people’s fates, I guess…)

- Though at the same time. Jon didn’t sound afraid at the prospect of the not!tea potentially attacking Martin, which should have been a concern?

- Things are “unchanged” according to Jon, who isn’t sure that things can change again… and it’s aouch given his laments over things changing during all of season 4 (+ Martin “not big on change” according to Tim). Jon isn’t sure things can change again, I’m really not sure either, so… either they can’t, either they do, either people keep changing too…?

- Things have changed, and Elias was apparently kind of right that Jon… was made to live in/feed from this world.

- … The way Jon described the rolling wave of knowledge was directly echoing how he had portrayed his inner door in MAG127 so: now, the door has opened and the entire ocean is indeed out there, uh…

- But Jon is not “drowning”? We’re still following the same logic as at the end of season 4: that something feeling right doesn’t mean that it is right. It is actually a bit reassuring, since… Jon kept his morals? Is trying not to know, not to use his powers? Saying that he wished it didn’t feel right means a lot: that it does, but that he still would prefer otherwise. Jon is not a creature of pure instinct but someone able to decide what is right and wrong, still fighting against urges and new influences. That’s weirdly optimistic, in this situation?

- Jon was going for bitterness and “despair”, but it was also contradicted by what he was doing: if he had truly fallen into despair, he wouldn’t be this cautious about his powers and the knowledge, he might “stop feeling guilty” like Helen. He isn’t. He’s still holding on, which means that, indeed, there is still some hope or something to salvage – or at least, the idea of not making things worse.

- Same with his comment about the fact that “comfort” doesn’t exist anymore: he… immediately proved that, no, yes, it does, with the hug (?) he shared with Martin.

- Jon&Martin still together as of now (which, honestly, I wasn’t expecting! I was bracing myself for them to already be separated somehow), still in Scotland given their comments. Will they stay in the safehouse for a while, or will they quickly get on the move?

- Martin’s “You know I’m here for you” sounds to me like we’ll end up with a situation in which it isn’t the case anymore – because Martin would have to let Jon down, would be dead, or because Jon is not even there anymore.

- Tape recorders still around, we don’t know what they are, but they’re still listening in. Despite Jon’s claim that “it’s over”, it’s not and there are still Tales To Be Told, even after the end (?) of the world.

Anyway, expectations are overall “they’re going to die (or not even be granted that, and they’ll be condemned to an eternity of worse)”, but ;___; It feels weird to think that I’m already going to say goodbye to that bunch of idiots in 40 episodes ;_;

  MAG161’s title is surprisingly a bit obtuse for me, and I wonder if it will still be possible to try to “guess” an entity through announced titles this season (now that all the Fears are there and acknowledged as part of a whole) – Buried stuff??? As a season opener, I would say, either Annabelle stuff, either Jon&Martin; Aaangst is a given; but after that…

[justhereforseverus]

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Chapter 9: The quality of mercy is not strained.

Summary:

After catching up with Remus, you find your classroom destroyed and your heart broken. Yet, an owl in the middle of the night brings a message of kindness and an unexpected solution to your sleeping problems.

Notes:

Ok, that took a while. Probably a ton of tense mistakes in here. Apologies in advance.

The slow burn is slowly burning faster and I hope you'll like it! Thank you so much for reading! <3

Chapter Text

A couple of days later, Remus had returned to Hogwarts. As the weather was gorgeous, we decided to take a walk in the forbidden forest during our break. You could feel it was getting colder and winter would soon be in full swing but our cloaks kept us warm enough.

“I tell you” – said Remus. “The hidden wizard restaurant on top of the Eiffel Tower is marvellous. The wine and food were superb! That was worth going to this waste-of-time conference. I swear, I almost RAN out the door when Professor Whitaker was done with his hopefully final seemingly endless monologue praising himself. He consistently had to give a 10 minutes ‘not a question but more of a comment’ monologue after every. single. presentation! Some people need to learn to keep it short and simple. Especially when I have a train to catch.”

“Ah yes.” – I commented “Some things never change. When I’m in a conference or a seminar I’m sitting around thinking of the shortest, most effective and relevant thing to say while others just… talk… without any consideration or thought. It’s a skill though.”

Remus watched some squirrels running up a tree and said: “Yes, I guess but you can do that without being an asshole. Anyway, enough of me gossiping about the so-called elite of the teaching wizard society. How have you been? I heard you’ve been filling my seat next to you with someone else.”

“Oh, and who might’ve told you that, I wonder” – I teased. “Well, to make it short. Severus could easily be a first-class actor and we both spent one inspiring evening talking about books. All very innocent and uneventful. And you know you’ll always be my favourite person to sit next to.”

“Seems like someone did at least an average job entertaining you. Just talked about books, eh? Did he scold you on your miserable book taste.”

“What?! I have an excellent taste! Don’t you dare!”

“You don’t like Brecht though. Or any of my cheesy horror story magazines.”

“I can appreciate someone’s impact on the arts without personally liking him. Brecht’s a dick that’s a fact! And I’ve never said I don’t like your magazines. I just find them too predictable.”

“Ok, ok! Did he scold you though?”

“Of course not! He was rather charming.”

“That’s a word I’d never use describing Professor Severus Snape but you do you.”

“There’s a slight problem though.”

“Oh, what would that be?”

“Remus, you’ve know him longer than I do. Do you know if he..”

“I’ve known him for over 10 years, but if you’re asking me if he has some ulterior motives being friendly to you or if he actually has or had something like a love life in the past– I’m afraid I can’t give you a satisfying answer.”

“…I’m very transparent, am I?”

“Yes, you are. Frankly, I think Severus, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anyone can see that there is something different in his behaviour. He never has been that friendly and caring with a new colleague before. I mean he and Minerva get along well in a competitive and respectful way. He and Sprout talk almost daily but it’s more business than anything else. He respects her knowledge and needs her supplies. Dumbledore often invites him for tea into his office. Apart from that, I’ve never seen him interact with someone on that close basis. He was very attached to a friend of mine during our school years but that didn’t end well and we’ve never talked much about her past together with him. Either way…. I don’t know what to tell you apart from it’s unusual. You should still be cautious though but it seems you two would get along very well IF that’s something he… does.”

I did return to my classroom deep in thoughts. Should I go further? Or maybe that’s not on his mind at all and I over interpreted it. I don’t know…

However, when I turned towards the hallway to my classroom door, all of these thoughts vanished form my mind. The door was unhinged and splintered wood lay all around the floor. It seemed it was forced open with an explosion. After I stepped inside, I saw that my books had been ripped apart and the pages were plastered all over the floor, walls, and the roof. My desk was placed upside down and all the costumes burned to ashes. Over the windows the following words had been written with red paint: “Whore”. In addition, there were enchanted paper planes flying around the room with the same message inscribed on them. I was shocked and paralysed for some minutes. Gaining my strength back, I ran to Dumbledore’s office to get help.

Shortly after, the heads of the houses, Remus, and Dumbledore stood in the room to get an overview of the damage. Remus and Severus tried to find out more about the culprits and the way the security spells have been broken. Dumbledore assured me he won’t tolerate this on his school grounds and will start an investigation immediately. He gave instructions to Pomfrey, Minerva, Severus and Flitwick to inform their houses and communicate that this is not acceptable and that there will be severe punishments. However, he also said that if someone voluntarily comes forward, this will be considered on milder terms. After gaining all the information one could from the crime scene, Remus and I stayed in the classroom to deal with the mess. I’ve stayed quiet during all this. Remus could see I was in peril and hugged me tight after we’ve cleaned everything up.

When I returned to my quarters all the pain I’ve swallowed during the day came pouring over me. I cried on my bed and felt utterly helpless. I’ve expected the backslash. I knew the pure-blood wizards would hold onto the connection that people who act are frivolous liars. That this kind of time-wasting entertainment shouldn’t exist and not taught at a school. But to see the safety of my students compromised.. I wasn’t prepared for this at all and I blamed myself for this.

Sleep was impossible despite my exhaustion. I’ve run out of Severus sleeping potions and didn’t want to use ask for more. In addition, it was raining heavily outside and thus my calming night-walk would’ve been too wet and unhealthy. What to do…

Suddenly I heard a noise on my balcony. A black owl tapped with her beak on the glass door. I let her in and she shook herself to dry, making her surroundings, including me, a bit damp. I gave her some food near the fireplace and took the letter attached to her feet. I read:

“Dear [y/n],

I hope my owl finds you well and it won’t be lost in the rain. 

I can imagine that it might be difficult for you to sleep tonight. I’ve prepared more of the sleeping potion for you. If you need some simply come to my office and knock.

Be assured my house will pay the price if the culprit is one of them.

Yours Sincerely,

Severus Snape”

I made my way to the dungeon immediately. I knew my eyes were puffy and red and I certainly didn’t look very well but I didn’t care. I wanted to talk to him. I just wanted to see him.

While I went downstairs, I heard thunder rattling outside. The rain had transformed into a storm. The thunder made the walls shook and I hurried downstairs.

I knocked and the door opened automatically by magic by recognising me. I stepped inside the office but couldn’t see anyone at first. I looked around and saw that one of the walls was open and through that Severus stepped towards me. His cloak and jacket were missing. He only wore the white shirt and black pants he usually wore underneath his three layers of clothing. Another thing was different this time: he had tied up his long black hair. I certainly wasn’t expecting such a relaxed and casual look. You could see his skinny but muscular chest under the shirt. He seemed to wear a necklace with a pendant on but I couldn’t make out what it was. To be honest, he looked very dashing like that. “Wow.”- I exclaimed before I could stop my brain. “I mean.. hi Severus. That’s not one of your usual looks but I have to say I rather like it.”

“This is not a look. It’s almost midnight and the only person I was expecting was you as Filch has to annoy Flitwick tonight. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not very comfortable sitting in my quarters in my full cloak. I reckoned that would be acceptable with you, taking into account our close acquaintance.

“Oh no, I’m glad you feel comfortable with me. I hope I’m not interrupting one of your free nights then.”

“I rarely have ‘free’ nights. There are other duties to follow. Yet, I invited you and opened the door so obviously no – you’re not interrupting. Apart from that, I have to tell you that you look dreadful. I assume you didn’t catch a wink so you can certainly use a refill of my potion.”

As always the gentleman… “Thank you, Severus.”

“You’re welcome. Come in.”

His quarters were similar to mine, as there were bookshelves on most of the walls and a fireplace. Yet, it was much darker due to the nature of the dungeons. He had a dark-green velvet couch and an old but cosy velvet reading-chair near the fire. A small shelf was on the wall over his desk containing various bottles of potions. I could see another door that presumingly lead to his bedroom. It was quiet spacious. On one side were enchanted windows that showed the outside of the garden upstairs. You could see the thunderstorm raging but it felt so safe and warm down here.

He pointed towards the couch and I took my place while he got some tea. He put it on the antique living room table in front of us and then sat opposite me, handing me the familiar bottle with his sleeping potion.

“Thank you. It’s so warm and cosy here, that’s such a strong contrast to the rest of the dungeons.”

“The Slytherin common room is similar. So far no student had reason to complain. It’s just the classroom and the hallways that are so cold and sinister. We might look unpleasant from the outside but we do care about a certain kind of luxury and comfort in our house.”

“Yes, of course.” I nodded and sipped on my tea.

“So, should we talk about what happened today or would you rather not? I’m not a healer and I personally don’t see the point in rambling to other people. Yet, I know it helps others. In any case, I’m listening.”

“There is not much to talk about though. For wizards, theatre is a gateway to prostitution because people pretend they're someone else. In addition, they kiss and hug on stage and do other ‘shocking’ displays so what good can it be, right? God-forbid it actually teaches anyone to not be a dick in real life. It’s fine.” –I said angrily and sarcasticly, convincing no one with the last statement. “I’m just worried about my students. They shouldn’t be confronted with it so early on..”

Severus replied: “They will be fine. Either they’ll continue and stand up for what they’ve learned or they quit. I can assure you, my colleagues made clear to their houses what their position is. The students can decide for themselves.”

“Maybe, but at this point it feels like their life and reputation is in danger.”

“Then Dumbledore, Remus and I will make sure they are safe and supported.”

It felt nice to hear that though it didn’t help much with my fear. “I appreciate it. I really do.”

Severus sighed and looked me straight in the eyes: “Yet, you are here and have doubts. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying, your hair unkempt and your clothes damp. You can’t sleep, you’re shaking and you are scared. Why are you scared? You knew it would be difficult but you also know you have support. Why would you let some stupid minor thing like this get into your head so easily?”

“You’re right… I know.”

“Then act like it.” - he said sternly.

I nodded and looked to the floor. I knew he was right. Yet, I was shaking. To hear him say those words was being confronted with the truth of my fear, worries and insecurities. Tears filled my eyes and I had to control myself. I didn’t want to end up crying on his couch so I looked down and pretended to be suddenly very interested in my tea.

I heard a deep sigh next to me, followed by a clinking sound of a tea cup put on the table. I didn’t want to look up, I didn’t want him to see me like that. He probably despises my weakness in this situation. One thing happens and I break down. For how many years, am I doing this? Why does it still bother me?

I expected him to leave the room or order me to go out but he did none of these things. Instead, I felt his hand touching mine and holding it tightly. He didn’t say anything. His hand was warm and his fingers softly intertwined mine. We just sat there for a while, holding hands in silence. I calmed down and instead of crying my heart was beating faster of joy. I was blushing but I didn’t care. That act was so kind, so soft, so warm, so comforting. After a while, I felt peaceful and my tiredness came over me. Bravely, I put my head on his shoulder to close my eyes for a bit. I could hear him sigh and moving slightly, contemplating what to do. Slowly, he let go of my hand and put his arm around me instead. He pulled me closer and I put my arm around his waist and my head on his chest. I smelt his perfume and heard his heartbeat. I could feel his muscles underneath the shirt. I felt like sitting in a cloud of warmth, peace and safety. With this, I quickly drifted into sleep. And all that without the help of a potion.

[alltingfinns]

A Scandal in Belgravia

So I’m back on this.

The swoosh on some sped up footage in the previously, don’t remember noticing that.

This episode’s start gets so much funnier if you read some of the fic written between this and the previous episode.

Silly song now becomes more dramatic in TRF.

What did Irene offer Jim to get him so riled up? If it’s the plot plane plan that would explain why Sherlock is needed alive. But his emotional reaction... maybe he’s already been trying to get it on his own. Indicates possibly that Jim has been looking for a way to get to Mycroft.

“You’re typing a lot.”

This montage is nicely done.

Arguing about the blog.

The pouncing on the title.

He’s so hurt. He knows ash!

“We do watch the news.”

“You said boring and switched the channel.”

First time where “people” = John.

And the hat.

“It’s time.” I never thought about the waiting period.

Ehh, Hudson called up to the next floor so John’s room? Boys?

Ha cool, a SAAB. An old one too. I’d guess a 900 model from the early nineties.

Lestrade probably makes these calls a lot.

I get Sherlock’s confusion, he’s just in a sheet it’d make sense for him to be humiliated.

Their silent conversation + John’s acceptance of the absurdity.

That was a pretty long look on Sherlock’s lap and then asking about pants.

The Swedish subtitles on Netflix just referred to John as ”kronans gosse” I love it!

John took the queen liking his blog as a point in their argument.

I always like looking at John during the sheet bit.

Mycroft and John conversing in subtext that you need to remember their original conversation from a whole series/three episodes ago. And people think johnlock is too subtextual.

They made “the woman” a work title clearly to explain why Sherlock would refer to her that way. A bit harder to work in the context from ACD canon. It would be weird if Sherlock in modern times went “a credit to your gender” for defeating him.

Sherlock’s reaction Mycroft’s veiled assertion settles the question, I think. He’s making a “damn, he’s got me there” face. Mainly because John’s presence, if we considers his previous statement. If it were just him and Mycroft he’d just say “just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I can’t understand it!”

Btw, in case you think my typing speed is phenomenal I am hitting pause when something gets really interesting to me.

The parallel of checking the pictures have the “obvious” reading of romantic set up. But Sherlock is still learning details of a case he has been given so another reading is that while he’s targeting her she’s targeting him.

My reading is backed up by Sherlock’s immediate demeanor. His interest in her didn’t really appear until he found out she didn’t ask for anything. Blackmailers are a dime a dozen, but someone making a point of threat against the reputation of the BRF without asking for direct compensation? That’s someone with a plan and someone who can give him the kick he feeds of from casework.

John getting the last word in only for Sherlock to get the laterer word in.

Pinching an ashtray from the aforementioned BRF, whom himself mentioned as his first client with a navy, just to make John laugh? Some things are priceless but for everything else there’s MasterCard.

Okay, I had to back up a bit but: I don’t know who’s getting these pictures for Irene, but the last one that makes her smile is focused on John. She sees Sherlock more naked in the pictures where he’s fully clothed in the back of a cab than when he was in just a sheet on the pavement.

More parallels. This is really about their similarities. Could still be considered romantic foreshadowing “they’re made of the same cloth” type.

Ah yes, punch me.

That little dialogue snippet about “punch me” usually being subtext is what got me to first watch this show.

In general I have a lot of issues with how they handled Irene. But I especially don’t think I get the nudity in this scene. It reveals to Sherlock immediately that his ruse was all in vain since she either a) knew he was coming anyway or b) usually greet priests in distress while stark naked and might therefor just be stark raving.

Unflappable John Watson. Oh dear, my flat mate who I just beat up is sitting in front of a naked dominatrix with his vicar collar between her teeth. “I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

He doesn’t like being a third wheel either. “I had tea too! Just so you know. In case you thought Sherlock got tea at the palace by himself. I was there too. The tea was lovely. Just the right temperature.”

Dammit.

Now I want tea.

Wait wait wait! When did John put his “date” shoes on? Only time it makes sense is when Sherlock was looking through his disguises. (He definitively wouldn’t wear them to traipse around the muddy crime scene.) Maybe they’re part of his “battle uniform”? Also obviously Sherlock can only “deduce” date because he knows what shoes John wears on dates. This isn’t really clothed people are easier to deduce.

How is he not deducing the heck out of her make up and ear piercing? Is it because she’s acting so extraordinary that her indicators become harder to contextualise?

Or is that whole thing just a plot hole?

And her comes her actual opening chess move. Nudity and banter was just setting up the pieces.

“Somebody loves you.” She pressed John’s big red “DO NOT PRESS” button right away. Later she says Jim told her how to play the Holmes brothers, but he definitively gave some pointers on John as well.

There’s something about John’s facial movements when Irene says he knows exactly where to look. Hard to compare with the sheet scene because of the different angles. But yeah, John is bi.

“You do borrow my laptop” with such an angry glare.

Wait are Irene’s shoes those shoes that are expensive because they’re red on the bottom? (I do not care enough to google their names.)

And it’s when John starts to smile that Sherlock does his verbal keysmash. Officially Ben said it was because Irene was paying attention to John instead of him, but she does that a number of times previously and has had quite a moment of getting cosy at John. But up until then John has been a bit standoffish. Of course you can only take so much of a pretty lady flirting with you before your smile reflex gets activated. Also he whips his head immediately at Sherlock in medical concern for his friend and Sherlock can speak clearly again.

Sherlock thinks he knows her game now as he makes his move getting her to confirm that the pictures are in the room.

Imagine the egg on his face if John hadn’t managed the smoke alarm in time.

“Amazing how fire exposes our priorities” should be part of a collection of lines that are only said once but thematically repeated throughout the show.

Some would argue maybe “I really hope you don’t have a baby in there” could be added but I don’t think it could be considered as repeated enough thematically.

Sherlock being his usual demanding self about turning off the fire alarm. The fool! Doesn’t he know how hard fire alarms are to turn off? (Maybe just a problem for me...)

Okay sure, easy enough with a gun, but impractical as a long term solution.

Umm, excuse me why does he go “no disrespect but you were clearly born in the 80s” in an episode from 2012? The most she’d be is 32, so clearly she looks at most like that then. Why would she be insulted by that? Also he earlier called a dude unhealthy, stupid and with bad breath in front of him without clarifying level of respect. So basically he’s needling her by adding that. That’s the most positive spin it can get.

John apologising for not stopping /forewarning about a whole bunch of trained killers sweeping in? That is diehard loyalty.

She’s staring hard at him as fire exposes his priority.

She actually does give him a clue by looking down the moment he looks at her. Never thought of that.

He heard something click wrong, looked at her for additional clue so she looks to the side “get out of the way”.

I love that John’s priority is medically inclined in the action scene, checking the vital signs of the guy that got shot.

“Observant?” “Flattered?” Honestly he shouldn’t be so surprised by the first bit as it was obvious some kind of observation + deduction got Sherlock the code.

