#ally peeking but their hands aren’t holding anything

[disastersappho]

im sorry but this is the most adorable photo i’ve ever seen

[swanimagines]

NOT A FAILURE | CROWS, MAL, ALINA

Summary: Imagine helping Mal and the Crows free Alina.

“This is a bad idea,” you mumbled, mainly to yourself as you held your gun close to your chest, sitting down on the floor in the corner Mal sat on the crate above you, letting out a breath.

“Well… we promised to rescue Alina, and that we’ll do,” Mal replied, closing his eyes for a minute, listening to the Darkling ramble something on the deck. His words were muffled and unintelligible, you couldn’t make sense of them. Mal took in a deep breath. “I wish I could punch his teeth into his throat, one by one.”

You and Mal had narrowly snuck into the skiff where Alina was held - vowing to release her even if it took your own life. Immediately after getting on, you had made your way to the ship’s hold, hoping to hide there until time came.

But of course luck wasn’t on your side, and soon you heard how someone was entering the hold. You and Mal exchanged a panicked look, before you dove to hide between the crates - Mal went to the other side while you stayed on your own side.

“Kirigan has the Sun Summoner chained on the deck,” someone said, and you and Mal glanced at each other across the hold.

“Saints, I have a bad feeling about this…” another male voice groaned, and suddenly you caught movement from where Mal had just been hiding. You didn’t even have time to react before Mal was already gone, making you panic.

“We’ll might have to threaten her life,” the first guy said and then you heard a collective “what?!”

“Who’s this?” the same voice from earlier said.

“Stowaway,” a woman murmured, making you peek from around one of the crates, your eyes widening at the sight of Mal, held by a Suli girl. “He was hiding over there. Why this particular skiff?” 

They were all glaring at Mal, and that’s when you jumped up, pointing a gun at the Suli girl. Your hands shook, you felt how you were sweating, but you still managed to give an order.

“L-let him go, or… or I’ll shoot e-everyone,” you stuttered, flinching when a Zemeni man pulled out two revolvers, pointing them at you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sweetheart,” he replied, and you pointed your gun at him, now your hands were shaking even more. It was painfully obvious how you had never shot to kill anyone.

“Don’t,” Mal mumbled, shaking his head at you. You looked between him and the three others, before slowly lowering your gun.

You swallowed, putting your gun back into its holster, the Zemeni man doing the same. Your eyes flickered between the two men. “If you’re here to hurt Alina-”

“We aren’t,” the Suli woman replied, glaring at the man with a cane, and he looked back at her, sighing.

“Of course we wouldn’t hurt her, she’s too valuable,” he replied, tightening the grip on his cane. “But threatening to hurt her could make Kirigan do as we say.”

You and Mal snorted, and you rolled your eyes. “You haven’t seen him in action, have you? He’d cut you in half with his shadow blade powers the moment you say anything about hurting her, and you won’t have much space to run on this skiff if you haven’t noticed.”

The two men stared at you and Mal for a moment, before the guy with a cane nodded at the Suli girl. “Give him his gun.”

“Why?”

“Because if he’s not with Kirigan, he’s with us.”

The Suli girl gave Mal his gun back, and you moved to stand beside him. “We should attack as soon as possible.”

“No, we wait,” the man with a cane countered.

Mal scoffed. “For what? The bold move is to attack now.”

“And the smart one is to wait.”

Mal shrugged. “Well, I don’t feel like being smart right now.”

Then he turned, going for the stairs and you took a look at your three allies before going after him. You were soon followed by the Suli girl, who climbed to the top deck so fast and so silently that you barely caught a sight of her. Mal began to shoot at Kirigan the moment you got through the people obscuring the view, but was on the ground a moment after, leaving you alone and you hid behind the wall. The Zemeni man and the other guy emerged from the hatchet then, and Darkling tried to cut them in half as soon as the Zemeni started to shoot him, and then the Zemeni was knocked out and everything became dark.

You held your gun close to your chest again, trying to coax yourself, sneak out and try to fight. You knew Alina was in trouble and without anyone to help her, all would be lost. You sat there, hearing occasional shuffles and volcras screaming above you, trying to win your fear. You shuddered.

You are a failure, Yakov’s voice laughed in your head. Good for nothing else than cowering in fear when others fight.

That man was built like a bull, with a long beard and shaved head, and he had belittled you from the start, used his power as a spare commander, made others laugh at you - everyone wondering why you were in an army when you didn’t even have guts to shoot anyone. And it was true, it wasn’t your place. You were good in deflecting hits and dodging, but fighting, with you being the aggressor - it had never been your thing. But if you hadn’t signed up, you would have been separated from Alina and Mal, your best and only friends. For them, you would have done anything. At least you thought so.

You are not a failure, something inside you said, and you stood up. Show them.

Then, you walked out from the darkness and shot one of the heartrenders, the bullet going in from between his eyes, splattering blood on the Darkling. You smirked, and sprinted up the stairs, your heart pounding, your adrenaline running. You joined the Suli girl fighting a volcra, and you felt like something within you had awakened.

Then, suddenly, a burst of light emerged, all the volcras near you turning to dust, and you immediately looked down to see Alina standing there. Then suddenly Mal had tackled The Darkling off the ship and you hurried down, but were stopped halfway down by the Suli girl as one of the Heartrenders started to slow down Alina’s heart. You aimed your gun at the heartrender again, and pressed the trigger.

Click. Click. 

The bullets were out.

“Damn it!” you cursed, watching helplessly as Alina struggled, trying to look for a way to stop it. And then the saving grace blessed the ship, the Zemeni man had woken up and fought with the Heartrender, ultimately pushing him off the ship.

You ran to an unconscious Alina, trying to shake her awake as volcras flew closer and closer to you, and Mal soon joined you. Alina mumbled your names after a moment and you let out a breath, tipping backwards on your butt. “Saints.”

Then, it was light again, and on next moment you were out of the Fold.

“The Darkling?” you asked Mal, and he looked back to the Fold.

“Gone. Volcras got him,” he replied, stroking Alina’s hair while you gripped her hand.

“The world’s better without him,” Alina mumbled weakly, sitting up with your and Mal’s help. 

You turned your eyes at the two men and the Suli girl, nodding in gratitude. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” you told them. “We don’t even know each other, and you were willing to help. I just can’t figure out why.”

Alina blinked, looking at them and chuckled a little. “They tried to kidnap me some days ago.”

Mal frowned, looking between Alina and the three strangers. “What?”

“No, we are not kidnapping you, not anymore,” the Suli girl reassured, looking at her friends.

“Well, it would be rude to save you and then kidnap you, and… you being a Saint and all…” the Zemeni man agreed, and the other man with a cane clenched his jaw. “Oh, we haven’t introduced ourselves, this grumpy man here is Kaz, yours truly is Jesper, and this lovely lady is Inej.”

You just stared at them, not really knowing what to make of that bunch. But you agreed to walk with them so you would be able to put on a campfire, just to warm up. And there, Alina made a deal with Kaz, he got a jewel necklace and in return, he wouldn’t tell where do you three go from there.

But you had a feeling that someway, somehow, you’d meet them again soon…

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[the-insomniac-emporium]

mayhaps... Aloy with childhood fren reader?? 🤲🍞

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

I had a lot of ideas for this, so I'll be writing more stories for this prompt at some point! Admittedly the childhood friend aspect isn't as clear in this one as it will be in the others, but it was the first idea I had and I got very excited, oops

The Distance Between Us {Aloy/Reader}

Fandom: Horizon: Forbidden West Rating: G? Warnings: Brief mention of injury/death (literally a single sentence for each) Summary: You've followed Aloy from the Sacred Lands all the way to the very edges of the Sun Kingdom, accompanying her on just about every step of her life's mission. But now she faces her hardest challenges yet, in a land entirely unknown to herself and her allies. For the first time... she must go where you cannot follow. Takes place at the end of the game's intro section, right after the Embassy.

“I can’t ask you to come with me,” she says, tone leveled by practiced neutrality, every bit as serious as she always was (at least when it came to things like this- to saving the world, to leaving you behind). If you didn’t know better, you might have taken her words at face value. But Aloy’s eyes never quite meet your own, her hands fidget with each other, and her body stays facing you the entire time she speaks. For once, she wasn’t trying to awkwardly escape a conversation about bonds and emotional ties. This wasn’t the same as her beating around the bush to turn down the Sun King, or the polite way she sidestepped Petra’s more flirtatious comments. Was she still holding her cards close to her chest? Absolutely; she just wasn’t opposed to letting you take a peek, if only you wanted to pry.

And pry you did.

“You don’t have to ask. I didn’t come all this way to turn back now, regardless of how much blood is on the sand,” you reply, steadfast, sparing No Man’s Land a quick glance. To think that the embassy went to hell in such short time, you muse, as Carja soldiers work to gather the last of the deceased. “The Forbidden West may not be as shiny as Meridian, but everything past beyond the Sacred Lands feels strange to me. What’s the harm in going a bit farther?”

“This is different. We’re going in blind. Sylens isn’t going to give us more than cryptic hints, the Tenakth aren’t about to throw us a welcome party, and this Regalla doesn’t seem keen on peace, to put it lightly,” Aloy elaborates, drawing your attention back to her. Now she meets your gaze, her eyebrows furrowed, lips curving ever so slightly downward. “There will be places I go that you can’t follow. The machines I’ll face will be stronger than anything we’ve dealt with before. I don’t have time to keep a constant eye on you and make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Like Varl and Erend did?...” You ask, knowing full well that the two of them were better hunters than you would ever be. Sure, you could handle a bow, just like the majority of the Nora. But you had never excelled in combat. Few could match your knowledge of medicinal herbs, nor the understanding of how to best utilize them, and fewer still had access to any of the Ancient One’s techniques. The machines of the West would not, however, be impressed. Up until this point, you had never once regretted your life path. After all… you would have never befriended Aloy in the first place if you hadn’t bumped into her while gathering ingredients. “I guess hiding in tall grass would only protect me for so long. But what am I supposed to do? Somehow I doubt they’d let me return to the Sacred Lands without you by my side to vouch for me, and Meridian is a tad too crowded for my tastes.”

Another sentence hangs in the air between the two of you, unspoken but understood with a soft look, a reminder that you have come this far, and you cannot abandon her now. Eyes darting around in sync with her racing thoughts, Aloy racks her brain for a reasonable compromise. Next thing you know she’s pacing back and forth across the wall of Barren Light, muttering to herself, words just barely rushed enough to be unintelligible. A few bits do reach your ears, though, namely things like ‘risky’, ‘safe’, and ‘time’. By the time she halts her movement, you were maybe three seconds away from offering up your own suggestions. Slowly she turns back to you, one hand raised as if she was considering offering it for you to hold. Wordlessly you bridge that gap.

“Stay here, in Barren Light,” Aloy finally says. Soft determination fills her eyes, unfaltering, but the way she squeezes your hand reminds you that she only wants the best for you. “Keep an eye on Erend and Varl for me, make sure that they don’t rush the healing process. Chances are I’ll need to come back to resupply at some point, and we can catch up.”

“Mhmm, you mean I can make sure the boys don’t follow you West, then I can keep an ear out for any more Eclipse or other troublemakers?” You tease, thinking of her penchant for skipping right past pleasantries and onto important matters. For once, Aloy had the good sense to look sheepish in response, cheeks flushed from more than just the heat. “I don’t look forward to waiting, desperately, for news of your exploits, or signs of your misadventures… but I suppose tending to the wounded here will keep me busy for a while, at least. Maybe I’ll pick up a new hobby afterwards, hmm? Start carving counterfeit Strike pieces. Convince everyone that the Sacred Lands have rabbit-esque machines the size of Thunderjaws, with Grazer antlers and Stormbird wings. I’ll tell them that I once saw one destroy an entire village with a single hop- and that you defeated a herd of them in a battle that lasted four days.”

She laughs, at that, only a bit hesitant, knowing that some people would believe you. Then she gives your hand another squeeze, lips curled up in a bittersweet smile. Somehow you know what she’s going to say long before she wills herself to speak.

“I should get going,” she mumbles, already angling her body away from you, staring out at the endless horizon. It’s not easy to let go of her hand (it never is), but you know that you must. All at once the loss of contact makes the distance between you seem a thousand times larger than it truly is. As Aloy starts her trek into the unknown, she spares a single glance back your way, and you call out your farewells, letting humor ease the sting.

“Goodbye, good luck, ‘til next we meet! Farewell, Aloy Gaiasdottir, of and despite the Nora! Savior of Meridian, survivor of the Sun Ring, honored friend of the Vanguard! The flame-haired, the child of the mountain, the legacy of Sobeck, the bearer of the Second Sight! May you find glory and new titles alike in the West,” you yell between cupped hands, ignoring the stares of those around you. And then, as your closest friend becomes nothing more than a speck on the edge of your vision, you whisper one last parting wish: “Come home safe. Please.”

[pinkteapotwriting]

Not so Innocent desires

Wolfstar x fem!reader

Warning : This is so filthy dear lord, explicit sexual content, Sub!fem reader, spanking, oral, innocence kink and I think that’s it

Just good ol fashioned smut

Summary : Turns out you Remus and Sirius want to treat you a certain way, it takes some special kind of convincing from your end though.

Word count : 3164

The lovely @fionanovasleftnut had a wonderful idea that I couldn’t resist writing about. I’m not sure with how this one turned out but I hope I did the idea justice. xXx

---

Being a family friend of the Weasleys had its perks. You always had someone to stick up for you, always had someone who could make you laugh, and you always had a home with them, wherever that may be. You had moved out on your own as soon as you graduated from Hogwarts, but it seemed that wasn’t the way to start your life as a young adult. The wizarding world was at war and Molly Weasley was insistent that one of her adopted daughters should not be defenseless living alone. 

You had tried to reassure her that you would be fine, you even approached your most likely allies.

“Fred, George please tell her I’ll be fine. You understand right?” They only chuckled at your cute pout and brushed your concerns aside.

So no. No one was willing to risk the parting of their lovely Y/N.

You were too kindhearted, too sweet, too pure. A ray of sunshine in these dark times, too precious to leave unprotected. 

You had been so angry at first, but your anger was soon turned into bashfulness as you were met by two very attractive men. Of course you knew Professor Lupin, he was your teacher and even now words from his mouth directed your way made heat rise to your face.

 Then there was Sirius Black. His long black hair framed his face perfectly. His stormy grey eyes made you completely weak at the knees. 

Everything about these two men left you flustered, Remus’s quick wit, Sirius’s hearty laugh, the knowing glances they’d share, Remus’s scars you just wanted to spend hours tracing, and Sirius’s ring clad fingers that tapped impatiently against the table. For being in Azkaban for 12 years his hands sure looked strong and capable. 

It was a blessing and a curse really. You got to admire two very attractive men, yet you couldn’t manage much more than bashful nods at times. That didn’t stop them from approaching you however. They were so kind and welcoming, so much so that you took up Sirius’s offer to stay there rather than at the Weasleys. He knew you valued your alone time and got anxious in large groups so he thought you’d appreciate your own room rather than crowding in with the Weasleys. It was all good and well.

Except for how often you found yourself rubbing your thighs together at night to ease some sort of tension. Nothing could stop the wetness that pooled in your underwear at the memory of Sirius clenching his jaw in anger as Snape talked, or the way Remus calmed him down by rubbing his hand up and down his thigh. So once again that night you found yourself with that familiar ache you just didn’t know how to satisfy on your own. Your fingers just weren’t good enough. You got up in a huff to get some water at an attempt to calm down. You slipped down the hallway silently, but the sound of a low moan coming from Sirius’s room stopped you in your tracks. The door was slightly ajar and although you knew you shouldn’t peek in, the dull throbbing of your clit convinced you to stay. You had to stifle your own moan at the sight in front of you. 

Sirius was sitting on the edge of his four poster king sized bed while Remus was on his knees between his legs jacking him off.

“Fuck Pads, how was it already this hard I’ve hardly touched you.”

“It’s not my fault! Blame Y/N with those stupid lips she bites. And her big doe eyes and and- fuck Moony that feels so good.” 

Remus grinned at the chance to tease Sirius.

“Not as good as Y/N would feel though right? Bet you’d love to have her little hands wrapped around your cock huh. Imagine if you got to stretch out her perfect little pussy. She’s so fucking innocent, so pure”

“I wanna ruin her god she’s pretty, but at the same time she’s so precious I don’t wanna taint her. She deserves something more gentle and sweet.”

