#THE FUCKING CALLIOPE?! THE STRANGER?!

[historicallyaccuratecheese]

god I hate how brutal pipe murder is actually becoming funny to me now. …i’ve hit rock bottom. or ascended. I don’t know…

[bananonbinary]

i cant believe i only just realized, underneath the clown makeup and calliope music the Stranger is playing off of fucking stranger danger. they LITERALLY snatched jon off the street in an unmarked van, like that's a real common danger and not shit you hear about in a morning school assembly.

i'm surprised they never offered him candy laced with drugs. you could probably legitimately get away from them by Finding A Trusted Adult.

[the-southern-cereal-king]

I’m relistening to tma for the umpteenth time, and some of the statements are horrifying, yes, but some are so fucking funny to think about in context.

MAG 24 Strange music, MAG 38 Lost and Found, and MAG 103 Cruelty Free are three that come to mind.

In MAG 24, the grandfather of the statement giver loves his granddaughter so much his power of the Stranger came and killed her shitty bf and then Breekon and Hope looney tunes style stole her calliope.

In MAG 38, a homophobic vase steals a man’s husband and makes him experience adhd spatial awareness.

In MAG 104, a killer pig did not kill his owner, and chose to chill with him, and ended up being sealed into a cement prison.

[gabessquishytum]

Dream is ambivalent about A/B/O genders. He's seen enough shit in the universe in billion years, current human civilization doesn't even come close to his definition of 'strange.' Still, he tried on various genders like clothes (he feels most comfortable being an omega), and even hoped in secret that Calliope would be amenable to mating when they got married. He breached the subject very tentatively, found out she was not delighted by the prospect of being tied to an Endless at all, and they never touched upon it again. Their marriage crashed and burned soon anyway, so it must have been for the best. After their reunion with Hob post-fishbowl, Dream decides to take him up on his offer to meet more frequently and drops by. The timing is unfortunate (or fortunate, depends on the point of view!) as his human alpha friend turns out to be in the middle of his rut. And maybe Dream is not versed in human communication and rites, but even he understands that it's better to leave and return next week. Which he is about to do before Hob very enthusiastically jumps his bones. Dream is extremely confused and tries to talk Hob out of this endeavor - he believes Hob is not interested in him like THAT, but Hob is as single-minded as only an alpha in a rut can be and showers Dream with all the words of passion and praise his fevered brain can come with. When he drops the l-word, Dream melts and gives in. They spend Hob's rut together, and Dream is on cloud nine: he feels cherished, desired, and, above all, LOVED. So when Hob suddenly bites him, Dream is not opposed at all. Alright, it'd have been better etiquette if they had discussed it beforehand, but Dream currently is more occupied being happy because 1) his love is requited; 2) Hob wants him as his mate! The problem is, Hob'd have never dared to jump his Stranger like that, let alone do anything to him. He hoped that if he's lucky, maybe he can try to court him…in 500 years or so. To him, all that occurred was just a feverish rut dream. So when Hob comes to his senses once his rut is over, he finds a very fucked out Dream looking at him with heart eyes in his bed, sees a fresh mating bite on his neck…and panics. Dream immediately comes to the conclusion that Hob already regrets their mating and dissolves into sand, retreating to the Dreaming before he starts crying in the presence of this human - his mate - that humiliated him so. Chaos ensues!

Oh dear. These idiots! They're both as bad as each other, really.

Hob is just horrified that he'd done that to his stranger - to Dream! It's totally taboo to bite someone without even talking about it, and they certainly didn't do that. Hob doesn't even know if Dream wanted it! Wait - what if he started crying and disappeared because he didn't want it!? Hob ends up running to the bathroom and throwing up at the mere idea. How could he do such a heinous thing to the man he loves?!

Meanwhile Dream is flooding the dreaming with his tears (yes, literally) because he thinks that his mate regrets everything and probably hates him. How can he face Hob ever again? He'll have to, because they're mated... if Dream goes into heat, he'll need Hob. Being without him simply won't be an option.

Desire, Despair and Death are all sitting in the threshold and collectively groaning because the idiots are idioting. And Matthew has had enough of trying not to drown in the dreaming, so he makes an executive raven decision and heads to the waking world.

He immediately confronts Hob (who is still panick stricken and white as a sheet) about why he rejected the boss?? And Hob just gapes at him like "rejected??? i thought i assaulted him!!!" Matthew face-palms. Face-wings. Whatever. He tells Hob to go the fuck to sleep and fix things.

Easier said than done. But Hob eventually gets to the dreaming, swims through the tears, and finds his poor miserable mate curled up on his throne. Dream doesn't look up at all until Hob nuzzles his mating bite. The flood recedes a little bit. And Hob tries to explain as tenderly as he can, why he freaked out when he woke up.

Dream falls even more in love with him, honestly.

And three weeks later, they spend Dream’s first heat with a mate together in Hob’s bed. It's everything he's ever wanted. And Dream gets to bite Hob, giving his alpha a perfect mating bite to match his own.

And yes, Matthew gets so many raven treats as a reward for his service to his King.

[mindfang-srevenge]

Homestuck Kids and Which TMA Entity They're Associated With: A Second List By Static, with ADDITIONAL NOTATION That None Of This Is An Insult to Anyone

Read the first of these, featuring the OG troll gang: here

John: Desolation, and hear me out. Much like the argument I made for Sollux, everything gets ripped away from John over and over again. He loses his world, then his house, then his LIFE, then his DAD, then his FRIENDS, then his LIFE (again). John is continually losing everything he cares about, and it forms a weirdly core part of his character, especially considering the fact that he keeps repressing that loss and presenting a chipper face over it.

Rose: Eye. Rose is all about finding secrets (how she fell in with Doc Scratch) and breaking the game in the most interesting way possible. She stumbles across the game because she's looking for information about how to bring Jaspers back. She's constantly looking to shed light on secrets and discover answers, which is definitely eye-aligned. She's even willing to make a pact with the Horrorterrors to find out information about the Green Sun and the end of the game, which makes her an avatar in my book.

Dave: This might just be the overarching entity for all Time players, actually, but Dave-- much like Aradia-- is End aligned due to his reoccurring fascination with dead things. The man outright admits it several times-- he's just as fascinated by death as she is, with perhaps even a more morbid tilt than traditional archaeology. He's also a time traveler, which makes him continually privy to information about how the others will die unless he does something (with Davesprite as a noteable example). If he took on a more passive role (Knights are an active class) I think this might present itself a little more heavily, much like Aradia's connection is more prominent. Basically maybe aradia and dave should just hang outsometime they might be friends ahave we considered this yet hang on wait where are you going---

Jade: Vast, but heavily influenced by the Lonely. We can't talk about Jade without discussing the heavy influences that her isolation has had over her life, but her powers align so heavily with the Vast that that isolation takes on an entirely different context. She's separated from everyone but Bec by vast expanses of ocean. She has the ability to make things Vast or not-Vast by virtue of being a Space player. She is, once again, separated from everyone during the Yard by vast expanses of paradox space. She is continually alone, but in that alone-ness she's physically isolated, which overall pushes her from Lonely to a proper Vast categorization.

Jane: Extinction. In the alpha timeline, Jane is the herald of the end, but she's more than that. She's the heiress to CrockerCorp, the establishment that will eventually fucking TERRAFORM the entire earth-- which, if that doesn't classify as an extinction-level event, I don't know what does. Jane's also our introductory character for a dead session, wherein all of the consorts are literally extinct. Really the CrockerCorp stuff is more important, though-- Jane oftentimes remains loyal to the company, even going as far as to restart it on Earth C, despite what CrockerCorp has previously been responsible. She's constantly a herald of change, and death.

Roxy: Dark. It's low-hanging fruit, sure, but she's heavily textually involved with the obscuring of information. I DISTINCTLY REMEMBER, although I cannot find the text sources for it, that when she's drunk, Calliope can't see her, which is VERY Dark-aligned. Roxy's methods are also obscured, since she's a void player, and she's a Derse dreamer, which means her mental state is . . . also pretty dark, if just metaphorically. Due to her position in the retcon, as well, Roxy's past is obscured, lost to another universe entirely.

Dirk: This motherfucker is hard to sort, but in a pinch I think I'd say Stranger over Web. He does have definite ties to the Web-- if it were a thing in TMA, I'd say he serves both simultaneously, but that's a purely fanon construct so we're gonna play it safe. Dirk is constantly hiding his true self behind layers of masks, mirrors, and splinters. Nobody can every talk to the real Dirk Strider-- instead, they end up talking to Hal or DreamGhostDirk or some other similar entity. The puppet stuff draws into this, as well-- the original Lil Cal is Dirk's, before LE takes over the body, and Lil Cal is a horrorshow of Stranger imagery. (He's also just a horrorshow) Dirk is obsessed with building almost-human constructions (see Squarewave and Sawtooth), as well as hiding behind these constructs to conceal himself or his motives. Overall, Stranger, with heavy ties to the Web.

Jake: Lonely. Even when he's around people, Jake has trouble connecting. Whereas Jade is separated physically, Jake is also separated socially. He can't seem to make the relationship with Dirk ever work out (even if a chunk of that is Dirk's fault). He can't talk to Jane about anything, ever, especially that he's not interested in her.

[dispatchvampire]

Radio Free Bucky: Chapter 2

Radio Free Bucky - Bucky x Fem!OC

Pairing: Bucky x OC (in progress)

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, casual swearing, canon-typical violence, smut in later chapters

Chapter Wordcount: 4700ish (it sure as fuck got away from me)

Series Summary: A bunch of interrelated  of fluffy ficlets about Bucky and Penelope. Strangers in the night, tenuously connected by the past, finding their way together a little at a time.

Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: In which Bucky has a revelation and Sam may, or may not be correct.

“There she goes …”

The pace of life in Brooklyn Heights was light years away from Delacroix, in every measurable way. It was very easy for Bucky to slip back into the rhythm of his daily city life. Bodega on the corner by Steve’s place, neighborhood local up the street, deli down the way from his own apartment, how could he want anything more, really? 

He and Steve had moved back to the neighborhood initially to touch base and give themselves a tone of home, such as it was. Of course, that was more of a fanciful notion in practice since the only thing that ever truly remained the same was change. Steve had, at that point, recently conferred the shield to Sam, Bucky was at a loss for direction and starting out in therapy, it was an oasis of stability in a frothing sea of new realities. 

Speaking of, Bucky took his key out and let himself into his best friend’s place. He wasn’t home and wouldn’t be for the foreseeable, leaving the vast collection of plants all over the space in need of minding. The former Captain America was currently in Ireland visiting distant relatives on his mother’s side he’d discovered recently, and that left Bucky at loose ends for a few days. 

Not that he lived in Steve’s pockets or even vice versa, but there was just something about actually having the time to make up for lost time with his best friend. It was a tiny slice of freedom that he truly cherished. It wasn’t their flat on State Street, but it was home, and that was all he could possibly ask for. 

Absent anything more pressing, Bucky found his way down to Romansky’s, a fourth generation family-owned place that was a vintage NYC kosher delicatessen he remembered fondly. At some point it had expanded one or two storefronts over to become a sort of deli-cum-wartime-Paris cafe, complete with period-appropriate musical accompaniment. He’d stopped in one day on his way to the VA to go to therapy, and ended up coming back to avail himself of their comfy, overstuffed deep green velour couch, some vintage Vonnegut, and a pastrami-and-swiss the size of a compact car with a dill pickle spear that tasted homemade. It was as close to a second home as he’d ever had. 

The one of the two current owners, Calliope, waved as he came in the door, holding up a pickle spear with an inquiring smirk. Buck smiled and nodded, internally reveling in his status as a regular as a voice he’d come to recognize as Harry Connick floated gently from the hidden speakers around the room. The vibes, as the Parker kid would say, were immaculate, even with Sam tagging along. 

“I feel like I should say something about being a creature of habit, but given that this habit is one that actually has you leaving your house, I’m gonna refrain.” 

“How kind,” Bucky snarked as they made their way to the counter. Lunch rush had just ended for the most part, but there were still enough people that they had to be a little more mindful of how they moved through the space. “Callie.”

The woman behind the counter greeted them both with an affectionate grin. “James.” 

“Oh it’s ‘James’, huh?” Sam teased, and Bucky felt his cheeks heat up despite his best intentions. Normally she called him ‘Jamie’ just to tease him, but apparently having someone with him merited something more formal.

She didn’t miss a beat. “My babushka called him Yasha, and he told me James was fine. Am I misinformed?” The twinkle in her dark eyes said that she knew exactly what she was doing and had no intention of stopping.

A partner in crime secured, Sam slipped right into his element. “Actually, it’s funny you say that. He—”

“Yasha, or James is fine,” he supplied, talking over his ersatz frenemy. The phrase ‘cheerfully strangle’ drifted across his mind. “You can call me whichever.” 

“Good to know.” Snagging a pen from her bun, she bounced the tip off the order book on the counter. “You getting your usual, James?” 

“I am, actually, Calliope.” Because if she was going to use his full government name, he could use hers just the same. 

“And your friend here?”

He opened his mouth to make a suggestion when Sam replied, “Ruben, please. With a Coke. Pickle spear on the side.” 

Her look of affront as she tore off her sheet and slapped down her pen made Bucky snort quietly. “Sir! Do I look like a heathen to you? Of course we give you pickle spears on the side. What kind of raggedy, rinky-dink … We make our own! Been doing it for over a century now! I mean, the absolute audacity…” her words trailed off as she steamed her way back into the kitchen to start working on their food. 

It wasn’t often that Sam was left in blinking shock, but it added to Bucky’s amusement as he led the man off to a side table. It was his regular seat, with perfect sightlines around the room and into the kitchen. Not that he expected anything to pop off in a deli, but having his back to the wall felt better than not. 

“You’re gonna want to order the rugelach,” he informed him as he gently shoved the chair out from under the table for Sam to join him. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“That’ll keep her from coming out of the kitchen armed.” 

Sam had the grace to blink at that. “That bad, huh?”

“You’re on pretty thin ice, not gonna lie.” 

His sometimes bestie grinned and shrugged off the concern before sitting back and really looking around the room. “So what’s the story with you and this place? You and Steve used to hang out here back in the day?” 

Bucky’s cheeks heated, even as he smirked. “Something like that. Her babushka was quite a looker, and her great grandmother, well, she and my mother went to schul together.” He didn’t feel like going into the fact that the other four or so diners in the place, from the woman by the window crocheting a blanket for her sister-in-law’s new baby to the young woman in the opposite corner from them diligently typing away on her laptop were all regulars like him and this was part of the regular fabric of his day-to-day life at this point. Sam didn’t need that much information about his daily existence. 

He leaned back in his chair with a broad grin, crossing his legs with his ankle on his opposing knee. “Oh, so it’s a family thing.” 

“Kind of.” There weren’t a ton of memories he had of his family from before the war, lifetimes come and gone between then and now, but there were certain touchstones, of which food was a major one, he could grasp that helped tether him and keep him steady. Before he could explain further, Callie’s sister Naomi came out with their plates. “How’s your sister?”

She rolled her eyes with a knowing smile as she smoothed her curls back out of her face. “Let’s just say that the chicken salad is exceptionally well-mixed and leave it at that.” She slid Bucky a wry grin. “You know how she is.” 

“I do.” He nodded solemnly, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. “Sorry about that.”

“Feh,” she waved off his apologies before pulling her order book from the pocket of her apron. She’d long dealt with her sister’s volatile temper. “You guys want anything else?” 

Sam took this as his moment to mount his apology. “I hear your rugelach’s to die for.” 

“You’d be correct,” she replied with a proud grin. “You’ll take two?”

“Three actually,” he agreed with that toothpaste commercial, ‘Captain America appreciates your cooperation’ smile. “One to take home, too.” 

“Coming right up.”

Bucky rolled her eyes at Naomi’s blush and shy grin as she scurried off to complete the order. About that time, the girl from the window tentatively approached Sam to gush over his Captain-ness and maybe flirt a little. It was a common enough occurrence that Bucky was quite happy to fade into the background and wait it out. 

He didn’t mind not being noticed or recognized, in fact, he preferred it. It was certainly better than the occasional freakouts from other people he’d had to endure. Tuning out the conversation, he let his eyes and mind drift to the sounds of Artie Shaw as he watched the cute woman in a motorized wheelchair roll through the doors and to the counter to order. 

She wasn’t anyone he’d seen before; he was pretty sure a brown-skinned woman with a purple pixie cut and enough metal in her ears to be seen across the room would have been someone he would have remembered. She was in jeans and boots, pretty standard fare for the neighborhood, wearing a shirt that said something provocative in italian and toting an eclectically decorated backpack that looked like it could hold at least half of the world’s secrets in it. Everything about her was just… made him want to know more. It was her smile, though, that really took his breath away. The way she interacted with Callie, like she was made of sunshine and warm breezes, like the most inviting summer afternoon. He couldn’t explain it, but there he was, getting all fanciful about a woman he hadn’t even interacted with, only seen.  

“Aww, come on, don’t be like that. I just wanna talk.” 

It was loud enough that he didn’t need his enhanced hearing to make out the words, though the gentle refusal that followed was definitely much softer than the overall ambient noise. His eyes followed the voice down to the end of the row where he was sitting, the girl with the laptop now engaged in conversation, though her body language said it wasn’t exactly welcomed. Now that he was paying attention, he could see the way she fiddled with her laptop screen, not quite closing it but definitely turning it from the guy’s view, the way she shifted in her seat and kind of shrugged away when he leaned in to press his case some more. He judged the guy to be approximately his size, not much effort for him to work over, but certainly bigger than the seated woman. And definitely in an offensively better position if he decided he wanted to be a problem, which honestly looked to be his intent. 

Bucky turned to stand up and intervene, but stopped when he watched the woman in the motorized wheelchair make a beeline from the counter with her drink to the table in question. 

“Oh my gods, Lyddy. I am so sorry I’m late!” Her voice was clear, deeper than Bucky expected, but for some reason it made sense with her overall presentation. She set her drink down and began to unload her gear, her whole demeanor a vibrant burst of kinetic energy as she went on about the trials and tribulations of her afternoon to her friend who looked like she'd just rolled a live grenade in the room. “Traffic, am I right?” She gestured at her wheels with a self-conscious little chuckle. Reaching for the record sleeves on the table with big eyes that sparkled with excitement, she was practically bouncing in her chair. “Omigod, I totally forgot about Record Store Day! You got the Coltrane and the Monk! Girl, you are doing me such a solid. You have no idea. Thank you.” All at once, she paused, like it had only just registered that she and her friend weren’t alone. Turning to the guy who’d been shooting his shot with her friend, she offered him a disarming grin. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” 

“Yes!”

“No, not really.” 

The competing voices didn’t seem to deter her as she looked from him to her friend before digging into her bag and pulling out her own computer and several other things. “Alright then, lovely to meet you. If you’ll excuse us…” She nodded her dismissal and turned her attention to the woman across from her. “I brought the research materials you’d wanted from the archives. They were a bitch to digitize, let me tell you, girl—”

“I—wait, what the hell? Are you really ignoring me?”