As usual Sherlock gives zero fucks about gun safety. I feel John at some point is going to tie him down and lecture him about it. “We do not scratch our heads with the barrel of a gun, and we don’t call for the police by shooting in the air!”

You know if you’re knocking him out cold regardless, you don’t need him to drop the phone first. You just wanted the beating to be literal.

“He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.” Yeah no, tell the doctor what chemical knockout drug you just put in a former drug addict!!

I wonder how much of dream Adler is actual Adler speaking to a drugged out Sherlock.

Could be nothing with the only real part being “hush now, returning your coat”. Would make sense for a dreaming brain to jumble the two cases together.

Start of series 2 we get to see Sherlock’s bedroom while John’s remain a mystery after 4 series.

John is not on the top of his game this episode. “What woman?”

And so it begins.

Mycroft does not have “shut up Hudson” privilege.

That whole phone noise discussion is punctuated with embarrassment.

Ah the gaping jaw that set the sails for the lestrolly ship.

“Christmas is canceled!” I love when John banters with Sherlock.

Sherlock is mean to Molly, but to be fair she kind of blundered a bit with the others and Sherlock complaining about John being away was clearly something he told in confidence. Telling Greg and John that their loved ones are betraying the trust put in them is general misanthropy, but Sherlock probably feels justified in needling Molly about a crush that he figures none of them know anyway.

Oh John’s look there. Greg clearly knows too what is coming but John has the recognition factor.

“Oh shit. It was me. Still me? She still has a thing for me?”

For a sort of dramatic moment it still has one of John’s absolutely funniest facial journeys. “Wait, you apologised? You know what an apology is? Are you feeling well?”

Obviously Irene’s text signal gets a lot of funny moments, but nothing will beat the timing of this one. And now I am imagining Jim with a pair of binoculars sitting across the street and telling Irene “now, send it now, it’ll be fucking priceless!”

And Greg “wait really?” When you’re not sure what your consultant can do to surprise you next.

I believe I made a post about it earlier but Jeanette’s boyfriend just said he’s been keeping track up till 57 on text messages that his platonic flat mate gets where the signal is a woman moaning.

“Do you ever reply?”

Jeanette starts working on her break up speech about then, I believe.

Molly nervously gulps a drink. Now Molly is everyone’s favorite John mirror. Medical professional with a crush on Sherlock, and whose favored type of outfit involves knitwear. John usually takes a drink at emotionally difficult times. Is this Molly handling her rejection, or showing what John is doing/will do without showing John?

Mycroft. If they passed a new law why would Sherlock know about it before you?

“How did Sherlock recognize her from... not-her-face?”

Mycroft answers with a smile and leaving the room.

“I got plans”

“No” I know you. If it’s a date you’ve probably bungled it already. Regardless if it is or isn’t you’ll still prioritize my brother because you always do.

John really goes for the superconfident strategy when dating, huh? “I always thought I was great.”

“I’ll even walk your dog!”

“I don’t have a dog!”

“No, because that was the last one...”

Always thought you were a great boyfriend, huh?

When even your landlady who got out of her marriage through execution thinks you bungled it, you probably bungled it.

Think I’ll break here and continue the rest of the episode tomorrow.

[sugatsby]

Hole-and-Corner

Group: GOT7 Pairing: Choi Youngjae x Reader Rating: Angst | Fluff Prompt: But doctor’s were meant to help people, right? AU: Mafia!AU Word count: 15,5K

Warnings: swearing | violence | mentions of blood

“I’m leaving!”

“Okay! See you later!” your roommate yelled back from behind her bedroom door. She was still running around, getting ready for the day. You heard shuffling and rummaging around. At some point you heard something crash to the floor. You shook your head. Even though she’s always up before you, you were always the first to leave to leave the apartment.

Swinging the strap of your bag onto your shoulder, you snatched your set of keys from the small table in the hall and made your way downstairs. Your apartment building was small, but pretty cosy. It was also pretty close to the campus, which was one of the reasons you decided on moving in here during your first year. Also, you needed to get as far away from your family as possible. That didn’t really turn out the way you wanted it to when you fell in love with the university in the same city. But at least you lived on opposite sides of town now, barely crossing paths.

As you made your way down the street, you soaked in the warmth of the sun. Even after the meteorological start of this year’s spring season, you hadn’t seen much else than grey clouds lately, so you welcomed the sight of some bright blues. Today was going to be a good day.

You plugged your headphones into your phone while simultaneously scrolling through your playlists. You were so engrossed in looking for one of your favourite songs, you didn’t notice the figure ahead. It was only when you crashed your shoulder against the person that you glanced up.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you offered. “Guess I shouldn’t be looking at my phone while walking.” You tried to laugh it off.

The brunette you bumped into, however, didn’t seem to find it funny. The scowl on his face was a dead giveaway.

“Er… I-I really am sorry,” you stammered. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

The serious frown on the man’s face didn’t budge. And neither did he. Your smile faltered when you realised he didn’t seem so forgiving.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going,” you said, trying to step around him and remove yourself from the situation. But the man put himself in your path. “I’m sorry, but I really need to-”

Before you were able to finish your sentence, you felt another presence, arms coming over you from behind. One grabbed you across the shoulders to hold you in place. The other moved in front of your face, a cloth getting pressed against your nose and mouth. You struggled, trying to break free. Your phone slipped through your fingers and crashed to the pavement. Your cries got muffled by the piece of fabric and no one else seemed to be around to help you. A sweet, slightly-chemical smell invaded your senses, and that’s when you realised that this situation was really, really bad.

You tried to hold your breath, not wanting to inhale any of the chemicals, but struggling took effort. Your eyelids started to grow heavy as you breathed in the nauseating scent, your limbs turned to jelly, and your consciousness started to fade. The last thing you heard was a car screeching to a halt near the sidewalk and its sliding door opening before everything turned dark.

You struggled to open your eyes. A groan escaped your lips. It felt like you’d been hit by a truck. You were pretty sure your tailbone was bruised by the way your behind was feeling. You tried to move your neck and shoulders, trying to get the strain off of them, but your arms, awkwardly bend behind your back, didn’t give. Your eyes were now wide open.

“Fuck.” Your voice was a mere whisper, your words getting swallowed by the darkness of the space around you. You tried to wriggle around, feeling nothing but rough concrete around you. This was not good. Not good at all!

You tried not to panic, but you couldn’t help it. A sob escaped your parched lips and your shoulders started to shake against the coarse wall you’d been propped up against. While the tears began to drip down your cheeks, you failed to notice the approaching footsteps on the opposite side of the room. A door swung open, a beam of light falling into the room. The contrast against the dark room blinding, you squinted your eyes against the brightness poured onto your slumped figure. A shadowy silhouette made its way into the room, its heavy footsteps echoing against the walls before a mocking voice called out.

“I see daddy’s girl has awakened…”

“Good,” another voice followed. One shadow became two as the men further entered the room. “I have some questions for her.”

The latter passed the other male before squatting down in front of you. “Now,” he began, his hand reaching outward to brush your damp cheek. “We want to know where your dad is. And we thought that maybe you would be so kind to help.”

His voice sounded sickly sweet, his tone mimicking his actions. However, you weren’t fooled. His gestures only added to your discomfort. “My dad’s dead,” you stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

As soon as those words left your lips, your captor’s eyes turned into menacing slits. And before you even registered what his intentions were, your head got pulled back, the man’s hand finding purchase in the hair at the nape of your neck. It didn’t hurt, but the awkward angle only put more strain on the muscles that were already sore.

“Don’t lie to me, princess. He’s very much alive, taunting me after stealing from me.” You can hear the venom dripping from his words. There was cold rage in his eyes. “Your stepdad has been running from us long enough. I want my money back. Now, where is he?”

The man dug his fingers into the sides of your jaw, making you look at him. The pain made you flinch. “I don’t know,” you sobbed. “I haven’t spoken to that man in years. I don’t even know if he still lives there!”

“Lives where?” the man sneered, his fingers pressing into the bruises that were already forming along your cheeks.

“O-on the east side of town…”

Finally the grip on your jaw fell away and the man straightened up. “Jinyoung. Give me the phone,” he ordered, his hand beckoning his partner impatiently.

The man behind him, Jinyoung, stepped forward and placed a black device in his hand. He fumbled with the phone and spoke again, his gaze not moving from the object in his hands.

“Now, you will tell me the address and we’re gonna send him some pictures. I guess he forgot who he’s dealing with.” He held up the phone, an ominous smirk on his face. “Maybe this will serve as a reminder,” he said before the shutter went off, the sound echoing against the walls.

You didn’t know for how long you’d been lying in the same position. Everything was stiff. Everything hurt. Wriggling around when you were still bound had caused the twine of your restraints to cut into the skin of your wrists and for the rough cement of the floor to scrape your bare arms to the point of drawing blood. The darkness of the room had stolen away any notion of time. You felt empty. Alone in the shadows. By now you had stopped struggling. It only brought pain, and you were never going to get out of here on your own. Your captors had probably thought your stepdad would come running, like a dog with its tail between its legs, doing whatever he could to get you out of there. But you knew that’s not how he was.

The man was stern and harsh, the epitome of the crime boss JB had told you he supposedly was. He had never liked you much. Your mother had fallen for him pretty quickly after your father died. You’d always thought that it was her way of coping with things. Doyun wasn’t good for her, however. At first you thought he was just under a lot of stress from his job but, as time progressed, you found out more and more about how obsessed he was with power and control. Standing at the head of his own company wasn’t enough for him, so he took his job home.

Your mother was still oblivious to it all, though. You had tried to convince her that her relationship with him wasn’t okay, but she turned a blind eye, accepting the situation. You guess the money had something to do with it. However, you couldn’t deal with him, even when the house was big enough to avoid him most of the time. You decided to choose for yourself, moved out, and never looked back.

Doyun didn’t give a damn about you. But these people didn’t know that. They probably thought that knocking on daddy’s door with you as leverage would be an easy way to get their money. Little did they know that he couldn’t care less if you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere. A kidnapping would most likely not change his mind.

You had a glimmer of hope that the message might reach your mother first, but even if it did, you’d doubt she would act on it. She had changed and you wondered if she would care enough to do anything.

You felt numb, forgotten and alone. Broken. The only sliver of light in your darkness was the man that came into the room two times a day – you guessed without any sense of time – to feed you. At first, you shied away from him, afraid to have someone lay their hands on you once again. You thought perhaps he had felt your discomfort and kept silent. He didn’t do anything besides quietly putting down his tray in front of you before walking off, leaving you alone again.

You hadn’t touched the food the first couple of times he had come by, afraid it was laced with something. After not eating for what seemed like days, he had finally spoken up.

“You should eat,” he said.

His voice was gentle, and you felt yourself thinking that it fit him. Everything about him was the total opposite of the man you encountered that first day. The young man with kind eyes hadn’t once tried to lay a hand on you without your permission. He had continuously asked to take a look at your bruises and cuts. When you finally let him, he had examined them carefully, each touch soft and soothing. He was the one that undid your ties.

“Wouldn’t want your hands to fall off,” he explained.

You were surprised to learn that Youngjae – that was his name – was a doctor. A medic. A person that helped people for a living. He puzzled you. How would a person like that end up… here? But, you were glad to have him, as he was the only friendly face around lately.

It seemed like time crawled, although you wouldn’t know. You’d been staring into the dark void for quite some time. You hadn’t heard anything from the outside world. Did they send the message to your stepdad? Did it arrive? Did they even find him? Did anyone else realise you were missing?

The longer you laid there, staring at the direction of the door, the slimmer you felt your chances of getting out of there alive becoming. You felt hopeless.

A creak from the door one day made you look up. It was Youngjae with his usual tray of food and water. He silently made his way over and placed the tray on the floor. You didn’t make any move to get up, too forlorn to even lift a finger.

Youngjae tilted his head sideways, looking at you with pity. “You have to eat, ___”

You kept staring ahead, your lips pressed together in a straight line. When you still didn’t make any move to sit up, Youngjae lifted you up into a seating position, his hands tucked underneath your arms. When he let go, your arms dropped at your sides like dead weight.

“Come on, ___. Eat,” Youngjae insisted, scooping up some of the porridge onto a spoon before bringing it to your lips.

That’s when your eyes started to glisten and tears welled up in your eyes, the slightest act of kindness breaking your façade. “It won’t work, you know…” Your voice cracked. “He won’t pay.”

The young man looked up, concerned. He put the spoon down onto the plate next to him, before wiping away a tear from your cheek.

“I’m gonna be here forever, aren’t I?” you sobbed. “Why don’t you just kill me now and be done with it?! Why-” Your voice cracked and the tears came streaming down your face, sobs wracking your body.

Youngjae was slightly taken aback by the desperation in your voice, but immediately reacted by pulling you into a warm hug. One of his hands found purchase on the back of your head while the other pressed soothing circles onto your lower back. You found comfort in the firmness of his hold and the sound of his heart beating against the inside of his chest. You let it all out.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sniffed. “I can’t.”

“Shh…” He whispered soothing words against the shell of your ear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

You didn’t believe him. If these people were capable of kidnapping and blackmailing, surely murder wouldn’t be far down on that list either.

You had cried onto Youngjae’s shoulder until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your body was still shaking when he left, having left the tray of food on the ground beside you. You couldn’t eat. You must have been down there for at least a week and nobody had made a move to save you. Your hope – and will for that matter – to get out of there alive had started crumbling more and more.

It didn’t take long for the door to open again after Youngjae left. An hour maybe? You weren’t sure.

“___?” Youngjae’s voice quietly called out. But you didn’t respond. He walked into the room further before holding out a hand. “Do you think you can walk?”

Youngjae had let you outside. The room in which you were held captive seemed to be a part of some type of storage building. The square building was merely part of the grounds that held an even bigger building.

Facing that building, it looked scary and striking, the grey bricks contrasting with the oranges and pinks of the evening sky. But as soon as you were let inside, Youngjae’s hand continuously in contact with your upper arm, you were pleasantly surprised. The walls in the hallways were painted a pinkish beige, gold accents lining the wooden details. You found yourself gaping at the sophistication of the interior of the rooms you passed. What was this place? A mansion?

As it turned out, the answer to that question was yes. Yes, it was.

With Youngjae’s help, you managed to climb up two flights of a dark oaken staircase before he lead  you to a beautifully and delicately decorated bathroom.

“Take your time to freshen up. You’ll feel better afterwards,” he explained with a tender smile before closing the door behind him, leaving you to stand in the middle of the luxurious lavatory.

Now what?

You moved toward the sink, placing your hands on the cold marble. There was a person standing in front of you, staring right back at you through the mirror. She didn’t seem like your usual self, the image unrecognisable. Her face was gaunt, and her complexion pale. Anyone could guess how little she’d been sleeping by the purple circles under her eyes. The bruises on the side of her face had faded into a disgusting green-yellow colour. You closed your eyes, unable to look yourself in the eyes anymore.

A sigh escaped. When Youngjae had reached out his hand to you, you had thought that maybe he’d pitied you enough for him to let you go. But when the mansion came into view and he brought you inside, you knew you had gotten your hopes up.

This entire situation was unexpected. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about making a run for it. The only issue: Youngjae was right outside. And there was this house... There might be others walking around, ready to catch you in the act. You would be much worse off then.

You let out another sigh. You supposed you might as well use this opportunity to clean yourself up like Youngjae had proposed.

An unfamiliar voice on the other side of the door pulled you out of your thoughts. You couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but you knew that there was something going on when Youngjae responded.

“I’ll be right there.” Then he knocked on the door. “___, will you be okay for a minute? I’ll be right back.” Then his footsteps moved away, the thud of each step on the carpet sounding softer than the one before.

It was as if your prayers had been heard. This was your chance! This was your one shot to escape.

You straightened up and made your way to the door, your ears strained. But everything seemed quiet. You reached out for the door handle, but you could not bring yourself to push it down. You thought of Youngjae and how he had tried to make you feel as comfortable as possible. He had been so nice, considering the circumstances and as far as kidnappers go. He was gentle and caring. You shook your head. No, this was your chance. If no one was gonna save you, you might as well do it yourself. You had nothing to lose.

You shot a quick prayer and pushed the handle down. The door opened without struggle, and as you peaked your head out the door, the hallway seemed empty. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Next step, and the most difficult one, was getting downstairs and out of this house without being seen.

The floorboards underneath the carpet creaked as you placed one foot over the threshold. You tried to hold back your curses, as it would draw attention to your escape. As quietly as the old, wooden floor let you, you started to make your way down the hallway.

You were about halfway down the long hallway when you heard voices. You froze, too afraid to take another step and give yourself away. The voices grew louder, which meant the people these voices belonged to were getting closer as well. You told yourself to make a break for it. However, your legs didn’t want to cooperate. Grounded to the floor, your legs were shaking out of fear or simply out of fatigue. It might as well have been a combination of both.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

When a heavy voice called out to you, your legs were finally moving. It took a lot of effort, but you were running.

“Hey!”

With the sound of heavy footsteps on the carpet behind you, your heart rate spiked. You needed to get out of here!

You dug through your memories, trying to remember which way you came. Good thing you were good at directions. The footsteps were coming closer, your fear of getting caught reaching a new high. Just past this corner was the main staircase, you remembered. Just a little bit more…

The staircase was in sight when you felt your legs fail you. No! Not now!

But you were exhausted and your legs were shaking, the situation had taken its toll on your body. Your muscles totally seized up when you arrived at the top of the old staircase. Unable to catch yourself with a next step forward, you felt gravity pull you down. With the momentum you built up from running, you toppled forward.

The first thing you felt was a pop in your ankle, which bended the wrong way after a failed attempt of trying to catch yourself, followed by a throbbing pain. The thump you felt almost directly after came from your knee meeting one of the steps forcefully. After that, however, your head connected with the edge of another and, before your body was even halfway down the staircase, you got knocked out cold.

You woke up with a throbbing pain in your head, your eyelids heavy. You frowned. Ugh. Not again…

You blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness, before the shadow of a person started to take shape above you.

“Good. You’re awake,” a familiar voice murmured.

“Youngjae?” you croaked.

“Yes,” he said when your vision cleared. “I’m here. How are you feeling?”

“Sore.”

He managed a sympathetic smile. “I can imagine. You made quite the nosedive.” He moved to grab something from behind him. You found out a second later the object he grabbed was a flashlight as he waved it in front of your face. “Look at me.”

You did. Youngjae eyes looked over you intently. You ended up admiring him from up close, despite the bright light shining into each of your eyes. His lashes were dark and long, perfectly surrounding his slightly slanted eyes. His eyes were small, but beautiful nonetheless with their rich brown irises. Under one of his eyes you discovered a freckle for the first time, the light in the room revealing the small details you hadn’t been able to see in the darkness in which you first met.

“You don’t seem to have sustained a concussion,” he said, shaking you out of your reverie. Then he drew away, straightening up. “Other than a sprained ankle and some bruising, you’re alright. I expect your headache to be gone by the end of the day, but prepare to feel a little stiff over the next few days.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, the only thought whirling in your mind being your way out being compromised. You failed. And with a swollen ankle you most certainly wouldn’t be able to try it again anytime soon. You were done for. A tear made its way past your lashes when you realised you fucked up your only chance of getting your freedom back.

“I’m never getting out of here, am I? I might as well be dead…” Your voice sounded fragile, broken, all hope lost.

The doctor placed his hand on top of yours, the action calming. “For now just get some rest, okay?” His other hand cupped your cheek before he leaned in, his breath fanning your cheek. “You’re gonna be fine,” he whispered before you feel his soft lips on the corner of your mouth. “I promise.”

A couple of days later, there was still no news about your fate. You had been confined to one of the rooms in the house. You had tried to leave the room once, but you were immediately send back by the man keeping guard outside your door. You figured they considered you a flight risk even though Youngjae kept insisting it was because he needed to make sure you got enough rest.

The time you spent in your room was divided between spending time with Youngjae and thinking. You had come to find Youngjae’s presence soothing. He was the sole reason you were able to hold onto your sanity all this time. But there was still no news from home. You were grateful for Youngjae, you really were. But you had to take matters into your own hands again. You just needed to approach it differently. The remainder of the time you had spent thinking, brooding over a plan to get yourself out of here. Winging it clearly didn’t get you very far last time.

One morning you were woken up with the request to go downstairs. The young man in front of your door, however, told you that it was more of an order than a suggestion, so you didn’t dare to keep whoever was expecting you waiting.

While making your way down the dreaded staircase, your escort right beside you, you tried to figure out what was going on. “What’s happening? Where are you taking me?”