“You’re certainly smitten aren’t you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t wanna fuck her to the brink of tears. Have you heard that cute little giggle? Imagine what her whines sound like. I just wanna watch as you wrap your big hands round her thro-”

“S’that what you want? You wanna make innocent little Y/N our cockslut. Wanna make her our needy puppy. Wonder how many times we could make her come with just our fingers.”

“Fuck Remus I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah that’s right love, cum to the picture of fucking her mercilessly, her nails scratching down your back cause you’re fucking her so hard.”

You watched Sirius shudder while Remus’s face lit up in victory. You decided it was best to leave before they were no longer distracted. 

Well, that certainly didn’t make you any less riled up. Looks like they wanted you as much as you wanted them. You knew you’d have to put your shyness aside, but how on earth do you talk to someone about that. Yes, hello I find you two super hot and I’d just love it if you’d degrade me and throw me around thank you so much. Frankly you never knew you wanted that yourself until you heard the words fall from their lips with ease. You put your plan in motion as you traveled back to your room, praying it would work.

---

You were giddy when you woke up, anxious for the day that awaited you. You decided to wear a shirt that Remus had once complimented, suddenly much more aware of how it complimented your chest. You paired it with your shortest skirt and thigh high socks. You turned around and shoulder checked to appreciate yourself, knowing if you bent over too much anyone could see the white lace thong you had underneath.

You knew the order meeting was starting earlier than usual so you pranced down the stairs and were met with a dumbstruck Ron and Ginny.

“Blimey Y/N, who are you trying to shag?” He was instantly met with a slap by Ginny.

“Shut it Ron, don’t talk about Y/N like that you git. You look adorable.” She reassured.

You smiled sweetly at her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks Gin, I’m gonna go get breakfast now.”

You swear you saw Remus and Sirius give a double take when you entered the kitchen. Pleased your plan was going well you continued into the next phase and sat between Fred and George casually as if your heart wasn’t racing a million miles an hour. Any laugh that the twins could pull from your lips were met with a hard stare from Sirius and Remus. Normally Remus could keep a calm disposition but you could notice the look of contempt in his eyes as his hand clenched the edge of the table. 

 You pushed your chair back and made your way to the sink. 

“Here Molly, let me help you clean up.”

“Thank you dear, you can just grab the dishes from the table love.” 

You made your way round the table and once you reached where your two admirers were you squeezed between them and bent over to grab the last plate, feeling your skirt ride up high enough to gain a sharp intake of breath from Sirius. 

“Sorry, it was just easier to get it this way.” 

You smiled to yourself as you helped Molly finish cleaning. Everything cycled out and everyone rearranged where they sat as they tidied up before the meeting began. You were thrilled at the chance to sit between Remus and Sirius now that everyone had moved. You leaned forward so you could rest your chin on your hand as Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke of the newest updates happening within the ministry. Fred and George would sometimes try to throw you off by making funny faces, but they were met by a hard glare by Remus which instantly simmered them down, while Sirius placed his arm around the back of your chair in a possessive manner. Welp, now was as good a time as ever to test the waters. You leaned back into your chair and crossed one leg over the other so your foot would brush against Sirius’s calf. He passed a glance, and you took a deep breath and moved it up and down his leg. You smirked at how you saw his hands clench and that spurred you on to lightly place your hand on Remus’s thigh.

“Y/N love, what are you doing exactly” Remus’s voice was shaky, like he was holding back.

Time to ice the cake.

“Nothing Remmy, I’m just being innocent little Y/N.”

Sirius’s head swerved at that one and you couldn’t help but notice the growing tent in his trousers.

---

It took forever for everyone to leave after the meeting. It took even longer to convince Molly that you were fine to stay here rather than go back to the burrow.

“Alright Y/N if you’re sure, but you know how to reach me if you need anything at all right?”

“Of course Molly.”

If she knew what you wanted these two men to do to you she would be dragging you by the ear out the door. But finally, finally she left.

Leaving you alone with two straight faced men whose expressions were unreadable. Remus was the first to break the silence. 

“Y/N, did you over hear our conversation last night”

You nodded, but Sirius wasn’t having it.

“Nuh uh, you’re gonna answer out loud for us pretty girl. You don’t get to tease us the way you do then act all shy now.”

“Yes, I heard.”

Remus returned to questioning you. “Yeah, and did you like what you heard?”

“I- I did.”

“Didn’t know you were such a naughty girl” Sirius chortled, “wish I would have known sooner.”

“I’m not naughty!”

“Oh yeah what makes you say that?”

“Cause I wanna be your good girl, please make me your good girl.”

Remus was hypnotised by the puppy dog eyes and pouty lips looking up at him.

“Shhh we’ve got you puppy, we just thought you’d want something more gentle.”

“No Remmy, I want you.”

“You can have me darling, let's go upstairs.”

He offered his hand to you and you took it eagerly, and began your journey upstairs, earning a chuckle from Sirius as you snatched his hand too on the way. As soon as you entered they had their hands on you, Sirius had you pressed against Remus as he was kissing your neck. 

“You sure you want this love?”

“Please Siri.”

“Alright pup, safe word is red okay? Any point you feel uncomfortable you tell us and we’ll stop immediately. Can you say it for me?” 

“Red.”

“Good girl,” Remus praised “Here, let's take all this off since it’s not covering much anyway.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for Remus while Sirius got on his knees to take off your skirt. He debated leaving the socks on, but he wanted you to feel every single thing so he took them off. Now last, but certainly not least. 

“As cute as these panties are, they're only in my way, can I take these off precious?”

“M Hmm.”

Remus was quite content to take off your bra and massage your breasts and nibble across your shoulders while Sirius continued his attempts to draw dirty words from your clean mouth.

“Baby, your pussy is so wet right now. Can I touch it, love?”

You spread your legs further for him as an invitation.

“Not here, our precious girl deserves to be comfy on the bed.” 

Remus sat against the headboard and motioned for you to follow suit between his thighs.

You practically skipped there, so excited for what was about to happen. You sat down with a quick plop and wiggled your hips to get more comfy, eyes wide as Sirius crawled up from the end of the bed to push your legs apart and gently trace your inner thighs with his forefinger.

“Tell me pup, have you ever touched yourself?”

You nodded bashfully, which Remus did not enjoy apparently as he lightly slapped your thigh with one hand while the other grabbed hold of your jaw to force your eyes onto Sirius fully.

“What did we say about speaking out loud pup, be a good girl.”

“Sorry Remmy, I got embarrassed, I do touch myself Siri”

Sirius grinned, “What makes you touch yourself sweet girl.”

“You, you and Moony do.” He relished in the whine that escaped your lips as he finally made contact with your aching clit, clearly he liked that answer.

“What do you imagine us doing to you pup.”

You moaned as his pace quickened. “Anything, anything you want.”

That’s when his tongue made contact on your clit instead. You jolted at the sudden change, but Remus was quick to hold you down.

“That feel good, sweetheart? I love Siri’s tongue too.” 

You could only throw your head back and mewl as Sirius’s tongue flicked faster and he added a finger to the mix, completely enthralled with how your entrance clenched around it desperately.

“Pads I think our pretty girl is gonna cum keep going. Has anyone ever made you feel this good puppy? Fred or George couldn’t make you feel like this could they?”

“No- no Remmy.”

“Wait till I get my turn love, go on and cum so I can make my pretty girl feel good too.”

Even Sirius’s tight grip on your thigh couldn’t keep you tethered as you released on his face. Bliss like you had never known overtook and it’s like you were hyper aware of every touch, every breath of theirs that fanned across your body, and every kiss that Remus awarded you with for being your lovely self.

And you couldn’t get enough of it.

Neither could Sirius as he leaned back to take in the view of the masterpiece he created. He loved how you had squirmed under his touch as he continued to thrust his fingers eagerly. 

He was feeling benevolent though and pulled out. Instead he took a firm grasp on your hair and pulled you on your hands and knees so you were eyelevel with his throbbing cock. 

Remus placed a couple of smacks on your ass now that it was exposed for him.

“What do you say to Pads for making you feel so good?”

Sirius wondered if you were aware how cute you looked with your owlish eyes oggling his long member.

“Thank you, Siri.”

“That’s right Puppy, now how about you return the favor.”

You just nodded obediently and stuck out your tongue, which only made Sirius growl even louder as he shoved his cock in your mouth. You tried your best to relax your throat but found yourself gagging at the surprise feeling of Remus’s head rubbing up and down your slick folds.

You arched your back and whimpered around Sirius’s cock and Remus got the message loud and clear. Slowly he inched his way inside groaning when your wet heat enveloped him completely. Once you were used to the feeling you wiggled your hips as a signal so he could move. The slow powerful thrusts of Remus made Sirius thrust through your perfect lips even faster at how the vibrations you emitted felt around his cock. His grip on your hair got even tighter.

“Fuck you feel so good puppy, such a good girl taking such good care of us. I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face, want me to cum all over your face, sweet girl?”

At the sound of your desperate whining he gave your face a few rough pats and yanked your head back. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stuck your tongue out waiting patiently while he stroked his dick furiously. Finally he released on your face, but before you got the chance to think he was licking it up with wide stripes across your face before moving to kiss Remus. You glanced over your shoulder at the two most beautiful men you’d ever been blessed to see, and moaned as their teeth clashed in a hungry and needy kiss. They stopped in a pant and had their foreheads pressed together, grinning at your demands.

“Moony I think our good little puppy wants more attention.”

“Aw, is that so my needy angel. I can fix that for you.”

Quicker than you could count he had you flipped on your back and started fucking into you ruthlessly. His movements were filled with so much determination that every thrust was pushing you to the end of the bed until your back was hanging off the edge. He grabbed hold of your legs and swung them both over your shoulders so he could reach even newer sensitive spots inside you, completely captivated by how freely your tits bounced in this position.

“Rem- Remus I’m gonna cum.”

“No you’re not, you be our good girl and hold on a little longer.”

“Please I can’t take it.”

“If you wanna cum you beg for it then, since you can’t wait.”

“Please please, let me be your good girl, please let me cum you make me feel so good please.”

“Hear that Pads? Imagine if someone heard pure little Y/N acting as our desperate puppy. Okay darling you go ahead and make a mess on my cock baby.”

A wave of euphoria rushed over you as you hung there and took every slam that came your way. The bliss however quickly became too much as your legs wriggled to find your escape from his strong grasp. He just grunted and let you slide into a heap on the floor. He swept to the side of the bed and around to where you were and hoisted you back on the bed so you were on your stomach and your legs hung off the edge. He pressed his hand to your back to firmly hold you in place.

“Angel you begged for this, now you’re gonna take it, yeah?”

He returned to his prior animalistic pace that summoned tears to roll down your cheeks. 

Sirius started petting your head lovingly “It’s okay love, you’re being such a good girl for Moony and I. You look so gorgeous with those tears all fucked out.”

He continued to comfort you and press kisses to your hairline until finally Remus reached satisfaction with his brutal attack on your tight hole.

“Fuck, Y/N I’m gonna cum”

He pulled out swiftly and his hips found their way to Sirius’s hungry lips. It was such a beautiful sight, but your voice made and audible whine before you could control yourself.

“What’s wrong sweetheart, thought you wanted me to stop.”

“Wanted your cum, wanted you to cum in me Remmy.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to make that happen precious girl.”

---

Hmmm yeah I’m not sure how I feel about this one, but I hope y’all enjoy my lovelies <3

@thotbutpurple @quindolyn @sunny-bunnny

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 8

A/N: hello i have returned!! this chapter was weirdly difficult for me to write, but from here on out i think the writing will go much smoother! but unfortunately i do have classes to be worrying about soon, so who knows how much time i will have to write. but still!! very excited about this fic and how you guys will react to upcoming events >:) (plus i added some implied nature wives (katherine and shelby) to this bit so this fic is basically turning into me making empires smp gayer) also check out this stunning art of chapter 5 by @artanogon! and if you wanna make art of this fic, you absolutely can, just be sure to tag me so i can see it!

Warnings: depression of the heartbreak variety, past violence

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Jimmy was trying his hardest to not be mopey as he helped Katherine with rebuilding. He knew that he had promised that he would help her- but his own confusing feelings about Scott, his lack of building know-how, and the dejected look Katherine had as she looked at the slight crater where her castle used to be had Jimmy feeling far out of his league. But he put on a brave face- he needed the distraction, after all.

They began with filling in the crater, mostly silent as they moved dirt over with their shovels. Then once the ground was level, they could begin with setting up the framework of the castle. They spoke more to each other then- but it was mostly Katherine telling Jimmy where to put the support beams. Jimmy wanted to say something, anything to break the tension and melancholy air- but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Katherine that didn’t lead back to the tragedies they had experienced. Jimmy wished that Joel or Lizzie were there- but they were off gathering more materials for Katherine’s castle, and probably wouldn’t return until nightfall. So until then, it was just Jimmy and Katherine, silently stewing in their respective sadnesses.

Luckily- or maybe unluckily- someone much more chipper than either of them came along. Jimmy almost didn’t recognize her at first- but quickly realized that the figure approaching them was the mushroom gnome queen, Shrub. Or Shelby-she had said they could call her that too. She was dressed far more casually than she had been at the ball, a polka-dotted red kerchief tied over her head, brown overalls over a green shirt, and red boots with white polka dots. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, and Jimmy could see the tops of mushrooms peeking out of it.

“Um- hello! I- I wanted to offer some gifts from the Undergrove, maybe they could help with rebuilding! Or they could just look pretty- or just be a peace offering- or a gift of sympathy for what happened,” Shelby rambled, seeming just as skittish as she had at the ball, but was less afraid and more excited. Katherine set down the beam she was holding, and gave Shelby a small smile.

“The gift is much appreciated, thank you. It was nice of you to stop by- I apologize for the appearance of the Overgrown. Usually it’s prettier here,” Katherine said, looking over her lands for a brief moment before focusing back on Shelby.

“Oh! Well, what I saw of it at the ball, your empire is lovely! I’m sure it will be back to its former glory soon… if you’d like, I can help! I’m good with plants and I’m not a bad builder!” Shelby offered with an encouraging smile. Katherine practically glowed at the praise of her empire, and smiled back.

“I’d love to have your help- it’s just been me and Jimmy working all day, and most of our time was spent filling in the crater. Some extra hands would definitely help things go faster,” Katherine replied, gesturing at the land around her. Shelby beamed back at her, setting down her bag of mushrooms.

“Then I’m more than happy to help! We gnomes are small but mighty, just tell me where to lug these beams around and I’ll do it!” she chirped. Katherine blinked in slight surprise at her eagerness, but looked over to the stack of beams beside them.

“Well, there is one that needs to go across those two over here for the entrance. If you’re as strong as you say, then maybe you can help Jimmy with getting it up there- I’ll set some scaffolding up so you guys can reach it,” Katherine explained, going over to where two beams were upright and doing just that. Jimmy watched her set up the scaffolding for a moment, until he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned and looked down to Shelby, who quickly looked away once she realized she had been caught staring.

“Is everything okay? You seem jumpy,” he asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Shelby chuckled nervously.

“Oh. Well- you see, gnomes can’t swim. And I’m kind of afraid of the water and water related things because of it. But you and the ocean lady seem like really nice people! So… sorry for being jumpy. It’s a habit,” she admitted sheepishly. Jimmy let out a good-natured laugh.

“I mean you’re right to be spooked by Lizzie, she can be scary when she wants to be- but most of the time she’s very nice! And trust me, there is not a single threatening thing about me,” Jimmy said, tone turning a bit rueful at the end of his statement. Shelby frowned.

“The guy with the goggles and his friend sure seemed to think otherwise, why else would they bother you like that?” she asked. Jimmy blinked in surprise at that.

“You… you think Fwhip and Sausage are afraid of me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well… not afraid, but definitely threatened. I’ve seen it before, back where I came from. You’re someone who won’t bow to people easily, and people like them don’t like that,” Shelby explained with a shrug. Jimmy considered this for a moment.

“Huh. I guess… I never saw it like that before,” Jimmy said, a small smile coming to his face.