The innocent grin on her face held an edge that Bucky found almost amusing.  “No, she said I wasn’t interrupting and we’re on a schedule. What did I miss?”

The guy turned his attention from her back to her friend with the laptop. “So she speaks for you now?”

“Not at all,” the purple-haired woman responded again, still pleasant surprisingly enough, bringing his attention fully back to her. “Lyddy spoke for herself when she told you ‘no’. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” 

The way the guy’s face darkened was concerning, the rage rising within him like a wellspring that made his hands shake and his muscles stiffen, the kind of stuff Bucky looked for when he had to brawl. This wasn’t going to go well, in short order. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you uppity bitch? We weren’t done! You don’t get to ignore me!”

To be honest, Bucky expected a reaction from the vile epithet the guy dropped, and to be fair, from the way the room quieted down considerably, they all did, too. But the way the woman in the wheelchair’s smile widened, Bucky could feel the growing malice from where he sat, like the whistle of an incoming German 88 shell, getting closer every second. 

There was something in the way she moved, he’d noticed it when she’d arrived at the table, the cheerful effervescence of her personality was genuine, but it was… almost like she was going out of her way to seem harmless. It was a trait he recognized from his own life: having a good day and meeting new people while appearing as unscary as possible. Sam called it his ‘scary dog vibe’, but Bucky just thought of it as a way for him to make it through his day with as little screaming as possible.

If he hadn’t been watching the whole thing, he’d have missed the way she subtly locked the wheels of her chair and surreptitiously flipped up her footrests with the toes of her boots. “I’m telling you right now. We have a shit ton of work to do on her thesis before next week, and she told you no. What more do you need? Take the hint.” 

“Fuckin’ cunt—”

It was like everything in the room slowed to a crawl as Bucky moved to stand up at that, only to have Sam’s hand land heavily on his shoulder as he watched the woman in the wheelchair launch herself up just enough to do a move that would have made Natasha proud. She yanked him to the floor using her weight and leverage, and the incredibly solid wrist lock she had on the guy as she drove him to his knees in an awkward heap when she resumed her seat. 

“Impressive,” Sam muttered, “but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need our assistance.” 

Bucky wasn’t so sure, but slowly sat back down, watching carefully for the moment he needed to jump in. Amusingly enough, the friend she’d been defending had a look on her face very similar to one he’d seen on Sam in regards to him. It felt very strange to be on this side of the fence, waiting to see if the violence-in-progress was going to require his intervention or not.  

He had so many questions—Where did she learn that? How did she learn that? Was she maybe free some evening this week to discuss it with him? He wasn’t super picky. The whole idea of getting a chance to talk to her one-on-one was honestly tantalizing, and kinda terrifying if he was being completely truthful.  

“Two or three?” she asked softly.

“What?” The dumbass seemed to find it in himself to fight back, but that only allowed her to further solidify her grip on his hand and wrist. 

“You keep moving and I will take your fucking thumb off at the root,” she snarled in warning, and he squeaked as she shifted in her seat, clearly having already dislocated his thumb. Her friend muttered an admonishment then that she appeared to accept with a grumbling pout before turning back to her captive. “Do you understand me?”

The high-pitched whimper that followed his question was accompanied by a slight growl from her as she appeared to be marshaling all her patience. “Can you hear me?” she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. “Nod your head.” 

The man followed directions haltingly and she sighed deeply. “Okay, here’s how this works. I have had a helluva long week and a lot of big feelings I need to work through. I’m happy to use you to do it if you’re gonna volunteer. So, what’s it gonna be, two joints or three?” The guy twisted again, trying to put some space between the two of them and get his legs under him, only for Bucky to hear an ominous pop, followed by a pained, muffled squeal. 

“That was your wrist,” she informed him, sounding almost bored. “You can keep on struggling and I wilI have no problem involving your elbow and shoulder in this party, too. Savvy?”

Bucky sipped his drink to keep his tiny choke of laughter to himself. This girl was… wow. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he was falling in love. He chuckled at the revelation; he knew nothing about this woman other than her fashion and music sense, her desire to defend her friend, and that she had a remarkable understanding of leverage, and yet… Damn. She wasn’t yelling, she wasn’t boastful, she was merely informing this man of the potential ongoing consequences of his transgressions, and damn, but she was sexy. 

There was something about her though, beyond her compelling smile and obvious penchant for violence, that struck him as… familiar for some reason. Like the way she spoke, the softly uttered words gently brushed with a faint country accent, seemed to ping in his memories like he should know her, and yet he kept drawing a blank. It was rare he’d forget a face, a hazard of the job with potentially lethal outcomes, but nothing about her overall appearance rang any bells for him. It was as intriguing as it was disconcerting. 

“Now, what happens next is up to you, dig?” Thankfully for his sake, Bucky mused, the guy nodded. “Excellent. Let’s start simple: did she tell you she didn’t want to talk to you?” There was a pause, like he was thinking about it, the sweat beading on his brow from the pain becoming obvious in the light. “If I have to repeat myself, I’m going to start breaking bones.” 

“Yes!” he squawked. “Yes, she told me no.” 

Her smile sparked an unusual warmth in Bucky’s chest. “Fantastic, so you did hear her. And you chose not to acknowledge that because…?”

What followed was a quick and dirty object lesson in manners that the young man clearly didn’t receive growing up, but this woman was more than happy to supply. Distantly, Bucky wondered if it was inappropriate to propose to someone whose name he hadn’t gotten yet. By the time she’d turned the guy loose he’d apologized profusely, and, because she was clearly a nice person, did the man a solid by reducing his dislocated wrist and thumb. 

Even if the whimpering mess whose ego might likely never recover couldn’t appreciate her kindness, Bucky truly liked her style. 

“You gonna get her number?” Sam’s teasing voice in his ear made him jump. 

“What? No!” It wasn’t often that he ceded any kind of situational awareness like that, but then, the moment he’d seen her in action, he’d kind of lost himself. “Why?”

Sam’s sour face would have been comical under other circumstances. “Whaddya mean, ‘why’? You’re staring at her like she’s the Khaleesi to your Khal Drogo, and you’re really gonna ask me why?”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled in annoyance. “I’m disgusted with myself that I got that reference.” 

“You’re welcome for that.” Sam thanked Naomi with a generous tip for his take out order before turning back to Buck. His friend’s smile was as grating as it was smug. “It’s like how Steve stares at Natasha when he thinks she’s not looking.”

He took immediate umbrage. “I’m not that—”

“You’re really gonna stand there and tell me you’re not that bad. Like we don’t see him every damn day. That damn super-soldier soulful puppydog look should be patented. I mean, granted, yours is on the brooding, tortured artist side of things, but the effect…” he trailed off with a verbose shrug. 

“How poetic,” he muttered flatly. 

“Man, I’ve seen the goth girlies falling all over themselves to flirt with you and slip you their numbers. Don’t play with me.” Which, okay, was a fair cop (and kinda rude), but that didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. That he had even thought about doing something about it, at least, not until today. After a moment of silence, Sam continued. “That’s what I thought. Now, you gonna get her number or do you want me to do it for you?”

“What? No! Are we children?” Horrified to his soul, Bucky was on his feet and tossing cash on the table with exceptionally forced ease, only relaxing after glancing over his shoulder to see that Sam’s threat went unnoticed by the general populace. “Jesus Christ!”  

It took some doing, but he was able to herd Sam to the and down the street without any incidents with Sam kvetching the whole time.

“You and Steve have a type, you know that?” Sam mused as they meandered through the neighborhood in the direction of the subway entrance.

“We do not.” The automatic disagreement was almost second nature to Bucky by this point in their friendship. The fact that he didn’t want to continue this conversation was immaterial. 

His friend snorted derisively. “You do, damn near identical, too. At least from how it looks over here.” 

“Oh whatever, man,” he scoffed with a humorless laugh. “Just talking out of your ass.”

The arched eyebrow should have been the warning, and yet… “So you’re not into mouthy little shits who like starting fights for righteous causes, huh?” The observation was so sharp, it would have been kinder if Sam stabbed him. 

At Bucky’s blinking, mute astonishment, he threw up his hands. “You’re both a damn mess.” Patting him hard on the back, Sam hugged him before heading down the stairs to the train, his voice trailing behind him. “...White Wolf? More like ‘big ol’ scaredy-cat’, I swear to God…” 

Aspersions cast on his temerity aside, Bucky decided to take a walk through the neighborhood on his way over to commune some more with Steve’s plants. Sam’s words carried weight with him, much to his displeasure, and what’s worse? The man was right, at least kind of. 

It wasn’t that he was afraid of her, though she’d shown she could clearly hold her own if she had to, it was more nebulous than that. His was not, in any way, shape, form, or fashion, a normal life, regardless of what Sam (and to a lesser degree Steve) had to say about it. His therapist’s opinions could also pound sand, frankly. 

The superhero business—the androids, aliens, and wizards part—was a lot to take, and he was enhanced. He couldn’t ask someone with a, presumably, normal, regular life, to throw in with his chaos. Hell, most days, he didn’t want to throw in with this chaos, and he hadn’t been afforded a choice in the matter. His tumultuous past aside (and that was asking a helluva lot), the expectations of him, others and his own, were heavy and suffocating on a good day, and not the kind of thing he wanted to burden someone else with if he didn’t have to. 

He wasn’t Steve. He didn’t get to just dip his toes into normal life and learn to swim in this modern current, not with the way his own life had played out. There was no avenue to ‘normal’ or ‘low key’ available to him, at least none that he could see, and searching for it seemed like a rabbit-hole fraught with more perils than the Parker kid’s bedroom in the Tower. Certainly more than he was willing to tussle with on just a whim, or on Sam’s whimsical notions about his (nonexistent, can’t overstate that part) romantic life. 