But he didn’t answer, his stoic expression unchanging. The man was tall and slim. You wouldn’t think him to be a very strong opponent in a fight, but you weren’t willing to find out. A serious frown marred his face, but his features seemed boyish to you. He was definitely the youngest person you’ve encountered here so far.

You let out a disappointed sigh at his lack of an answer. From the corner of your eye you noticed his stern façade crack a little. It seemed like some of these men weren’t completely immune to emotions…

At the bottom of the staircase, he took you along another hallway. It was similar than the ones you’d walked – or ran – down before. It was less detailed and more muted, the colour of the walls a little darker. You were still looking around, fidgeting, when all of a sudden you bumped into a solid form.

“Oh, sorry,” you said.

Your escort had stopped walking, halting in front of a door. He scoffed and shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, but he still kept his lips sealed. He knocked on the door in front of him before entering.

Your heart was pounding, reverberating in your throat, but you felt obligated to follow. Before you sat the man you met that dreaded first day. He sat behind his desk, looking up from his work as you made your way in.

“JB, she’s here,” the man beside you spoke.

“Thank you, Yugyeom. You can go now.” The man dismissed him with a wave of his hand before letting his gaze fall onto you. “So,” he spoke, while moving up from his seat. “What am I going to do with you?”

The man called JB moved around his desk, slow and calculated steps making your heart beat faster. Even though you were not tied up and sprawled across a concrete floor, he still didn’t seem less scary. He was intimidating and each and every atom in the air around you buzzed because of it, pressing down on you.

The man leaned back against the wooden frame, a hand in his trouser pocket. “As you may have noticed, we haven’t received any response from your family.”

You couldn’t help but wince a little, even though you tried so hard to keep your face as emotionless as possible. The words didn’t come as a surprise, but the realisation that there was no one out there to help you still hurt.

The man looked at his shoes. “This simply won’t do.” He shook his head disapprovingly, before once again fixing his intense gaze on you. “I’m gonna need my money back, ___.”

You felt the blood rushing in your temples at his threatening statement. You were so on edge that you winced when he moved to straighten up before starting to pace around the room unhurriedly. The heels of his designer shoes clanking on the floor boards were deafening in the heavy silence hanging in the office. And with each clang your demise seemed to draw nearer.

He stepped closer before bending down to your height. His voice was a whisper, insistent and stern. “I want my money, and you’re gonna help me get it.”

His menacing voice made a chill run up your spine. You were about to answer him with a shaky voice, but – gladly – you got interrupted by the door slamming against the wall.

“What are you doing?”

Youngjae’s voice came as a surprise for both you and JB, causing the latter to move away slowly, giving you space to breathe again.

“Why is she here?” Youngjae continued, slightly irritated.

JB shrugged. “I’m trying to strike a deal with her. Since her daddy doesn’t respond, we need to come up with another way to get our money back. And she’s gonna earn it for us.”

“No,” the young medic simply stated, shocking both you and JB. Was it okay for him to talk to JB like that? Wasn’t he like… his boss?

“No?” JB asked mockingly.

“No. She’s not going to partake in any of this.” There was a fire in his eyes that left his boss at a loss of words. “I won’t let her-”

“I’ll do it,” you cut him off.

“What?” Youngjae exclaimed.

Before letting him get another word in, you continued. “On my terms.”

“Well,” JB mused. “The girl’s got spunk.” He walked back to his desk, taking a seat behind it. “Talk to me, girl.”

“___, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Youngjae said, placing his hand on your arm as if trying to stop you.

You ignored him and took a deep breath to gather your courage. You had enough time to think about the next step when you were confided to your room. And now it was the time to put that plan into action. “I don’t know what you had planned for me, but I’m sure I have a better way of getting us both what we want.”

JB’s eyes sparkled at your words, a mixture of surprise and mischief. Good, you thought. He’s interested.

“You’re going to let me go and I’ll make sure you get your money.”

The boss started to laugh. It wasn’t a humorous laugh. Instead, the sound caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. But as quickly as it came, it subsided and the ominous frown was back on his face. “Don’t take me for a fool, girl. I’m not gonna let you simply walk out of here.”

“Not even if I promise to bring Doyun down.” Your daring offer met silence. JB’s eyes were squinted, out of suspicion or curiosity you couldn’t tell. “Believe me, I hate Doyun as much as you do right now. I want him to pay.” There had been a determination in your eyes that hadn’t been there ever since you ended up in this nightmare.

“But, ___-” Youngjae objected. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!”

“I’ve got an idea. Now,” you turned back to JB. “Do you still want to hear the rest?” The man in question nodded, giving you permission to elaborate. “So, you are going to let me go and I’m going home. I’ll snoop around. When I find something interesting, I’ll report back. You can use this information for an ambush, or whatever you guys do when you want to get back at your enemies.”

It was silent in the office when you finished speaking. JB seemed to be mulling all of it over when you looked at him expectantly. The man next to you looked at you in disbelief before turning to the man behind the desk, a questioning look in his eyes.

Then, JB’s voice cut through the silence. “Okay.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Youngjae displayed a similar reaction, probably relieved you weren’t losing your head yet.

“However,” JB leaned forward in his chair, his tone menacing. “one word about us, one wrong action, and you’re mine.”

You didn’t know what JB had in store for you if you messed up, but you weren’t planning on finding out. Youngjae had tried to talk you out of what you were about to do, but it was too late to turn back now. You were adamant on taking Doyun down, especially after all you had to go through at his expense.

Youngjae had expressed his worry in more ways than one. He tried to warn you of JB, of your stepdad, that it was too dangerous. He even tried to postpone everything by telling you weren’t ready to go out yet with your injuries. But you wouldn’t listen to him. And now you were here, in front of the mansion you’d called home before going to university. You hadn’t lived here for long, not standing the person you had to live there with. It was a beautiful house, you had to give Doyun that. But the more you looked at it, the more the beauty got overshadowed by the amount of bad memories you had of your mother’s abusive relationship.

You let out a breath, gathering the courage to make your presence known. You didn’t quite know who knew about your situation or if there was anyone who had noticed you were missing. Doyun had to have been one of the few however. The gang had send him multiple messages to try and get him to act, to provoke him, but probably none of them had seemed to be worth responding to. You and the guys had agreed you would tell him you had escaped by yourself somehow, but for the general public, you had just come back from an impromptu road trip with your friends from uni.

You pressed the right buttons on the outer gates of the property and within five seconds, the buzz of the gates being opened rung out. You made your way inside, slightly apprehensive. You were going to have to lie to your mother. You never liked lying, but it was for a good cause, at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Before you were able to walk all the way to the mansion’s giant front doors, they swung open, your mother appearing in the opening before running outside to envelop you in a hug.

“___! Oh my god! What-” She pulled away, looking you in the eyes. “Where have you been? We were so worried!”

You were unable to answer when she tightly squeezed you against her again. We? Yeah, right.

Over your mother’s shoulder, you could see Doyun appearing on the top of the small staircase outside. Never in your life could you have imagined that face belonged to a worried man. He had a disgruntled frown on his face. Everything about him told you he wasn’t expecting this. You could have guessed: the man never liked it when things happened out of his control.

You squinted your eyes at him, not afraid to show your anger toward him. You needed to talk.

“I’m okay, mom,” you said, patting her on the back. “I just got back from a road trip with my friends.”

Your mother pulled back. “You were what?! We thought something happened to you!”

“I’m sorry,” you looked down, remembering the story. “It all just was very spontaneous and I forgot to tell you, and then my phone died… I’m so sorry.” You were truly sorry. Just not for the reason she thought you were.

“Well…” she let out a tired sigh. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Let’s go inside.”

With her hand on the small of your back, you passed Doyun on your way inside the house, a strict expression on his face. You remembered that face. It was the face he made before another one of his guards got replaced by another. You made sure to look him in the eye, unwavering.

When your mother had finally calmed down and made her way out of the living room, you were finally able to confront Doyun. However, you didn’t have to breach the subject yourself: he did it for you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His eyes were still piercing, the muscles in his jaw rigid. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You scoffed, incredulous. “Oh, yeah. I know. It’s a good thing I know how to fetch for myself, because you certainly didn’t help anything.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so you have no idea about what I had to go through this last two weeks?” This time you felt your anger rise, the boiling point in sight. “No ransom notes? No photos on your doorstep?”

Doyun shook his head calmly. “I only found out about what happened two days ago. Your mother insisted that something was wrong. I tried to figure out a way to get you out of there, but here you are now.”

Your eyes crinkled in anger. “And why exactly didn’t you tell mom about this?”

He let out a content sigh before answering, like he expected your question. “I guess for the exact same reason you didn’t tell her the truth either. I didn’t want to worry her.” Then he leaned forward, his elbows pressing down on his thighs. “Now, tell me. How did you manage to get out of there? Money? Sex?” Doyun looked at you, judging, scrutinising.

“I escaped,” you stated. Two could play this game of lying to the other person’s face. “They’re probably still looking for me. That’s why I need to stay here.”

Doyun still hadn’t moved a muscle, disdain and distrust lining his harsh features. You both knew the other was lying, but none of you said a word. A tense silence settled between you until your mother walked back into the room, followed by the smell of herbal tea.

Your mother was more than happy to take you back in the house for a little while. Her nature of caretaker emerging after your so-called spontaneous trip, she almost insisted you’d stay at the mansion for a while. Thankfully, she still didn’t refrain from running her own errands, leaving the house in your capable hands. Like today.

With both your mother and Doyun out of the house, the building and some of its very interesting rooms were all yours to explore. Carefully avoiding the staff that were still working in the mansion, you were able to slip into Doyun’s office. As soon as you closed the door behind you, you took a look around the interior of the room. You shook your head at the supposed grandeur. The room was spacious, however cluttered with obnoxiously expensive-looking furniture.

When you made your way further into the room, the first thing that caught your eye was the portrait on the wall behind the desk. It showed a younger Doyun sitting on chair with, what you presumed, were his dad and grandfather standing behind him. The painting of the three stern-looking men was surrounded by a garish golden frame.

“Of course there’s an oil painting,” you sighed.

Shaking your head you made your way to the expensive-looking wooden desk. You let your fingers rest on the surface as you walked around it. The wood was stained with a dark varnish, the intricate grains visible through the shine. Most of the desk was empty, apart from a few bits and bobs and a small stack of paperwork. It would have been foolish to have left important papers laying around on his desk, but you still crossed your fingers and hoped for the best as you sat down and leafed through the pile.

As you browsed, you kept your ears strained. You were new to the world of sneaking around, however with your recent experiences in mind, you knew that you had to be on your guard. You weren’t about to find out what happened to people that snuck around in a mob boss’ office. You tried to shake off those thoughts while working a little faster.

Just like you expected, the papers on top of the desk were very normal and perfectly legal. You doubted JB would find the mansion’s electricity bills very useful. You let out a sigh and stood up with the intention of going over to the filing cabinet when you heard a cheerful whistle down the hall. Your heart rate spiked as you froze.

Shit. Move, ___, move!

You forced yourself to move and hide. You wormed your way in between the desk and its giant, coordinating leather chair. The sound of the footsteps grew louder, signalling the person’s proximity to the door. You held your breath, your heart in your throat, when the footsteps slowed in front of the door. Only when you heard the sound of shoes hitting the carpet again, moving away from you, you dared to breathe.

Okay, we’re done for today!, you thought. This is how far it’s gonna get!

You quickly emerged from below the desk before looking around and making sure to leave everything the way you found it. As a precautionary measure you waited a couple of minutes more, pressing your ear to the door for any more sounds. When the coast was clear you made your way back to your old bedroom as silently as possible.

You tried to make the trips down to Doyun’s office as short as possible, not willing to risk getting caught. Each time, you made sure to report the developments, or lack thereof, to Youngjae. Your findings left you disappointed and guilty as you were sure JB wasn’t very happy about it, but Youngjae reassured you that it didn’t matter, that you’d just have to be patient, insisting that your safety was the most important factor. As for the data, your assumptions proved to be right: your stepdad wasn’t a complete idiot. Important information wasn’t locked away in his drawers and binders, or carelessly strewn across the office. In this era, a laptop would provide to be a more suitable holder of secrets. However, that laptop was nowhere in sight, always being kept safe by its owner.

A few days later, after coming up with nothing, and JB insisting you should do something about it, you shot a quick prayer and snuck your way into Doyun’s quarters once again. Only this time there was something else on the desk than his usual frills. It was as if the gods had looked upon your desperate attempts to comb through meaningless papers and files, and had finally answered your prayers: Doyun had forgotten his laptop, leaving it right before your prying eyes.

Not wanting to throw away this opportunity, you made your way over to the desk as quickly as possible, ready to look into whatever the man was hiding on the device. It was only when you stumbled upon a login screen that you started to panic a little. Password protection. Of course.

You racked your brain, desperate to find the answer to the question presented in front of you. Think, ___, think.

You pressed in the five numbers most familiar to you, praying he was one of those people that used the same password for everything. Within a few seconds, instead of the feared ‘failed login’ screen, a wallpaper appeared. You couldn’t help but let out a surprised snicker. Yes! Knowing the password to the entrance gates never came in this handy.

Listening around for unexpected noises, you fumbled around for your phone. Browsing around the laptop aimlessly would only eat away at the little time you had. Some kind of lead might’ve been helpful at this moment.

“___?” Youngjae’s voice sounded through your phone’s speaker. “How are you doing? Everything alright?” The worry in his voice tugged at your heartstrings a little, making you smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” you whispered, before hurriedly continuing with the matter at hand. “I just need a little bit more info on what kind of info I’m supposed to be looking for. I just broke into Doyun’s laptop.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, admittingly impressed. “Right.”

“I just need a little help navigating a crime boss’ laptop. I don’t really have a lot of experience in hiding this type of intel, you know. And I figured you might be able to help me.”

The male on the other end of the line spoke aloud, repeating what you’re asking to somebody else in the distance before letting out a hum. “Try to open up some of his work-related files. He might hide some important documents there.”

Moving your phone to your other ear, you used your free hand to browse through the different programmes on the laptop. A lot of the files seemed to be files you might harbour on your own computer. Except for that one file, obviously loaded with porn, everything seemed to be void of top secret documents. You didn’t want to know what kind of secrets were hidden away in there, though.

“I don’t know, Youngjae. It seems like everything checks out. No weird or suspicious files, or anything.”

Another hum. “Then try opening up his email. Information needs to be send to him somehow.”

You opened up his inbox, determined to find at least something of use. Your eyes skimmed over different email addresses and subjects until you finally stumbled across something promising. It was an email about a certain ‘transaction’. Your curiosity and desperation reaching a peak, you hurriedly read your way through the cryptic email.

“…tomorrow…”

“What?” Youngjae’s voice sounded in your ear, reminding you of the phone you’ve been pressing against your head the whole time.

“There’s something happening tomorrow,” you explained. “It’s an email from what seems like a business partner of some sorts. It says there’s going to be some kind of transaction or deal tomorrow night.”

“What? Where? Does it say anything about a location?”

You were about to answer Youngjae when a noise came from the other side of the door. You started to panic, quickly putting down your phone and logging off from the laptop. You needed to get out of here, now!

It wasn’t until you were walking down the hallway that you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. No one had seemed to see you exit the office, but of course you could never be too safe. You had hurried upstairs, quickly closing the door behind you to block yourself from anyone’s scrutiny.

This had to have gone okay, right? You didn’t see anyone on the way up here. This went well. Everything was gonna be fine.

You leaned against the door, putting your hand on top of your heart in an attempt to calm it down. Your breathing had gotten heavy. You felt like you’d been running a marathon. It took a few minutes to catch your breath again. But just as relief started to take over, a sound you were unable to place in your current state of mind caught you off guard. You jumped. Then you looked down at the source: the phone still clutched between your fingers.

Right. Youngjae!

Your shaking hands fumbled with the device, trying to get a proper hold on it to press the green icon and move it to your ear. “Yeah,” you breathed.

“___! Are you okay? What happened?” Youngjae once again sounded concerned.

“I’m fine,” you said. “I thought I heard something, so I ran.”

“Did someone see you? Did you get caught?” Again, unease showed through the words coming from the phone.

“No, I don’t think so. I do need to show you something, though. Can we meet up somewhere?”

An affirming answer came from the other end of the line. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a bit!”

You were about to hang up when Youngjae interrupted. “Oh, and ___?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

You shook your head, a small smile creeping up on you. It wasn’t the time to feel giddy at all, but you couldn’t help it. Youngjae’s worry and concern for you caused your heart flutter and a warm, pleasant feeling to spread all through your insides.

“I will,” you whispered.

Arriving at the address on your phone, you couldn’t help but doubt yourself. Was this the right place?

It seemed like Youngjae had send you to an old, run-down bar. It looked like it was closed, which was logical: it being 11 AM and all. Starting to wonder what to do next, your nervous pacing got interrupted by a familiar calling of your name. You turned around and came to face the exact man you had wanted to see ever since you escaped your stepdad’s office. It seemed like a while ago, even though it happened just this morning. But the solace you found in Youngjae’s eyes, filled you with relief and immediately lifted your spirits.

After asking if you were alright, Youngjae took you inside the hoary bar and led you to one of the tables in the back, away from any of the grimy windows. With JB and Jinyoung already seated on one end, you and Youngjae carefully sat down opposite them. Great, you thought. The two scariest gangsters decided to join you.

As if sensing your apprehension, Youngjae moved closer unconsciously. You were extremely grateful for his presence, feeling instantly protected and more at ease. Your gaze moved to the two men in front of you, both answering with a similar, cold glare. That was when the older of the two spoke up.

“I heard you found something.” His monotonous voice was accompanied by an expectant raise of the eyebrow.

“Erm, yeah,” you said. “I guess so.”

“Well… What did you find?” JB’s patience apparently already started to wear thin in the mere beginning of conversations.

“Right,” you started before fishing your phone out of your jacket’s pocket. You scrolled through your camera roll. “So, I found this email on his laptop,” you said, handing over your phone to the man opposite you. “It appears to be talking about some kind of shady deal.”

JB’s eyes moved across the screen quickly. He kept quiet, so you continued.

“It was the only clue I could find. I’m guessing he forgot to delete this email by accident, because the rest of his files didn’t say anything unusual. I got really lucky this time. He doesn’t normally seem this sloppy.”

“Hmm.” JB’s face took on a brooding expression. After a second, he handed the phone to Jinyoung, who made sure to send a copy of the pictures to his own phone.

“So?” you mused. “Did I manage to bring you something useful?”

One of the corners of JB’s lips tugged up, his cold face transforming into something a little bit more sinister. “I guess we can work with this.”

An unexpectant sense of gaiety started to grow among your insides and a smile made its way to your lips. You looked over to Youngjae with a strange sense of pride. You actually came up with something helpful. For a gang. Which wasn’t ideal. But it all felt kind of… exciting.

It was the day after your top secret meeting when you found yourself lounging around in the living room. It was the first day that you hadn’t been sneaking around in the house, and it felt… boring. The snooping had almost caused several heart attacks, but with nothing much else to do, besides going to class some days, you kind of missed it.

Before you left yesterday, JB had informed you he didn’t have much use for you right now. It was their turn now and you had to stand back. Lying on the couch, you couldn’t help but wonder what was supposed to go down, what they were involved in. Were the gang going to interfere with some type of arms deal? Or were they involved in drugs too? It was almost certainly going to be dangerous, you thought.

You found yourself praying that, whatever the gang had planned that day, they would come out unscathed.

It was already late at night when you finally heard something. But instead of the phone you had expected to ring, you heard the front door slam shut with a loud bang, picture frames on the walls threatening to fall down due to the vibrations it created. The crash was followed by loud curses coming from downstairs.

A knowing smile crept up your face. Someone had a bad day today, you thought. You had to hold back the urge to rush downstairs to find out what exactly happened, the smart part of your brain telling you it was better to stay away from Doyun for a while.

As if your curiosity sparked interest across the city, your phone signalled an incoming message. It was Youngjae.

‘Took care of everything. Are you okay?’

You let out a relieved breath, smiling at the man’s concern once again before quickly sending a message back.

‘Yes, I’m fine. Doyun less so. Did everything go okay?’

Youngjae’s answer came quickly. ‘We’re okay. Everything went as planned. His business should be held back for a little while.’ Followed by another. ‘You should lay low for now. Take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon!’

You replied with a quick ‘thumbs-up’ before carefully deleting the messages. If Doyun found out you were a mole, you’d be in major trouble.

It had been about a full week of normalcy before you received a message from Youngjae again. Taking into consideration that Doyun was on high alert, he didn’t dare keep in contact, afraid to raise suspicion. You were glad he was so thoughtful of you, but you were kind of disgruntled that you weren’t called upon earlier. You were bored and you found yourself missing the action a little. But especially not hearing from Youngjae had caused the disappointment to sink in. So when that text finally came, you couldn’t be more cheerful.