Their conversation was ended by Katherine waving them over, and Jimmy and Shelby picked up one of the beams to carry over to where the scaffolding had been set up. Shelby was surprisingly strong for her stature, and carrying around the beams and placing them where they needed to be was much easier than before she had arrived. It was less quiet with Shelby around too, as she cheerfully asked questions about their empires, as well as sharing some things about her own empire. But then there was one question that caused Jimmy’s blood to freeze in his veins.

“So you said that Joel and Lizzie were getting more building materials, but what about your partner? Is he with them too?” Shelby asked, and for a moment, Jimmy was confused.

“My… what?” he asked.

“The elf guy you were dancing with at the ball! You’re very cute together, by the way,” Shelby continued, completely oblivious to the tension in the air her statement created. However she soon noticed Jimmy’s pained expression, and it was her curious smile changed to a concerned frown.

“We uh. We were never together. And he betrayed us,” Jimmy said stiffly.

“Oh- oh I’m so sorry. You guys had just looked so happy together, I had just assumed- I’m sorry,” Shelby rambled, and Jimmy gave her a weak smile.

“It’s alright. I guess I was kinda happy- but it was never real. Not for him, at least,” Jimmy replied, throat feeling tight. He hadn’t really meant to burden all of his issues onto Shelby, but his mouth was moving a little faster than his brain was at the moment, and he couldn’t hold back his words.

“Well- well then that guy is missing out! You seem great, and he gave you up for what, tactical gain or political advantage or something?! He doesn’t deserve you!” Shelby declared, hands on her hips as she smiled up at Jimmy confidently. If someone he barely knew had so much confidence in him, then why shouldn’t he? Jimmy smiled back at Shelby.

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. Shelby gave him a half laugh, half playful scoff.

“Of course I’m right! Now c’mon, this castle isn’t gonna rebuild itself!” she chirped, heading over to the stack of beams. Jimmy could only stare after her for a moment, dumbfounded. Katherine seemed just as amazed by the gnome’s boundless positivity, a smile growing across her face.

“She’s spirited,” Katherine murmured. Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, you two are like birds of a feather,” Jimmy murmured back.

"We both are definitely nature-oriented," Katherine added with a chuckle. She looked at Shelby fondly for a moment, until her expression turned into a frown as she noticed something in the sky. Subconsciously her hand started reaching for Jimmy’s, and he took it as he looked up to the sky with her. Two figures were flying in- and the tension in Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly when he recognized them as Pearl and Gem. But he still gave Katherine’s hand a gentle squeeze all the same.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack again?!” Shelby asked anxiously, coming over to stand beside them and look up at Pearl and Gem flying in.

“Don’t know yet- they weren’t directly behind the explosion… but they are allied with the people who were,” Katherine said apprehensively. Shelby looked down from the sky, frowning in concern- and upon noticing Jimmy and Katherine’s joined hands, she grabbed Katherine’s other hand with a comforting smile. Katherine flushed slightly, but smiled back at Shelby gratefully.

“Please don’t be alarmed!” Gem shouted as she came in for a landing. Frankly, that didn’t make Jimmy feel any less alarmed.

“We aren’t allied with Fwhip and Sausage anymore. We don’t want any part of what they’re up to,” Pearl clarified, landing beside Gem.

“Really?” Jimmy asked warily. Gem looked to Jimmy with an open, pleading expression.

“I meant what I said when we told you that we didn’t know what Fwhip was up to. He left myself and Pearl completely in the dark, while Sausage and Scott were the only ones who knew about the full plan. But even then, I don’t think those two had the full picture, they looked surprised that we hadn’t known about the TNT. The point is- Pearl and I were tired of being part of an alliance that lied to us, and lied to us to hurt others! Katherine- if I had known what was going to happen, I would have never gone along with it and would have tried to put a stop to it,” Gem explained, turning her focus to Katherine as she spoke.

“So… you two are… on our side then?” Katherine asked slowly. Pearl gave her a gentle smile.

“If you’ll have us, yes. We also figured you could use our help rebuilding,” Pearl replied. Katherine looked to Jimmy, as if she was asking for his opinion. Jimmy blinked, and looked at Pearl and Gem. They seemed… candid, at least. But after Scott… Jimmy wasn’t sure who he could trust anymore besides his steady allies. However, they weren’t Scott. And furthermore, it really wasn’t his call to make. It was Katherine’s.

“It’s your empire, Katherine. If you don’t want them here, then just say the word. But you won’t get a fight from me if you do want them to help,” Jimmy said gently. Katherine smiled, and looked back to Pearl and Gem.

“I would absolutely appreciate your help. We’ve almost got all the framework for the castle set up- but having someone with wings help us out with some of the taller parts would be lovely,” Katherine said. Pearl beamed, and Gem clapped her hands excitedly. Gem came closer and Katherine let go of Shelby and Jimmy’s hands to talk over building plans with Gem, Shelby following after her and listening as well. Pearl, however, walked over to Jimmy with a mildly timid expression.

“Pearl?” Jimmy asked.

“There’s something I think you should know,” she blurted. Jimmy blinked in surprise, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

“I… okay,” Jimmy said semi-apprehensively. Pearl took a deep breath, like she was unsure of how to continue.

“Gem and I just came from a meeting with the Wither Rose Alliance. Well… it wasn’t much of a meeting, Gem and I broke off ties with the alliance pretty quickly and then left. But… there’s a… there’s something about Scott,” Pearl explained slowly. Jimmy tensed, swallowing nervously.

“Oh?” Jimmy asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Like I said, Gem and I didn’t stay long so I don’t know for sure- but there was something off about Scott. He just… didn’t seem himself. I think he was just as unhappy with Fwhip as we were with him. I… I just know he meant a lot to you. And I think you meant a lot to him too. I just… I don’t want to get your hopes up, but maybe… maybe you should give him a chance,” Pearl continued. Jimmy’s mouth fixed into a firm line.

“It’s a nice thought… but I don’t think I can trust him anymore. Not after everything that happened,” Jimmy said, throat tight as he tried not to cry. Part of him really wanted to hope that maybe there was some sort of misunderstanding, that Scott really did care about him- but Jimmy couldn’t afford that kind of hope. Pearl nodded in understanding.

“That’s fair. Like I said… just thought you should know,” she said, before walking over to join Katherine in her discussion for the build. Then Jimmy- only feeling ever so slightly useless now that Katherine had so much more help- swallowed the tears that thinking about Scott caused, and joined them.

-

Taglists below! Ask to be added or removed!

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[plush-rabbit]

Unrequited Pining - Tomura Shigaraki

Request: Hi plush!! Can i request hcs for tomura pining for a reader that's dating an (unnamed) pro hero? Just angst and stuff please!

A/N: I hope I got the angst right, I’m not confident about that part of my writing

-

There is no real reason for him to admire you. Nothing about you stands out- you’re just a hero, plain and simple as that. You rescue people, you smile on camera and you go home. You are part of the reason why he hates the society that has been built around heroes. You are simply nothing more than a hero. You shouldn’t be causing him to feel so many feelings that make him feel as if he’s about to burst, a sickness that courses through his body and makes him feel lightheaded. On all accounts, Tomura should hate you, but he can’t find it in himself to.

It’s a simple admiration at first, perhaps even something weaker. He catches you on television during a rescue mission. You’re smiling at the camera, your hands waving in front of you, a trickle of blood mars your skin- right by your hairline, sweat making it thinner, and you seem to be struggling for breath. You wish for the wellbeing of the citizens and your smile is genuine- tired but genuine. He can’t seem to look away from you at that point. He’s staring at you, his lips pulling into a thin line and he’s tempted to change the channel but he can’t will himself to do so.

When he lies in bed, his arms are spread, palms faced toward the ceiling and he can’t seem to get you out of his mind. He thinks of you constantly, his face burning and heart beating rapidly as he stares at the ceiling, the moonlight peeking through the blinds catching the dust in the air. For the first time in a long while, he feels lonely. His fingers twitch and his lips pull into a frown. You aren’t special, just some hero who happened to be caught on camera, nothing more and nothing less. And yet, he still can’t get you out of his mind. You’re a poison that invaded him, a toxin that's slowly wearing him down until he’s nothing more than brittle bones and a weak man.

He’s able to pass off his interest in you by remarking how he has to know the enemy if he wants to win, but even then, it sounds as if he doesn’t believe his own lie. He’s searching for you online, scouring what he can find about you, his heart beating faster when he catches an article about you in your debut. You hold so much life in your eyes, your smile wide and holding a child close to you, your hand protectively placed around their side. He’s unable to do anything more than just watch you, learning more and more about you the deeper he goes. The image of you is seared into his mind. Your smile and the crinkle around your eyes, the way you indicate certain words and how you seem to look away whenever asked a question. You search in the crowd, your eyes wandering past the faces and when you land on someone, your smile returning, he wonders who it is that’s making you smile like that.

A part of him hopes that he’ll run into you but he knows what will happen if he does. He knows that he’s a villain; that isn’t lost on him. He knows that he’ll have to fight you if he does encounter you or rather if you encounter him. He doesn’t think he would be able to fight you if he saw you. He knows he wouldn’t be able to. You, on the other hand, are unaware of him. You don’t know him. You only know that he’s a villina wanting to bring down hero society. You’ve never seen him laugh. You’ve probably never thought of him outside of your line of work. You’ve only ever seen him as a target that you have to bring down one day or die trying.

The word crush feels odd. He doesn’t like to call it that. He doesn’t like you to be referred to as that. It’s such a simple word and surely the feelings inside of him can’t be simplified to something so simple. He’s a bringer of death, a man who can and has killed with his hands. And yet, there you are, reducing him into nothing but a flustered man who can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. No, what he feels is something stronger, something intense that he’s sure he has never felt before. It’s not a crush, it’s not some feeble thing that will go away despite all that wishes for, despite how much he tries to ignore you. It’s something more than that, something that makes him wish that you were by his side and that you were smiling at him. That your hands were touching him and that he didn’t have to imagine what it was like to touch someone like you.

Against his better judgement, he goes out at night searching for you. He knows what it must look like to an outsider. He knows that he must seem like some creep who has some unhealthy obsession over a hero, but it isn’t that. He’s someone who watches over you, hoping that you’ll glance at his direction, aching that if you meet his eyes, that you won’t turn away or that you’ll look at him with hatred. He knows every superficial thing about you- your favorite color, what you specialize in, your gestures, and he just wants to know you. He wants to know what you look like when you’ve just woken up, how you’ll smile when you’re laughing rather than just giving a smile to the public, he wants to know everything about you.

Desperation is thick against, his heart beating against his chest, rib aching and blood rushing in his ears and he’s hoping , wishing and biting his tongue, that you’ll just turn around and look at him. That you’ll offer him a smile that isn’t just some heroic facade, but an actual smile. He follows you, watching as you turn the corner, an eye peered over your shoulder and he follows. He’s sure that you could lead him to Tartarus, and he wouldn't have a single regret about following you. You escape him a few times, and finally, he’s found you. You’re in the arms of another- some hero that he can’t be bothered to remember the name of- you in his arms, your hands cupping their face and your smile is soft. It isn’t like the other ones that you’ve shown to people, it’s gentle, your head tilted and eyes focused completely on the hero in front of you. You don’t bother to look to the side, to look at him, you focus on the one in front of you as your lips press against theirs.

Something deep inside of his snaps, his eyes wide and something cold rushing against him. He runs home, he runs to the safety of his room, ignoring the looks he receives from strangers and allies. It’s all so horrible. It’s sickening and making him heave and wishing it were all a dream. His nails prick at his skin, palms covering his hands as he wills himself to not let out a single sound. He feels like a child. You’re a hero. You don’t even know of his existence and here he thought that he actually had a chance with you. He thought that perhaps you two would have a fateful meeting and that you would care for him as he has begun to care for you. The feelings inside of him are boiling, burning at his skin and body, leaving him gasping for air and pulling down on his skin, undoing the threads and letting poison spill.

Tomura is bitter. Bitter at everything and his hate is cold, burning his skin and leaving him exposed. Leaving every wound open and scarred. It’s a hateful, ugly feeling that makes him want to scream. Instead, he lays on his back, his nails are dotted with specks of dried blood, his body red with marks left by him. You’ll never be his and he’ll never be yours. The cruel irony of it all, is that you won’t leave his mind. You invade every essence of him, seeping inside of the walls he built and inside of him. He lays in bed, his eyes narrowed and an uncomfortable twist around his throat as he stares at the ceiling knowing that despite what he wishes, you’ll always be on opposing sides. You don’t even know he exists outside of the media. All you know him as is Shigaraki, you don’t don’t know him and yet he wishes that you did. He wishes that you knew everything about him, every ugly and beautiful thing that rests inside of him.

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Blackened Bond (Ch 16)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood, Death, Gore, Japanese Mythical Folklore, No Major Character Death

Previous Chapter: 土御門天皇 (Tsuchimikado)

Next Chapter: Inferno: Flames of Hell

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags: Kamo Noritoshi x Reader, Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast @nayydoesthings

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, and specify if you're okay with NSFW posts or not, please mention it in the comments below ty ❤

This chapter is LONG, a lot longer than I expected haha, happy reading!

Chapter 16: Non-Standard

Noritoshi was in a shitty mood to say the least. He went home to his clan immediately after getting a summon. The clan head had discussed their stance on the upcoming war and is readying their jujutsu sorcerers for battle.

His half-brother had made a not too subtle snarky remark about you. "You've already gotten yourself a woman? Wonder if she even likes you. I'm willing to bet Homura's cuter than her." Secretly his brother was curious about you, having heard about your special grade status.

Noritoshi steeled himself, knowing his brother's playboy tendencies at his school.

"That's enough. I am quite serious about her, so don't even think of taking her."

He watched his brother shut up upon seeing him like this and left him hanging.

'Heeehhh? That Noritoshi is actually interested in someone? Interesting…'

Other serious matters aside, his father, as usual, asked about you, only for him to find out you've both gotten into an argument.

The head of the Kamo clan only raised an eyebrow. "That’s normal for every couple."

Noritoshi kept his temper at bay. But he couldn't help resenting his phone call with his father that day. If his father was less controlling and obsessive over their clan status, maybe it would have gone better.

No... He was also influenced by the elders. Ashamed as Noritoshi was to acknowledge it himself.

“We… broke up…”

At that, his father shuts his eyes, mood obviously souring.

"You are literally a fated pair, how is that even possible? *sigh* If it proves too difficult with her… well we had that list of marriage partners set up for you. Homura has made it quite clear she and her family would be very delighted to assimilate with ours."

Is this what Noritoshi wanted? A woman who obviously flirted with him as she lusted for power? No, he wanted you, who never inquired about his status. Just about his family, his mom, dad and half siblings.

You made it very clear you were worried about his family's well-being. And whether they would like you or not. You want him to meet yours. You never even asked him for a gift or much favors. (Though he had a feeling your family was pretty well off, based on your clothes and jewellery.)

And he loved the fact that he could breathe like a regular teenage guy around you. The only thing you’ve requested from him so far was honesty and transparency.

"No. That won't be needed. Y/N is mine. She is the only one for me." He spoke slowly and clearly. This is the first time he actually disagreed with his father. He'd lose his sanity without you.

"I expected as much, I've never seen you this determined about something before. Soulmates are so complicated." His father sighed out. "Do as you wish. It isn't wise for me or the elders to interfere with something as sacred and ancient as this soulbond you share with her anyways."

Noritoshi felt himself earn a small win at that. He was growing a backbone. "Thank you father."

“However! You cannot force her to love you back. Surely you know this. If you don’t get married by the age of 25, as per our clan tradition I’ll have you set up with another woman.”

Noritoshi inwardly sighed, resigned to his fate.

◇◇◇

Needless to say, you trained like a demon as the eve of Christmas quickly approached. Nobody dared come 10 feet near you as you perfected your Blizzard and Tornado techniques. It was normal to hear the crack of a sonic boom and see flashes of lightning around you.

You were hesitant to use your cursed technique reversal. You barely use flames and Inferno in general, but it can't be helped. But now you hold a pack of matches in your hand.

You lit a match and manipulated the flames. It danced dangerously around your fingers before you moved it from one hand to the other.

You were doing well. Spending a lot of time here on campus helped you to control your emotions and not let anger fuel your cursed energy like you did when you were younger. Those were such bad habits.

A wheel of flame circled in front of you. Very clean and stable. All of the sudden, a strong whirl of wind and empty space extinguished the flames like a vacuum … Only one other person in Japan is capable of doing that other than you.