Shadows grew and coalesced as the afternoon slipped into evening on the Brooklyn street where he lived. The hum of everyone’s daily lives slowly dialing back down as the day marched relentlessly to its conclusion. Thoughts marinating in his irritation, Bucky let himself into Steve’s place, and began his usual check of the perimeter. Satisfied that all was as he’d left it, he grabbed the watering can to fill up and laid his phone on the coffee table to play music while he tended to the philodendrons, snake plants, and zebrinas with that stretched into multiple rooms.

The plants weren’t nearly as judgemental as his friends were. 

He hummed along with the tunes he remembered so fondly, watering the seemingly endless number of pots and pruning some dead leaves from the purple Persian Shield that Steve had named Ziba. It felt like as much as Sam had riled him up earlier, the weight of the world seemed to lift away from him with every note that floated along the evening breeze teasing the curtains through the open windows of the flat. 

“And that was Count Basie and his orchestra from 1938, Blue and Sentimental. It’s about this time every day here in New York when the sun dips out for his evening affairs that I feel that the most.” His lips curled as he could hear the smile in her voice. Truthfully, he could not agree more. “I do so love getting out my vinyl for you all. Dipping deep into my archives to find goodies to bring to you all every evening is one of life’s little joys. This next one is near and dear to my heart. I met up with my sister-from-another-mister today before the show for a bite to eat, and she brought me some shinies to share. So without further ado, a little solo action from none other than Mr. Monk himself, playing the current theme to my life, ‘Everything Happens to Me’.”

It was rare that Bucky had revelations large enough to force him to take a seat, but this one… Jesus Christ. It was like for a moment, the universe’s secrets were unceremoniously dumped into his lap as the trains of thought converged in a front lobe derailment of epic proportions. Tiny clues he’d memorized from his time listening to her, her residence in New York, her relation to Gabe Jones, but it took Thelonious Monk to bring it all home to him. 

His nightly crush, the one who brought him a little slice of peace and calm daily from her radio show, was none other than the purple-haired goddess he’d (been swooning over) seen at the cafe that afternoon. Questions he’d had about her that he didn’t even know were on his mind were suddenly answered, leaving acres of new ones in their wake. Now, the light crush he had on a voice in the darkness had a face, a gorgeous face with a smile that stopped his heart. 

She wasn’t so out of reach anymore, and the question quickly became, what the hell was he going to do about it?

“Well fuck.”

[trailmixedup]

Was fucking haunted by a calliope on my way home from a hike yesterday… it was legit so loud and I couldn’t figure out where exactly it was coming from. Hope this doesn’t mean I’m stranger bait

[cult-of-the-eye]

MAG 87 let's goooo

I've heard of the uncanny valley before I think from a Tumblr post actually isn't it like non-humans that look like humans but slightly off that creep us out??

Sounds cool tho

GEORGIE!!!! JON!!!!

God I love her she actually tries to knock some sense into Jon

Jon's hesitation at accepting help is frustrating when he's just claimed that he's ready to accept that he needs allies but I guess it's understandable when he doesn't want to bring someone who doesn't have a place in this all into the situation

But also I guess he can't really help bringing her in, cause he's staying at her house, she's probably already in to a certain degree

This is already so long so I'm putting a read more

She knows that she's a last resort, she seems like a genuinely kind person, she's completely understood that the man is desperate but she's also willing to draw a line wow shes so cool

"you're a good person" augh god that must've been difficult for him to hear

"whatever this is, it's messing you up"

Georgie's right about everything all the time that's the conclusion I'm coming to from this

I like how she says you can choose to leave it alone, i think it might've been the first time it had crossed Jon's mind since it all started that maybe he had a choice in this, but the tragedy is that it's been said too late, if he did ever have choice, then it's definitely gone by now. And Jon is very much aware of that.

GERTRUDE????

Sebastian skinner THE NAME

Getrude seems very like practical about the way she does things, case number first, name, where it occurred and dates, like she doesn't do any of Jon's "head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London" stuff I guess cause he was doing it to sound important and she doesn't need that, she knows exactly what she's doing and what the situation is so she can just get straight to the point with it

I love analysing everyone's different little intro bit I think it's so cool how their personalities and beliefs form part of it

This statement actually like shook me, I don't know why but lately the statements have been sort of getting to me. I don't think they've gotten scarier though, I think my frame of mind has just changed recently

Just weirdo little valley with weirdo little people doing fucking blood rituals

It was very classic horror movie

I googled flensing on incognito mode cause I wasn't sure what would come up lol

Yeah that ending was horrifying I hate the idea of the only thing being left is the mannequin

That's so funny Gertrude was like fuck this guy's name in particular

So orsinov is like the avatar of the stranger

And they're skinning people for some sort of ritual called the Unknowing

Of course Gertrude is the kind of woman to use the word ilk in every day language

Wait fuck this was in 2015 and the current statements are set in what? 2016/7? The Unknowing has to be close then oh god

Oh god she got attacked??? By what???

Who the fuck is Jude perry

Do I know her???

Oh god poor Mr skinner

FUCK FUCK FUCK ITS CALLIOPE MUSIC FUCK OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

Oh god Georgie is really in it now if she can hear it

He sounds so scared jesus christ

I appreciate Georgie trying to get the stuff out of her house but girl I don't think that's gonna stop it from being there

Oh god he's trying so hard to keep it from Georgie but now he's realised that he actually can't

He has put her in danger and that's the fact of it

"I'm not sure I can."

AUGH

HE HAS NO CHOICE IN IT. HE KNOWS. HIS PATH HAS BEEN SOLIDIFIED. DNBSHSJSKWKSMSMKSSJJDJ

[initial-lime]

During MAG 24 you can hear vague people talking in the background when Sasha interrupts to have the whole calliope conversation

Which suggests a couple possibilities

1. There’s more than 4 people working in the archive (this is likely, however where the fuck did they go and they are NEVER mentioned again)

2. There’s people from the rest of the institute in the archive (also likely, but uniquely funny considering they all decide to stay the hell out of the archive after s1)

3. Foreshadowing, we’re hearing the tapes played back to us after the fact (?) and the extra voices while Sasha is talking is overlap of the stranger (unlikely, this is a tape where her voice isn’t changed, it never happens again)

4. Either tim or Martin are playing a “people speaking” ASMR video out loud (my personal favorite explanation, I believe they would do this specifically to piss off Jon)

[necromancers-incorporated]

Magnus Protocol Thoughts So Far (by episode)

EPISODE ONE: FIRST SHIFT

1. Alice and Teddy obviously quite close

2. Reference to app — Colin outright angry at someone

3. Alice created them???

4. Alice spoken about Sam a lot

5. WHATS WITH THE FOOD LENA

6. Lena on about importance of organisation

7. Never getting out of here Colin?

8. Gwen vs Lena go go go

9. Alice accusing Gwen of nepotism

10. Pub name is Steward

11. DID THE WORK STATION TURN ON BY ITSELF LIKE THE TAPE RECORDERS

12. Response one to one? Hm? Old response department??

13. Colin what do you know about Freddy!?

14. Norris = Martin's voice – strangely human

15. Figure in cemetery = stranger and/or flesh?

16. Email from H? Who is H? Suspicious.

17. Gwen likes her job? Hates it?

18. Enemies to lovers Gwen and Alice go go go

19. Gwen vs Lena again go go go

20. Get her ass Gwen go get that job girlboss

21. What does climbing the ladder entail Lena? Hm?

22. Camera zooming noises!!!

23. Colin does not sound pleased about the app

24. Colin and Alice clearly close

25. Colin speaks German and is vegetarian funsies

26. AWFUL TERRIBLE THINGS LAND PEOPLE THERE WHAT WAS GWEN'S HELP

27. RED CANARY RED CANARY GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT

28. Mag Institute in Manchester?

29. PICTURES DONT WORK AND PARANOIA

30. Burnt down 20 years ago hmmmm

31. ASYLUM OR PRISON HM?

32. Brutal pipe murder stains?

33. Camera not working? Distorted?

34. Got doxed hm interesting interesting

35. Yes. Yes they should. Keep canaries above ground please.

36. EYES

37. Aw Gwen checking on Sam

38. Chester = Jon's voice saying GET THE FUCK OUT

39. What do you know about the institute Sam?

40. Hah! Gwendolyn

41. Hmmm Alice talking about having victims...

42. Colin talking to the fucking computers who are you trying to find

43. GWEN BOUCHARD FUCKING *BOUCHARD

**EPISODE TWO: MAKING ADJUSTMENTS

1. Gwen why do you know all this shit

2. Hm how long have you been there Gwen?

3. Obsession with perfectionism

4. What the fuck do you mean Lena is firing people!?

5. Why isn't Gwen respected? Hm? Nepotism reference again?

6. Alice's brother in a band?? Dredgerman?

7. Sam why are you so curious hm!?

8. DO NOT FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT DO NOT

9. Ink5soul definitely going to come back, love them for that

**EPISODE THREE: PUTTING DOWN ROOTS

1. A dot jmj error? Hm? Colin thinks it's sentient?

2. Alice and Colin buddies love that

3. Colin doesn't like central IT hm I wonder why

4. Why is he so against giving the computer a personality?

5. Colin is so fucking Scottish istg

6. Dr. Samuel Webber has a grief counsellor

7. 13 Marigold Drive (Webber's address), 12 Castle Hill Avenue (Gerald Andrews), Madie Webber is deceased