The message carried you to a local café, where Youngjae, JB and a young man that you had seen once before – Yugyeom, you remembered his name was – were waiting for you. Youngjae was the first one to speak to you when you arrived.

“___! How are you? Is everything okay?” His eyes darted up and down, quickly trying to scan your body for any injuries like it was his job – which it was, you reminded yourself.

You smiled, nodded and took a seat, ready for whatever happened next. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

JB let out an amused scoff at your forward nature before folding his hands on top of the table. “Well,” he started. “We need you to gather some more information on your stepdad.”

You nodded, signalling your understanding and willingness, much to Youngjae’s dismay.

“We’re planning on messing with him for a little while longer before we’re able to bring him down completely. After that, you’ll be free from your debt to me.”

It didn’t take you much longer than two seconds to agree. This was what you signed up for, right? Getting revenge. But also because you didn’t really have a choice with your freedom in JB’s hands.

You noticed Youngjae growing more and more wary. One look at him and his worries came spilling out. “Just be careful, ___. Doyun’s already on edge and most certainly suspicious of every tiny thing. If you even have one inch of doubt that he’s onto you-”

“I know, Youngjae,” you smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be on my guard. I’ll message you when I find anything.”

And that was that. Your next assignment.

Eager to prove your worth and help the only people able to bring your worst nightmare down, you started right away. The next couple of days you found nothing. Of course, Doyun had always been careful. Your first search was proof of that. You just prayed that all of the paranoia and stress would cause him to become sloppy. Just one mistake was all it took for you to take advantage of and have his entire business come crumbling down. It was only a matter of time.

Your prayers got answered about five days later, when a ‘business partner’ visited the house. Afraid that someone at headquarters might have something to do with the recent incident, Doyun had invited this particular partner to his home. That was your moment to strike. You had thought of a way listen in on their conversation, but it proved to be quite tricky. There was no way you could personally attend the meeting without being caught spying. That’s why you had to find another way to eavesdrop on the exchange.

Which led you to your mission of retrieving the phone you had hidden away in the pot of an ornamental plant before the two gentlemen made their way to Doyun’s office and started their all-important meeting. Your nerves had been building up consistently when you were waiting for the meeting to end. You were praying your not-particularly well-hidden phone wasn’t discovered. After making sure there was no one in sight, you made your way down to Doyun’s empty office to fetch your recording device.

Your proof turned out to be shockingly useful, prompting you to immediately report to the men on the other side of town. Doyun’s conversation was mostly filled with all kinds of details surrounding this deal that was currently being finalised. The who, when and where were all spoken about in great specifics. You just hit the jackpot, however, it was now the gang’s turn to run with it and put another one of their plans in action.

The week was just starting when Doyun, once again, came home with a dreadful temper. He was furious. Within a month, two of his deals fell through. The first one, an arms deal had been cancelled right before it was supposed to take place. Apparently the opposite party had made a more favourable deal with a different seller a couple hours prior and didn’t feel the need to show up. He had been infuriated. How dare they back off at the last minute? How dare they cross him, one of the most influential people in this city?!

And then that second disaster from which he had barely escaped alive. For some reason, again, the other party had crossed him, only this time it had turned fatal for many of his closest men. Turning up at the meeting place, everything seemed to be going as planned. A few seconds in, Doyun thought he saw some new faces among his interlocutor’s men. He had brushed it off as paranoia, but he was wrong to do so, as he found out a few minutes later when his soon-to-be partner started to twitch a little too much for his liking.

When Doyun and his men started to withdraw, his business partner knew the cover was blown. His men had opened fire and whoever had failed to react quickly, had been shot. It had been a deal about an alliance, and most of it was already set. He invited this man to his house and talked details. But now the people he had given an ounce of trust had turned on him. A few of Doyun’s best men perished, which is what angered him the most. A big part of his business endeavours had fallen through or had been delayed as a result of this and, most importantly, his credibility had taken a huge hit. The first signs of power struggles and revolts had started to pop up among his men: the first cracks within the empire that his father and grandfather had worked so hard to build started to appear.

In between university classes and meetings with the gang, you hadn’t stopped snooping around, determined to find other details of Doyun’s operations. In his current state of mind he had grown a bit careless, making it easier for you to find out new things that might be of importance to your cause. Each time you reported your findings to members of the gang so they could mess with and torment Doyun in any way, shape or form. You usually met up at a coffeeshop in the middle of the city. The less questionable your behaviour, the safer you were from Doyun’s suspicions.

JB didn’t feel the need to be present during most of your frequent meetings, trusting his brothers to hold up to the task of the messenger. However, there was one person who was always there. Youngjae had apparently taken it upon himself to be your first person of contact. While you didn’t know exactly why – he was the medic and wasn’t particularly involved in the other, more illegal matters of the crime ring – you were glad he was there. He had always been there, you realised once, the thought making you feel all strange and warm on the inside.

That warmth had changed into a jittery feeling when Youngjae was the person to reach out first, asking you to meet up later that week. You had told yourself that it was probably business-related, but you couldn’t help but feel excited. It was a little nerve-wracking to be honest. You had told yourself to calm down, and that you had experienced more horrifying things these last few weeks. For God’s sake, you had met with one of the most intense mob bosses of the city while living under the same roof with another. You could handle being alone with Youngjae.

With those encouraging thoughts, you left the house without a second look back. Which was a mistake as, unbeknownst to you, a pair of very expectant eyes were following your every move.

Doyun knew that his recent losses weren’t just any case of bad luck. There must have been something more to it than that. His troubles were just too much of a coincidence. It didn’t take him long to pinpoint exactly where his tribulations stemmed from. He had a strong feeling he knew exactly who was the cause of his problems.

JB’s gang hadn’t been his direct enemy until recently. The gang was young, but had experienced a significant growth in territory, numbers and influence early on. The man at the head of this group had to have guts in order to accomplish all of this, that was nothing new. But spying on him like this, was an especially fearless move. Doyun could only think of one particular person that had been in contact with these rivals. However, he needed to make sure his suspicions were right. And it was very likely that these suspicions were going to be confirmed later that day.

Youngjae had always thought of himself as a calm and patient person. In his medical profession, it was a crucial part of his job description. He had been fidgeting for quite a while this morning, however. Time had seemed to crawl by lately, especially when he was anticipating to meet you. It had been a few days since you last saw each other. He had texted you then, asking if you wanted to have coffee with him. It took some courage to send that message, unsure if you fully understood what he meant by it, but thankfully you didn’t look at all surprised to find him alone.

You two spoke about current business, however briefly, but the conversation quickly shifted to more mundane topics. He noticed your muscles relax as the conversation went on and you smiled more than ever in his presence. He found himself wishing to be able to see more of this version of you in the future. Youngjae wasn’t able to stop thinking about it, about you, ever since, so he had made an effort to speak to you again as soon as possible afterwards.

And that was what led him to this very coffee shop for the second time this week, anxiously waiting for you to continue where you two left off last time. It was only that he had been waiting, anxiously, for a quite some time by now. A quick glance at the clock let Youngjae know that it had been at least half an hour of waiting on his part. He found out you were prone to showing up late sometimes, but never had it been more than ten minutes. Moreover, your delay had always been accompanied by a short message of apology as well. This time something wasn’t quite right.

After another ten minutes, and a lack of any notification of any kind, Youngjae was sure that something was really off. That was when he decided to try to call you, but got no further than unlocking his phone when Jaebum’s name popped up on his screen.

“It’s me,” the familiar voice sounded when Youngjae picked up. The words were blunt, feeding the nagging feeling in his stomach. “We’ve got a situation on our hands,” JB continued before uttering the words that caused Youngjae’s stomach to drop instantly. “Doyun knows.”

In order to explain the situation properly, JB had requested Youngjae to come over as quickly as possible. The latter didn’t need much of an explanation. He had had this strange gut feeling for a while. He knew you were in serious trouble, he just needed to know in how much.

Panic-stricken and restless, Youngjae rushed over to headquarters to find the core gang members gathered around a table. Mark noticed him first, waving him over in silence. The atmosphere was nothing short of tense and all the focus was on JB who seems to be in a heated discussion over the phone.

When Youngjae’s eyes fell on the picture displayed on a phone a distressed Jackson held out to him, his jaw dropped unintentionally. It was a close up of your bruised face. Your cheek was swollen, a scratch of red marking the hit from a ring. Your right eye inflamed and puffy, traces of a bruise already forming along your temple. Some stray hairs were sticking to the patch of dried blood near a cut on your eyebrow.

Youngjae’s breath got caught in his throat, a wave of guilt washing over him. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. You had been so careful. This was his fault. The gang had pushed you into cooperating and he stood by and condoned it. It physically hurt him to see you like this. Frustrated with himself and the situation he curled his hands into fists, drawing blood as his nails pressed into the soft skin. His blood was boiling, his heart breaking. How dare they lay their hands on you!

You were more or less innocent, not involved in any of this gang business if it wasn’t for them. He hadn’t agreed on involving innocent people from the very beginning, but had reluctantly let the gang do its thing. And now this happened…

“What exactly do you want to achieve with this, asshole?!” JB’s voice brought Youngjae’s attention back to his conversation. “What do you expect to gain from this?”

Having it switched to speaker, the voice on the phone echoed in the room. “What I want is for your lousy business to stop interfering with that of mine,” Doyun’s voice answered. “Back off, or she dies.”

It was silent for a minute as everyone watched Jaebum with concern. Youngjae tensed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were so careful and still this was able to happen. What if he didn’t ask you to meet up with him? Would your intentions still be a secret? Or was this inevitable? Just an attempt to try and fool a man that turned out to be smarter than they thought?

“Do you really think that this is how you’re going to get us? Are you really willing to kill your own step-daughter for this?” JB said out loud, putting to words exactly how unbelievable Doyun’s intentions were.

“Why not?” Doyun mused. “She’s been nothing but a nuisance to me. My life would be a whole lot easier with her out of the picture.” A cackle reverberated through the phone. “Your choice,” he said before the call got disconnected.

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds, Doyun’s words weighing it down heavily. The first one to break the silence was Jinyoung. “We’re not going to back off, are we?” he said, looking calmer than the rest of the men.

“How could we?” Yugyeom said. “We’ve gotten too far in for us to back out now.”

“But what about ___?! We need to get her out of there!” Youngjae sputtered, the muscles in his jaw tensed. He had already let it come this far. You got hurt. He needed to save you. “He’ll kill her!”

JB paused thoughtfully before clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, Youngjae. Like we always do.”

It took the rest of the day for the gang to calm down and think of a solution, which turned out to be harder than it seemed. All of the men unanimously agreed that they had to get you out of this situation before anything else, Youngjae being the most vocal about it, but that was going to be difficult without knowing where you were in the first place.

The men reached a dead end a couple of hours in. Without any location, a rescue operation was going to be practically impossible. Halting their operations in relation to Doyun’s business seemed like the only possible way to keep you alive, but their business would suffer and, after seeing the images of your assaulted body, they couldn’t promise Doyun’s men would keep their hands off you even if they did.

Discussions and interjections went on for about an hour when Youngjae’s phone signalled an unexpected message. The text consisted of a location and not much else. Tracking the message resulted in a direct connection with a burner phone that wouldn’t lead to any specific person, but the location directed them to a building at the edge of the city.

“Could it be that this is where ___ is held?” Bambam suggested while the rest seemed puzzled about where this message came from.

“Plausible,” JB said with a nod. “Who’s the owner of that building?”

After a few quick taps on his laptop, Mark confirmed everyone’s hopes. “Doyun.”

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?!” Youngjae, who’d been pent up with frustration since the moment he stepped foot in the meeting, snapped uncharacteristically. “We have to get her out of there!”

As a voice of reason, Jinyoung interrupted. “What if it’s a trap? Doyun could have just as easily texted us himself just because he wants us to go there.”

A silence fell, the thought floating around in everyone’s minds before Jackson spoke up. “If this is our only lead, I think we should risk it.”

All faces turned to JB expectantly. “Please, Jaebum,” Youngjae pleaded. “We owe her that much.”

After a second the boss hummed. “But we need to approach this carefully. First, we need a plan.”

And so the preparations of a rescue operation ensued. In the dead of night, the gang made its way to the location provided in the text. In the old van of some electrical company, Mark sat in the back, pressing some keys on his laptop, trying to hack into the security camera’s of the premises they were now quickly approaching.

“Mark, you keep monitoring the cameras. Yugyeom, you stay here and be ready for when we need to escape,” JB ordered as the youngest member slowed down the beat-up van a block away from the complex. “Youngjae, you too.”

The young doctor was quick to object. “No. I’m coming.”

“Youngjae, it’s Doyun’s men we’re talking about.” JB’s voice was cold and stern, common for the leader. “They’re trained hitmen.”

“I don’t care.” His voice was resolute. “We need to get ___ out of there as soon as possible, and with an extra hand the sooner we can do that. Besides, I can handle myself,” Youngjae said as he reached for one of the guns in the back.

JB looked at him discerningly. The fire and determination in Youngjae’s eyes told him he wouldn’t budge on this matter. Not feeling like continuing this discussion, JB just sighed.

“Okay, guys. ___ is our priority, but we shouldn’t forget that this could be a trap. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything we’ve overlooked. If anyone only gets the slight feeling that we might be ambushed, speak up and we’re out of there.” He looked at each of the men around him, who gave him an affirmative nod. He continued, his gaze aimed at Bambam. “Keep an eye on Youngjae. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

The young man nodded.

“All right, boys. Let’s do this.”

The side door slid open, the men filing out while concealing some of their weapons within their clothes before sneaking onto the premises of the skeleton of an old office building. The grounds around weren’t completely empty. Some of Doyun’s men were loitering around unsuspectingly, smoking cigarettes and rubbing their hands against the cool night air, gazing at nothing in particular. They were unusually out of place guarding a building that was already part demolished. But as well as for a planned ambush. A good sign, JB noted before signalling the rest of the guys to move forward at Mark’s cue sounding in his earpiece.

The first man that got close to where Jackson and Jinyoung were hiding got a baseball bat to the face, the crack echoing between the buildings. A friend of his that got a little suspicious from the grunt was grabbed from behind, an arm moving around his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs. Bambam, an experienced sharpshooter, was the one to subdue the next two, the sound of his shots mere pops in the distance thanks to his silencer.

It stayed quiet for the next few minutes, the grounds minimally guarded. The gang made it to the next obstacle: a back entrance with a heavy lock. Jackson stepped forward to inspect it.

“This is not going to be an easy lock to get rid of silently,” he diagnosed.

“Shoot it,” Youngjae called out impatiently. “We still have the element of surprise. We need to get in now!”

All gazes moved toward JB for the final decision. The latter seemed to think it over for a second. Youngjae found himself getting heated up a little too much for his liking, but he was right. Nothing led them to think there was an ambush waiting for them there. In the end JB nodded at Jinyoung who looked ready to deliver the shot.

A loud pop broke the silence, followed by a clank of the lock being blasted apart by a bullet. Jackson swung open the door before a full on gunfight ensued, guards inside the building surprised at the intruders. The boys advanced into the building, weapons raised, shooting down any person in their way. It was chaos. Above the gunfire, Youngjae’s voice rung out.

“Find her!”

The group of men split into three, each moving into a different direction. As per JB’s warning, and his own gut feeling, Bambam didn’t dare let Youngjae out of his sight. He had never seen the doctor act like this. Trained in observing other people’s body language through a visor, he knew Youngjae was acting out of the ordinary. Out of all the people in the gang, he was supposed to be the most collected and practical in stressful situations. Heightened emotions didn’t belong in his line of work.

His white-knuckled fingers and the throbbing vein along one of his temples told Bambam a lot. He was trying to hold back whatever worry he was feeling, but his rushed steps and the slight tremor in his hands gave away enough for his partner to guess what he was going through.

“Hey!”

A shout from the other end of the hallway they barely entered echoed against the walls, pulling Bambam’s focus from the other male. He rushed forward, both hands on his weapon. Even before this threatening sight, his target, a thin man, still reached for his gun. But it was too late when a single shot got fired and hit him right in his chest.

Youngjae didn’t even flinch at his friends actions, his focus elsewhere. “Let’s go,” he said before stepping over the body on the floor and continuing his path. “This way.”

It took another minute before the men noticed two nervous-looking henchmen pacing around in one of the hallways. Bambam held out an arm, holding Youngjae back.

“I’ve seen them before,” Bambam whispered. “And they’re not moving in to help the rest.” He almost sounded a little disappointed.

“That means that she’s here,” Youngjae replied. “They’re guarding her.”

Bambam nodded and advanced. The men in the hallway noticed them immediately, ready to grab their guns. One of them was successful. The other not so much. Rushing in on the last man standing, Youngjae was able to hit him square in the face. Killing was only necessary as a last resort, he thought. He hissed at the crack of his knuckles when connecting with the puffy man’s face. Waving his hand around, trying to shake off the pain, he got caught off guard by a punch in the stomach. Air escaped as he groaned and doubled over, but the adrenaline kept him going. He charged forward, tackling the man to the ground where he punched him again. The man tried to throw Youngjae off, grabbing at his opponent’s face. He was able to push him of balance and land a hit on his cheek, but his victory didn’t last. Another shot rang out and Youngjae looked up to find Bambam, totally forgotten at this point, his weapon raised.

More shouts and gunshots reverberated all around the empty building, but Youngjae didn’t notice any of that. All that was on his mind was finding you. He knew you were near. All he needed to do was find you and bring you to safety. He ignored Bambam’s outstretched hand completely when getting back to his feet and rushed forward once again, only one goal in mind. The other man quickly followed him.

When they arrived at a locked door, Youngjae was the first to barge into it, slamming into it with his shoulder and kicking at it with his boot. When it didn’t budge he yelled out in frustration. Bambam, having enough of this wild display, held him back before raising his gun to shoot at the lock. That did the trick.

Youngjae didn’t feel the need to feel bad about his impulsive behaviour. He swung open the door to finally reveal the person he longed to see.

Your unconscious figure lay on the concrete floor, bruised and broken. Youngjae didn’t waste a second and appeared at your side immediately. For just a second, he tried to push aside his feelings and treat you like any other patient, but his rushed movements betrayed his sentiments. Your pulse was still there, you were breathing – however shallowly. Your face looked pale and you were burning up.

“Have you found her?” Jinyoung’s voice called out from the hallway, his footsteps quickly approaching. The gunfire had died down a little, something Youngjae didn’t even notice. His entire attention was focused on you.

“Yeah,” Bambam answered in his stead. “Everything alright on your end?”

Jinyoung nodded, trying to catch his breath while supporting his hand on Bambam’s shoulder. “JB and Jackson are still holding off some of them. Are we ready to go?” His eyes moved towards Youngjae, who was now approaching them, carrying your comatose figure in his arms. “Is she…?”

“We need to go,” Bambam said firmly, nodding in the direction of the scuffing of approaching footsteps on the cement floors.

Jinyoung looked over at Youngjae again. He looked like he was about to explode. “Get her out of here,” he said, surprising the other two, carrying your figure over into Bambam’s arms.

“What?” Jinyoung blinked, pulling Youngjae back. “What are you doing?”

A cold fire was burning in his eyes. It was more than anger. Worse. It was an intense type of hurt, one that was mixed with outrage. An explosive combination. “I’m gonna kill that bastard!”

“Youngjae, don’t do something you’ll regret later on!” Jinyoung yelled back, putting his hands on his shoulders to steady him. “Take her out of here and make sure she’s okay. She’s your priority!”

Jinyoung had never been much of a kind-hearted person. Blunt and straight to the point, even a bit hurtful. That was who he was. But despite that, he always seemed to know what people needed to hear, even though it wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

Youngjae paused, hesitant to let go of his internal rage. He looked at Bambam, who still looked quite lost at Youngjae’s behaviour and was awkwardly holding your beaten up figure in his arms.

“Youngjae,” Jinyoung tried again, looking at the figure in his friend’s arms. “She needs help. A doctor. Youngjae, she needs you.” Those words seemed to drag Youngjae back to earth. “Go. I’ll take care of things here.”

He kept silent, but gave a slight nod before hurrying past Jinyoung and following Bambam out of the building.

Opening your eyes turned into a struggle the last few hours, and now was no different. You didn’t want to open your eyes, afraid of what was waiting for you at the other side of your eyelids. It had always been a man, gruff-looking and quickly-angered, ready to hurt you in some way or another. The first time the means of torture were simply the knuckles of his giant hands, but the second time he stood there, a smug look on his face and a bucket of ice water hanging on the phalanxes of his fingers.