You turned your head to the side and saw an incredibly tall man with snow white hair and a pair of sunglasses approached you. His bright baby blue eyes gently twinkling and peeking over the rims of his shades.

“Satoru nii, it’s been a while. Why visit me now?” You tiredly asked. He came up just a few inches away from you, staring down at you.

“I got a call from Hiroki. I’m here to help you with your special cursed techniques. It’s time, you’ve stopped holding yourself back Neko-chan.” He leered down with his trademark grin.

◇◇◇

You spend the entire afternoon getting pushed around by Satoru. This man was crazy strong. He kicked you against a tree. “OOF” you heaved.

"You avoid using Inferno. Is it because of your childhood trauma? I'm not shaming you but it's something you need to overcome."

You frowned at his words.

"You only have today to train with me y/n! Aren’t you honored I went out of my way from Tokyo to Kyoto?”

"Like hell I am."

“You’re not using the full extent of your cursed techniques. That power is your one true ally in this world. Trust it a bit more. Apart from your soulmate anyways, but I can see you and Noritoshi aren't exactly swell right now." Your eye twitched at that statement.

Satoru eyed the broken strands of red ropes that floated around you. Not a good sign. It was reaching out to the distance. Maybe to where Noritoshi is huh, Satoru wondered. Until he spotted one thin string, still very much intact and alive. He grinned.

‘This prick and his fucking special eye abilities’, you grumbled. He hit your back hard, “What bad language you have. Imma straighten you up today kitteeeen~”

He pranced around you and squatted to lean down to your level.

"But seriously, you say you want to get strong but you fear your own power kitten. Don't do that." Satoru pointed straight at your eyes. “Remove the fear of hurting the people around you. Because you’re literally fighting to protect the ones you love, focus instead on harnessing your cursed energy to fight. Your messed up emotions could cost you a fight, even your life. Doesn’t matter if you’re a special grade like me. At this rate you won’t catch up to me.”

You slumped to the ground in defeat.

“To be honest, I feel like my growth has stunted. I don’t know if it’s the lack of powerful opponents I’ve had lately.”

He sighed out so loudly and obnoxiously that your anger flared up at him. “Thaaat’s what I kept telling you. You shoulda come to Tokyo Jujutsu instead of here! 100% I would enjoy teaching you and I mean it. I could teach you ya know, and Yuuta is there as well. Another Special Grade, although his circumstances are quite unique and with the way he is right now, you have a better chance at beating him one-on-one since he’s a newbie to this world. And yet you kept saying you wanted to be here for your family.” He shook his head.

You felt as though your head cleared up all of a sudden. “Because I was here…. I was meant to be here. Satoru. I know it deep in my soul. Because I met Noritoshi and…. “ Your heart throbbed so loudly you heard it in your ears. A deep pain stabbed into you.

Ah right. You said you were over him. You broke up with him weeks ago.

“And? You’re not together anymore. Figure out your heart and I could let you reconsider transferring to Tokyo Jujutsu High you know?” He said with a frown.

Why does the idea of leaving Noritoshi behind feeling like you were carving your heart out? He isn’t anything to you anymore and yet…

No. Enough of this. You’re here to train and fight that curse that killed Sora. Your emotions were all over the place. Satoru came up to you and wiped your tears off your face.

“What are you doing to yourself y/n? Don’t lie to yourself. I thought you wanted to live life as honestly as possible.” Even Satoru looked concerned and troubled over your state.

You gulped. “Yeah you’re right. I told myself I wanted to get stronger and protect the ones I love. Now I’m just running away. Noritoshi at least has been trying to reach out to me, but I shut him down.” Your heart is hurting.

Satoru stared at you and the cursed energy that was rapidly pulsing around you. Then grinned. “Then... Fight me one-on-one right here right now. Let’s make sure to keep the damages to a minimum and take care of the buildings. All the other students are still here on campus. Sky's the limit since both of us can move well in mid-air. I want to see you control your emotions and fight me properly. I’ll hold back.” He said.

You took a deep breath and looked back up. “Challenge accepted.”

You’ve envisioned this countless times. You wanted to see how you could match-up against Satoru and all his years of experience. You weren’t expecting to win, but you were not going down without a fight. Your cursed technique is actually a good matchup for his.

You can manipulate molecules. Though you suspect his control is on an atomic level, and thus could overpower yours due to his finesse and 6 eyes. But you could at the very least try.

Satoru, on the other hand, already knew of your potential. 'She is the only one I know who can actually touch and surpass me, given that she can control gravity and condense molecules. It will come down to timing and refining techniques.'

“Give me 5 minutes to suit up.” You asked. He agreed. You flew to your room and eyed the katana of your father. He actually planned to give it to Sora when she turns 16. But due to her death, he gave it to you instead on your 16th.

The name was Kintsugi, because it was made of two halves before being welded together in the centre with high grade steel. The center has a core of a fine diamond dust that’s infused with cursed energy. It’s a grade 1 special tool that multiplies the cursed energy you put into it by 10.

“Don’t break it. Don’t break it…. But It’s Satoru I’m going against. It will break.” And so you put it back and instead reached for your best twin blades and metallic whip. You coiled it around your wrist like a bangle, before flying back to Satoru.

“Done preparing, kitten?” He had removed his sunglasses and his blue eyes were out wide open as they assessed your cursed technique.

“Yep!” You yelled. “Ah Toru, shouldn’t we inform the elders or Utahime sensei that we-”

He didn’t give you time to speak as he appeared in front of you all of the sudden. Rushing with a right hook. You quickly dodged. He kept his word and is going easy on you at least.

You exchanged a few blows with him, both his limitless and your spacial barrier active so technically, no hits were landed.

Until you warped the space and forced the molecules around them to retract, making you actually reach and hit him.

He must have expected the solid punch, because in return, he kicked you as he warped off your spacial barrier. You eyed him as you regrouped. It’s anyone’s game huh.

“You’re still holding back! Are you going to be like this in a real battle? Are you okay with staying weak? Or do you have to wait for someone special to die before you ignite?!”

Oh no he didn’t. Your emotions raged, and you tried to calm them down. But all you saw was blood red. You never felt this angry at Satoru before. Before you knew it, you had activated inferno, making the entire surrounding area, which Satoru was in, combust and burn up in flames.

You lit up a match and pulled the flames on the ground and trees towards your smaller flame and held a massive ball of fire. Satoru was gone, it was only soot on the ground. You looked up to see him hurtling down at you.

You barely dodged, before wrapping the flames around you as you used it to strike at him repeatedly. You both rose up higher and higher into the air.

“Special art: Goldenrod,” you shot a bolt of lightning at Satoru only for him to dodge it. “Don’t just shoot it from your hands! Electricity is a current! You can make it run through your entire body!” He yelled as you both spiraled and fought over the campus.

He had the energy to teach you while you were fighting. You scoffed, but listened carefully, generating electricity in your hands before letting it wrap around you.

You were both dodging and striking at each other with such power. The trees swayed violently as winds and rubble were thrown about.

“What on earth…” Noritoshi and the other students stared at the flashes of fire, lightning, and wind above the campus.

The sky darkened. Good. If you had water, that was another asset.

He must have realized this as he immediately activated his Cursed Technique: Reversal. “Red.” You were forced back, plummeting to the ground. You swiftly turned and saw Miwa and Mai staring at you with horror.

You pulled yourself up back into the sky, still filled with fire and lightning, narrowly missing the building. You twisted your fingers to the side. The flames turned into the shape of the Dragon and you whipped back to hit Satoru from the front while your dragon of flame hit him from behind.

He danced around your attacks, teleporting from one area to the next to dodge them.

He then easily extinguished your flames with a flick of his wrist, but your lightning stayed. He can’t extinguish it, because it was coursing through your body, constantly moving.

You both stood, hundreds of feet high above the Kyoto Campus in midair. Lightning flashed above and winds howled.

You’ve never been pushed this hard your entire life. Not with Hiroki. Not with Todo. But Satoru was really on another level of strong. Unbreakable like a monster. He didn’t feel human anymore.

You tried for a Mach Speed hit, which you’ve never tried on anyone else; it would kill them on impact. “Mach 3.5” There was a loud BANG!

Going at Mach Speed has its limits of course. You can afford to do Mach 1, 5 times a day. Mach 2, 3 times, and Mach 4 only once.

A huge cone of smoke formed behind you as you launched yourself at Satoru. He was still able to evade you, but you pointed one hand to him, quickly following up on another attack.

“Fubuki.” Your blizzard technique was a combination of Niflheim and Tatsumaki. Cold air whipped around you and you thrust it towards Satoru. A mini tornado has formed around you and it pushed and pulled widely. But you were in the eye of the storm.

Satoru dodged your winds, but couldn’t escape them all, wincing as some small ice shards cut into his skin. He attracted debris and rocks towards you. One caught on your shoulder, making you yell in pain, but the rest you were able to guard against with your winds.

He immediately closed in on you to prevent you from doing another full blast and punched with ‘Red’. You countered with a roundhouse kick supercharged with your blizzard and lightning, neutralising his infinity jujutsu with a bit of mixed gravity control.

A huge gust of whirlwind was emitted from the impact, forcing everyone on campus down to the ground.

“GOJO! TSUCHIMIKADO! STOP THIS!” Utahime was screaming at the top of her lungs, still heard over the roar of thunderclap.

You both looked at each other and knew it had to end soon. Rain was starting to fall.

He threw his back and laughed out loud. “I hadn’t had this much fun in ages. You’ve grown really strong. Stop me if you can.” And flew away from the buildings and into the surrounding forest. You whipped your tornado around you and quickly followed him.

All the other students that had been watching you go at it followed. Utahime did as well. They stood from a distance as both of you exchanged more hits.

You lit another match and let arrows made of flames rain on Satoru, weakening his limitless barrier as much as you could. Only one arrow slightly singed his sleeve. Damn he was good.

Satoru attracted your body with “Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” You felt like your insides were tearing as you tried to stop his force. But his limitless technique easily overpowered yours. You let go and rushed towards him with both your swords out.

He easily sidestepped and kicked them out of your grasp. The hit was so heavy, even though it hit your swords, you felt the force reverberate throughout your body.

Satoru grabbed your neck from behind, and for the very first time since you were awarded the Special Grade Jujutsushi status, you were forced down onto the ground.

You used your cursed technique to soften the blow as much as possible, but Satoru was relentless as he slammed you head-first down onto the grass.

Everyone winced as you hit the ground hard. "He's not human." Mai said. Everyone agreed, not used to seeing you at the mercy of another party like this. They were reminded of who exactly was the strongest sorcerer alive.

In order to win against Satoru, your goal was to touch him and move past his limitless barrier. Even if it’s just for a moment. You couldn’t use Niflheim or Inferno from afar. He would remain unaffected as he guards and stops the change in movement of molecules around him.

But now his hand was around your neck. Your twin blades suddenly rush to close in around his neck in an x position to gather his attention, while you use your technique to warp the space around his hand to weaken limitless and hold onto him.

You lashed out with your metallic whip, letting your cursed technique run through it. It worked and scratched his cheek a bit.

"Enhanced gravity: Output 30%", the ground cracked underneath the both of you as a massive weight pressed down. And then you shocked both Satoru and yourself with the lightning coursing through you. Screaming at the pain in the process.

He gritted his teeth as volts shocked his bones.

Utahime and the others stared at both of you. "What a huge amount of cursed energy." Todo said in awe. "Non-standard Jujutsu users are insane."

Satoru still had the strength to hit your lower back which caused you to heave out and stop Goldenrod from activating. Both of your clothes were literally toasted. “Haha. You’re a scary one y/n.”

That’s all you remembered before you passed out; you were out of cursed energy.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi rushed over to take you in his arms. Pulling your unconscious body close to his, he gave you a once-over. You had just fainted from exhaustion, there were no serious injuries. Good.

"Noritoshi," Satoru called.

"Yes, Gojo San?"

"Take care of her for me please."

He straightened up, "Of course. There’s no need to ask that from me." He then carried you to the infirmary, holding you gently in his arms.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

Author's Notes: Me writing this entire scene: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!! (x100)

Y/n was able to fight on par with Satoru, because he chose to limit his cursed energy output and match his skills to her level. A psychokinesis cursed technique would be a natural enemy for limitless since you can condense and expand space between molecules. But you still lack experience in battle. And if we were going to talk about Domains, Satoru would dominate the battle.

[raindownforme]

Writing Event

Hi! I was tagged by @jschllatt for a writing event, and this is for her!

———

5. Charlie slimecicle x reader [they/them used] (reader had freckles for context)

y/n stirred in their sleep, doing their best to shift with the almost unfamiliar weight. Almost, as if they didn’t know what it felt like to have someone else laying on top of them.

“Charlie?”

“No no no, go back to sleep.”

y/n peeked one eye open, looking at their boyfriend. Charlie was lazily propped up on one arm, the rest of his weight draped over y/n’s once sleeping self.

“Good morning I guess.” y/n tried to move, but found themself still stuck under Charlie. He had a leg wrapped between theirs and a hand holding the side of their face. “Can I get up yet?”

“No wait I’m counting.” Charlie’s voice was hushed, just above a whisper. y/n watched him squint as he focused on various points of their face.

“Maybe you’d be quicker if you put your glasses on.”

Charlie gasped, letting go of y/n’s face to reach over to the bedside table. He returned with his glasses resting on his nose, starting to fall off from the angle. “Okay. Now I have to start over.”

“Do we have to do this right now?” y/n yawned.

“Aw, you’re adorable. And yes I do.”

“Babe, I want to get up. Can you do this later? Some other time I’m asleep?”

“Fine I’ll stop counting.”

“Thank you.”

“Now it’s time to play connect-the-dots!” Charlie pulled y/n closer with his legs. He began to very gently drag his finger across the surface of y/n’s skin, following made-up patterns and lines.

y/n hummed lowly, feigning annoyance with their boyfriend. “Can you stop playing connect-the-dots with my freckles?”

Charlie drew back his touch. “Fine.” He rolled over, releasing y/n from his weight, and rolled over.

y/n propped themselves upright, frowning. “Don’t tell me you’re upset?”

Charlie mumbled a response and y/n leaned closer to try and hear him. He leaned closer a bit as well, repeating himself. “I wanted to see.”

“They aren’t even patterns, it’s just dots.”

“No, these ones-“ Charlie turned back and very gently put his thumb over the side of their face, right over where the cheek bones began and to the side of the outer corner of their eye. “It’s almost a triangle shape. Or a couple triangles. There a couple patterns, you just don’t see them.”

y/n paused, almost freezing under Charlie’s touch, then leaned into the contact. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Get back here and keep counting loser.”

y/n opened their arms, allowing Charlie to get back to his previous position in the shared bed and continue happily connecting the dots.

———

8. Charlie Slimecicle x reader [they/them]

y/n shivered. It was that kind of early morning cold. The being on a leather car seat while the wind whipped outside. The early morning chill of January.

y/n and Charlie knew this was coming. They’d known for two months know. Earlier, in the beginning of November when they planned the trip, neither one of them felt the sadness they feel now. They’d both been happy; y/n had the ability to come stay the whole month with Charlie. Usually, the couple could only see each other a few weeks out of the year. Usually it was Charlie with the looser schedule, and usually that made Charlie the one to drive or fly the distance between them.

y/n stared out the window lazily. There weren’t very many people out on the roads at this hour. They watched the grey industrial buildings pass as Charlie turned into the airport, going up to the third floor of the parking garage and finding an empty spot.

y/n quietly and slowly unbuckled themself from the car. They left the car, turning to see Charlie already holding their large suitcase. y/n smiled at him, small tears coming to their eyes. They reached out politely, trying to take it from him.

“No I want it.”

“It’s okay, it’s not even yours.”

“Let me. Please?”

y/n gave in with a smile, taking Charlie’s free hand in theirs as they let Charlie lead them into the airport. They made their way across the patterned carpet to the check-desk.

“Hi there.” There was a lone employee working the front desk. She extended a hand outwards. “Boarding pass and ID please?” y/n fished though their carry-on bag, bringing forth the paper and plastic card. The employee scanned it and looked over at their computer. “Alright, just you y/n?”

“Yes.” y/n knew it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but the words still dug at their skin and itched at their bones. Just them. No Charlie. They’d be alone. Again.

“Alright. That’ll be gate 36B. Unfortunately, sir, you can’t come to the gate.”