8. More paranoia nice

9. Community watch you say?

10. Hmmm corruption vibes...

11. I feel like the garden might come back later like Ink5oul

12. ALICE STOP PREDICTING YOUR OWN DEATH PLEASE

**EPISODE FOUR: TAKING NOTES

1. Sam what are you looking into hm!?

2. MAGNUS AND PROTOCOL WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

3. Why were other people looking into it?

4. Alice what do you know about the Magnus Institute!? WHAT IS STARKWALL!? MASSACRE? PRIVATE MILITARY SHIT!? WHAT

5. Why is Gwen so against naming the voices too? She knows something I'm sure of it

6. Augustus hmmm who are you

7. Go old man go, go murder your teacher slay

8. STRANGE MUSIC YOU SAY HMM LIKE THE CALLIOPE

9. BEING PUPPETED ABOUT HM? WEB MUCH!

10. Evil violin man in the woods he will return again

11. The face of fortune? Is Fortune a new entity or something?

12. Player and instrument roles are blurred hmmmm

13. Hmmm murdering students HOW

14. Violin = ye old Grifter's Bone

15. Violin more like violence (aka mass murder)

16. Ooh yay more eye gore FUN

17. I wonder what the nephew did with the violin

18. WHAT OTHER STORIES HAS AUGUSTUS READ

19. Gwen and Alice's vibes I eat that shit up

20. LENA WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU KILL KLAUS!?

**EPISODE FIVE: PERSONAL SCREENING

1. What the fuck is wrong with you Colin (affectionate)

2. CAMERAS CAMERAS CAMERAS PARANOIA EYES EYES BEING WATCHED LENA IM WATCHING YOU

3. WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT KEEPING SECRETS LENA HM?

4. Sam what have we said about fucking around and finding out. Just gonna fill it out anyway ffs goddammit

5. Lonely you say? Interesting.

6. ONE MAN'S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRERROR TMA EP 5 REFERENCE

7. Why are all the posts deleted?

8. Voyeur? Hm. Ha. Eyes.

9. 2009? The same year you started your horror blog?

10. Oh they just found your address did they? Not raising any suspicions?

11. HA ITS THE SAME CINEMA THAT YOU THOUGHT WAS CLOSED HOW NORMAL

12. Adding "getting babadooked" to my vocabulary now

13. My guy is just insulting the cinema alright pal

14. Oh haha unintelligible hmmm. No.

15. ITS WHATS ON THE INSIDE THAT MATTERS IS IT

16. SAME OLD GUY DOING EVERYTHING

17. Stop it with the fucking "unintelligible"

18. SOUNDS FAMILIAR DOES IT HM I WONDER WHY

19. YES YOU FUCKING KNOW THAT ROOM OF COURSE YOU DO

20. Fuck off who is there watching you. I'll put money on the fact that it's Lena or smth

21. Oh, definitely not him posting that last message

22. More Alice and Luke, giving some real Tim vibes now. Living jn FEAR

23. Gwen stop lurking and being secretive

24. You're right Alice, something is very wrong.

**EPISODE SIX: INTRODUCTIONS

1. Aww sleepy Sam

2. Why are you warning him against the coffee Alice?

3. WORKED THERE FOR ALMOST A DECADE ALICE? SERIOUSLY?

4. Ah yes. The true enemy is the sun. Of course.

5. Sam is a cat confirmed (mlem)

6. NEW HIRE NEW HIRE NEW HIRE

7. Haha eating people. Fun. Christmas party episode?

8. Gwen is not pleased by the new hire, who is shocked

9. I've decided that Gwen = Jon, Alice = Tim, Sam = Martin

10. Fuck me I hate needles so much they freak me out god (haha phobias being played on now)

11. Needles is such a funky little guy he is trying his best and is so calm and chilled

12. Creepy creepy creepy

13. HOLES AND NEEDLES STOP PLEASE

14. Oh you grew up there? Are we gonna get some lore?

15. Ah. You are the reason it is unsafe.

16. WHAT DO YOU MEAN MARKED? MARKED BY WHAT?

17. Definitely feeding on something. Hahahaha. Stop.

18. STOP WITH THE NEEDLES IN EYES I FEEL SICK

19. Poor Needles no fear for you to eat :(

20. Needles is going to fuck me up

21. "You're clearly not well" STOP

22. This man has fear maths

23. Ha. Cuddles. No.

24. I feel very unwell

25. "Maybe they'll kill again" ALICE PLEASE STOP

26. IS THAT SCARY ALICE? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?

27. Ha. Lena the big bird.

28. CELIA FROM THE CULT WITH MELANIE AND GEORGIE

29. WHAT'S WITH THE FUCKING FOOD LENA WHY MUST THEY BEEN EATEN ON SITE

30. Why do you know what's in the interviews Alice? Why do you know it changed?

31. Nightmares?

32. Gwen is so fucking mean I love her

33. "Four weirdos in a basement reading scary stories" my my isn't that familiar

34. Celia = Sasha

35. Hm yeah sure you won't get attached Alice

36. Food as a love language Sam

37. ALICE WHY DO YOU HAVE YOUR OWN HIDDEN FOOD

38. Sam with a crush on Celia funsies

39. Tall Alice confirmed

**EPISODE SEVEN: GIVE AND TAKE

1. Celia why are you asking so many questions about the voices?

2. REFERENCING THE FUCKING FEARS ALREADY OKAY (defo tma Celia)

3. Big sister Alice

4. HILLTOP HILLTOP HILLTOP

5. WHAT HAPPENED AT HILLTOP

6. This one is reading a lot like the old statements

7. No name? Hm? A...stranger?

8. Another stranger? Interesting.

9. Weird fucking donations. OK.

10. Ha! Teeth.

11. Are these the kids from Dr. Elliott's class?

12. Haha. No keys. That's not disturbing at all.

13. All for a good cause? I think the fuck not.

14. MOULDY FOOD PLEASE NO

15. Okay. Stop. Freaking out with this claustrophobia.

16. Gunshots? Excuse me?

17. Very very much like the old statements. Celia, want to tell us something?

18. HILLTOP ON FIRE IS IT? OH. I WONDER WHY.

19. OH MY GOD WAS IT STARKWELL IS THIS THE STARKWELL GROUP

20. YOU RECOGNISE CHESTER'S VOICE!? FUCK OFF

21. NOBODY IMORTANT NOBODY FUCKING IMPORTANT

22. JON! WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT JON, SAM!?

23. GWEN WHAT DO YOU HAVE!?

24. OH YOU ARE SHOWING ALL YOUR CARDS RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW BITCH

25. LENA WHAT THE FUCK

26. Okay so she killed him in self defence.

27. WHAT SOURCE GWEN!?

28. Ah. Of course. It's all for the job.

29. Oh, Gwen. Don't get involved. Please don't.

30. EXTERNAL LIASON? REAL WORK?

[shoggoth-the-bitch]

The Masquerade

I'm so ready for whatever this is gonna be! I've kinda missed creepy ass Nikola, I wanna hear from them again.

Oh, we're starting with Martin? Are we actually getting a- uh... Martin? This what you meant by getting to burn some things then...

"Sorry, Elias, I can't hear you. There's a door in the way." Oh my god! Martin, you are my favorite of all time.

Ah yes, Jon's fear of spiders coming up again. And the cursed wax works too.

Wait, there's just randomly a tape recorder? Why? Weird...

Oh, back to Martin then. "Turns out my suggestion is... fire." I love this man... Martin, I know you're playing into your plan but I can't help but believe a good chunk of what you're saying here... NO, you stay away from him!

This is so dangerous and yet I'm so much more worried about Martin.

Maybe they dug- uh... is that the calliope? Wait, are wax works people? That's not great... Oh, the Anglerfish was part of the Stranger then? OH, well I don't LOVE that.

Back to Martin... uh... hon, oh there's so much baggage here... Wait... yeah, he would have known about all of this! What the fuck Elias?! I mean Jon doesn't still treat him that badly, they'- uh... oh... of course, another terrible mother figure! Fantastic! Oh... well goddamn.

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!! This man needs to Die!!!!!!!!

Wait, what did they find? I agree with you Melanie but I don't actually know about killing him right now...

Tim, I agree with you but this isn't exactly something you can... uh... UH!

Did Daisy just shot Jon?! ... I can't believe this isn't even the first time I've asked that question.

[dykes4timrand]

brooo i cant believe the not!them fucking got finch bro. the stranger fucking got his ass

[lillianawayne99]

CastAway Chapter 22

Pairing: Gojo, Itadori, Sukuna, Nanami X OC

Genre: Action Romance

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Teacher-Student relationship, canon with a twist, reverse harem, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, major character death, smut chapters will have specific warnings

Synopsis: Calliope, a wolf in sheep's clothing, enrolls at Jujutsu Tech to protect herself from a world she's never seen before. In her efforts to stay alive, she finds relationships that could mend her soul or tear her apart.

Previous Chapter // CastAway // Masterlist

Gojo led Yuuji and I through a series of halls, though they felt more like tunnels, under Jujutsu Tech. I didn’t really understand why we were going to so much trouble to stay out of sight. If Gojo really trusted this person, they could have met us at the safe house.

He still hadn’t told us anything about who we were meeting and why. For once I had joined Yuuji in asking a lot of questions. 

“Who are we meeting?” Yuuji asked.

“Why are you introducing us to someone when we’re supposed to be dead?” I shot at Gojo when he didn’t answer. 

“Why are we meeting them under the school?” Yuuji voiced my concerns.

“We may be underground, but school staff could be down here. It would’ve been safer to meet them at the house.” I added.

Gojo waved us off, tired of us asking one question after another. For the first time, we were getting on his nerves instead of the other way around. “I won’t be able to lead you this time, but don’t worry. I’ve called in a friend you can trust.” 

That was the most we’d been able to get out of him all day, but it didn’t answer any of our questions. I huffed and glared at Gojo, looking past him to Yuuji who shrugged at me. 