However, something was different this time. Familiar voices, vague and unintelligible, floated in the space around you. A flutter of your eyelids had drawn the attention of a particular familiar voice back to you.

“___?”

Youngjae.

You tried to open your eyes with much difficulty. With your vision blurry and your head pounding, you were just able to make out the face of the person you longed to see. “Youngjae,” you croaked, your throat dry.

“It’s okay,” he said, the palm of his hand falling to your forehead. You welcomed the coolness of his fingers, your eyelids fluttering closed at the soothing sensation and the rocking of the van. “I’m here. Everything will be alright.”

That was the last thing you heard before everything turned black, a fitful sleep waiting for you on the other side.

Your surroundings had significantly changed when you opened your eyes next. You were met with a white ceiling and a feeling of comforting warmth. When your gaze landed on a mop of familiar brown hair, your heart jumped. Seeing Youngjae’s blurry face hours ago had seemed like a wonderful dream amidst the frequent nightmares, but seeing his sleeping figure, slumped over onto the side of the bed proved that it wasn’t.

You propped yourself up against the headboard with effort, a tentative hand reaching out to touch Youngjae’s face. His cheek pressed into the sheets, his lips were forming a pout. It made him look younger. It looked like he spend most of his time beside you, exhausted to the point of passing out on the chair next to the bed. He had always been there, you realised once again. Even when you didn’t realise, he was there.

The sound of the door opening broke your gaze from the sleeping figure beside you. Yugyeom stepped into the room. His hands occupied with carrying a tray, he pressed the door closed behind him with one of his feet.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re awake!”

“Sssh!” You pointed at Youngjae, who was still asleep beside you.

Yugyeom approached the bed silently, putting his tray down on the bedside table. “I thought I’d bring him some food,” he nodded toward man in question. “He’s been cooped up inside this room the entire time.”

“How long have I been out for?” you wondered.

“Almost two days,” Yugyeom said. “You had a fever. But I’m guessing you’re feeling better?” You nodded, your gaze back on the person who was probably responsible for it. “Well, I’ll let you rest some more. Youngjae will kill me if I won’t.” He walked back to the door. “And make sure he eats something when he wakes up. Wouldn’t want our doc to get sick.”

After Yugyeom left, you took another good look at Youngjae’s cherub cheeks. He looked so soft and peaceful that you cursed yourself for doing the thing you did next. You ran a hand through his soft brown locks, your fingernails lightly scraping over his scalp. He breathed out a lazy sigh.

“You know,” you started. “As a doctor I figured you should know this position is terrible for your spine.”

Your soft voice coaxed him out of his sleep. A soft moan escaped from his lips, the sound surprisingly adorable in your ears. He blinked, not entirely sure of where he was and what was happening as he shook off the veil of slumber. It took him a few seconds to realise what woke him, but as soon as he did, he shot up.

“___!” he exclaimed, grabbing your hand. “You’re awake!”

You couldn’t help but smile, even though the action caused you to wince as pain blossomed across your cheek.

“How are you feeling?” He looked at you once again with a worried look in his eyes. It had become his default look for you, you found yourself thinking. You should really change that.

You smiled weakly, trying to hold your own, mostly for his sake. “Haven’t felt better.”

“I’m so sorry, ___,” Youngjae said, guilt swimming in his beautiful brown eyes. “This is all my fault. I should’ve-”

“Youngjae. Stop.” You lay your hand across his cheek. “I participated in all this. You couldn’t have prevented any of it.”

“No, ___. You don’t get it,” he said, his eyes glazed over. “You had a fever! If I hadn’t gotten to you in time… You could have died!” He swallowed thickly. “I thought you were dead when I found you. I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself if you…”

He trailed off, staring at the way his hand enveloped yours before placing a kiss on top of your bruised fingers. You didn’t say anything after that. He looked heartbroken. Realising no words could soothe him, you waned in silence, comforting him with your presence and gentle rubs of your fingertips over his knuckles. You both stayed like that for a little while, before Youngjae had to switch to his physician persona.

After having gone through your check-up extensively, you both found yourselves still exhausted, but also hungry. Yugyeom had passed by again in the meantime, another meal spread out on a tray. This time it was meant for you. With both of your stomachs filled with Yugyeom’s hearty meals, weariness hit hard. While Youngjae was reluctant to leave your side, you worried over his posture after sleeping on a chair. You padded the mattress next to you, inviting him to lay down next to you. He protested at first, but you were steadfast – and, above all, selfish.

Both of you settled down quietly, your arms around each other as if to confirm you were together. You didn’t want to let him go and he didn’t want to let you out of his sight. As if calmed down by the other’s presence, your breaths slowed down soon after, both of you finding comfort in each other’s embrace.

You had no idea what happened behind the scenes when you first woke up. After your return to the manor you first considered a prison, you had done nothing but focussed on healing and on Youngjae. He had managed to calm down a bit after everything that happened. He was still reluctant to leave you alone, however. But you didn’t mind.

After the horrific events you went through, you felt like you had to hold onto him at all times, if not for your own sanity. He still felt guilty, the dispirited look in his eyes wrenched your heart. So you made it your job to drive out that feeling, reassuring him at each opportunity and gifting him a smile every time he looked at you. The rest of your efforts went into getting better. You needed to heal, for him, but for your own sake as well. You needed to put this behind you. The sooner you were able to return to your life, the better.

However, there were a few loose ends that still needed to be tended to. One of which presented itself when Yugyeom knocked on the door and asked for you to come downstairs. You hadn’t really spoken to the rest of the gang after the events of the last week, but Youngjae had briefed you about most of it. This time, however, Youngjae shrugged his shoulders in wonder as well.

After they saved you from Doyun’s men, the gang combed through the building in search of the man himself, but he was nowhere to be found. It turned out Doyun had fled the scene and was in hiding. JB was still fully immersed in the manhunt. However, without the mob boss’ presence, his business had crumbled. Some of the higherups that still managed to be alive, had tried to usurp the syndicate in the chaos, but all of them had failed to fully take the reins into their hands.

Another question remained, still. One that was almost forgotten. The answer to that question was sitting at the kitchen island when you arrived downstairs, Youngjae trailing behind you.

“Mom?”

“So, you’re the one who sent that message?” Youngjae said. “You knew where ___ was.”

Your mom nodded regretfully before moving her gaze from her cup of coffee to you. “When I found out you went missing, I knew he was behind it.” She smiled, remorseful, the traces of tears still visible on her cheeks. “I’m not as ignorant as Doyun thought I was. I knew about his business. I knew what he did for a living, but I kept silent. I only started to pay close attention when I figured out you had gotten yourself into his mess.

“You know, he kept things from me, like when you first disappeared. I did some digging and found the ransom notes. But by the time I found out you were missing that first time, you had already showed up again. I kept an eye on things after that, though.” She shook her head. “And when you got missing again, I couldn’t let him do as he pleased. I knew he was angry and I knew he was the one who had you. He became a ticking time bomb and I tried to find out your location as fast as possible.”

She paused.

“I knew I couldn’t save you on my own. So I messaged you.” Her eyes now moved along the members that had gathered in the kitchen. “Thank you, once again, for saving her.” Her eyes halted on Youngjae. “And thank you for taking care of her.”

Youngjae smiled and nodded humbly under her gaze before squeezing your hand in support.

“So, what’s next?” Jaebum asked.

Your mother shook her head. “I don’t know. How does one divorce a man who’s missing?” she chuckled dryly. “I’m looking for an apartment right now. I’m ready to cut all of my ties to that man.”

After another cup of coffee and second heart-warming hug, your mother was on her way once again. She had smiled at Youngjae knowingly before turning away and driving off in her car.

“What was that?” Youngjae said as he helped you back up the stairs.

“What?”

“You know… That weird smile of hers.”

You shrugged. “I guess she’s figured us out.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, us.” You smiled at him as you reached to top of the stairs. “I think she noticed the way I look at you. She could always tell what I thought by looking at me for one second. My face is way too telling.”

Youngjae pulled you along the landing further, before manoeuvring you to the wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck and moved in closer. Your breath fanned on his lips as he spoke. “And how do you look at me exactly?”

You let out a hum. “I don’t know. Like you look at me right now.”

He smiled. “And how do I look at you?”

“Like you want to kiss me.” You moved a hand to his chest. “I won’t stop you if you decide to do so,” you whispered.

Youngjae hesitated, like every time when you moved too close to him. He had wanted to kiss you so bad ever since you woke up, but he didn’t want to hurt you. Traces of bruises still marked your skin, a reminder of the trauma you lived through so recently. But the breath on his lips pushed back the reason within him, his feelings taking the lead in his actions. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he caught your hand in his and moved his face forward, your lips meeting in an unyielding kiss.

His lips were soft and his touch gentle, careful not to hurt you while you were still on the mend. He tasted like coffee and vanilla, a safe and familiar combination perfectly captured in an intense kiss. This was what home felt like, you thought. I’m home.  

[elle-stevens]

The Break Up Blog - Day Twenty Six

It’s official: I hate my nasal passages. 

It’s like there are furry kittens growing inside of them, that’s how sensitive they are today. Not that I’m allergic to cats or any other furry mammals; at least, I still hope that’s the case. I have heard that some adults develop latent allergies later in life that they didn’t have as children. Wouldn’t that just be my luck if that happened? 

While I sneezed my brains out nearly all day, I carved out time to do a few creative and productive things. First, I made scones for breakfast; I haven’t baked scones in nearly two years. This is the first time I made them while living abroad by myself. Granted, I left them a little too long in the oven, so they came out firmer than usual. But for a first attempt in a miniature oven, they weren’t half bad, especially when I spread butter and strawberry jam liberally all over it. My colleague, N, expressed a love for scones the other day at work and I thought of her while baking this morning. 

So when I decided to do my grading for my students’ journals at a cafe instead of at home, I asked N if she wanted me to drop off some scones for her near her home since it was en route to where I wanted to go. I left my apartment 15 minutes later that what I initially told N, but the traffic was kind to me and I got to the meeting point early enough. N had a harder time getting to me after doing her grocery shopping. There’s all kinds of roadworks and construction happening in my city these days to build more subway lines and the neighbourhood close to where N lives is completely discombobulated, including all the bus stops that have shifted over slightly to make way for the construction walls. 

Anyway, N finally met me and I gave her the scones, which she was happy to receive. It seems like she’s really stressed about work since she and C are part of the recruitment process that hires new foreign teachers at my school. There have been some issues with visa paperwork and flight bookings for a new hire that has many of my colleagues completely stressed out. Thank God I don’t help out with visa paperwork at my job; I’d be two blinks away from being carted away in a straitjacket if I were. 

N had to rush off to her Chinese class and I made my way to a cafe she and C frequented the week before. The cafe has cosy decor inside and a terriffic balcony section above where you can sit outside. Sadly, the balcony was closed today; the cafe probably only opens it up in the evenings when they serve dinner. So I sat inside and did my grading, which was still nice and cosy. 

The grading itself was more stressful than I initially planned. Maybe I just over-thought it and did more than I needed to. But it took me close to 4 hours to check and correct 38 journals as well as give each student feedback and a rating based on their writing. I know that H meant well when she planned for us to do weekly journals with our students. But the plan was meant to be executed at the start of the school year and it’s already the second semester. Plus, she made C design all the journals in different formats and colours for each grade instead of just ordering ready-made journals from a publication house. Now H wants us to critique each student’s writing every single week and only give them positive feedback so they stay motivated to keep writing in class. If I have to climb up more people’s asses and kiss them from the inside, including those of my students, I might never see the sun again. 

Nevertheless, I forged on and managed to finish all my grading, even though I was hungry and the cafe suddenly didn’t serve food. But they had a menu which not only had drinks displayed on it, but food as well. So naturally I was confused that there didn’t appear to be any food. I wrapped things up and tried to call my Dad to wish him happy birthday. After all the delays with my money transfers, I was happy that I managed to send my siblings some cash to help pay for my dad’s gifts and the family brunch. But the signal was really crappy on my phone since I was outside and waiting for the bus to take me home. I managed to get back to my neighbourhood after 18:00 and made a stop at the grocery store to buy tomatoes, mushrooms and garlic. N gave me some French bread earlier, so I made some bruschetta for dinner. Not the healthiest meal to have, especially right before going to the gym, but it kept the hunger pangs at bay since I inadvertently skipped lunch. 

My parents and siblings ended up going on a drive around the beach, which gave me enough time to have a good session at the gym almost unimpeded, shower and then head home. I even had time to go to work beforehand to pick up the new headband I ordered for the gym that I used for my workout. Unlike last week’s ultra-crap fat-loss regimen, I practically aced it the second time around tonight, which kept me in good spirits. 

I got home after 21:00 and called my Dad again. With most phone conversations, I don’t always know what to say to him. I don’t know why, I just run out of safe topics quicker with my dad than with my mom. My mom and I aren’t as close, but we find ways to talk about very superficial things like who’s a new and upcoming contestant on ‘Idols’ or what new wave of crime hit my old neighbourhood this time around. I’m closer with my Dad, but it’s hard to grab time with him to have a good heart to heart. Still, I was in an excellent mood and the conversation flowed well, especially when we talked about dishes we’d been cooking in the kitchen lately. It makes me realise how much I miss my Dad these days. 

It was great catching up with my mom and my siblings too; I feel bad that P and G have been treated to my depressing and morbid side too much lately. So it felt good to ask how they’re doing and make lots of silly jokes to keep the mood light.  Even though I wished I could’ve been home with my family celebrating my dad’s birthday today, I’m happy they’re still able to have fun without me too. Sometimes I feel guilty about being so far away from home, but I know my family loves and supports me no matter. I’m really lucky and it’s time that I start acknowledging and embracing it more often. 

Throughout my busy day, I still thought of X on occasion. When I walked to the grocery store earlier, this called ‘Loving Strangers’ by Russian Red started playing in my iTunes library. That brought up a flood of memories all related to X. I actually liked that song long before X and I even became friends, but I put her onto it and it eventually became one of our songs that epitomised our relationship. The song is from a soundtrack for this lesbian romance movie called ‘Room In Rome’. It’s about these two women who meet at a bar in - you guessed it - Rome, and end up spending the night together in a beautiful Roman hotel room. It wasn’t the best acting in the world, but the chemistry between the two actresses was on sizzling and the movie had a scintillating soundtrack too. 

Anyway, X and I both loved the song and the movie and watched it together a few times over 3 years. When I visited her the first time in the Philippines, we stayed a lovely 5-star hotel for our last night together. Unintentionally, we acted out a few romantic scenes from the movie. Like dressing up in fluffy bathrobes after taking a swim in the hotel and staring out the window together at the city skyline. Of course, we improvised with other things, like slow-dancing in our bathrobes to Coldplay’s ‘Sparks’ and ‘Loving Strangers’ in the middle of our hotel room. 

That night was so bittersweet for me because my flight back home was at 4am (I still don’t know why I booked that absurd flight time), so X and I only had a few hours together in that hotel room before I left her. I felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball with the Prince. For those first few hours, everything felt magical and wonderful. But as soon as the clock struck twelve, reality kicked in again and it was time to go back home in my pumpkin carriage. 

Being with X always felt like a beautiful dream that I was eventually going to wake up from. Now I’m finally awake and it’s still disorienting knowing that we won’t have more beautiful memories together or new shared experiences to make life a little sweeter than it was before. But I’m trying my best to move on and only focus on the crappier aspects of X’s personality to make me miss her less. What I need is to just land myself a hottie Sugar Daddy or Sugar Momma with low self-esteem on the next go-around with a relationship and hope to God they never get clued in on the fact that they could do better than me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m a catch in a lot of respects, but I am also a hot mess. I’m a slow learner, but I’m getting better and wiser with time. 

Shit, it’s past midnight and I’m starving. I’m trying hard not to snack late at night, but I haven’t been eating well lately because of stress and my depression kicking my proverbial butt. Does this even still count as a diary entry for 7th September? 

Since I’m making up the rules for my own happiness now, I say it still counts. And from here on out, I’m gonna do whatever the hell I please. 

[spooder-moon]

Becoming - Part Four Jason Todd x Bat!Reader

Summary: You had been best friends with Jason Todd for as long as you could remember, things changed when he became Robin for sure, but they changed even more when he became the Red Hood.

A/N: Hey Guys! Sorry to anyone whose been waiting for this part, I went overseas for a few weeks and didn't take my laptop with me so I wasn’t able to write anything! Also sorry that this chapter is so fkn long, I got carried away. Also first time writing smut so please give feedback. Enjoy!! xxx

Word Count: 4.5k (I'm sorry)

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (as promised)

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Five Part Six

*3 years later*

Gotham was a mess, when was it not. Crime bosses were thriving more than ever, the Black Mask in control of it all. And then there was this Red Hood guy who had decided to show up and take matters into his own hands. 

Batman and Nightwing had just come back from a mission at the docks, you had been told to stay back at the batcave, Batman wanted to go solo on this one but needed you for intel. However, Dick had decided to come back to Gotham for a month, and he barely follows Bruce’s orders anymore, let alone yours. 

“That Red Hood is a pain in my ass, literally. And seriously, what the fuck does one do with a weapon like that?” Dick said, announcing his arrival. He was talking about an Android that had the ability to absorb other heroes super powers, and it would have kicked his butt if batman hadn’t blown it’s head off.

“I mean, I’m guessing use it to try and take down Batman,” you replied, turning around in your chair to face him.

“Ok smart-ass, don’t get smug with me. I would’ve loved to see you try take it down.”

“Bet I could have done a better job than you.” You grinned, the playful banter between you two always lightening your mood. 

Dick came up and gave you a big bear hug, “It’s good to see you Y/N.” You stood up to hug him back. 

“Yeah yeah, you too.” You hadn’t seen him in about 3 months, you missed him you had to admit - but you’d never tell him that.

“Hey Alfred!” You heard Dick say to the man behind you as you pulled away from the hug.

“Good to see you Master Richard.”

“Great, now that everyone has said hello, Y/N tell me what you know about the Red Hood.” Bruce said gruffly.

Sitting back down in your seat you got up some footage of what had just happened at the docks. 

“There’s no trace of him anywhere, every diagnostic I’ve run has come up blank. The interesting part though is that when he took out his men to stop them from talking he could have easily shot you both right there. Instead he let the android have it’s fun. He’s clearly skilled and well trained, those sniper shots were from about 3 blocks away, so it doesn’t make sense as to why he wouldn’t just kill you. Maybe he’s an old enemy from the past? Someone you put in Arkham that wants revenge? I’m not sure but he’s clearly playing a game here.” You told them everything you knew about him which, if you’re being honest, wasn’t much at all. “From what I can tell from his antics with Gotham’s underground, he’s wanting to take out the black mask. Honestly it’s hard to tell who’s side he’s on. He’s stopped drug trading for minors but takes 40% of all other proceeds.”

Bruce grunted, “If he kills he’s not on our side. We’re done for the night, tomorrow you can keep looking for clues as to who he is and what he wants.”

You nodded, shutting down the bat cave computer. 

…

The next night you were listening for the bug that Bruce had planted in the Black Masks office.

“Batman, there’s a trade tonight that the black mask is operating. I don’t doubt that the Red Hood will be there to take it down. If you want to catch him this is your chance.” You said over the intercom that Bruce and Dick were on the other side of. 

“We’re on our way now, I need you to come out and tale us from a distance in case we lose him. Make sure he doesn’t know you’re there until you can catch him.”

Following Bruce’s orders you quickly got into your costume, grabbing your throwing knives - which you preferred to batarangs - and any other weapons you think you’ll need. You say a quick goodbye to Alfred as he takes over your place at the computer, before hoping on your bike and speeding out of the cave. 

You followed Batman and Nightwing from the ground as they chased the Red Hood over rooftops, all the while keeping your distance, sticking to alleyways and always being at least 3 moves behind. It wasn’t until you saw the train station explode that you jumped into action. 

You heard Bruce cough through the intercom, “Redwing, we’ve lost him and Nightwing is injured. I need you to-“

“I’m already on it, he’s in my sights.” You interrupted Bruce as you started the chase. You knew better than to be obvious when trying to chase him. Contrary to Bruce’s tactics you preferred to be sneaky and catch when they least expected it. 

Tracking his path you took the opposite one, as he turned down a thin alleyway you were there to cut him off before he could make it all the way through. Quickly, you threw a knife at his front tire, countering it and causing Red Hood to fly over the front of his bike with an “Oh shit” which you managed to catch.

Hoping off your own bike you were quick to knock him down with a hard hit to his chest before he could start running again. As he landed on his back winded you caught Batman’s attention through the intercom. “Batman, I’ve got hi- ah.”