“What the farthest I can come?” Charlie glanced over to y/n.

“Just to TSA.”

“Is there any way?”

“I’m sorry I can only bend that rule if you’re accompanying a minor.”

Charlie nodded and the couple walked away. They walked towards the large LED bord that displayed the flight information. y/n watched Charlie scan it with squinted eyes.

“401 right? Flight 401? We’ve got— shit.” Charlie frowned. “40 minutes. We move gotta get you through security.”

“We?”

Charlie looked back to y/n. They had tears brimming their eyes and were fiddling with a loose string on the sleeve of their sweater. They were still wearing Charlie’s sweater.

“I guess I can’t take you any further.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t have to get mad at me.” Charlie frowned at y/n. He set their bag to the side and gently took the carry-on from their shoulders, placing it near the bag. Charlie pulled them closer, wrapping his body around them and leaning his head against the top of theirs. “I’ll see you again.”

“But when?” y/n did their best to not cry, but it seemed impossible in this moment. They were tired. They were cold. And they had to leave the person they cared for more than anything within the next ten minutes.

“I don’t know. Valentine’s Day? I can try and drive over in maybe April?”

“But that’s such a long drive. God why can’t this be fucking easier?” y/n groaned against Charlie’s shoulder, grasping onto his shirt tighter with their fists. “It took me so long to save for this and I don’t know— I don’t know anything.”

“Then move in with me.”

“What?” y/n looked at Charlie with a strange smile. It wasn’t the first time Charlie had suggested the idea, but they’d only been dating for a few months the last time it was mentioned. Now they were a year and 6 months deep and it was the first it had been mentioned in a while.

“Or I’ll move in with you. We wouldn’t have to be separated, and I could work virtually anywhere.”

“We don’t have— I don’t have room at my place for a streaming set up.”

“We can get an all new place. Just us. We can go look around when I’m down there.”

y/n thought for a moment. “Alright. You better hurry then.”

“Of course.”

The two stood in silence for a minute, still hugging. y/n glanced over at the clock that hung near the LED display. “I gotta go. I still gotta get through security.”

“No. Wait, don’t pull away… not yet.” Charlie pressed y/n even closer, leaving light kisses on the top of their head and the side of their face. “I love you. Please text me when you land. Like seriously.”

“I will I will. I love you too.”

“Okay.” Charlie let y/n go. He handed them all their stuff and stepped back, taking them in before not seeing them for the next few weeks. “How many other sweater did you steal?”

“Only two more, but I think I deserve them.”

“Alright.” Charlie laughed a bit. “Go get on your flight.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Charlie watched silently as y/n made their way through security. It took them almost five minutes, but once on the other side, they sent a sad wave to Charlie and walked off to the gates. Charlie waited a moment, hesitating, then made the walk to his car alone. He crossed the airport street alone. He walked in the parking garage alone. And he got in his car and drove home. Alone.

———

12. Canon! Charlie slimecicle x reader [they/them used]

Las Nevadas was on fire. The water feature had died out hours ago. The casino was crumbling to stone. The tower had been cut in half. The strip club had been shattered. The restaurant had been torn apart. The roads were destroyed. The toll bridge had collapsed.

But they won, right?

Quackity stood alone. He watched his allies from a short distance. Foolish supported Purpled’s weight as he leaned against the god with a broken leg. Fundy rested against a wall, panting and covered in blood that didn’t belong to himself. Sam was no where to be seen, but they knew he was still alive.

But Slime? He was running. He was running in a large circle, searching through rubble and ash as he shouted.

“y/n?” Y/N?” He leaned on his hands and knees in the sand. His suit had been ruined for a long time now. The seams of his button up shirt had begun to rip in battle, the bottom of his pant legs had been singed and torn and blackened by the battle, and he wore only one suspender now, the other one much too weak and quite easily forgotten. He did not wear his tie, however he knew who was wearing it. “y/n?”

“Quackity,” Fundy looked upwards to his ally. “We can’t let him.”

Quackity ran a shaky, blood-stained hand down the front of his own suit in a nervous manner. “He has to find out somehow. Do you want to tell him?”

Fundy didn’t say anything, instead watching his friend run around. “Y/N!”

“This is cruel.” Foolish whispered to Purpled. The young boy could only nod in agreement, just a little too weak to do much else. Foolish, realizing this, helped the teen move over to sit next to Fundy, resting him against the crumbling wall of the fountain. Foolish turned around with the intent to aid Slime in his search, but was stopped by a simple hand placed upon his shoulder.

Quackity stood to the left of Foolish. He could see Quackity do his best to hold in the tears that had already left small tracks through the dust that had settled over Quackity’s face. “Just— let him. I can’t tell him. I can’t.”

The group watched Slime dig by hand. The rouble almost phased through his skin, but he kept digging. When he got too frustrated by one building, he ran to the next one, repeating the process. They watched on in pain for only a minute longer. Fundy looked to Foolish and Quackity. “Do we know where-?”

“Y/N.” Slime screamed in utter joy, pulling out y/n from the rubble. He proudly carried them back over to where Quackity and the rest of the group sat, gently setting them down on the ruined pavement. He kneeled with them, resting their head in his lap. Slime very gently carded his fingers through their hair, seeming to think to himself. He reached deep into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a neon pink healing potion.

Foolish shrugged off Quackity’s grasp and walked over to where Slime sat. He kneeled down next to the green guy, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and pull him away. “Slime, buddy—“

“Let me go.” Slime’s voice was gentle and somehow mature. He spoke sadly, but also as though he understood what was happening still. “I can still save them. I know I can.”

Foolish glanced back to the group to watch Quackity shake his head solemnly. “Buddy, I know it’s hard-“

“No, I promised.” Slime’s voice began to shake. He desperately poured the potion over the parts of y/n’s body where damage was obvious; bruises from the crushing rubble, burns from the fires and explosions, and the gaping cauterized sword wound to their abdomen. Slime smiled as he gazed at their peaceful face. It almost looked like they were sleeping. “I promised them.”

“Promised what buddy?”

“I told them everyone turns to dust and goes away, but I promised them I wouldn’t let it happen. I’ve seen it happen. I watched it. And I wouldn’t let them turn to dust.” Slime leaned down, pressing a light kiss to y/n’s forehead. He stayed close, whispering to the corpse in his lap. “Im so sorry.”

Foolish placed a hand on Slime’s shoulder again, trying to pull him away. “Buddy-“

“No!” He pushed Foolish away, leaning closer to y/n and holding them in a protective embrace. Slime gently laid a hand on y/n wrist, feeling the material of his neck tie in a knot around it. “I can still help them, please just let me— let me save them. Please.”

The group sat in silence. Slime’s shoulders shook as he sobbed over y/n’s body. Fundy and Quackity wiped away a few tears as well, listening to their friend wail into the night.

———

14. Charlie slimecicle x reader [they/them]

“Listen, man, hurry up. We were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago.” Schlatt leaned back into the plush leather seat, resting a hand over his eyes.

Charlie sighed, looking over the stuff he’d piled on the couch. He huffed, looking around. “Okay. I’ve got my phone, charger, wallet, jacket, I’m dressed, teeth brushed, what the fuck am I forgetting?”

“Uh, buddy.” Ted cleared his throat and tapped at the side of his face. Charlie paused for a moment, squinting before realizing what he missed.

“My glasses! My goddamn glasses. Alright gimme a minute.”

The two boys watched Charlie walk back down the hall of Ted’s apartment. Schlatt groaned and lazily stood up from his seat. He walked over to the small pile of Charlie’s stuff and began sorting through.

“What are you doing?”

“If I can find these faster, maybe we can actually get out of here.” Schlatt stuck his hands into the pockets of Charlie’s jacket. “Hate this fucking smog— oh.”

“Oh?” Ted sat up slightly, watching Schlatt pull a small black velvet box out. “Oh. Oh! Holy fuck.”

“Did he talk to you about this?” Schlatt dropped the volume of his voice, trying to not alert Charlie.

“No not at all. Is it for y/n?”

“I guess.” Ted and Schlatt had never met y/n in person before, only talking when they would be nearby if Charlie was in a discord call. But the two knew that Charlie loved them dearly, he talked about them whenever he got the chance. He boasted about anything y/n did, anywhere they went, any thing he could say.

“Do we— do we give him advice? Do we say anything?”

“Do you have advice to give someone who’s about to propose?”

Schlatt bit the inside of his lip. Instead of responding to Ted, he opened the box and his eyes went wide. “Holy shit dude.”

“What?” Ted got up and walked over to Schlatt’s side. The ring Charlie had gotten was beautiful; a silver band with ornate vines that held very small diamonds, all encasing a round amber gem. Ted very gently took the box from Schlatt, rotating it back and forth to see how the light glimmered on the gemstones.

“Ted this is… where’d he even get that?”

“I don’t know.” Ted stared into the ring. “We shouldn’t be hanging this. We should put it back.”

“Why do I want to wear it?”

“Why do you?”

Schlatt took the box from Ted, staring at it for a moment, then put it back in the coat pocket. He shuffled the jacket around, trying to make the setting look natural. “Now wha—“

“Okay I found it.” Charlie ran out of the room, rubbing at the glass with his shirt material. “What are we standing about?”

“Nothing.” Ted turned to Charlie quickly, awkwardly smiling. “Ready?”

The three boys made their way from Ted’s home to his car, then out onto the streets of Hollywood, headed towards Santa Monica. It was only a half-hour drive, and no one had too much to say.

“So. Charles.” Ted glanced at his friend in the backseat through the rear view mirror. “How are you and y/n doing?”

Schlatt made a pointed look at Ted as Charlie began talking. “We’re great! They got this really big job and we’re going to celebrate when I get back. There’s this restaurant downtown that’s so pretty— it’s their favorite! I mean, it was going to be a surprise, but hopefully it all goes well.”

Schlatt, thought for a moment, catching on to what Ted was thinking. “Is there something that needs to go well? It’s just dinner isn’t it?”

“Actually, can I tell you both about something?”

“Yes.” They both answered in unison, turning to look at Charlie as they stopped at the red light.

“Well, I wanted to, at dinner, I mean we weren’t doing dinner until I get back home, but I have this.” Both boys held their breath as Charlie went fishing in his jacket pockets. It took him a few minutes to procure the small black box, but eventually his found it and held it forwards, showing it off to his friends.

“Wow. Proposing?” Schlatt laid surprise thick into his voice, and thankfully Charlie didn’t notice.

“Yeah! I picked it out myself. Here look.” Charlie opened up the box, showing off the gems that sparkled in the sunlight. Schlatt glanced up at Ted who stared forwards at the 10 freeway.

“That’s really cool, thanks for telling us.”

Charlie frowned. “Is it not as good idea? You don’t sound that excited.”

“No it’s a great idea! I mean obviously we don’t know y/n as well.” Schlatt gestured to himself and Ted. “But it’s obvious you love them. I mean look at you, buying a ring and everything. Making dinner plans, Charlie this is amazing.”

“Also Schlatt found the ring earlier.”

Schlatt smacked Ted on the arm, sending him a glare. “So you guys knew?” Charlie smacked the box shut.

“Not on purpose. I was trying to find your glasses and I just happened across it. You didn’t hide it very well.”

“I—“

Ted laid on the horn, repeatedly honking at the Tesla that had cut him off. “Son of a mother fucker.”

“Starting to hate LA?”

Ted peered over at Schallt with a glare, then went back to driving. “We are happy for you Charlie, we were just kind of waiting for you to mention it to us.”

“Yeah, and we want to meet y/n! It’s been two years now?”

“Of course you can.” Charlie scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m just scared? I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never felt so strongly about anyone before. I’m terrified.”

“Hey, you’ll be okay. It’s y/n. You fly home tomorrow right?” Charlie nodded. “Let us know how it goes man. I’m invested now.”

Charlie laughed. “Alright. Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Charlie took the 7 hour flight home. In that same day, Ted and Schlatt each received a picture of y/n wearing the engagement ring around their finger, both them and Charlie smiling wide.

———

Congrats Nat on getting 1k!

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 8.2; Lantern Rite Part 1

You never had the chance to push Childe for answers on his vague statement, even after the two of you arrived in Liyue on the afternoon of the Lantern Rite.  It was as busy as you remembered, though it was nothing compared to how it would be once the sun set.  You weren't new to the festival, as you had gone a few times with Granny when you were a child, but that was a long time ago.  You were around twelve years old the last time you had joined the festival.

Being here again was like a breath of fresh air.  

It was a shame that breath of fresh air turned stale when Childe continued to prod at you.  "So, ojou-chan, what will you be doing after dark?"  He had intentionally turned it into a suggestive question, his smug brow raising slightly even after you glared daggers at him.

"I'm going to walk around, of course," you replied without giving him an inch.  "And I'm going to find Aether and Zhongli, too."

"Oh? Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"What I do in my free time is none of your business," your jaw tightened.  "You, Tartaglia, are literally a child.  Why don't you step aside and let your elders do what they want?  I am older than you, you know."

"I see you've picked up Signora's attitude," he moped and finally dropped the subject.

Perhaps you had, even though you hated her with all your life force after the trick she pulled at Angel's Share.  Even so, you couldn't help but bite the harbinger that fed you after he made strange offhanded comments about his own behavior, or his self-proclaimed 'apology' gift, or the way he held you the first time you felt Xiao's suffering.  You still couldn't figure out what was going on with him, and quite frankly, you could care less.  That's what you told yourself, anyway.

Was he an ally or an enemy?

"Earth to Mezzetin."  He rudely poked at your forehead.  "Is everything alright?  You've been obnoxiously loud all day and now you're quiet."

"You do realize you're equally as obnoxious?"  You met his eyes head-on after pulling away from your thoughts.  "I'm hungry."

"Ah, thought so.  Here," he handed you a heavy sack of mora without warning.  "I'll be at Northland Bank if you need anything."

"Eh? That's it?"  You watched him begin to walk off, expecting much more of a threat to your life if you so much as thought about running.

"You said it yourself ojou-chan, you're an adult," he called out over his shoulder.  "I'd expect you to act like one in these circumstances."

"Wha--!"  You scoffed at his shrinking figure as he climbed the stairs to the Snezhnayan bank.  "Ugh, whatever." Your gaze fell to the mora pouch in your hands.  Maybe I'll stop by the funeral parlor first and find Zhongli.

When you did, the archon paled at the sudden surprise appearance.  "How did you find yourself in Liyue Harbor?"  He scanned your body as if you were to be handled with care.  "I was under the impression you would remain at Zapolyarny Palace until further notice.  How did you happen to gain the Tsaritsa's trust so quickly?"

"Eh, you'll have to ask Childe that."  You didn't notice Zhongli's eyes narrow with contempt.  "He won't tell me why they decided to have me accompany him here," you answered without skipping a beat.  Though the archon was certainly thrown off guard, the two of you appeared to start right where you had left off like none of the events in the past two months had ever occurred in the first place.  It was refreshing to be with a friendly presence again, and you sighed in relief, hiding a wince from the sharp pain in your ribcage.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Zhongli.  "Ah, yes...Allow me to brew you some tea.  The leaves I've gathered recently have exceptional pain-relieving qualities, though they don't compare to that of Xiao's medications--"

"How is he?"  Your interruption stopped the man in his tracks.  "Is he okay?"  If Zhongli knew you were feeling Xiao's pain, that meant the yaksha had been in contact.

"He's as well as he can be, given the circumstances he's been burdened with.  Do not worry yourself with him.  Please, take a seat."

You watched Zhongli's graceful movements as he prepared a kettle and brought the water to a boil, dropping the leaves in when it was hot enough.  You were oblivious to the thoughts that ran through his mind as he sent a wry smile your way.

That day, I made a grave miscalculation, Zhongli thought back to the group's encounter with Childe in Fontaine.  A guilty sigh escaped his lips as he poured the tea into two ceramic teacups.

.....................

Deception.  Maybe Zhongli was a little too good at playing the part of an innocent bystander, if he had succeeded in fooling Aether not once, but twice.  But this route would be the only way to ensure yours and Xiao's sanity...The archon grit his teeth as he parried Childe's relentless blows in the pouring rain.  The harbinger didn't hold back even though this was all for show.