Gojo stopped before a large wooden door, pulling it open to show a relatively large room. There was a raised, stone platform with a wooden railing at the far end of the room. On the other side of the platform was a wooden wall with another large door. 

There was a man standing in the middle of the room. His back was turned to us, but I recognized his jacket and hair. It hit me then where we were, what was going on. I’d gotten so accustomed to living in Tokyo with Yuuji and Gojo I’d forgotten what was going on in the story I’d been dropped into. 

Yuuji and I stopped a few feet away from the tall, blonde man. I’d stopped in realization of what was going on, Yuuji seemed to prefer standing next to me than approaching the stranger. Gojo had no such qualms. 

He walked up to Nanami as he turned to face us, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders and holding his other hand out in front of his chest. “This is Nanami Kento, the ex-salaryman jujutsu sorcerer.”

“Please don’t call me that.” Nanami rolled his eyes at Gojo’s antics. 

Gojo continued introducing him, but his words went in one ear and out the other. 

What the fuck had I gotten myself into? It had only been a little over a month since Sukuna killed me and Yuuji, and yet that had been long enough for me to completely forget what we were blindly walking into.

The attack on the school at the exchange event. Getou working with special grades. Who knew what he was planning to join forces with curses? But before that, Mahito. If we were meeting Nanami now, it would only be a few days or weeks before we fought Mahito.

Yuuji almost died in that fight. So did Nanami. How would I factor into this? Would I give us an edge? Or would we all end up in Shoko’s office? Could Mahito’s technique work on me? I could sense my soul, which meant I could protect it, right? Sukuna protected Yuuji’s soul, but Mahito was still able to put holes in him.

“We should greet each other first.” I tuned back into the conversation as Nanami dropped his hands to his sides and bowed slightly at the waist. “Nice to meet you, Itadori-kun and Davis-chan.”

“Oh, yes, nice to meet you too,” Yuuji responded as we mimicked Nanami’s bow. 

As if he noticed my mind was elsewhere, Yuuji brushed the back of his hand against mine. I glanced over at him to see him raise an eyebrow in my direction. My brows furrowed in confusion as I tiled my head slightly, pretending to not know anything. 

“What’s going on with you two?” Nanami’s tone made it obvious he was annoyed we weren’t paying attention to him. “Are you two dating?”

Yuuji and I turned back to Nanami, my lips parted in shock at what he’d asked. I glanced over at Yuuji then back at Nanami and over to Gojo, silently asking our sensei for help. He shook his head at me and chuckled.

“Uh, no?” I answered, looking over at Yuuji again to see a mixture of disappointment and confusion in his cage.

“What?” He asked me, hesitantly wrapping his pointer finger around my pinky.

“Are we?” I asked no one in particular, the question could have been directed at him, Gojo or myself. Unsure how to handle the situation, I intertwined my fingers with Yuuji’s and turned back to Nanami. “We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Nanami didn’t react to my response beyond an almost unnoticeable raise of a brow. “Hmph. Itadori-kun, you asked why I didn’t become a jujutsu sorcerer from the start.”

“Oh, right!” Yuuji sounded excited to finally get back on topic.

“I studied at Jujutsu High, and one thing I learned … is that jujutsu sorcerers are shit!” I couldn’t help but snicker and glance over at Yuuji to see he was reeling from Nanami’s exclamation. “Then I worked at your typical company and one thing I learned is that work is shit!”

“Really?!” Yuuji blurted out, shocked and maybe a little annoyed at Nanami’s words.

“If both are equally shit, I’ll take the one I’m more suited to. That’s the only reason I came back.” Nanami finished his explanation with his arms crossed against his chest. 

“That’s dark.” Yuuji leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“He’s right, though,” I whispered back with a shrug.

“Itadori-kun, please don’t believe I’m of the same mindset as Gojo-san. I do trust and have faith in him, but I do not respect him!” Gojo let out a sharp sound of indignation, but Nanami ignored him. Putting his hands in his pockets, Nanami turned around and walked toward the back of the room as he spoke. “I hate the way the higher-ups do things, but I believe in rules and regulations. This conversation is dragging on.”

Nanami turned back around to look at Yuuji and I. “In short, I don’t recognize either of you as a sorcerer. Even if you do carry the bomb known as Sukuna or are a goddess, please make an effort to prove that you are useful.”

Yuuji bowed his head, his fingers tightening around mine as he considered Nanami’s words. “Lately, I’ve been forced to realize how weak and useless I am. But I’ll become strong. I have to be strong, or I won’t be able to choose how I die.”

I squeezed Yuuji’s hand in support and bowed my head at Nanami while Gojo looked at us proudly. Unsure of what to say, I simply met Nanami’s gaze and hoped my expression reflected my own determination to meet his request. 

“I’ll make you recognize me even without that advice.” Yuuji’s posture straightened as he regained his confidence. “Just give me a bit more time.”

“Say that to the higher-ups, not me.” Nanami dismissed him.

“Oh, right.” Yuuji sounded disappointed, prompting me to offer him a sympathetic and encouraging smile.

“Frankly, I don’t care!” Nanami announced, finally starting to get on Yuuji’s nerves.

“Okay, I get it!” Yuuji snapped back.

After Nanami left, Gojo led Yuuji and I back to the safe house. He was chipper and talkative again, but neither Yuuji or I entertained Gojo’s antics much. Yuuji seemed to be processing Nanami’s advice while I was focused on the days ahead and why I was here. 

The three of us were cleaning up after lunch when there was a knock at the door. Gojo got the door then ushered me and Yuuji out, letting Nanami take over babysitting and training duty for the rest of the day.

Not long after, we arrived at a movie theater. The entrance was blocked off with caution tape while police officers directed foot traffic and kept pedestrians away. Nanami talked to the officers out front then led us into the theater to a section of seats covered in blood and surrounded by more tape. 

While Nanami explained what happened and how to see residuals, I focused my vision and uneasily followed the footprints with my gaze. Anxiety started to build in my chest as I thought about what we’d find at the end of the trail. As if he noticed my unease, Yuuji grabbed my hand and interlaced our fingers. 

When I turned to look at him, he offered me a warm, encouraging smile. Gently tugging on my hand Yuuji led me after Nanami. Ducking under more caution tape, we went down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. Yuuji continued to ask questions, which Nanami politely answered, as we made our way to a roof. 

Stepping outside, Yuuji’s hold on my hand tightened briefly before he let go. While Nanami continued talking, I took in our surroundings. Part of the building continued upwards, a small open storage room set into the building, and an overhang at the door we exited through. 

While Nanami directed Yuuji to fight the cursed human hiding behind the overhang, I turned to see another crouched above the game on the far side of the roof. 

“I’ll take that one,” I muttered at the two men, making my way towards it. 

“If you decide you can’t beat it, please call me.” Nanami nodded at me in confirmation, moving to fight the one in the storage room. 

“Aren’t you taking me a bit too lightly here?” Yuuji grumbled.

Tuning out Nanami and Yuuji’s conversation, I watched and waited for the creature to make the first move. I knew it wasn’t a person, nor alive, any more, but a chill still ran down my spine at the awkward way it moved. 

Its skin had turned a mottled shade of green and yellow, reminiscent of a bruise. Its knees and elbows were bent backwards, hands and feet splayed out. It shuffled toward me on all fours like a crab, but in odd, uncomfortable ways. Rather than speaking nonsense like the other two, it chittered what almost sounded like ‘help me.’

When it finally turned and lunged at me, I stepped to the side, dodging the attack. As it flew past me, I grabbed its arm. Twisting it, I plunged my hand through its chest and pulled out its soul.

A heavy, dark, writing pit formed in my stomach as I let go of the corpse and inspected what I held. Souls were supposed to be perfect spheres. Humans were a mix of black and white while curses were all black. 

This … this was a swirl of shades of grey and misshapen. It looked like someone had failed very badly at making a ball out of clay. It was more of a rounded cylinder with lumps and bumps all over. 

As my unease grew, I silently prayed, ‘Hades, help me. What is happening? Why am I here?’

Turning the soul in my hands, I softly whispered to myself and the gods, “How can a curse do something like this?”

“What is it?” Nanami asked from behind me. 

I’d been so focused, I hadn’t noticed him and Yuuji approach me. Nanami stood behind my right shoulder while Yuuji stood to my side, slightly in front of me.

“I - I don’t know,” I answered, concern and confusion in my voice. “Its soul, I think, but it’s all wrong, discolored and misshapen.”

“It’s not a curse, is it?” Nanami asked, his tone cold and even. Either he was very good at masking his emotions, or he’d already realized what was going on.

“No,” I responded flatly. 

“What?” Yuuji blurted out, shock and concern in his voice. “What do you mean it’s not a curse?”

“They’re human.” My lips flattened and jaw tensed as I looked up at him. “Well, they were before they were cursed.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuuji glanced between Nanami and I, hope we were wrong or lying in his gaze. “Did we just-”

“They were already dead,” I cut Yuuji off before he could spiral into guilt. With a soft sigh, I gazed at him apologetically and shifted so I held the transfigured soul in one hand. 

“Human souls look like this,” I explained while summoning an illusion of a human soul in my free hand. It was a perfect sphere roughly the size of a softball with moving swirls of white and black. It wasn’t perfect, no illusion was, but souls were complicated. Each person’s was different, the ratio of light to dark and the way the two mixed never the same.

“Curses like this,” I continued, changing the color of the orb in my hand until the white was completely overtaken with darkness. After a few seconds, I dropped the illusion and cradled the grey mess in my hands. “But this …”

“Is all kinds of fucked up,” Yuuji offered.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

Finally crushing the soul, I released it from its pain and hopefully granted the person peace, but I doubted they would find the afterlife. Humans were found by Charon and judged by Hades based on the quality of their souls. These transfigured humans were most likely condemned to eternal nothingness. 