Red Hood had kicked your legs out from underneath you and started to scale up the fire escapes on the side of the apartment building you were next too. “Nevermind,” you groaned to Bruce as you got up ready for a chase. Grabbing your grappling hook you followed him up the side of the building, arriving at the top at the same time he did. It surprised you when he didn’t run like you were expecting. Instead he stood facing you, his body ready to fight but not as tense as it had been while he had been fighting Batman and Nightwing earlier. You took the first swing, you knew hitting his helmet would probably hurt your hand more than it did his head so, you aimed at his side. You managed to hit him but he moved away before the force could do any damage. Red Hood continued to block all your attacks but seemed to never hit first. It confused you, frustrated you, made you more aggressive even. This wasn’t anything new, you often found that some crooks would go easier on you because you were a woman, thinking they didn’t need as much force to take you down. You made a point to always prove them wrong, you were just as dangerous as Nightwing, if not more when it came to your apparent anger issues. The men who went easy on you always lived to regret it. 

“Redwing, what’s going on?” You heard Bruce through the intercom. “Kind of in the middle of something here Bats.” You grunted as you blocked a punch coming your way. Finally, you thought, he decided to play fair. Something about the way he fought was familiar to you, as if you’d seen him in action before. And it was clear that he had been trained by someone of immense skill. 

You didn’t see the fist coming from your right until it was too late and it smacked your jaw. Ouch, he’s gonna regret that. Recovering quickly you jumped and landed a round-house kick on his chest, it was enough force for him to stumble closer to the wall behind him. Without even thinking you grabbed one of your knives and launched it at him. It lodged itself through his shoulder and into the wall behind him, pinning him to it.  

You heard him grunt in pain. “Oh you play dirty, I bet old Bats doesn’t like that.” You could hear the smugness in his voice, you frowned as you walked closer to him. 

“Game over Red Hood, how does jail sound to you? Cosy?” You were inches apart now, oh how badly you wanted you take off that helmet and see who was underneath. But you let your guard down, Red Hood ripped the blade our of his shoulder and pushed you against the wall instead, you stopped moving when you felt your own knife pressing into your neck. The Red Hood starting to say some snarky reply but paused when you turned to look at him properly. 

“Y/N?” He questioned in disbelief. You’re heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t because he knew your name, although that was alarming, but no, it was the way he said it. That voice, it was so eerily familiar, it was a voice that you knew you had heard before, but this time it was deeper. 

“How do you know my name?” You questioned in a whisper.

He ignored your question, “Seriously?! You’re working for the fucking Bat now? Of all the people, he recruited you?” He seemed shocked and angry through you weren’t sure at who. 

You repeated your question, this time louder and harsher, “How do you know my name?”

He laughed, “Oh Y/N, I know more than just your name. I know you better than you know yourself, or at least, I used you.”

“WHO ARE YOU?” You were angry now, and curious. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Nuh-uh-uh, not yet. This is way too much fun.” The amusement in his voice was irritating. You struggled in his hold trying to get free but stopped when you felt the knife pressing harder into your skin. “I’m going to let you go now and then I’m going to disappear and you’re not going to follow me, OK?” You grunted in agreement. 

“Great, before I go, I need you to do one last thing for me.”

The way he said that made you tense up, it was too familiar, you felt bile rising in your throat at the thought of what he was going to say next. You stared at him, eyes blazing and begging him not to do it.

“Kiss me.” 

Jason. 

…

You blacked out after that. You weren’t sure if he’d hit you on the head or if it was just from shock, but you woke up in your bed at the manor with Dick staring over you. Before you could finish sitting up you felt the bile rising at the back of your throat again and you sprinted to the bathroom. You felt Dick come in and hold your hair back and you started to cry thinking of tonights events. It couldn’t possibly be true, Jason is gone, dead is dead. 

“Y/N, what happened out there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Him and Bruce had obviously heard it through the intercom and come to find you after you stopped responding. 

“He knew my name Dick, how did he know my name?” You muttered out, cleaning yourself up at the sink. He said he used to know me, recognised me even with my mask on, and what he said to me. Only one person has ever said that to me, and that person is dead.” He knew you were talking about Jason, he could see it in your eyes. You got the same look every time you spoke about him, it was as if the life in you momentarily drained from your body, and suddenly you were back to that girl who almost killed herself 3 and a half years ago. 

You shook the thought from your mind. “It’s not him, it can’t be him. Jason is gone, dead is dead.” You found yourself saying this over and over, as if trying to make yourself believe it was true.

“It wasn’t him Y/N, someone was just messing with you, it couldn’t have been him.” Dick spent the night reassuring you until you fell asleep from exhaustion. 

…

The next night Dick went back to Blüdhaven to recover from his injuries. You had ventured down to the batcave just in time to catch Batman sneaking out. “Where are you going? Should I put my suit on?” You questioned Bruce, it wasn’t an unusual thing for him to leave on a mission without telling anyone, he still has ideals about working alone. 

“Nowhere, no, just stay here.” His voice was stern. 

You looked at the computer, seeing that whatever he had planned for tonight was still up there. He had received a calling from the Red Hood. “You’re going to see him? Why can’t I come?”

“I know what happened last night, and I have my suspicions too but you’re too close to this. You’re letting you’re feelings cloud you’re judgement.”

You looked at Bruce in disbelief, “I’m letting my feelings cloud my judgement?! You’re the one about to go help him fight off the Black Mask’s men!” You were outraged by how hypocritical he was being.

“This isn’t up for discussion, stay here or else.” With that he hopped into his Batmobile and sped off, leaving you in the dust. He should know that you weren’t going to listen to him, not when it came to this. With a huff you went to get changed into your costume, waiting 10 minutes before following him with the GPS tracker you had on him. 

As you arrived at the scene of the fight Batman and Red Hood were already well engaged in battle. You watched from the rooftops as Batman jumped through a car thrown at him. Ok, that was pretty cool. You couldn’t help but admire the way Batman fought, you always had. But watching the Red Hood work was enchanting almost, he was fluid in his motions and not as aggressive as Batman, it almost calmed you in a sense. 

You were distracted from your thoughts when the Red Hood blew up one guys head, you had to move out of the way as to not get sprayed with blood. You listened to them talk, how Batman tried to reason with the Red Hood but he wasn’t having any of it, instead launching a smoke bomb and disappearing into the night. You were quick to see where he went and even quicker to follow his movements. You almost didn’t see Batman pick up the blade that had sliced the Red Hood’s arm. 

You followed Red Hood through the streets of Gotham, making sure to be quiet and kept unseen, from what you could tell he hadn’t noticed you following him yet. He parked his bike in an alleyway behind your old apartment building. What was he doing here? You thought as you observed from across the road. You lost him when he went inside the complex. 

It was now or never, you were going to confront him. You took a chance by climbing up the fire escape to your old apartment. If he was who you thought he was, he’d be there. You were quiet to sneak through the window of your old living room, you froze as you saw him standing with his back to you at the other end of the room. You saw him lift his head up and his shoulders square, he knew you were there. 

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.” The Red Hood said without turning around, his voice still muffled by the helmet he wore. 

“Why let me follow you here then?” You asked quietly.

“You could say I’m particularly fond of my memories here, there’s a specific one that draws me here.” He was talking about your first kiss with Jason. 

“Who are you?” You questioned.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he was right, you just didn’t want to admit it. 

“Take off your helmet.” Your voice was firm, it wasn’t a request, it was a demand.

He chuckled but obliged your order. His hands rose to the back of his head as he released the mechanism keeping the helmet together. Taking off the helmet to reveal the jet black hair you knew all too well, he placed it on the kitchen bench in front of him. 

“Turn around.”

He did, slowly. Even though he still wore a domino mask you recognised him instantly. He was just as beautiful as you had remembered him, only now more rugged, older, his jawline sharper, he was absolutely stunning. 

“Your turn,” he gestured to your domino mask which you pulled off gently after a moment of hesitation. You heard his breath hitch, “You’re even more beautiful than I remember Y/N.”

You walked up to him slowly until you were chest to chest. Gently, you reached your hands up to take off his own mask which he let you. When you finally saw his whole face and saw his stunning blue eyes up close you couldn’t help the tear that fell down your cheek. 

“Jason.” You breathed. “How is this even possible? How are you al-.”

You were cut off by his lips pressing harshly onto yours, you froze for a second, shocked by the abruptness of it, but the warmth that spread through you made you melt into him. As soon as he felt you kiss back Jason’s hands where clasped tightly onto your hips, drawing you closer every second. Your arms circled around his neck, one hand playing with the thick black locks you loved so much, and the other leaving light scratches on his upper back. 

The kiss became harsh, desperate, the need you two had for each other so undeniably strong. Your head was fuzzy as millions of questions ran through it. Has he been alive all this time? If so, why has he only just surfaced? Your thoughts were interrupted when Jason drew your hips together, and lightly grinded against you, testing new waters. You gasped at the action and Jason took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours in a battle for dominance which he eventually won. 

You both pulled away slowly, gasping for air and cheeks flushed in a warm glow. As you looked Jason in the eyes you saw a vulnerability you’d never seen before. 

“Please, I need you. Let me have you.” His voice was just above a whisper. So many conflicting thoughts ran through your mind in that moment. You knew it was wrong, you didn’t even know if he was the same person, you didn’t know what he had done these past years. But you thought about all the pain it had caused you when he died and you realised you would do anything for just one night with him. You would deal with the consequences tomorrow. 

Without saying anything in response you crashed your lips back to his, this time more feverish and needy than before. When he realised you were his for the taking Jason lifted your legs around his waist and backed you into a nearby wall, you crashed against it hard but you barely registered the pain - too focused on Jason. Your chests were flush against one another as your hips started to grind in sync. Jason let out a low groan which instantly shot right to your core. He pulled away from your lips and looked you in the eyes, asking one last time for permission. His eyes were clouded with lust and something else, you were sure yours looked the same when you nodded in consent. His lips dove to your jawline kissing and sucking harshly down your neck until your suit got in the way. Jasons hand snuck up to your neck line and gently began to pull down the zipper of your suit, until it stopped at your utility belt. With both hands he pushed the suit over your shoulders and down your arms leaving you in your bra with the bottom half of the suit still on. You were quick to respond by pushing his leather jacket off of his shoulders and letting it drop to the ground behind him. He began taking off his armoured top as you undid your utility belt and threw it across the room blindly. As his top came off the first thing you noticed was the scars that littered his torso, your eyes narrowed in on the fresh was you had given him just days prior. You leaned forward to kiss it gently, receiving a sharp intake of breath from him. 

“Sorry about that,” and you were, although you couldn’t help the slight smirk that appeared when you thought about it. 

He grunted, “You could have hit my heart you know.” 

Your lips started trailing up his neck and his breathing became shallower. “I have great aim.” 

You connected your lips again, you felt Jason move you away from the wall and start walking towards the bedroom. He gently placed you down on your old bed. Hovering over you he started to leave open mouth kisses down your body until he reached the end of your zipper, looking up at you he started to pull the rest of your costume from your body, with your help you were left in your bra and panties lying before him. Jason took a moment to admire your womanly body and how perfect you were to him. He lay between your legs as he began kissing up your thighs to where you needed him most. As he got closer, your breathing became more ragged with every kiss until a gentle kiss over your clothed core elicited a low moan from you. Without teasing any further Jason ripped the panties from your body and dove his tongue into your wet core, earning a loud gasp of pleasure in return. As Jason lapped at your folds you arched your back to rid yourself of your bra. One hand found itself locked in Jason’s hair, and the other massaging your breast and playing with your nipple. You couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped your lips when Jason suddenly slipped two fingers inside of you, pumping roughly and sucking on your clit. As you tugged his hair harshly he moaned, the vibrations adding to the tight coil quickly building in you. 

“Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna-.” Just as you were about to hit your high Jason pulled away from you entirely. You looked up with hooded lids to see him hastily ridding himself of his pants and his boxers, his impressive length slapped against his stomach and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of him. Jason moved to hover over you and you felt him brush against you just slightly, making you sigh. 

Jason smashed his lips back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as you reached your arm down to grab his length, you pumped him a few times earning a loud groan from the back of his throat. Not being able to wait any longer you guided him to your entrance and he slowly pushed in, stretching you out as you winced slightly before sighing in pleasure. Jason moaned against you as he pushed all the way in before halting. He pulled away from your lips to look at you. 

“Are you ok?” He mumbled, voice laced with ecstasy. 

“I’m perfect,” you moaned out. That was all he needed to start moving. 

As he slowly started to move in and out of you his head fell to the crook of your neck where his lips sucked at your skin. Your face contorted into one of pleasure, a light frown on your forehead and lips parted slightly, occasionally letting small whimpers and moans slip past them. 

“Faster Jay, please, faster.” Your words came out breathless, you didn’t even know if he’d be able to hear them but when he started to pick up the pace you knew he had. 

Your body started to rock back and forth, your hips moving to meet his in perfect sync. Everything felt perfect, like this is how it was meant to be, like you two were made for each other. 

Without pulling away from each other you rolled until you were on top. Your hands planted firmly on his chest and his gripping your waist, guiding your hips up and down onto him. His head was thrown back in pleasure, his eyes were closed tight and lips were parted to allow to shallow irregular breathing. The sight of him below you was so breathtakingly sexy it almost had you reaching your high right there. You continued to pick up the pace, you both of you were quickly starting to become undone. Jason quickly rolled the two of you over again, taking control once more to start slamming into you. You felt the heat building in your abdomen, it was like nothing you had experienced before, never this intense. 

Your walls started to clench around him and your nails left deep scratches in his shoulders, he let out a loud groan at the new feeling. “Jay I’m close. Fuck, don’t stop,” you managed to whimper out in your dazed state.

“Fuck Baby, I know, me too.” Hearing him call you baby sent you over the edge a few hard and long thrusts later, screaming his name you reached your high and your walls clenched tight around him. Jason came soon after, grunting your name and biting into your shoulder as he spilled inside of you. 

He continued to thrust sloppily, bringing you both down from your highs. You winced slightly as he pulled out of your overly sensitive warmth before he collapsed on top of you, your bodies slick with sweat and smelling of sex. You ran your hands through his hair as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, lightly kissing and nipping at the skin there. 

As you lay there in silence, chests heaving together the questions rushed back. Your mind was going crazy thinking about what had just happened but more importantly what would happen next. Would you wake up in the morning to find him gone, or would you leave first? Does this mean you two can finally be together after all these years? Was Jason even the same person? Did this actually mean anything? Would things change completely now or just stay the same? 

As if sensing that your thoughts were racing Jason lifted his head to hover above yours. His eyes searched every detail of your face as if finally seeing you after all this time, and yours did the same. You moved your hands to cradle his face, your right thumb stroking his cheek. Jason closed his eyes at the soft caress before leaning down to connect his lips to yours once more. This kiss was so much different from the rest, it wasn’t rushed or desperate, it wasn’t filled with the need to be as physically close as possible. No. This kiss was soft and slow and filled with hope. A hope you needed so badly in that moment.

Tag list:

@allithewriter @batboys-and-other-messes @probsjosh @sleep-depiravation  @yoursturelys

[qvestchen]

Ten Past Six // Johnten NCT : Chapter Three

Summary: If Ten could describe his relationship with Johnny he would say it was like being in the same city and yet being in a long distance relationship without there being an actual relationship. Because if Ten was head over heels in love with Johnny, he was pretty sure Johnny was as oblivious to his feelings as ever.

Author: qvestchen

Status: Completed

Chapters: Home, Previous, Next.

Ten Past Six // Johnten NCT

Chapter 3 : Red hair suits him

“You are not wearing that!” Ten said, scandalized as he saw Kun walk out of his room wearing a simple beige sweater over some pants. “You’re supposed to make Johnny jealous so he realizes that he loves me.”

Kun patted his sweater and buttoned shirt. “What is wrong with this outfit? Lucas said I look fine.”

“You look like someone’s aunt, not my hot date,” Ten said, beseechingly. “Please wear a choker, at least?”

Kun gave him a look. “First off, I’m not your date and secondly, a choker, really? Ten, you should be grateful I’m coming along on this foolish plan of yours.”

Ten nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t complain. This is your aesthetic.” He looked him over once again before lunging forward. “But at least let me open some of those buttons. And fix that hair!”

In the end, when the two of them reached the 127 dorm to pick up Johnny, Kun was wearing a denim jacket and his shirt was deprived of three buttons.

“Stop fidgeting,” Ten said. “You look hot.”

“I feel naked,” Kun muttered, “and if I catch a cold because of you—”

“I’ll nurse you back to health,” Ten said, waving a hand. “Anyway, here’s the plan. You flirt with me. I act all aloof in front of Johnny. He goes mad with jealousy. At the end of tonight, Johnny professes his love for me. We get married and you will be our kids’ godmother.”

“Wild night. But just in case, your first child will be called Kun,” Kun added, ringing the bell.

Johnny opened the door within seconds, nearly as if he had been waiting for them to arrive.

Ten couldn’t help but smile when he saw Johnny grinning at him. It felt like he hadn’t seen him for ages. He could feel his heart constricting with how much it had missed this tall guy with the beautiful, warm smile. He launched himself at Johnny, hugging him. “John, I missed you so much.”

Johnny hugged him back, laughing. “You look great.”

Kun followed the two of them inside, muttering darkly at Ten’s back. “I’ll act all aloof, he said. Huh.”

Doyoung was nearly dozing on the couch but he gave the newcomers an enthusiastic smile when he saw them. “You’re here. Let’s go!”

Johnny gestured towards him. “Doyoung is coming with us. He couldn’t sleep and needed a night out.”

Doyoung hugged Ten and Kun, looking appreciatively at the latter. “Kun got a makeover?”

Kun shoved him, blushing. “Shut up.”

Ten said, “Oh right. Uh, that’s how Kun usually dresses when we go out.”

Kun reddened even more. “Yeah, what he said.”

Doyoung looked at his own oversized hoodie over faded jeans, then at Kun and finally at Johnny and Ten who had coincidentally worn flowery shirts and leather jackets, and shrugged. “Let’s just go.”

“Wait, we wanted to say hi to the others,” Ten said. “Where’s Taeyong hyung?”

“They’re all sleeping like normal people do at this ungodly hour,” Doyoung said.

Johnny nudged him with an elbow. “It’s just nine-thirty.” He smiled at Ten and Kun. “They haven’t recovered from jetlag, I guess. Let’s go, I can’t wait to try out this famed restaurant.”

The famed Jaeyong-handpicked restaurant turned out to be a cosy, side-street restaurant that Johnny immediately fell in love with. “You were right, Ten. It’s so pretty. I’m going to take a picture.” He placed his bag on the table, rummaging in it for his camera.

“Me too,” Kun said, taking out his phone.

“And I’m going to look at the menu,” Doyoung sighed.

Ten gave Kun a look and the latter hurriedly said, “But first, I’ll take a picture of prettiest person in the room. Give me a pose, Ten.”

Johnny looked at Ten posing and smiled. “I keep telling you, Ten, you are a total muse. See even Kun agrees. Wait, stand together so I can take a picture of you both. The background is really good here.”

Kun looked thoroughly confused as to what to do but the picture was taken with a scowling Ten looking angrily at the camera but soon they were all seated, waiting for their order.

Ten reached for Johnny’s bag. “What book are you reading these days?” Sure enough there was a book. He pulled it out and read aloud, “Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev.”

“I’m nearly done with it. It’s going so well,” Johnny said. “I was telling Yuta the story and he liked it too.”

“You’re still reading Russian Literature?” Ten asked. “I thought you gave up on it months ago. This one is a new one, though. What brought you back to the genre? Man, this brings back memories. Remember how you gifted me Crime and Punishment for my birthday? Dude, what were you thinking?”

Ten flipped through the novel, narrating his shock at seeing his birthday present this year. Opposite him, Johnny’s smile had dropped. If someone had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to repeat a word of the conversation happening around him. His eyes were unfocused, signalling that he was somewhere else.

He nodded vaguely when Kun asked him something, pointing at his camera gallery but he only realized that the others were looking through his camera when their food was brought in. He thanked the waiter politely, taking the plates as they made room on their cluttered, small table. His hands shook slightly as he placed the plates in front of him.

“Looks like you had a lot of fun,” Ten said. “Plus, I see that someone actually even took pictures of you on your camera. Who did my work there?”

“Hmm?” Johnny peered at the photo he was pointing at. “Oh that was Taeil hyung. His photography has improved a lot.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Ten nodded slowly. “Your camera roll is filled with his pictures. Red hair suits him.”

Johnny hummed.