How long did the fighting go on? Twenty minutes? Thirty?  An hour?  Childe gave the signal to Zhongli as he summoned his fifth and final narwhal using the rain that fell around them.  Most of the group was worn out from constantly changing tactics as the harbinger switched between his vision and delusion.  Childe was so much stronger than the first time he faced off with Aether...but so was Aether.  Zhongli understood the only way to make this plan work would be to sacrifice his two closest allies in one way or another.

"Retreat!"  Zhongli gave the order and an exhausted trio followed it without question.  Well, except for Aether.

"We can't leave Xiao!"

.................

He had hoped he gave Xiao the push he needed to seal the bond, but it apparently was not enough..."Here is your tea," he placed the teacup in front of you before sitting at the opposite end of the table.  "Tell me, have they remained true to their word and put an end to your experiments?"

You blew at your steaming cup before taking a small sip.  "Yeah...They've already begun testing on Fatui agents, but every single one of them dies.  It's funny, actually.  Dottore still can't figure out the correct ratio for my blood.  I've watched hundreds die."

"And how are you?"

That question was loaded, but you swallowed the nervous chuckle that had bubbled in your throat.  "I'm just glad to be so close to home." To him, you meant, even if the two of you never actually met up during your stay here.  Your eyes trailed to the window, and Zhongli noticed the sadness in the depths of your gaze as you watched people decorate the buildings with xiao lanterns.

"Xiao will be especially busy today, fighting off the demons that rise from the festivities," he answered your looming question.  "But I am sure he would find the time to meet you if he knew you were here."

"You know, I hold most of his memories, but I can never seem to know what he's thinking."  Your low voice captured the archon's attention again after a few silent minutes.  You were saying it more to yourself than to spark a conversation, eyes still gazing out the window.  "Maybe I am chasing after a fruitless dream."

"Your love for Xiao is strong."

"Eh?" Your head snapped back to the present moment.  "H-how did you--did he--?"

Your flustered composure drew out a low chuckle from Zhongli, and he set his teacup aside.  "I've lived for six thousand years; I know a thing or two about human concepts and emotions.  The entire group has known for quite some time."

"I was that obvious?" An insane amount of heat rose to your cheeks and you buried your face in your hands.  "So did he know before I...?"

"Xiao may be a few thousand years old, but he understands humans less than I do.  I can confidently say you caught him off guard."

You peeked out from behind your fingers.  "Hm?"

"It is not my place to say anything more on the matter," his lips tugged into a friendly grin as he brought the teacup to his lips once again.  "But I would not call it a 'fruitless' dream."

.................

The lanterns that lit the streets of Liyue illuminated the bustling crowds of people that were focused on getting food, souvenirs, and lanterns that were to be released later that evening.  You had parted ways with Zhongli in an effort to find Aether, with no luck in locating the boy even after nightfall.  Despite this, you navigated the festival alone in hopes of running into him as you eyed the food stalls.

That is, until the voices grew louder.  You swayed on your feet from the unexpected wave of nausea that overcame you, and grabbed onto one of the support beams next to the stairs.  Xiao was fighting something again, wasn't he?  You had felt the damned creep up on you as the day progressed, but nothing prepared you for the jarring pains that were too similar to the first time you had felt this side effect.  You nearly puked from the overwhelming sensation, coughing into your hand only for it to be splattered with blood.

Not again, you stared in horror as you hastily blinked away the splotches in your vision.  A quick glance around confirmed that there were children in the immediate vicinity, and you didn't want to scar them with the sight of you on what was supposed to be a happy night.  Your eyes flit to the distant building that housed the Northland Bank, and you were determined to make it there even if it was a bit too far for you to walk at the moment.

You stumbled through the crowd on unsteady feet and shallow breath until you bumped shoulders with a boy and tripped.  "Ngh!"  The impact worsened your dilemma, and your eyes caught those of the person you ran into.

"Sorry!  Wait, are you okay, ma'am?"  The white-haired boy retracted his outstretched hand and instead knelt at your side to offer his shoulder.  "You..."  This energy....could it be that I can finally...?

"U-um, excuse me."  You struggled to your feet and tried to make your way to the bank again.  This time you were immediately halted by the boy.  

"Ma'am, are you by any chance experiencing paranormal activity?"  His hard gaze made you hold your breath without realizing.  When he saw your eyes flash as if someone had held a lantern to your face, his grip on your shoulder loosened ever so slightly.  "My name's Chongyun.  I'm an exorcist.  Do you mind if we speak in private?"

He brought you to the docs, which were a little less crowded than the main area of the harbor.  Chongyun watched as you sat down and steadied your breathing while attempting to sneakily wipe away the blood that dripped from the corner of your mouth.  

I finally haven't scared them off, the boy thought as he stared at you in wonder.  Why now, though?  "Ma'am, can you tell me what's going on?"

"I-I appreciate your concern," you ground your teeth together while another wave of pain consumed you, "but I d-don't need your help."

"When did you start feeling this way?"  Chongyun sat with his legs crisscrossed in front of you, and summoned a deck of cards from his pocket.  Anger boiled as you watched him shuffle them in his hands and set them in the space between you one at a time.

"I wouldn't do that," you growled while your thoughts grew hazy.

"Don't worry, this won't hurt you."  He started mumbling some sort of incoherent verses before flipping one of the cards.

"I said DON'T!"

Chongyun caught your hand before it could swipe the cards away from the pier's surface, and he locked eyes with you.  He took a deep breath before speaking as if you were the one agitating him.  "Those are the evil spirits talking.  I can tell you're not that far gone.  Sit patiently, and I can help you."

You blinked for a moment and regained some control over yourself, relaxing your shoulders once he let go of your wrist.  "What is it you're trying to do?"

"Purge evil; it's my job.  We exorcists have protected Liyue for generations," he flipped another card over, noting your tension rising again before dying down.  Whatever he was doing with those cards seemed to piss off the voices in your head.

"Like adepti?"  You grimaced when he replaced one of the cards with another.  

"Yes, much like the Guardian Yaksha of Liyue," he replied calmly while testing your reaction with another card.  "I have much respect for him, but--"

"Xiao?  Have you seen him?"  Your hand burned when you grabbed his, but you ignored it once you caught his attention.  "Have you seen him recently?"  

"You know him by name?"  Chongyun was as confused as you were.  "That's odd, I thought we were the only ones who--"

"Hey!"  A high-pitched voice interrupted the conversation, and the two of you turned your heads toward the sound.  Paimon was flying towards you, Aether running right behind her.  "What are you doing here?! Are you okay? Did you escape? Did you kick Childe's butt?"

"I--" Aether stopped himself from hugging you when he saw the dried blood on your hand, his relieved smile fading into a concerned frown as his feet came to a halt.  "...Are you okay?"

"You know each other?"  Chongyun looked between the trio and summoned a new set of cards.  These ones held terrifying symbolism of demonic entities you didn't wish to know the name of, and he placed them over the other ones that sat on the ground.

"Ngh!"  A hand covered your eye in an attempt to put pressure against a sharp pain.  "You can't help me! Enough of this!"

"...W-what's wrong with her?"  Paimon trembled slightly when she heard the uncharacteristic aggressiveness in your voice.  "Is she...possessed?!"  

"Not quite," Chongyun returned his eyes to you in deep thought.  "I've never seen this before..."

"Wait, your positivity didn't scare them off?"  Aether suddenly looked a lot more concerned, and he moved so that he sat beside you.  Chongyun scared every spirit away...if that didn't happen this time, it must've been a bad sign.  "What happened to you in Snezhnaya?"  His voice was a mix of both guilt and anger.

"Zhongli didn't tell you?"  It took all your strength not to attack the three of them as Chongyun put another card down.  

"The group went their separate ways after you..." Aether shook his head and put a hand on your shoulder when he noticed the malice in your stare.  "What did Childe do to you?"

"It's just another side effect," you growled and pushed his hand off.  "I'm not possessed like this guy is saying."

"Is this true?" Paimon's skepticism antagonized you further, but you bit your tongue.

"We should take you to Zhongli," Aether pulled you to your feet without hearing your objections.  If your words were accurate, then there was no way the exorcist could help.  "Sorry, Chongyun!  She'll be fine!"

"W-Wait! Ah-"  Chongyun already lost them in the sea of people that were getting ready to release their lanterns.  It was almost time to fill the sky with the light of human prayers and wishes to the adepti.

..............

Once out of Chongyun's vicinity, the voices dispersed as if nothing had happened.  "What the hell--"  Your confused grumblings caught the attention of Aether as he guided you through the crowd.  "This is so stupid."

"So you're able to feel Xiao's mental distress?"  He glanced back at you for a brief moment once he figured out what he had witnessed.  "At least now, he has someone that can understand a little bit of what he's going through, right?"

"I don't know," interjected Paimon.  "Didn't Zhongli say the yakshas fell one by one from karma?  Wouldn't feeling Xiao's karma kill you?"

"Probably."  Your uninterested answer brought both of them to look at you, only to find that your eyes were surveying the crowd with expectation--or was it hope?  Your companions exchanged knowing, but glum glances.

"He won't be here."

Aether's words went through one ear and out the other.  "Yes he will."

"Um...Paimon doesn't think so.  Xiao doesn't like crowds, remember?"  You were so different than a few months ago...Each sound seemed to startle you or make you wince, and you had a peculiar distant look in your eyes.  Your friends were growing more and more concerned about you.

Xiao, I'm here, you called out in your heart, not fully aware of it.

..........................

Coming up:  A long-awaited reunion.  The fears of a yaksha.  A display of trust.

[beatricethecat2]

"No joy," Myka says, peeking into the static bag.

"That was the correct part, was it not?" Helena enlarges the photo on Myka's phone of a nineteenth-century elevator car housed at the Warehouse.

"I'm pretty sure. But that picture's not great." Myka slides the handle out and plops it back in to the tune of no sparks.

Helena noses around the storage space as The Dakota building's manager walks in.

"Maybe what you're looking for's in here," he says, plunking down a milk crate full of parts. "When they renovate, they save anything original."

"It's an elevator handle. From the original manual ones. Just not this one." Myka slips the part from the bag and holds it up.

"Might be in Ms. Shiva's apartment then. Parents took two cars and made them into a bar. Or could be from the one that went missing, the mysterious fourth car."

Myka and Helena share a concerned look, knowing the Warehouse took it without permission.

"Can we see the other two?" Myka asks.

"Look just like that one." The man points toward the ornately carved wooden car on the other side of the room. "Handle's that important to you, huh?"

"As architectural historians? Yes," Helena snips in a clipped, scholarly tone.

"Alright. Gimme a minute." He slips his phone out of its belt clip and walks out of the room.

Helena picks through dust-covered items in the crate. "This may be a lost cause."

"It must be upstairs. The walls are so thick, the ping could have come from anywhere."

"You said 'pickup,' not 'ping.'"

"Claudia called it a pickup yesterday! Today she called it a ping."

Helena huffs a disgruntled breath.

The manager waves a hand from the doorway. "She said it's ok to come up."

Myka follows the man, but Helena hangs back.

"Aren't you coming?" 

"I...should look through this crate."

"You know more about this stuff than me. You should come with."

"Myka, I...."

Myka steps closer and lowers her voice. "I know you're not happy about being here, but I really need your help."

Helena holds Myka's gaze but doesn't move.

"Please."

Helena nods an apprehensive yes.

"You'll tell me what's going on with you later, right?"

Helena nods again, with equal apprehension.

Myka grimaces. "Come on."

They follow the manager out of the room and into the elevator to the fourth floor.

-----------------

The Adventures of Wells and Bering ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 3 Title: New York City: I'm buggin' out!

Summary: After three blissful days holed up in their Philadelphia hotel room, Myka receives a call from the Warehouse asking for help. Helena proclaims New York "a cesspool" when told the pickup is in the city. Myka laughs when told Helena was last there in 1893. Told she can stay behind, Helena follows anyway, the pair taking the train to avoid driving. Helena tells tales of city adventures with her partner Wolcott as she and Myka make their way uptown. Helena tenses upon arrival at their destination, so much so, Myka can tell something is off.  Later that day, Helena reveals a long buried secret.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2

-----------------

***BONUS SCENES***

After a less than jovial dinner (pictured above), Myka and Helena settle into their hotel room. Myka lounges in bed, already showered, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, nose buried in a book. Helena searches through her luggage after emerging from a shower swathed only in a robe.

"I know dinner wasn't great," Myka says, setting her book on the nightstand, "but something else's off. You've been weirdly touchy all day."

"I apologize for not being, as Claudia might say, 'all sunshine and rainbows.'" Helena yanks a t-shirt out of her suitcase. "Perhaps we should call the whole thing off." 

"What 'thing'?"

"This trip."

"Why?" Myka sits up.

"Because me being sullen is not an anomaly." 

"I know."

"Then why on earth would you subject yourself to that again?" Helena turns to face Myka and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Because you promised when you got like this you'd talk to me and I believed you."

"Fool," Helena says, the word filled with fondness rather than bite.

"Come here," Myka says, patting a spot next to her.

Helena stares at the bed but doesn't move.

"Come here..."

Helena's eyes lift to meet Myka's; the longer they stay locked, the less defiance they hold. She huffs a disgruntled breath but does as she's told. She sits stiffly, arms folded over her chest, back propped up against the headboard.

"Now, tell me what happened in that building," Myka says, laying back, turning to face Helena, head propped up by a hand. "Remember, I said I wouldn't judge you."

"You say that now..." Helena says, glancing at Myka.

"I won't," Myka says, slipping her hand over Helena's and squeezing, dragging it down to her lap, breaking her protective arm-fold.

"Where to begin," Helena grumbles, pressing her eyes closed, head falling back against the wall.

"How about..." Myka scoots up, aligning herself with Helena, all the while keeping hold of her hand. "The first time you were there, finding that artifact."

Helena rolls her head to the side and meets Myka's gaze.

Myka raises her brow and grins expectantly.

"Oh, alright," Helena grumps, sighing deeply, then lifting her head from the headboard.

"Wolly posed as an investor, and I, his wife. He and I were given guest accommodations, courtesy of Gustav Schirmer, a music publisher. We had a vague idea of what the curiosity was but needed time and access to suss out its location."

"I bet you and Wolly made a better couple than Pete and I ever did," Myka quips.

Helena huffs a short laugh. "People like us 'acted the part' on a daily basis. Anything beyond that was an extension of those fabricated selves. One had to switch 'on' any number of personas just to keep safe. It was difficult at times to remember our true selves."

"I'm sorry. That sucks."

"Easier for me than others. Though in that regard, I'm glad society seems to have changed for the better." Helena meets Myka's gaze, her eyes falling to her lips.

"Me too," Myka says as Helena cups her jaw, guiding their mouths together.

Their kiss lingers but as Helena's hand slides to the nape of Myka's neck, Myka pulls away.

"Story first," Myka says, slipping her hand over Helena's, lifting it away.

Helena pouts.

"After." Myka caresses Helena's cheek, then places a soft, brief kiss there. "I promise."

"I shall hold you to that."

"Oh, I know," Myka says, smiling. She settles back and waits as Helena collects her thoughts.

"The Dakota was unique,' Helena begins, "its design, the first of its kind in the world. A playground for 'new money,' miles away from 'civilization' further downtown. Few dared travel that far north, so their soirees were rather insular."

"That's good, right? Easier to find the artifact?" Myka says.

"Indeed. Gustav adored hosting events, along with the Steinways. Guests chased tunes all over the building as engagements spilled between apartments. Wolly and I snooped around gratuitously."

"Steinways...as in the grand-piano-maker Steinways?"

"The very same," Helena mumbles. Her eyes turn distant, a thumb rubbing idly over a knuckle, her hands linked primly on her lap. 

"Did you find the artifact?" Myka asks.

"Hmm? Oh...yes. But it took quite some time," Helena answers. "And along the way, I found something far more profound." She looks down at her lap, her hands pulling away from each other, tensing. 

"What was it?"

"I found my One."

"Y-You had a One?" Myka says, stiffening.

"All too briefly," Helena says, then glances at Myka. "To have found another is a kindness beyond anything I'd ever imagined. I'm sorry it took so long for me to believe it possible."

"You mean me?"

"I do." Helena brings Myka's hand up to her lips and kisses its palm.

"I, um, guess it's silly to be jealous of someone who lived over a hundred years ago. Especially since I know nothing about them." Myka scoots closer, cozying up to Helena. "Will you tell me?"

"Would you like to know?"

"I want to know everything about you."

"That may take some time."

"We have time, don't we?"