Nanami called another sorcerer to take the transfigured humans’ corpses to Shoko then escorted Yuuji and I home. The walk back to the safe house was quiet, for once. Nanami didn’t try to force conversation. He respected mine and Yuuji’s silence while we processed what happened.

Next Chapter

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[gabessquishytum]

We love to imagine Hob as the best boyfriend ever, and he is, but what if he gets carried away once he and Dream finally get together, and fucks up? Dream is absolutely in awe that Hob waited for him. He comes to realize that his friendship skills are pretty much non-existent, and he has been a shitty friend for the last six centuries. So, when Hob suddenly confesses his feelings (late friendly dinner something something, he got too emotional over the stars in Dream's eyes something something), Dream decides to do anything and everything to be the best partner ever. The problem is, his dating history sucks, his marriage fell apart, but he consoles himself with the thought that at least he's a good lay. That's when he comes to a second realization of millennia - he is not, in fact, a good lay at all. All of his affairs were very brief, he never spent a significant time with his partner, and even when he was married, he and Calliope were mostly minding their own business, each of them too passionate about their respective domains. Dream decides to solve the problem in the most Dream way - to go with the flow, the flow being Hob's desires in this case. And Hob, having lusted over his stranger for six hundred years, just can't get enough. They start with regular sex, but things progressively get more and more kinky - by Hob's initiative. And when he learns of Morpheus' omnipotence in the Dreaming - holy fuck, he's just bursting with ideas. Dream does his best to accommodate all of them, though deep inside, he reluctantly admits that he's not really into any heavy kinks. Actually, he's not into kinks at all and prefers a very standard vanilla sex, which, in his eyes, is unforgivable for someone who contains a collective unconscious with all its wet dreams and sexual fantasies. Hob is too enraptured by their blossoming romance, Dream's powers, and his own lust to notice that Dream gets more and more depressed as time goes by. Perhaps it lasts for months, and eventually, it's Desire who snaps after watching this horny shitshow from afar and gives Hob a shovel talk. They don't have the best relationships with Dream, alright, but this is too much even for them. Despair joins them because she's also done with Dream lingering in her realm - he has his own, can he just stay there, please? She'd rather hang out with her rats. Hob is petrified when he sees how much he fucked up. And it's not like HE is into heavy kinks himself - it's funny to experiment, yes, but he's experimented enough in his lifetime, and he'd be pretty happy with vanilla sex with Dream. He'd be happy with Dream even with no sex at all, he simply got carried away, and he also wanted to impress his stranger with all his skills. Who knew how wrong it would go...And who knows how to fix it all now? Lots of hurt/comfort potential!

Ah, I love these idiots so much. I am absolutely enraptured with the idea of Desire stepping in to do some kind of marriage counselling, by the way. They grab Dream by the scruff of his neck, plop him down in a chair next to Hob, and they refuse to let either of them go until feelings have been talked about and everything is okay again.

First of all Hob is tearing his hair out because HOLY SHIT he's a bad boyfriend!!! He didn't mean it of course, but he fucked up!!! Desire smacks him over the head again and tells him to stop feeling sorry for himself, though. He can't fix this with self deprecation.

Dream also gets a smack (albeit not as heavy handed) because if he doesn't start talking, Desire is going to do it for him! They will NOT allow Dream to be crushed and walked all over by another shitty partner but they will also not allow Dream to sabotage this all by himself.

So: Dream is coerced into making a list of the sexual things he actually wants to do with Hob in both the waking and the dreaming. Dream is so embarrassed and horrified because his list is like, 4 items long and he feels like a failure! But he's surprised because Hob seems so pleased. Now he knows what Dream actually likes, and apparently that makes him happy.

Desire is quite pleased by their little counselling venture. Maybe they'll take it up as a hobby. If Dream can finally get back to experiencing authentic desire, and Hob can finally get back to being world's best boyfriend, then they'll consider it a job well done.

And Dream does eventually become a very lay, by the way. Turns out he just needed practice, and the opportunity to just do the things that he likes. Which he absolutely deserves - as do we all!

[dashboarddiaries]

The Dashboard Diaries Awards

that's right, we're doing AWARDS now. and we want your input on not only who should win what award, but who should be nominated.

go listen to the episode and then come back and take a close look at these categories - our personal nominees are included as a jumping off point, but we want to hear from YOU! reblog and scream in the tags, send us an ask, email us at dashboarddiariespod@gmail.com, reply to the post, whatever floats your boat. we're going to track folks' submissions over the next few weeks and then you best believe we're putting the poll feature to work.

so without further adieu...

Most Niche Discourse/Fandom Drama what's the weirdest thing you've seen people be in a froth about on tumblr? so far we've got:

realm shifting/energy vibration discourse

barbie doll fandom drama

Best Blorbo self-explanatory. who is THEE best blorbo? our nominees:

Bucky Barnes

Joel Miller

Eddie Munson

Puss 'N Boots

Dream of the Endless

Lynda Carter

Billy Butcher

Steve Harrington

Most Shippable Couple also self-explanatory. let the bloodbath begin:

Scully/Mulder

Merthur (Merlin/Arthur)

Black Bonnet (Blackbeard/Stede Bonnet)

Steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Nandermo (Nandor/Guillermo)

Calliette (Calliope/Juliette)

Memed the Most memes are the lifeblood of tumblr:

Breaking Bad

Live Slug Reaction

Tickets to Barbie

Goncharov

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Best TV Show for Making Gifsets we could stare at this loops for hours:

Stranger Things

Santa Clarita Diet

Arcane

Dragon Prince

Severance

What We Do in the Shadows

Succession

Always Fixating / Best New Fixation what makes you chew through drywall? for us, it's:

Stucky

The Last of Us

Our Flag Means Death

Goncharov

Heartstopper

Best “Day of the Week” Meme every day a little holiday:

Energy Sword Sunday

Miku Monday

Sweet fat of the hog Tuesday

Tuesday again? No problem

It is Wednesday my dude

Out of touch Thursday

How the fuck is it not Friday Thursday

Flat Fuck Friday

Radical saturday

Stranger than Fanfiction (shows/movies that feel like fanfic in the best of ways) we built this city on tropes and ships:

Our Flag Means Death

Venom II

Heartstopper

and now we want to hear from YOU!! send us your thoughts for additional nominees that should be in these categories!!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too - Chapter Sixteen: Corpse Du Ballet

In which the Unknowing takes a new turn, Tim is gravely injured, and Jon decides to go somewhere he thought he'd never, ever go…

>>> NOW ON AO3!

It's the Unknowing. Canon-typical gore and violence.

Tim lives. Not to spoil y'all, but he is going to be okay… eventually.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Opening the door that muffles the calliope music is harder than letting the spiders weave against his skin, harder than staying quiet in the Dark, harder than pushing back against the Lonely in his heart.

Jon cannot breathe evenly, cannot find the calm he’s hit before, and doesn’t know if that’s because the Unknowing has truly begun and it takes all his concentration not to forget everything, or if it’s… something else.

The door opens onto a hall, ringed with balconies, looking down on an auditorium filled with horror.

The anglerfish is down there in its full and hideous glory, and all of the Stranger’s mannequins are, too, and they… are dancing.

There are lines of people, innocent people, lured in or pulled in or stolen from vacations or from their beds, snatched on the way home from work or captured after a fun night out or tricked into walking where they ought not go.

So many. So many—

One after another, being fed to the anglerfish, with screams and terror that even Jon can feel, and one by one, they are shucked out of their skin like corn.

He can’t look at it without throwing up, so he looks away.

Can’t feel Tim.

Has to find Tim.

Not Tim, you bastards, he thinks, and creeps around this hall.

There are no doors or curtains. Each little balcony grants him a horrible view, and though he’s slightly higher up, he can still see the blood they’re leaving all over the stage.

The seats are filled with a stone audience, carved, though the purpose of that is beyond even his knowledge.

He can feel his little bubble of resistance wearing away.

Then he wonders.

Michael had Tim inside him. Michael said, Michael had said…

I am simply collecting what is mine, Archivist. The one who entered my domain, when it took back Helen, what feels like years ago but was only months.

Michael can track Tim.

Jon touches his scar. I need you, he thinks. Please, I need to—

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” says Breekon or Hope.

“Said you’d be creepin’ around here, she did,” says Hope or Breekon.

Jon loses composure completely and turns to run.

It doesn’t take them long to catch him.

#

It’s so much worse, so much worse down where they’re dancing, so hard to keep his knowledge in his mind, and he can’t even think about whatever the hell Breekon and Hope are saying as he’s dragged onto the—

The—

The stage, that’s what it is, he can’t forget what it is, he can’t let them take him—

“Hello, Archivist! It’s so good to see you here,” says Nikola, grabbing his—

His—

Fuck, my hand, it’s my hand, Jon struggles.

Nikola laughs. “Oh, this will be so much fun!” And she pulls him close, and then he’s dancing.

#

Whirling, spinning.

Feet landing in places he’d never be able to do on purpose, not under his control.

Fighting so hard to keep track, to—to—

“Who… who are you?” he says.

“Why, I’m Tim!” says Nikola, and everyone around her laughs, and that isn’t right, he knows it isn’t right, and—

“N… no you’re not!” Jon cries, and tries to get away from (Nikola, this is Nikola, it’s not a dream), but she won’t let him go, and her grip on his arms is so tight that she’s tearing his skin, and he’s beginning to bleed.

He sees a thing dance by, wearing Gertrude Robinson, cackling in a way surely that old bitch never had, and feels the power of it as it swings through.