“Oi, pay attention to me,” Ten said. His eyes softened. “Sorry, you must be tired. Let’s finish here quickly so you can go catch some sleep.”

Johnny looked at Ten’s concerned face and shook his head, offering a small smile. “No, no, I’m sorry. What were you saying? Oh yes, Taeil hyung was my unofficial muse there. Though it was mainly because of how cooperative he is. I told him he should straight up model.” He laughed. “It was really funny.”

Ten nodded again, shaking his head at Kun who was patting his knee sympathetically. Dinner was quickly souring into a silent affair which was saved by Doyoung and Kun gushing over the dreamies.

“Jeno is balancing so many things these days. He’s doing really well,” Doyoung said, excitedly. “He’s going to go far.”

Kun agreed and added, “And Chenle, the baby, is not just doing well in practice and everything but you should have seen his gradecard. He’s a genius. If he wasn’t an idol, he would probably be at Harvard.”

“With Renjun because that one is an intellectual,” Doyoung said, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of the kids.”

Ten caught Johnny’s eye and made a face. “You know, I’m the one they should be proud of. I spend all day listening to Jisung’s game making those irritating noises, Chenle and Renjun bully me while Jaemin, Jeno and Lucas laugh like hyenas in the background.”

“Aww, poor Ten,” Johnny said, “but hey, you spend most of your time at our dorm!?”

“I spent a week with the little devils! Kun didn’t even protect me. Thank god, I get to sleep at your dorm tonight.”

Johnny asked, “You’re sleeping over?”

“Of course,” Ten said, “where else would I be?”

Doyoung cleared his throat. “Kun, do you want to go and try the sweet potato stall outside with me?”

Kun frowned. “There was a sweet potato stall?”

“Yeah, yeah, I saw one when we were coming in.” He grabbed Kun’s arm and nearly dragged him outside.

Johnny watched him go out with a bemused expression.

Ten groaned. “They just tricked us into paying their bill, right?”

“It’s alright. It was my treat anyway,” Johnny said.

“Woah, what’s the occasion?”

Johnny rubbed the back of his head, shyly. “Nothing in particular.” He rummaged in his bag. “Umm, also, I—uh—brought you a memento. It’s nothing great but I…I was passing this shop and I saw it, and I kind of wished then you were there with me, I guess…because you would have liked it.” He laughed nervously, pushing a package towards Ten. “You know what, it’s getting late. Let’s go.”

He got up, handing the bill to the manager. “Thank you for the food.”

Ten got up slowly, blinking at the package in his hand and following Johnny who was walking quickly, head ducked slightly. He felt stunned, heart warm at the thought that Johnny had remembered him and yet the nagging feeling that Johnny was walking away from him hit him acutely. He wanted to say something but he was out of breath suddenly. He reached for Johnny’s jacket sleeve and pulled slightly. “J-Johnny.”

Johnny stopped right outside the restaurant door and Ten nearly walked into him. He looked up at him and found himself shy under the taller’s gaze. “Thank you.”

Johnny smiled a small smile and ruffled Ten’s hair. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

“No, I meant…” Ten lowered his gaze, cheeks pink. “You thought of me.”

“You say that like it’s surprising.” Johnny put an arm around Ten’s shoulder. “Woah, why are shivering? Are you cold?”

Ten let out a breath as he felt Johnny’s comforting warmth at his side and he relaxed into a half-embrace. “Okay, now I’m opening it. I’m curious,” he mumbled. He opened the package trying to make as less noise as possible on a deserted street at night. “It’s a painting,” he breathed out, awestruck at its beauty. It was a miniature oil painting of the Hollywood sign in its landscape and Ten knew that he was going to set it right beside the window in his bedroom. It was so beautiful. “I hope it wasn’t too expensive because suddenly I feel so guilty I didn’t get you anything to celebrate Regular. Shit, you should have just brought me a lousy keychain. I feel so bad now.”

Johnny peered over his shoulder. “So, you like it?”

“Like it? I love it,” Ten said, winding his arm around Johnny’s. “You have a good eye for art.”

Johnny looked at him sideways as they began to walk back. “I know I do.”

They met a very tired-looking Kun and a satisfied-looking Doyoung as soon as they turned the corner.

“Kun! Look what Johnny brought for me—wait, what happened to your outfit?”

Kun looked away, looking adorably soft in Doyoung’s oversized hoodie.

Doyoung said, “Oh we couldn’t find the potato stall so we looked for it a bit.”

Kun interrupted him, complaining. “I’m pretty sure he dreamt up that stall and then dragged me all over the place to look for it when obviously nobody is around so late.”

“He complained all through it, first about me being an idiot and then about you, Ten, being an idiot and then, he sneezed like five times in his flimsy jacket until I took pity on him and lent him my hoodie,” Doyoung completed.

“You’re an idiot and if you freeze to death, it’s not my responsibility,” Kun sniffed.

Doyoung rolled his eyes. “Why am I surrounded by overdramatic people?”

“Don’t squabble kids.” Johnny laughed. “Let’s go home.”

Kun stopped suddenly on the way back. “Oh wait, I have to go to my dorm.”

“C’mon, Kun, Jaemin and Jeno will look after the kids. Let’s go have fun,” Ten said, his hand still in the crook of Johnny’s elbow.

“Actually, Jaemin and Jeno are kids, Ten. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thanks for dinner, Johnny. Bye then.” He waved politely.

“Oi, will you be okay going back alone?” Doyoung called after him.

“Yes, Mom,” Kun replied.

“The world is not made for kind people,” Doyoung muttered as he followed Johnny and Ten. “Wait up, guys, I’m also here.”

Ten was talking. “So, can I take your bed?”

“You’re taking the couch,” Johnny snorted. “My bed is mine.”

“Let’s decide through rock, paper, scissors,” Ten bargained.

“Uh, no? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll ask Taeyong to lend me his bed then.”

“Oh my god, Ten, you can’t just ask people to lend you their beds.”

Doyoung followed them, feeling ignored and forgotten, muttering. “I have become a third-wheel. Fantastic.”

oooh, did you notice johnny being a bit aloof there for a bit? any guesses? because i swear, johnten have backstories in this so hang on for a bit as things are unveiled and let us know your theories ;)

as for kun, don't you think there's something up with our cutie?

love, positive vibes and sweet potatoes~~

[fangirlinglikeabus]

Strings

Summary: In a bar in the middle of nowhere, two women meet. Frenchman’s Creek/Jamaica Inn crossover. Vague space AU. F/F. Mentions of rape, war, torture.

ao3    fanfiction.net

Mary Yellan was born and grew up in the fields of Agros, learning from childhood all of the skills of farming. Then, when she was older, she stayed by the sea a while; she soon left there. But it wasn't in either of these places, although they shaped her in their own ways, that she met the woman - the laughing woman, full of life and happiness and sadness all at once. That happened years later, in a bar on the other side of the galaxy.

"Erna's a dangerous place for a lady to be, Miss. 'Specially round here."

Mary kept her eyes trained on the door; she was waiting, with some apprehension, for Jem's return. Any moment now she expected him to come waltzing through the door, a smug grin on his face, to take her rocketing off somewhere else before his customers had realised that the ships he had sold them were, underneath their new coats of paint, rather similar to ones recently reported missing.

"Is that so?" she said distractedly.

The man who had taken it upon himself to come and warn her nodded. "Oh yes," he said solemnly. "There are pirates operating in these parts."

This made Mary pay more attention. "Pirates?" she asked sharply. "What sort of pirates?"

"Why, they've been a terrible trouble to us here recently. Stealing the merchant-men's stock and everything. Causing havoc with the local women." He blushed at the thought.

A memory stirred in Mary's mind, of Joss Merlyn and his crew luring low-level ships to come crashing down onto the planet, killing the survivors. "Have they hurt anyone?" she asked.

"Oh, well, not as such, Miss, but we're awful fearful that they will. Foreigners, you know. From the outer reaches. There's even rumours that there's a woman on board."

Mary thought of her own adventures with Jem, and it occurred to her that this man would be horrified beyond belief if he heard of them. Perhaps if she were in a slightly different situation, she would've challenged him on it, but she needed to keep a low profile for Jem's sake. Instead of saying anything, she smiled and sipped at her drink. She noticed her hand was shaking slightly; places like this always made her skittish.

The man noticed. "Are you alright, Miss? I haven't scared you too much with my talk of pirates, have I?"

Mary smiled, but it felt insincere, even to her. "Oh, no," she said. "I'm not easily frightened."

"Quite right, too."

Mary turned around in her seat. It was a woman talking, one of the nobles in the place, by the looks of it. She smiled down, something of mischief in her eyes.

"You shouldn't talk so light of it, Lady St Columb," the man said gravely. "What with them taking advantage of our girls and all."

Lady St Columb leaned on the table so that she could better talk to the man; Mary watched her ringlets swing in front of her face, Jem momentarily forgotten. "Is that so?" she asked, in a tone of faux-politeness cultivated carefully over many years. "I rather thought they were enjoying being taken advantage of, myself, but I suppose it's always possible that I've misread the situation entirely."

The man stared at her in open mouthed shock, and she seized the moment to take Mary's arm. "Come on," she said in a low voice. "I'll take you somewhere quieter. You mustn't mind the tales of the men here, really. They're just frustrated because their wives prefer the pirates to them. I think if you spent enough time here you'd understand why."

Mary protested weakly - she'd really got to wait for someone, she wasn't planning to stay long, but Lady St Columb waved them away.

"Nonsense. And if your friend was the one trying to sell my husband a repainted stolen ship, he's already left. Not everyone is quite as gullible as Harry, and he was foolish enough to try and resell a man his own property."

Mary felt a familiar sense of frustration rise within her. The lady caught her expression.

"Done this before, has he?" she asked casually. At this point, they reached her table, and she pulled a seat aside for Mary, who dutifully sat down.

"Yes," said Mary. "But I can catch up with him, if I find someone that will take me soon."

"And deprive me of your company? How inconsiderate of you. There's no need to leave quickly, anyway; I have a friend with a fast ship that'll allow you to stay an hour more, at least."

In any other situation Mary might've coldly refused and left to find her own way back to Jem. But there was something about this woman - something in her smile. The same thing, perhaps, that had attracted her to Jem - a sort of wildness, although in her it was reserved, tied down by something else, an awareness of duty unfulfilled, perhaps, or merely less of a need to explore far and wide, to get a rush from law-defying activities. So she agreed, and stayed where she was.

"What did that man call you? Lady -"

"St Columb," the woman said smoothly. "But I really insist that you call me Dona. It makes everything so much more cosy, don't you think?" A smile tugged at her lips. "I don't think I ever caught your name."

"Mary. It's Mary." Even as she said it, Mary was aware of the danger in giving her name away to a complete stranger, but the smile drew her in, and she found herself ignoring every warning that Jem had ever given her.

"Well then, Mary -" the smile grew wider - "tell me about yourself."

Now she became distrustful. She remembered a man met on the moors, long ago, whose manner had encouraged her to pour her heart out; she remembered his snarling face as he dragged her away from safety. "I don't think I should," she said warily.

"No? Well, that's probably for the best. I doubt the line of business you're in is entirely legal. And my husband - bless him - likes to think that he's an important member of the local law enforcement. How do you know I won't just go running to him after I've seduced you for information?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Mary's mouth. "Seduce me?" she said.

"Well, of course. Didn't you realise that was what I was doing?"

"I think you're joking."

"Hm." Dona acknowledged the accusation with a shrug. "You might be right. Still…" She leaned forward in her chair, elbows on the table, head resting on her hands. "Don't you want to know what drew me to you?"

"Go on," Mary said cautiously. She couldn't let herself trust this woman, no matter how appealing she might seem.

"There's a sort of defiance in your eyes, in the way you hold your chin up. I think you could stare down a man holding a gun to your head and he'd apologise."

Mary shook her head. "You've read me wrong. I'd be scared." She thought of that night, the blood on the floor, being dragged across the moors.

Dona hummed again. She picked up the drink that had been resting on the table and sipped at it, never looking away from Mary. "Then why," she said, "did you choose to take up with a cheating ship thief? There's a lot of risk in a job like that. And I doubt the sex appeal alone would be enough to convince you."

That caused Mary to pause. "I don't know." She remembered Dona's flippancy at the talk of pirates, her friend with the fast ship, and made a wild guess. "Why did you choose to take up with a pirate?"

Dona didn't even flinch. But there was something more serious in her eyes as she said, "Perhaps I'm trying to run away from myself."

"Are you?"

"I've yet to find out. But don't you, sometimes, find some inexplicable dissatisfaction with your life that dogs you, no matter how hard you try to escape it? Maybe, to avoid it, you do some foolish, shameful thing. You hope with all your heart that by acting out you'll get a glimpse of what it means to live. And yet, there it is, that same dissatisfaction."

"Maybe you should travel," Mary suggested. A year ago, she'd never have thought it. A year ago, all she wanted was to head back home to the fields, even if there wasn't a place for her in her old house.

Dona shook her head and smiled; this time there was a sadness to it that Mary hadn't noticed before. "I'm too tied down to this place."

"By what? Your husband?"

She nodded. "And children. I have two: a boy - oh, he'll be marvellous, as marvellous as any mother thinks her son is going to be, as marvellous as any of the men here - and a girl. She's a silly thing, but I suppose it's cruel to mock her when it's a miracle that she'd be anything else in a place like this."

"You don't seem foolish to me."

"Well, you've only known me for less than an hour, so maybe you're not the best judge. You don't think my acquaintance with the most wanted man on the planet is foolish?"

"Only as foolish as travelling with a ship thief," Mary shot back. "I don't think either of us is in the position to judge."

"That's true," Dona mused. "That's very true. Perhaps, though, it gives us something in common." She looked Mary dead in the eyes. "Don't you think?"

"There are very few people I have anything in common with any more," Mary said quietly.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that." "Like what?"

"You're brooding. What happened? Something wonderfully gothic, I hope?"

"Gothic, maybe. But there was nothing wonderful about it." When she'd woken up after days lying unconscious and bruised, she'd been angry. Furious, even. Ready, despite her aunt's protests and the risk of further injury, to go downstairs and face Joss Merlyn. He was a monster, a dictator in his own home. She held no sympathy for him, even now. That didn't mean that she couldn't remember him pathetic, drunk, confessing his sins for her in some misplaced search for forgiveness. Or him dead on the floor of his house.

He'd been a fool to think he could be absolved of his crimes, and he'd been a fool to think he could survive making a deal with a man such as Francis Davy had been.

"How can you associate with pirates?" she asked. She hoped the question would distract Dona from her.

"How can you associate with a thief?" Dona shot back.

"No, but I mean - pirates do have a reputation for violence." She was thinking of the wreckers, not quite pirates but near enough, who had once lured only sea-ships to their doom, but had extended their work to the sky when ports were installed on that part of the planet; it was more dangerous, the crashes more explosive unless you could manoeuvre everything to just the right place, but maybe that was why they liked it. The added risk gave a wilder tint to their eyes.

"That's true," Dona conceded, "but fortunately for me these particular pirates happen to be of the honourable sort. Stealing from the rich to - well, stealing from the rich, at any rate. I'm not sure they've worked around to the other part yet." She smiled fondly. "Their enigmatic leader does, however, make a lovely soup. You should try it."

"You're sure he'll take me?"

"If I bat my eyelashes at him for long enough then yes." Dona leant forward on the table. "And I'm hoping that if I bat my eyelashes at you for long enough then you'll yield to my superior charms."

"And do what?"

Dona reached across to take Mary's hand. There were still old scars on it - she couldn't remember from where, maybe struggling across the moors, or something from her happy days and years of farming - and Mary flinched slightly when Dona's fingers brushed it. It was only a momentary reaction; she soon relaxed, and let herself enjoy the sensation of another's fingers playing across her palm.

"Whatever you want, darling," said Dona with a wink and a smile. Despite herself, despite the suspicion she felt, forced herself to feel, on any new acquaintance, Mary's heart fluttered. Always finding herself attracted to the wrong sort of people: a thief; a married woman who consorted with criminals. People who would be sure to get her in trouble.

"No strings attached," said Dona when she saw the expression on Mary's face change, thinking of her husband and her children and her pirate, all but the last  inevitably tying her down to this place.

"No strings attached," Mary repeated back, only half-knowing what it meant but meaning it anyway; because of her dead parents, because of her dead aunt, because of a home lost for no reason except a change in herself.

"I know a place where we can have some more privacy," Dona told her.

Dona ended up batting her eyelashes at her pirate friend in a little under the hour promised. Mary could never remember his name, even after he'd introduced himself - in conversation with Dona he was always 'her friend', 'her pirate', like calling him anything else would create a gulf between two strangers, people who had never met before and really had nothing to tie them together, except for perhaps a dubiously similar taste in men and in each other.

Mary wasn't in love with Dona. She wasn't even sure if she was in love with Jem, and she'd known him for far longer. It wasn't like what they had could be called a relationship by any reasonable person.

Still, she could have been in love with Dona. Her wit, the way she spoke, was appealing, drawing Mary in; but she also felt something underneath, something that she couldn't quite put a name on. "Perhaps I'm trying to run away from myself." Dona's words stuck in her mind. Mary, on the other hand, wasn't trying to run away from herself; only her past. Seeing the ships crashing down, the murders of her aunt and uncle, being dragged across the moors by Francis Davy. The memories haunted her mind, waking and dreaming. After one of Joss' cronies had tried to rape her, it had been almost a year before the idea of being that close to Jem - or anyone else for that matter - stopped making her feel sick to her stomach. It was like a wound that would never quite heal - even the slightest of jolts would force the closed skin back open. Maybe she'd made the decision to go with Jem because she'd thought, subconsciously at least, that travel would help. It hadn't, but a large part of her now found the idea of returning to places of the past repulsive.

The pirate's ship was styled after the old sailing ships that Mary had sometimes seen rotting on the sea-shore near her uncle's inn, left there as technology advanced and more and more people stopped caring about the upkeep of such ancient things. It seemed Dona's friend had a taste for the old-fashioned. Of course, it couldn't be a perfect facsimile, given the added need for air in space, and the differing propulsion systems of a space-ship. He kept the sails, though. He claimed that it wouldn't look right without them.

True to Dona's word, the ship was surprisingly fast. Mary sat on the deck for the journey; after a while, Dona came to join her.

"I thought you'd be staying with your friend," Mary said.

Dona shrugged. "I can see my friend any time I want. You, however, I have only a limited amount of time left with." She sat down next to Mary and pulled herself closer, wrapping her arms around her companion.

"What did you mean earlier when you said 'no strings attached'?" Mary asked, her proximity to Dona focusing her mind onto their previous conversation.

"You mean you didn't know?" Dona asked, amused. "And yet you replied in kind. That's very trusting of you." She hesitated; Mary could hear her steady breaths, feel them as they fluttered the hair on the back of her head. "What I meant was - imagine, for a moment, that there are only two people in the world. You and me. We have no lovers, no reason to hesitate in whatever we choose to do. But once the moment is over, we return to being two strangers, free to move on with our lives and forget each other. It's very simple, really." She laughed. "And I think rather fanciful of me."

Mary didn't say anything. She watched the stars go by above them. Perhaps privately she agreed with Dona - it sounded like something out of the pages of a novel. But at the same time maybe she needed something fanciful, something to cheer her up.

Dona became quiet. She hummed slightly under her breath. Mary let herself melt into the sound, and they stayed like that for the rest of the journey.

In too short a time, they had caught up with Jem. He seemed relieved to see her, in his gruff way; there was no laughing, no embraces, with Jem Merlyn.

Dona said goodbye to her with a kiss. "It was nice meeting you, Mary," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

And soon after that the war began.

Really, they should have been prepared. There had been mumblings about danger in most places Mary and Jem had visited; minor conflicts, scraps over trade, moral arguments about the things being traded. But no-one had thought there would be a war. No-one ever did.

It was a mess that caught up nearly the whole system in alliances so convoluted that after it was all over there probably weren't many people who could figure out entirely what happened. At the end of the day, they made little difference: both sides had wanted land and control; both sides saw great destruction. And the people who won - the people who were now in charge of the entire system - had clamped down on government sanctioned slavery but turned a blind eye to the ships that scoured planets for people to kidnap, and which had seemingly doubled in number in the aftermath of the war.

Mary had - miraculously - managed to escape the whole thing relatively unscathed. She'd once more been separated from Jem, for much the same reason as before, but this time it hadn't been safe to catch a ride - movement between planets was, by law, extremely limited when the sky was peppered with the debris of people who had lost fights, and there wasn't anyone willing to risk legal action just to carry Mary somewhere. So she'd whiled away her time with a nervous young woman and her much older husband, immigrants to the particular outer reaches planet that she'd found herself on. Apparently some trouble at home had necessitated the move - she hadn't paid particular attention, mostly choosing to keep herself to herself, and they hadn't said much on the subject anyway. And when everything was over and an uneasy peace had settled, she said goodbye and set off in search of - something. She couldn't say quite what - Jem, maybe. She just knew she couldn't bear to sit still anymore.