"Time has never been my ally. Especially with the ones I love."

"Let's change that." Myka tugs on Helena's sleeve, and the pair slip down to lie prone on the bed. She turns and snuggles up, head pillowed on Helena's shoulder, arm resting across her middle. Helena relaxes into Myka's hold and wraps an arm over Myka's.

"Tell me about your One," Myka says. "Or, your 'first' One."

"She...was an extraordinary woman," Helena answers. "Unlike any I'd ever known. We bonded instantly, which was unusual."

"How did you meet?"

"I caught her hiding from the merriment during a soiree, nose tucked in a book. One Mrs. Elizabeth Westcott." Helena smiles, obviously warmed by the memory.

"Mrs.?"

"A marriage for appearances; personal gain for two up-and-coming families. Residing at The Dakota allowed her husband to carry on extramarital affairs with less scrutiny. He cared little about her own."

"So you and she..."

"If those walls could talk," Helena says, her smile bordering on devilish. "We had several glorious years together before she..." Her smile fades in an instant.

"I'm afraid to ask."

"She died, as one does when one's husband's mistress plots to kill you."

"S-She was murdered?"

"Freak carriage accident. Never proven, but everyone knew. To ensure Elizabeth never gave him an heir, after Christina. The irony being we'd planned on running away to California soon enough--"

"Wait, Christina was Elizabeth's?" Myka lifts her head to look Helena in the eye.

"I loved her as if she were my own," Helena snaps, "spirited her away to England as soon as I could, with the housekeeper's help."

"You stole her?" Myka pushes away, falling back on her elbows, mouth agape.

"I rescued her," Helena barks, jerking upright. "That monstrous woman still had talons in her father. There was no doubt Christina wasn't safe. It's what Elizabeth would have wanted." 

Helena moves to leave, but Myka grabs her arm.

"Don't go," Myka pleads. "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't judge you."

Helena freezes in place, her heart pounding wildly. A few moments later, she returns to Myka's side.

"Did anyone come looking for her?" Myka asks, pushing forward so as not to leave Helena stewing.

"I don't know. I doubt they could find me as only Elizabeth knew my true identity. And I never set foot in New York again."

"So literally 1893."

Helena nods, the sour look on her face softening. "I'd thought to visit her grave but haven't found the courage."

"You should go. We could go together. It'll give you closure."

"You sound so certain."

"I know it will help. I've loved and lost, too, you know."

"Indeed, you have, my love," Helena says, then sighs heavy-heartedly. "What a pair we make."

"I think we're a good match," Myka says, tugging Helena back to lie flat again. "We could take our minds off it. Make some new, pleasant memories." She slips a hand under the tie of Helena's robe.

"You did make a promise earlier," Helena replies.

"And I always make good on my promises," Myka says, drawing the tie free, brushing a fingertip over newly exposed skin. Helena quivers and relaxes back, offering no resistance as Myka fulfills her word.

End of Episode 3

-TBC-

NOTES: According to the internet, the term "buggin'" was coined in New York City. The fourth elevator really did go missing during The Dakota renovations in the 1960's (pre-landmarking). Thank you to the library for being open so I could borrow books and down some facts as this got way more involved than I meant it to become (but that's part of the fun).

This story format is...in my head, I'm calling it "TV POV." If we were watching the show, we'd see things but not hear the character's thoughts, so that's what I'm going for, I think? Broad strokes and quicker resolutions due to the 45 minute-ish run time (or would this show be a 25 minute one? Hmm.) Let me know if that's not working at all. I mean these are obviously pastiches of content - the images come first then the stories materialize afterwards. They are supposed to be short and clippy - plenty of room for the reader to fill in the blanks - but this one got away from me! Also Tumblr keeps making the second image blurry and I can't figure out why...

[collecting-stories]

Artwork - JJ Maybank

Request: Hey! I've read your entire masterlist 😶😬😂 I was wondering if you could do something with jj x reader and she's an artist. Idk I was painting and thought of it, maybe a paint fight or something

A/N: I incorporated the pandemic a little lol. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Eyes closed, JJ was laying on your bed, an old quilt stretched out underneath him. It was nearing the 100s outside but inside the air was kicked up and your fan was on, blowing cool air across the bed. JJ was on his back, shirt off, muscles tensing and then relaxing again each time that your brush ran cold paint over his tan skin.  

Quaratine had eaten up most of your summer plans but you had made an entire list of ‘at home’ things that you’d seen on pinterest and tiktok to occupy your time and naturally, you’d roped JJ into most of them. He’d made stickers with you and redecorated CD’s and painted your bedroom. Today’s activity was painting. It had started on regular canvas but had somehow moved to JJ’s back being used as the canvas.  

Bright yellow sunflowers, hints of blue in the background, covered JJ’s skin from the base of his neck to just above his swim trunks. You sat straddling him, a small paint brush in your hand as you finished the last few details. JJ whined at an especially ticklish swipe too close to his side and you bit your lip as he pressed his mouth into his arm to stop from making any more noise.

“I’m almost done.” You promised, careful of the wet paint on his back as you leaned forward to kiss the part of his shoulder that was decorated.  

“Good, I get to do your back after this.” JJ replied.  

“Uh...no.” You shook your head as you grabbed your phone off the bed beside you to take a picture of your handiwork. “I hate to break it to you babe but you aren’t exactly Picasso.”

“I’m assuming that’s some art dude.” JJ said, turning his head slightly, eyes still closed. He smiled like he knew you were taking a picture and you tapped your phone, the flash flickering over him for a second.  

“It is some art dude, yes.” You laughed, climbing off of him as carefully as possible, trying not to smudge your handiwork.  

“Yeah well I could totally paint better than him.” He replied. JJ got up off the bed, stretching his arms up over his head and you bit your lip watching him flex, the muscles in his abs tensing and then relaxing. The artwork on his back was beautiful but you’d argue that nothing compared to actually looking at him. JJ was his own artwork.

“Fine.”  

“Seriously?” He grinned.  

“Seriously. I’ll let you paint on my back.” You conceded, knowing it was pointless to argue. There was no way you had the will power or discipline to say no to any of JJ’s suggestions, even if that meant your back ended up looking like a three-year old’s finger-painting experiment.

“Alright, you know the drill...strip.”

You rolled your eyes at him but pulled your shirt off over your head. Your sports bra went next, dropping it beside the bed before you laid down, getting situated. “You know how lucky you are, you can just lay down you don’t have to like readjust your boobs so they’re not squashed.”  

“You could sit up,” JJ suggested, climbing on the bed, his knees settling on either side of your hips, “then I could paint and have a nice view at the same time.”  

Even with your eyes closed you could tell that JJ was no doubt looking at the mirrored closet door that sat across from the end of your bed. “I’ll stay laying down. You’ll see enough of me when I wash this off later.”

“Wash it off? Please you’ll be begging them to do a living art piece in the MoMa.” He replied. “That’s what it’s called right? The MoMa?”  

“Yeah...it’s called the MoMa.” You smiled knowing that he had remembered. God knows that you had sent him an onslaught of photos sneakily taken inside of the MoMa when you went up to New York with your mom last summer to look at art colleges in NYC.

The first brush of paint ran across your skin and you couldn’t help tensing, the coolness of it shocking you slightly. JJ’s free hand pressed into your back, just above your ass, thumb massaging your skin gently as he continued to paint.  

Your talent in art was as good as JJ’s was bad. While you were thinking of pursuing a degree in art and had been taking private lessons since you were ten, JJ could barely manage a stick figure. That didn’t matter though, whether he could actually draw or not he could appreciate your art. He was an antsy person by nature but he’d sat almost perfectly still for hours at a time for sketches. Everytime you took part in an art show, even if they were just small, local fairs, he got excited about it.  

“What are you painting?” You asked, trying to tilt your head to catch a peek at what colors he was using. You’d done sunflowers on his back because if anyone reminded you of the flower it was JJ. It helped that they were his favorite, something he’d mentioned in passing once when you first started dating. Followed defensively by ‘guys can like flowers too’ not that you had said anything to contradict that.

“You’ll see.”  

“It better not be a dick or something!”

“It’s not a dick! I’m a serious artist here and I am offended that you would even suggest that to me.” JJ replied, sounding offended.  

You hummed skeptically. JJ dipped his brush in the blue, mixing it around on the palette board with the white. It was messier than yours usually looked but he ignored it, running the brush over your back and smiling a little at the actual picture coming together.  

He took his time, just like you had, mixing different shades of blue and adding detail, shading, all the pieces of technique that he had watched you incorporate when you painted. When he was finally finished he grabbed his phone to take a picture, the same way you had taken his picture.  

“I think it looks fucking awesome, if I do say so myself.” He mused.  

“Can I see it or are you just gonna keep sitting on me?”  

“Tempting but...I’ll move.” He climbed off of you careful of the paint.  

You climbed off the bed, holding your arms in front of you as you turned to look in the mirror. JJ had painted waves across your back with a bright sun over your shoulder. You couldn’t help smiling at his handiwork, better than you’d thought it’d look but also, being islanders there was nothing the two of you loved more than the beach. It’d been there that you’d met and there that you’d had your first date.  

“I think you’re right, I might end up putting myself on display in the MoMa.” You said, looking over at your boyfriend and smiling.  

“Not to shabby huh? I’ll be stealing your scholarship soon.” He teased.  

“Oh definitely.”

“You know what we should get?” He asked, moving your art supplies off your bed and over to your desk to be washed later.

“What?” You asked, skeptical.

“Those edible paints.” He replied, “we could do some finger painting on each other.”

“Oh god you are...” You shook your head at him, already knowing where his mind was going. “You better buy me sheets to cover my bed...I’m not washing that shit out afterward.”  

“So that’s a yes.”

“Unbelievably, yes.”

-

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[katnissmellarkkk]

what about ~ general ~ #48?

Gravity

Heyyyyy, so uh, remember sending this? Well, sorry this took 100,000 years. And uh, sorry, this got so long imma break it up into three separate parts. Because, ya see, the prompt you sent sparked a three chapter growing back together story. And... your prompt, which was general #48 “I won’t hurt you”, actually doesn’t appear until the final chapter 🤦🏼‍♀️... we love an overwriter, right? 

Okay so anyways, hopefully part two will be out soon. And forgive this for not being my greatest writing ever. 

And thanks, love, for sending me a prompt to start with!

Peeta and I grow back together.

/

"How long are you going to waste those paints?" I tease wryly, announcing my presence as I lean against the doorframe.

Peeta doesn't even glance back at me, but I can see from my angle his expression turn sardonic. "Until this shade of green is exactly right."

I chuckle, coming further into the room—using extra caution to not startle him as he can be easily triggered when his mind is preoccupied elsewhere—and attempting to peer over his shoulder at the canvas.

It's covered with a cloth though and this time he turns to look at me before laughing softly. "Trying to sneak a peek?"

I glance at him, a little ruffled, before my eyes find my feet. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret," I defend, for some reason feeling embarrassed by my curiosity.

Our dynamic is still tense some days. We haven't kissed since we were in the Capitol and that was only to fight off his hijacking. We haven't genuinely kissed, kissed because we wanted to, for nothing but our own simple pleasure, since the Quell, on the beach, the last night before we were separated.

Since before Peeta was taken by the Capitol. Since before he was hijacked.

But his memory is better now and the clouded, haunted look is long gone from his eyes. In it's place is the same brightness, the same instinctive kindness, the same gaze I used to see even in the worst of circumstances.

Still though, I don't always know what to say or not say. I don't know what our boundaries are now.

I know that his house and mine are always open to the other one. I don't have to knock or announce myself when I come over, and more times than not I return from hunting to find him situated at my kitchen table, waiting for me before cutting our breakfast bread.

I don't always know where our trauma ends and our friendship begins. I don't honestly know where we even stand anymore. From allies to friends to unconscious lovers to enemies and back, I get whiplash practically trying to decipher it, and I can't even imagine how much more confusing it must be for him, still after all this time.

He is more committed to that stupid over-the-phone therapy we've both had forced upon us though. He is committed like an old dog to a rotten bone to healing himself from the wounds Snow inflicted.

I'm about to find an excuse to leave the room, to more than likely leave his house altogether and go out to the woods, like I too often do when I'm at loss for words or things grow awkward, when his fingers touch under my chin. He gently lifts it up to meet his sky blue irises. "Come help me mix colors," he implores, his eyes enthusiastic and genuine.

I nod tentatively after a moment, following behind him, like a wide-eyed child. Like my sister used to follow behind me when we walked from the Seam to town and back.

He makes room for me at the table he's turned into his painting palette. On it resides papers upon papers, each covered with dozens of green variants.

"Peeta," I gap at him, my eyes getting wide. "How have you made all these shades?"

He scratches the back of his neck, blushing a little, and managing to get a moss color on his neck from the wet paint still situated on his fingertips.

I have the most insane urge to clean his neck off myself, to touch him there, as though a spot that's always displayed in plain sight could suddenly be so intimate.

I squash that desire so fast, I feel my temples pulse.

"I've been working on getting this color right for a few days now," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrow at him, a little more coy than I was only a minute ago. "A few days?"

"Okay, so it's been a couple of weeks."

I laugh then, really laugh, from the bottom of my stomach. It only last for a few seconds but it's such a rarity still that I ever feel that kind of unadulterated joy, and I choose to bask it for all it's worth.

It doesn't escape my notice though that I only ever have these rare moments in Peeta's vicinity. Not that I plan to openly share this—with anyone, really, but especially with him—but it's something I can't help but clock, even if just to myself.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds my laugh significant, because when I look up at him again, Peeta is staring at me with a look of awe now shining in his gaze. A look I didn't realize until he was back in Twelve, until he was back mentally, until we had started on the memory book together, that he'd lost in his hijacking. It was a gaze I had seen in thousands of moments before, on the train, in the beds we shared at night, in the arenas, in my living room.

That shining look of awe in his eyes is just another thing I didn't realize how much I missed, how much it meant to me, until it returned. Another thing I didn't even realize Snow took away from me.

He breaks the silence between us again, his mouth turning up on one side, his eyes suddenly glazing over. For a moment I brace myself for a flashback, something that I have become accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis. He never loses his mind, he never snaps or thinks I'm a mutt or anything of the sort, but he'll grow quiet for a long moment and he'll clutch the underside of the table or the back of a close by chair, and shut his eyes until it's over.

But he isn't having a flashback now. Instead, his words are wistful and full of longing. "I miss hearing you laugh like that," he quietly says, unashamed. Like he's always said everything. Confidently, even when he wasn't.

I offer him a small smile in return before turning back to the paint covered table, segueing not as subtly as I wish. "Okay, so how am I supposed to help you make your ideal green color?" I turn to him and add in a teasing tone, "I'm not quite as experienced in frosting as you."

It has the desired effect and he comes to show me how to mix the paints properly, how to add in other colors to make a lighter or darker shade of green.

"So this is why the frosting on the cakes were always so intricate?" I ask after a couple of hours of us just blending paints together.

"Because I'm a perfectionist? No. Because I needed to get the cakes to sell quick enough that I wasn't forced to have the stale, crunchy ones for dinner. Over-the-top frosted cakes sells faster."

I shoot him a sad look at that. I always forget that while I had to work hard from a young age to bring food home to my family, Peeta got stuck with the leftovers no one from the entire district claimed.

Hours pass and I get so lost in mixing colors—okay, actually, I'm playing after a while, as Peeta continues to mix paints—that I don't realize until the sky outside turns dark that we skipped lunch and dinner.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at his arm with my now paint covered palm. "We have to eat."

He shakes his head though. "I've almost got the exact right shade."

I huff. "You need to feed yourself. Or else you'll pass out and I'll have to drag you to your bedroom and it'll be rough on us both."

"So it won't be any different than Sunday at Haymitch's?"

I laugh at that again, really laugh, and my stomach aches and cramps from the unused muscles waking back up after their long hibernation. "Come on," I urge.

"Katniss, I swear, I'm almost finished," he insists again, very solemnly. "Go get food from the bakery for both of us and I'll be done by the time you get back."

I let go of his arm, feeling myself deflate as I realize he's truly not budging. "I can't be the only one who goes to town with paint covered hands," I throw out there, as a last resort.

Without even looking away from the table, he adds, "and a paint covered face."

My brow furrows, confused, when he taps my nose with his wet finger. "Peeta!" I try to exclaim but it gets eaten up by my giggle, which is quickly overpowered by his.