Woah, he thinks. Is that what he feels like, even remotely? Can’t be, can’t, surely he’d have—

“Pathetic,” says Getrude the Mannequin as it swings by, and laughs at him, at him, and its power swells against him, and for a moment he can’t remember what that is or who she is or who he is or why anything is happening—

“No,” Jon says. His head feels hot.

She swings by again, and now she’s dancing with another skin that’s all too familiar.

Jergen Leitner. They dug him up, too.

“Do you know how many people I killed to keep the world in one piece? The sacrifices I made?” Gertrude Mannequin says happily, and laughs. “And here I am… because you failed.”

This is important, if Jon could remember why, important because… because…

If he didn’t know who she was, these words wouldn’t matter.

They know he can fight this.

Suddenly bolstered, he snarls, “It’s not my fault you died!”

And on the next pass, it’s Leitner Mannequin talking. “No, but my death very much was.”

Deserve to be alone, Jon thinks, and moans as he pushes at it. Throws his head back, tries to get loose.

Nikola swings him, and power rises.

“Left me alone to have a cigarette, didn’t you? Left me to Elias’ tender mercy,” Leitner Mannequin  says. “Didn’t you ever learn that smoking kills?” And he is cackling, and Gertrude is cackling.

And Nikola dips him like a lover, spraying someone else’s blood in Jon’s face, her voice box stolen. “You’ve done a lot of damage, Archivist, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones! After all, I have everything I want now—even you!”

The guilt, the guilt, his fault, his fault—Jon’s head is an inch from the stage, and lights, so bright, are blinding him. “Let me go!”

Nikola tsks and stands him up. “We are going to sacrifice you, don’t you see? With all that power stored away, and all those marks… nothing is going to stop this now!” She laughs, and swings him, and dizziness muddles anything anyone else says.

“He doesn’t have all of them,” says Gertrude Mannequin, spinning by.

“Oh, who wants all of them,” Nikola snaps. “This will be enough.”

Hold on, Jon thinks, gripping his name, his identity, his purpose. What are they… remember who you are, remember, remember why the… why…

It’s almost falling out of his head. It’s almost all gone, lost, blurring under the mushy paint of his mind.

Then there’s a horrible bang, and one of the mannequins shrieks.

Tim has come out of nowhere, wielding a pipe.

Tim has no backpack. Doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know what’s going on. But he sure as hell knows he hates these things.

The second Jon sees him, he remembers it all, and knows Tim still has the detonator.

Nikola thinks this is all hilarious, and does nothing to stop him as he comes swinging through, no less effective for the loss of his purpose.

And Jon… projects.

Danny

Your brother

Grimaldi

Remember

Tim’s eyes widen.

Suddenly he’s swinging with a will, not wildly, and Jon is

Jon is

Doing something he cannot do but if he does not they will kill Tim and he is looking at the monsters that run at Tim and willing them to be less whole than this ritual warrants and Tim is smashing them apart—

Nikola doesn’t care, and swings him away. “Let him come,” she flutes. “Let them watch each other die! It’s adorable!” And she hoists Jon against some wooden structure he feels is wrong, and when Gertrude Mannequin appears with nails and a hammer, he knows what they’re going to do.

He focuses on Tim, focuses even as he screams as they start to pound the nails in, his arms stretched too high, his tendons tearing. Focuses on Tim.

Detonator! he projects, as hard as he can, with everything he has, and he sees the moment Tim recalls.

He can feel the nails catching against his wrist bones, somehow, holding his weight. He screams.

“Take it all!” sings Nikola, her own arms raised, opening herself to the essence of the Stranger, the Uncanny, the I do not know you, and Jon suddenly feels like he’s being… sucked, somehow, drained into some horror, something that loathes his very essence and the knowledge he contains. “Take it! You who hides and dances and devours all! Take his marks, his fears, his names, his reasons! Bring with you all that is fear and terror! All that is awful dread! All that crawls, and chokes, and falls, and twists, and hides, and weaves, and burns, and—”

Jon feels turned inside out.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. The focus on him is worse than anything he’s ever known, and he cannot fight it.

It’s like his entire being has been wired for this one, specific frequency—

And then the wood behind him vanishes into a door, and he falls through.

#

Nikola’s shriek echoes, bouncing illogically through the Corridors, and Michael watches Jon with fascination as he screams because all the things are pouring back into his head.

Jon twists on the carpet, surrounded by the few pieces of wood that came through the door instead of turning into it.

If he’d been scarred before, this had to be killing him.

The Eye seemed determined to make up for lost time, to fill the vacuum left behind with everything Jon could ever know, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

But Jon did not forget. “Save him! Please! Tim—please! Michael, please!” He’s getting blood everywhere, it’s just pouring out of him, and he can’t even think clearly enough to remove the nails. “Please!”

Michael is not smiling. It says nothing.

Jon reaches. Shaking. Blood drips from his wrist. “Please.”

Michael sighs. “Oh, Archivist, the things you say.”

Then everything happens, and it happens so very fast.

Michael opens a door.

Tim’s voice. “—see the great Grimaldi, cheer yourself up.”

And Nikola—who was the great Grimaldi, before the Circus chopped him up and made him plastic and Unknown—says, “That’s. Not. Funny.”

“I know,” says Tim, and the detonator goes click.

It’s only a second—heat and pressure, sound and light, and the door is shut and Tim is next to Jon on the carpet and he is burned, burned, so badly burned, but he is breathing, and—

Michael is burned, and Jon can’t breathe, staring at what shouldn’t be possible (because of the mortal human Gertrude strapped to it, he suddenly understands), and Michael says nothing but opens another door, and there is the James Paget University Hospital.

Jon stands, wincing at how… loose… Tim’s skin feels as he lifts him, arm around his shoulders, blood getting everywhere, and looks at Michael.

“Go, Archivist,” says Michael.

Jon hesitates.

“I will come to you when I am recovered,” Michael lies.

Jon hitches. “Don’t die,” he whispers, and carries Tim through.

#

The explosion was so big that no one questions Jon when he says he found Tim wandering not far from it.

(And Michael is going to be all right.)

Jon, however, cannot make his escape. There is no door waiting for him.

His wrists have healed; so now there’s a lot of blood he has no explanation for, but Tim’s condition helps.

(And Michael is going to be all right.)

His blasted expression seems proof enough that he didn’t know what happened at the defunct museum, but was just caught up in it.

And he knows they don’t assume he’s part of it. He’s brown, but he’s the “right kind” of brown, and his disgust at their silent racism only fades under concern for Tim.

Tim’s going to need skin grafts. Infection is a concern. But he’s alive.

(And Michael is going to be all right because any other option will shut Jon right down, and he can’t afford that now.)

Tim wakes up long enough to ask for Martin, long enough to hear Jon promise he’ll call him.

A car arrives for Jon, arranged—Elias.

Jon doesn’t want to take it.

He calls Martin on the hospital phone (knowing phone numbers is a new perk he can’t find it in himself to hate), makes sure they know where Tim is.

Then he accepts the rideshare, and doesn’t even know why.

The driver tries to talk to him twice. Jon doesn’t answer at all.

It will be hours until they reach London. Hours of trying to think, to understand, to see the big, huge thing he cannot know.

Nikola was doing something, and it wasn’t part of the Unknowing.

Her ritual had transformed, and it was based… on Jon.

I have never seen anyone as broadly claimed as you, said Michael (who has to be all right).

It doesn’t matter who you do the ritual for, if you’re marked deeply enough, said Peter Lukas.

And you’re the Big Deal, said Jared Hopworth.

Avatars, coming to his hospital room to get a look at him, as if trying to gauge if he was a horse worth betting on.

It is still hidden from him, this thing. Elias has done this. He knows, feels the truth of it.

Jon looks down at his uneven hands, blood caked on them in spite of his attempt to wash them clean, and knows he cannot go to Elias’s house tonight.

He’s not just angry at Elias. Not just betrayed. He knows if Elias wants to sleep with him, he will probably succeed, and trying to deal with the aftermath of that in the knowledge that Elias is lying about something so unthinkably huge turns Jon’s stomach.

Michael (who is healing, surely, repairing itself however it must) said to leave it be for now, so.

Where can Jon go?

He knows.

He knows they’re already waiting for him, too.

Time to test and see just how well the Mother predicted this: Jon thinks where he would hide money, if he were hiding it here for himself, and reaches into the little net map pocket inside the door.

A wad of money. So yes, the Mother knew.

Jon can’t find it himself to be as terrified about that right now as he should. It’s how he’s getting out of this.

And probably putting this driver on Elias’ shit list, but there’s nothing he can do about that. “Um, Terry, was it?”

“Yeah?” says the guy (Terry Rattcliff, fifty-eight, colon cancer survivor, father of two—).

“If I paid you a ridiculous amount of money, would you be willing to take me somewhere else and not tell the original customer who set up the drive?”

Terry hesitates.

“I’ll sign whatever I need to claim I got to my destination,” says Jon, and holds up the wad.

He probably should have counted it (two hundred and fifty pounds, so not really).

Terry eyes it in the mirror. Really looks at Jon, sees stains, dried blood, a mess of a man. “You really don’t wanna go home, huh?” he says, quietly.

“No,” says Jon. “I don’t think I’ll get another chance to escape if…” he stops.

Terry nods. “I got your back. Keep the money.”

“No, I insist.” It’s not like it’s his cash. “You’re taking a risk for me.”

“You got someplace else to go? A… shelter, or something?”

Terry is assuming Jon is an abused lover.

Jon doesn’t think he’s wrong.

“I do.” And he swallows and does the next hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. “105 Hill Top Road. Oxford.”

(part seventeen)