Mary would never figure out what coincidence brought her to the exact same bar in Erna where she had met Dona three years earlier. Pirates were no longer plaguing the area - the war had played a part, as had the local authorities' eventual success in clamping down on their activities. Mysteriously, their arrested leader had managed to escape the prison on the day before his execution for the death of a man visiting from the city. No-one had managed to work out how he'd done it, but Mary gathered from a few resentful murmurings that Dona had been seen around the house where he was kept at the time.

"I always knew it was her," one man declared to Mary once he saw she was interested in the topic. He stared - very conspicuously - at her chest.

"No you didn't," his friend scoffed. "None of us did. It weren't till after she got caught for spying that any of us knew a bloody thing. Excuse my reaches speak, ma'am." He addressed this last remark to Mary.

Mary wanted to tell him that she'd heard much worse on her travels, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she asked, "Spying?"

"Yeah. It's the general feeling here, ma'am, that if it weren't for that damn - if it weren't for Lady St Columb, we would've done a bit better in the war."

"Might even've won!" His friend chimed in.

The man ignored him. "But it's alright, see, because she got her comeuppance for that. There's some here that think she could be punished more, but I'm a fair man. If you see what happened -"

He was cut off by the sound of the doors opening.

Mary could finish his sentence for him: "If you see what happened, you'll know what I mean." She got caught for spying. Mary sucked in a deep breath and tried to stop herself from trembling.

In the doorway stood Dona St Columb. A dark scar that barely missed her left eye crossed her face. It had never properly healed, and gave the impression that it could split apart the entire front of her head at any moment. One of her hands glinted in the sunlight; Mary guessed it was a replacement. There was a lot of demand for those nowadays. But her physical appearance wasn't the most shocking change. As Dona grew closer, Mary caught the look in her eyes. She could still remember the sadness in them before, and mingled with that the joy for life. Now they were just dead.

When Dona walked past her she stood up almost involuntarily. But what would she say to her? They'd met once, years ago. And once you'd gone through a horrible experience, whether it left scars on the outside or not, there was nothing anyone could say that wouldn't feel false. Mary knew that.

Dona slumped down at the bar and ordered a drink. Someone had left a newspaper there; she picked it up and began to flick through the pages. The front cover had an article about depowering the androids left after the war - 'androids', which implied artificial life rather than the near resurrection of the dead pioneered in the midst of fighting, was the accepted term now. Many people - including the writer - felt that it was unnatural to continue human life after death. These poor souls had died in the war, or not long before it, and they should be allowed to stay at rest. It occurred to Mary, as she read it from her position hovering at Dona's side, that no-one in this discussion had bothered to ask the 'poor souls' what they thought about being 'deactivated'.

Dona yanked down the newspaper, startling Mary out of her thoughts. "If you really want to read it," she said, "you could have asked me to give it to you, rather than standing so close by." There might have been a glimmer of recognition in her eyes; Mary couldn't tell.

"Hello," she tried. "Do you remember me?" She sat down next to Dona.

Silence.

Dona turned over a leaf of the paper. "It's funny," she said, "the disconnect between using such an impressive piece of technology -" here she waved her right hand - "to handle something so primitive." She flapped the paper. "But then again, this has always been a place that firmly believed in tradition, and everything that that implies. I had to call a man from off world to fix my hand up."

She finally turned to Mary. "Does it sound ridiculous that I missed you?" There was a flicker of a smile on her lips.

"What about your pirate?"

"He had other business during the war."

"Your husband?"

"He…" Dona paused. "When I was uncovered, he was really very sorry at what was happening - I could tell, he was, and shocked too, that his wife could do such a thing - but he didn't do anything to stop it. He told me that everything would be alright if I just confessed, he practically begged me to confess because he hated seeing me in pain. Unfortunately for him, I've always been stubborn. Then he died fighting. Brave enough to defend his homeland; not brave enough to defend his wife. I suppose it takes different types of strength to do either. I've been forgiven, you know, by the new government, but nobody trusts a spy, not even after an official pardon. My children were taken away after Harry died. So if you're thinking how extraordinarily ridiculous it is of me to miss a woman who I've only met once in my life, the truth is that I have nothing else left."

"I -" Mary hesitated, knowing she couldn't say 'I'm sorry', couldn't apologise for whatever horrible things had happened -"I wish I could do something to help."

"You're here. That's more than anyone else is. And please - don't tell me that your coming here was a coincidence. I'd much rather think that you sought me out on purpose." Dona's drink arrived, and she took a moment to taste it. She made a face. "This bar has always made terrible beer. I don't know why I bother anymore. What happened to your thief?"

"We got separated," Mary said, and left it at that. Dona let her.

"I need to get off this damn planet," she muttered to herself.

An idea occurred to Mary. "I have a ship," she said.

Dona looked up. "You do?" she asked. She seemed surprised, like she hadn't expected anyone to be listening to what she'd said.

"The Mary Anne. It's how I got here. There were people I stayed with, on the outer reaches, during the war. They gave me it. It's a bit patchy - a while ago there was some accident with it, don't ask me what because I don't know - but it could get us away."

"You're asking me to come with you?"

Mary hesitated. But she knew the necessity of leaving the places of the past behind you. "Yes."

"Well." Dona thought for a while. "You've lost your thief, I've lost my pirate. We could go looking for them." She glanced at Mary, and again there was that hint of a smile. "And have some fun along the way. I'm sure I can still remember how to enjoy myself, if I have you to help jog my memory." Hope was in her voice now. Cautious hope, but hope nevertheless.

"We can go straight away," said Mary. "After you've paid for your drink, that is." A memory came to her. "No strings attached?"

Dona dug around in her pocket for money, which she gave to the man behind the bar. "I don't have any strings left," she said. "Nothing to forget for the moment I'm with you." She tilted her head, sizing Mary up, admiring her. "So I think I can afford to make some new ties."

She stood up unsteadily and offered Mary her arm. Mary took it without hesitation and, together, they left the bar.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #476

Top Ten Theories About Falcon, the Winter Soldier, and the Future of the MCU

The penultimate episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier was amazing. Can we agree on that? I know in general the show isn’t the masterpiece WandaVision was; it doesn’t have the intricate puzzle-box structure, or that show’s desire to mess with form. It’s a show treading the same path as the Captain America movies (fittingly enough); relatively straight street-level bust-ups with a political globe-trotting bent. Bourne in tights, if you will. But even within that margin, it’s still not been tremendous; the pacing’s been a bit off, both in individual episodes and across the series as a whole. But there have been moments of greatness; the fight scenes and choreography has been mostly excellent, for a start. And the performances are great; it’s so nice to see Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan being given the space to cut loose and show what they’ve got as they move out of Chris Evans’ shadow. Wyatt Russell is superb as the tormented John Walker; and Daniel Brühl’s Zemo is already the stuff of meme legends. So, all in all, it’s pretty good, if not top tier; but the latest episode, man oh man.

One of the themes of the show has always been institutional racism (it’s right there from the start, with Sam and Rhodey’s first conversation). Bringing this issue right to the forefront, with Sam’s not-so-cosy chat with former supersoldier Isiah Bradley, the most recent episode offered a side of the MCU we’ve never really seen before. It’s so great a huge mass-market Disney property like this can allow its creators the chance to speak openly about race, to present marketable, profitable characters like Captain America as symptoms of a racist society. Bradley’s line about “they’ll never let a Black man be Captain America, and no self-respecting Black man would want to be,” is right up there with “bury me at sea, like my ancestors who leapt from the ships, because they knew death was better than bondage” in terms of things I never thought I’d hear from a Disney property. Sam’s struggle, and his acceptance of his role, was just terrific. I know it’s West Wing-style wishy-washiness, but the idea that the idea of Captain America – of America – is worth striving for and fighting for, is a glorious one; it’s what makes Hamilton so good, even though we know the reality is stained with blood like John Walker’s shield. All this plus Sam helping Bucky deal with his trauma! What a good episode.

Anyway, a bit like I did with WandaVision, here are ten thoughts about where the series could be heading as we approach the finale – and where the MCU itself might be going from here…

A Good Man: Dr. Erskine said it when Steve first took the formula; “Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” Steve, it’s implied, is the best Super Soldier because he’s the best man. When he handed Sam the shield in Endgame, he said, “You’re a good man, Sam.” And Sam is a good man; witness how he tried to reason with Karli, how he helped his sister, how he reached out to Bucky to counsel him. The fact that he’s taking up the shield at all, despite everything Bradley said, is because someone needs to be Captain America, and that having a Black man in the role might just make things better for the next generation, even if it makes things worse for Sam. He’s just a good man, and this is going to become evident when all hell breaks loose and everyone descends on New York for the finale; you just know that he’ll be the one to make the sacrifice play, to reach out a hand to Karli or even John. And the whole world will be watching…

Heroes Without Borders: Captain America was created by the US government to fight a war; after Steve retired, they created their own new Cap in John Walker. It’s a role that’s therefore tied to the USA. But the history of the USA, even just in relation to the Super Soldier program, is downright murky. So I think Wilson’s Cap will make it very clear that he’s his own man. He’s wielding a shield that is (presumably) created in an alternate timeline, and wearing a suit built in Wakanda. He has no ties to the government, and it’ll stay that way – especially if he starts to recruit a new batch of Avengers…

The Death of the Winter Soldier…: Bucky’s arc is complete. He was captured and brainwashed, turned into a freeze-dried assassin for seventy years. After being rescued by Steve, he was healed by Shuri, but he still has decades of trauma and guilt. Teaming up with Sam, and being forced to work alongside Zemo, has mellowed him, allowed him to start forgiving himself. It looks as though, with his smiles and jokes on the boat, that he’s finally found some degree of peace. So it stands to reason that he’s going to die in the last episode. Probably defending Karli from John Walker or Batroc the Leaper or something like that.

…The Life of the White Wolf: alternatively, maybe he doesn’t die! Maybe, like he said, he’s going to bugger off to Wakanda. In that case, I think we’ll next see him as the White Wolf in Ryan Coogler’s Wakanda-set Disney+ series. Perhaps he’ll end up being an official Wakandan agent, helping to keep his adopted homeland safe.

Thunderbolts Are Go: in the comics, Zemo is associated with the team of villains-but-sometimes-not the Thunderbolts. I think that’s coming here, too; but I think it’ll be formed by Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine; after all, she was in Washington picking up Captain Americas (Captains America?). Stands to reason that she has an eye on building her own team of Avengers. Maybe Batroc could join too? And – hey! – didn’t Black Widow have a sister…?

The New Avengers: I said earlier, but I think one of Sam’s first jobs will be to reboot the Avengers. After the double-whammy of Civil War and Endgame, they’re toast; almost all their members are either dead or off the table. Let’s rule out Bucky for now; Sam’s first stop will probably be War Machine. Who’s next? Strange? Spidey? Sharon? I wonder if a simmering, recurring plot point in the next couple of movies/shows will be Sam’s attempts to rebuild the team. “Hey, Bruce; what’s your cousin Jennifer’s number?”

Brokered Power: the identity of the Power Broker is one of those no-one’s-talking-about-it-but-it’s-obviously-a-big-deal mysteries in the show. Nobody seems to care or be interested, but just who is this seemingly all-powerful string-puller in Madripoor? One thought could be that it’s Sharon Carter herself; her total about-face on the issue of heroism could be a façade to mask the decisions she’d made as the de facto crime empress. But that feels a bit too neat to me. Our new friend Valentina, perhaps? Sharon looked like she was siccing Batroc onto Karli at the Broker’s behest; is this just because the Broker wants his Serum (or revenge for Karli taking it), or does the Broker secretly have a more benign plan, and is actually trying to stop further bloodshed? My money’s on it either being someone totally new or relatively unknown, or a forgotten villain from an older MCU movie. Is it too much to hope that it turns out to be Trevor Slattery?

Agent Carter: regardless of what happens with the Power Broker, I think we really will see Sharon Carter return to the forefront of MCU heroics. She could actually fill the Black Widow slot in the Avengers, unless the plan is for Yelena to step into her sister’s big black boots (and assuming that Natasha really is dead, of course). But I think Sam’s heroics as the new Cap – plus him keeping his word – will be enough to convince her that there really was something to the heroism Aunt Peggy talked about for all those years. Maybe if the Avengers are too mainstream, she could lead a kind of “Agents of SWORD” black ops team? Maybe that’s where Bucky will end up too!

Teaming Up: and speaking of teams… does anyone else feel like we’re getting a veritable league of different super-teams in the MCU? We’ve got the Avengers and the Guardians already; once Ms. Marvel and Ironheart have taken their bow, I wouldn’t be surprised if Young Avengers reared their bumfluffed heads (maybe with a now-teenage reincarnated Tommy and Billy from WandaVision). Smart money is on Zemo and the Thunderbolts. There’s SWORD, filling the SHIELD void. They’re making a new movie about the Fantastic Four. Eternals comes out this year. At some point down the road we’ll see the X-Men. That’s a lot of different teams, and my crazy theory is this is all deliberate. At some point these teams are going to collide. Whether that’s just your typical Avengers-style team-up movie, or if this is where the whole franchise is pointing in ten years’ time, I don’t know; but it’ll be fun finding out!

Only One Captain America: so, where is Steve? Is he still around? Is he still alive? My theory is that he went home; it’s safe to assume that the Old Steve who sat on the bench in Endgame had travelled from an alternate timeline, one created by Steve returning to the 1940s to have a happy ever after with Peggy. A world where Cap was around after WWII would be very different; especially a Cap who knew about HYDRA’s plans to infiltrate the government, to say nothing of Thanos’ plan for half of everything. So it’s likely that he hasn’t just spent seventy years chilling on the veranda; I’m guessing he’s been at work. And I think he’s gone back home. Maybe his universe’s Sorcerer Supreme helped him with a bit of universe-skipping; who knows. But I just don’t think he’s around, and contrary to some suspicions, I don’t think we’ll see him in the FAWS finale. Whilst more Chris Evans is always nice, and whilst a few words of encouragement from Cap I to Cap II could be lovely, I don’t think they should detract from Sam’s moment by wheeling in his beloved predecessor. So, sorry, Steve; but I think from here on in there’s only one Captain America.

[viralhottopics]

Skeleton cities and snipers: the shocking photographs that show the scale of Syria’s loss

From the shelled-out mall that never opened to a family reclaiming their possessions from rubble, Pulitzer-winning photographer Sergey Ponomarev captured Syrias tragedy from the inside

In the middle of 2014, after the Syrian government had retaken the city of Homs from rebel fighters, Sergey Ponomarev stood with his camera and surveyed the damage. The photojournalist found a family who had returned to their old flat and captured the scene: in a street buried in rubble and lined with destroyed buildings, they load whatever possessions they can salvage into a taxi. Their son wears a brightly coloured party hat he has found. It is at once mundane the family calmly going about their business and devastating.

In another photograph, four boys play amid the rubble. They have been burning the plastic from electrical cables theyve found in shelled buildings to get to the copper wire, which they can sell. Another shows a recently built shopping centre. Never opened, it is now crumbling and skeletal, a giant portrait of Syrias president Bashar al-Assad adorning the front.

The rebels didnt have a lot of arms or fighters, says Ponomarev. But they had snipers and RPGs [rocket-propelled grenades]. If they saw a tank, a sniper would hit a small hole in the tanks armour and an RPG man would try to hit the same spot so the RPG would go deeper into the tank and explode. The tanks suspected that, in every window, every hole in the wall, there were snipers. So the tactic of the Syrian army was to shell every suspected window.

Homs, June 2014: Abu Hisham Abdel Karim and his family bundle salvaged possessions into a taxi.

Ponomarevs photographs, from his series Assads Syria, are about to go on show at the Imperial War Museum in London. His series The Exodus which documents the resulting refugee crisis and features photographs that won Ponomarev, along with New York Times colleagues, the 2016 Pulitzer prize will also be on display.

Were in the museums cafe, surrounded by the machinery of war. Ponomarev tells me what he looks for when taking a photograph: Everything should come into the right place at the right time the light, the people, the event or action. Everything should be well balanced, so the frame will be perfectly shaped. Thats the skill you develop over years.

Ponomarevs other talent is to capture vast, complex situations the war in Syria, the Arab spring and set them on a relatable, human scale. In Damascus, near the rebel-held zone, a shell hit a car. It exploded and set other cars on fire, he says. Instead of rushing about and shooting the burning cars, I decided to capture a pedestrian. The photograph, taken from behind, shows a man holding on to his bicycle, calmly standing and watching. Its obvious hes a resident who just stumbled on the scene.

Ponomarev went to Damascus in 2013. Before you can even check into your hotel, he says, you have to go to the information ministry and they assign you a translator a minder who will escort you. The minder would report back to the government. Id see him reporting on what we did, says the photographer with a smile. I was doing my stories, he was doing his.

Damascus, August 2013: A cyclist watches the fire caused by an exploded mortar. Photograph: Sergey Ponomarev

There was, at one point, a frustrating period when he was trying to find out if there had been a chemical attack in the suburbs. But most of the time, he says, there wasnt a huge amount of conflict between what he wanted to see and what his minder, or rather the government, allowed. I wasnt intending to meet with any diehard supporters of the opposition. My photography is slightly different. Im showing the life of normal people, whether they are inside this government-controlled bubble or outside.

One of the most striking things about reporting from the parts of Syria controlled by the regime, he says, was witnessing how people went along with government propaganda. You see that they have their own truths, none relevant to real things that are happening. But much of the western medias reports were from the rebels side, he adds, so that wasnt balanced either. I got this possibility to get inside, to see that its a normal society, to explain why they support the government.

The photographer asked to visit Assads prisons. At one, according to a recent Amnesty report, thousands of detainees were tortured, starved and executed in mass hangings. His request was granted, but Ponomarevs visit was tightly controlled. They showed us several detainees. One was a Russian-speaking Syrian who was trying to bring in money for fighters. There were four others who also spoke Russian, but pretended they didnt. They were, the state said, producing explosives and car bombs. We were requesting to meet with some Chechen detainees but [prison officials] said they were not ready yet. I guess they were probably beaten and their bruises were still visible, so they cannot present them to journalists.

June 2014: Homeless children play in the ruins of Homs after opposition forces fled their district. Photograph: Sergey Ponomarev

Ponomarev, who is 36, started taking photographs as a teenager and studied photojournalism at Moscow State University. He worked for Russian papers, and was a staff photographer for Associated Press for eight years, before going freelance in 2012. A year later, he was largely working for the New York Times.

Although he doesnt think of himself as a war photographer, Ponomarev has seen plenty of crises and conflicts. At Associated Press, he covered the Beslan school siege in 2004, the Lebanon war in 2006, and the fall of Tripoli in 2011. He has also shot stories in Ukraine and, last year, was in Mosul when Iraqi forces launched an offensive against Isis.

Then there was the month he spent in Gaza: Youre constantly hearing the metal buzz of drones flying around, like metal mosquitoes. If you dont hear the sound of the drone, that means its cleared the airspace for a jet. So a jet will come and bomb something. That was scary you dont know which house it will bomb.

He has a therapist. Thats the best way, to talk to a professional who will try to get all your bad feelings and fears out, rather than talking to your friends. Your friends will say, This dude just constantly talks about war its not that fun. He smiles.

Sergey Ponomarev. Photograph: Andrew Tunnard

Having been to all these places, does Ponomarev think photography can change the world? No, he says. We are now so overwhelmed with visual information, its always around us. However, he does think his pictures might disturb people from living in their normal, cosy lives and probably encourage them to take action. This could be making a donation or volunteering.

But its not like the late 1960s and early 70s, he says, when photographs of the Vietnam war had the power to really shock in particular, Eddie Adamss picture of a Vietcong prisoner being executed or Nick Uts photograph of a nine-year-old girl running from a napalm attack. Those images could stop war, but not any more.

These days, he says, were used to distressing images, and find it easier to turn away. Some people are feeling like they dont want to be disturbed and some editors now put warning signs before images. Imagine if the napalm girl had been shown with a warning saying, You will see war crimes and nudity. Its not that shocking. You click or you dont click. It wont provoke you to take action.

In a way, the value of our work has been a little bit lowered. He pauses then adds: But still we are able to produce strong and iconic images. We have to do that.

Sergey Ponomarev: A Lens on Syria is at the Imperial War Museum, London, 27 April to 3 September.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2ovqBtI

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