"You told me once green was your favorite color!" He defends, holding up his hands.

I swipe my still wet sheets of paper off the table and fling them at him, effectively covering his cheek and the shoulder of his shirt in a soup of green.

"Oh, you aren't getting away with that," he promises and grabs me around the waist when I bolt for the door. "You couldn't even beat a man with one leg," he teases as he hoists me up and propels us both towards the wet paints again.

"Don't you dare," I threaten but my smile, one I can't repress, isn't letting me give the correct authenticity to my tone and in the end, he only smirks at my words.

A half hour later, I exit Peeta's house, having scrubbed my face the best I could in his bathroom sink. I only made the green fade from my cheeks and nose, not completely evaporate, and my neck is still strewed with flicks of the forresty shade.

My stained shirt is covered though as I pull on Peeta's jacket, having for once left mine in my own doorway, three houses down. Instead of going to fetch it, I choose take him up on the offer to borrow his, pretending it's about convenience and not because I like the way his smell of vanilla and cinnamon and something entirely his own lingers on all his clothing.

I use the key he gave me to the freshly rebuilt bakery and let myself in the backdoor, more so because that's where I'm most comfortable entering. Peeta's new bakery is almost identical in structure to the old one, and his mother would have never let me come in through the front, let alone trade my game over the counter instead of in the chilly back alleyway.

So many times I peaked inside the back, peered over the old baker's shoulder while he examined my squirrels. Majority of the times it was only to see the blazing hot oven, to fantasize about how it must feel to work with that kind of heat in the winter, to have heat so easily accessible at your fingertips that you can take it for granted. But sometimes it was also to catch a glimpse of what the inside must look like, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Being from the Seam, you so rarely had reason to enter a Merchant business. Being from the Seam, there was always a part of you that wondered what the other side of the community must live like.

Well, now I know. I have, really, since I became a victor and Peeta took me with him here on a seldom occasion to chat with his dad while he mother was gone.

I can't help but admire the handiwork of Thom and of many others in the community. They rebuilt the bakery—with assistance, both creatively and manually, from Peeta himself—in only a few months time and it looks like it was never decimated. The woodwork of the wall panels, the marble tile of the floor, the cream color of the walls.

It was like the old bakery, but made newer and fresher.

However, as I grab a loaf of bread and pastries—Peeta did say to get whatever I craved—I spot something out of the ordinary.

The walls visible to the customers in the front are reserved for Peeta to paint murals on, whenever he finds himself in the right mood to create whatever idea he has sitting inside his head. But the walls in the back are typically full of notes and lists and customer orders and—Peeta's own idea—thank you notes and cards from members of the community, who adore him even more now than they did before the war.

But all those things have been cleared away from a section of the wall space. There is a noticeably large blank space, right above the oven and counter, where no one else but Peeta will be able to view it.

It's maybe a little thing to be hung up on, but it strikes me as so strange I cannot stop thinking about it.

I choose to stop at the rebuilt Hob after I finish at the butcher's, offering Greasy Sae an extra pastry for her and her granddaughter.

She takes the offer with a sly look, handing me a container of soup to go with the bread.

"What?" I ask, unsettled a little by her glance, like she knows something I don't.

"I see someone's been painting," she just simply notes, gesturing with her chin to my green stained hand and wrist.

"Oh!" I catch on now. "Yeah, I was just helping Peeta."

The excuse doesn't seem to diminish the glint in her eyes. "Helping. Yeah, I'm sure."

I roll my eyes in her direction as I walk towards the door, calling out, "goodnight," evenly over my shoulder.

When I get back to Peeta's though, he isn't in his art studio. Instead he's in the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates for us to eat. "Grab bowls too," I call as I plop our food down on his countertop. "Traded a pastry for some."

He shoots me a sardonic look now. "You know you don't have to trade for everything, right?"

"I like it more than spending money," I retort easily, slipping off his jacket. "I'm going to go scrub my hands in the bathroom again before we eat," I say, glancing at my still green digits.

"Well, hurry," he urges teasingly. "You have gotten me so used to eating things when they're fresh, I almost can't stand waiting anymore."

His hand playfully pushes on my back, propelling me towards to the stairs, and I have a hard time denying even to myself the thrill that runs through my body when him unexpectedly touches me.

I quickly wash and scrub as much paint off my palms and wrists as I can, drying hastily on the towel Effie definitely sent from the Capitol.

But I find myself with a sudden irrepressible urge, one not even the food downstairs or Peeta waiting can quench. As I pass by the art room, I see the painting he was so meticulously working on now sitting on his drying table, leaving the canvas empty.

I know I shouldn't invade his privacy but, after everything else we've been through, there isn't much he would keep from me.

At least, that's what I tell myself to rationalize my prying away as justifiable.

I walk to the table, as quietly as I do in the woods when hunting prey, as not to tip him off in case he is listening from the kitchen. I'm unprepared to offer my excuses for snooping to his face, despite the fact I can't picture him being too put out with me.

I am also utterly unprepared for the vision that awaits me in the now finished painting.

Laying flat on it's back, the painting stares directly up at me as I approach. The canvas displays a beautiful girl, with black hair and large grey eyes and a very endearing, bashful smile. There's a variety of flowers in her hair and in her hands she's holding a small bouquet of dandelions. There's a warm, glowing sunset behind her and a willow tree in the distance. It takes me a moment to realize, but her sweater is a dark shade of green, more pleasing to the eye than any leaf or shrub I've ever come across, even on the Victory Tour, in the most lovely botanical gardens the country had to offer.

The girl in the portrait is beautiful and shy and happy and you can see, even in a painting, that she doesn't enjoy having her image captured.

I have to blink six separate times before it finally registers that the girl is me. Her skin is a multitude of colors, varying shades from where something ate a part of her flesh away. But instead of that making her less attractive, it only serves in making her all the more stunning. Her skin is a gorgeous vision and I don't know how Peeta managed the impossible. I don't know how he managed to make me beautiful, but he did.

"Katniss?" I hear him call, and I jump at the sound of his voice ripping me out of the moment. His tone is light and playful, and I have to swipe my hand across my eyes to rid myself of the moisture that's leaked out before he sees. "You coming to dinner?" He asks from the bottom of the stairs and I give the lovely work of art one last look before I follow his voice, a rare, uncontrollable smile forming on my mouth as I shut the door behind me.

After everything else that's happened, only Peeta could make me feel like this.

/

A few weeks later.

I admire the bright yellow primroses, now in full bloom, the lightly blowing wind only complimenting their beauty and elegance instead of disturbing it.

I stare blankly at the flowers planted in my sister's honor. My sister who should be here now, should be stitching bleeding wounds and helping with the reconstruction of the town. My sister who should be admiring Peeta's frosted cakes and convincing me to dance with her in the living room by the fire. My sister who should have never been in the Capitol that day, should have been tucked away in Thirteen with our mother, should have never grown up as quickly as she was forced to or had her life stolen in a split second.

Peeta's fingers sift through my hair, unconsciously sensing the tension building in my body as I feel a rise of anger at all Coin and Snow took from me in the name of power.

I turn my head up to glance at him, craning my neck a little. I'm about to say something, I'm not sure what yet, but something to convey that I'm fine. Something to brush off what I assume are his concerns. But I'm surprised by what I see when I peer up. His face isn't what I expected.

Instead of concerned or curious, he's having his own sort of contemplation. Instead of even looking at me, he's staring up at the clear blue sky, watching the white puffs of clouds floating microscopically slow across the the way.

But his brow is furrowed and his mouth is turned down and he seems uncharacteristically miserable.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up now. We'd been laying beside each other—maybe a little too close but neither of us seemed to mind—on the grass in my backyard, just trying to rest. We'd planned on working on new entries for the memory book today, but I hadn't slept at all last night and when he came over this morning to find me, still home and not in the woods, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, it was him who'd suggested a day off, relaxing in the grass under the sun.

He barely glances at me now, not really acknowledging my inquiry. "Nothing," he states simply and his hand touches mine for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"No, tell me what's bothering you," I insist defiantly. I don't know if it's the crankiness from lack of sleep or if I'm just fed up with having words left unsaid between us, but I'm not backing down.

"Katniss, come on," he says exasperatedly and his tone irks me further.

Instead of snapping and saying something I may regret later, I just shake my head at him, pushing myself upwards and beginning the walk back to the house, with every intention of abandoning our afternoon plans of relaxation. "Okay, wait!" He calls in retaliation and I feel him stretch to grip my hand in his again, only this time not dropping it after only a moment.

I relent and move backwards, sitting down to face him cautiously. I'm not worried that he's going to snap or harm me, not even in the slightest, but I am worried that both of us in foul moods-with our minds that are already teetering just on the edge of sanity-will lead to a painful, heated argument.

The last thing I want is to fight with Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I've come to rely far too heavily on his presence in my daily life. Driving him away is too agonizing to consider right now.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand for a long beat and when he does, he does so in a slip so awkward it leaves me believing he didn't even realize he was still grasping it. "I was just thinking about Gale," he blurts out, his eyes wide and a little nervous.

I just stare at him though, waiting for him to elaborate. "You were thinking of Gale?" The name burns the inside of my mouth, the face of the person I once called my friend now only bringing the gut-wrenching image of my sister's last moments of life, as the bombs he potentially built floated from the sky down towards her and hundreds of other unexpecting children. "Wh-why were you thinking of Gale?" I press, my voice caught between shocked and angry.

But Peeta seems prepared for my strangled query. "I guess, I was thinking of every which way... I guess, I was really thinking of the possibility of Gale returning," he explains, and my blood turns to ice. My vision swirls at the very thought and I have to force myself to swallow as my throat suddenly feels very dry.

"Did you hear something I haven't? Do you know if he is coming back to Twelve?" I press as evenly as I can. It's fruitless though, as he shoots me a sympathetic—but still somewhat distracted—look.

"No," he promises, shaking his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about him. I'm just assuming that he will at some point-"

"Why?" I can't help but implore, my voice more aggravated than I intend.

Peeta gives me a look like the answer to my words is blatant. "Because this is is his home, Katniss. You're his home," he emphasizes.

"No," I instantly repel. "No, I'm not his home. Don't even say that. I-I'm not..." I can't seem to make the words come out intelligibility. Instead, I find myself choking on the sounds and syllables. "What even brought this on, Peeta? Why would you be thinking about this?"

At that, he shrugs and breaks his conflicted gaze away, leaving me boring deep into the side of his skull as if the answers I craved would be visible there. "I was happy," he offers quietly, after a long stretch of silence. "I was happy here with you and it got me thinking of all the ways this could be taken away from me."

Oh, I realize as his words hit me. Of course. Of course that's where his mind went. Because not so long ago, every single good thing in his life, from his family, to his home, to his freedom, to his sanity itself, were all viciously and mercilessly stolen. Of course Peeta has such little faith that anything good will last for him anymore.

Still though. To think of Gale as the thing to ruin our days together, our growing friendship, would almost be laughable if it wasn't so insane.

"Why him though?" I press, unable to comprehend his line of thinking. "Why did you think about him coming back?"

He shoots me the same look again, like he can't understand why I even have to ask. "Because that is one sure way you'd be done with me."

"What?" I exclaim, like he was speaking in a language I'd never heard before. "Why would that mean I'd be done with you?"

Now his expression turns downright exasperated and I feel like mine must match. "Because, Katniss. He's-he's..." He struggles with finding the proper wording again. Something that is so incredibly rare for Peeta Mellark that I don't even register it. "He's the one for you," he continues softly after a moment, no malice in his voice, just what he believes to be facts. "I knew that—I've always known that. Long before I knew much else about you, I knew that Gale and you were practically-"

"Peeta, stop," I cut off, maybe not soon enough. "Gale and me... no," I insist venomously. "No, he..." And if Peeta is struggling to speak, I'm know I'm obviously doomed right now. I take a breath and just stare into the blue pools in his eyes and force myself to speak, even if it's difficult, even if I'd rather be choking on a rusty nail right now. "I will never have anything to do with Gale again," I declare gently, doing my best to remain calm and steady.

Peeta shoots me a wary look and I suddenly have to question if he knows about Gale and the bombs. The question that can never be answered, the connection I'll never be able to prove or disprove, but know in my gut what the answer likely is.

He can't know, if he thinks there's a chance that I'd ever have any sort of relationship with Gale again.

"Peeta," I struggle to get out, feeling breathless before I've even began to utter any of it. "Gale is the one—or he might be the one, I don't know, I'll probably never know—who built or created or wha-"

But he's shaking his head rapidly, comprehension flickering across his face. "Katniss, I know," he says, and reaches out to squeeze my palm again. The unexpected touch sends a shock wave through my body but I'm too overwhelmed to really notice. "Haymitch told me about Gale's part in Prim's death."

I rip my hand away so fast, acting before thinking, betrayal spreading through my entire being before I have the chance to even process his words. "If you know that, why do you think I'd ever have anything to do with him again?"

Peeta is starting to really grind on my nerves with that incredulous look he keeps giving me. It's as if he cannot follow what I'm saying or thinks that I'm not seeing his side of the argument or something else that is quite obviously wrong.

How on earth could Peeta ever think that I would be able to look Gale in the eye after what he did? After what he might have done? Does the might of even make a difference? If there's any discrepancies between if he did or didn't murder Prim, how could I ever hold a conversation with him while that hangs between us? How could I meet his eyes and always be reminded I can never meet her's again? How could I ever trust someone like that, that made callous decisions in the heat of righteous anger? Someone who had no idea what it was like to be forced to murder and have it labeled a game. Someone who actively ignored the warnings of those who had? Who actively allowed himself to be used as a puppet for a radicalist who was no better than Snow himself?

Peeta's voice yanks me from my thoughts. "Because, Katniss," he starts gently, looking rather mournful, effectively softening my anger against him just a bit. "You forgave me. How am I any better?"

I just stare at him. "You couldn't help what you did, Peeta."

"Wasn't Gale used too? Just by Coin instead of Snow?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"You didn't possibly kill my sister. And God knows how many other kids," I finally say, the fight in my voice still hanging on.

"I almost killed you," he reminds me, as if I have forgotten.

"It's not the same thing, Peeta," I whisper again, my eyes more compelling, more insistent, than my voice now. He sees that, as he's gazing deeply into my steel colored irises.

He takes a deep breath, mulling over his words before speaking them aloud. I realize then he must have been thinking about this for a while. The concept disturbs me for some reason. Like he's been having this debate in his head without me and I'm late to the event. Like he was actively having this argument already and didn't think to even get my side of the story first. "What if Snow had programmed me to kill Prim instead of you? Then would you have forgiven me?"

I have to look away at that moment because I outright don't know what to say. Would I have been able to ever forgive him for it, for trying to murder my little sister while not in his right mind? Would I have been able to look past it, to see that he was used and abused and destroyed to get to me? Or would I have been so stuck on the idea of anything hurting Prim that all his trauma would have become background noise? Would Gale be the one here now, having this conversation with me, while I was denouncing Peeta's name?

I can't give him an answer and we swore not to lie to each other, in light of everything we've been through, so instead I turn my eyes up to look into the forlorn blue skies I've become so accustomed to and say the only thing I know is true. "I honestly don't know, Peeta."

He nods at that, almost immediately accepting my honestly. Almost like he anticipated those words from me. And he offers me a small smile before standing himself up off the grass and walking towards the backdoor to my house. "I'm going to head home for the day," he says quietly, with no resentment in his voice.

My heart sinks at his words, as some long stifled string inside of me wishes to attach onto him and hold him here with me. To refuse to let him leave until that forlorn edge evaporates from his gaze. But something more prevalent, more powerful, is also churning inside of me, something that cannot stand being withheld even for a day, and I find myself calling out his name against my better judgment.

"Peeta!" I exclaim urgently, my voice rocky and scratched.

He turns and looks at me, his eyes curious to what I could have to say. And I don't know what else to utter, but the truth. The misunderstanding I'm irrationally unsettled by, the misconception that I can't continue to let fester inside his head.

"Gale was never the one for me."

Peeta blinks in surprise at the blatant assertion. He opens up his mouth to speak several times, confusion marring his features, but nothing comes out.

And in case he somehow wants to rationalize my statement away, in case somewhere in his head the demon Snow planted is trying to squash any assurance my statement may inspire, I repeat myself again.

"Gale was never the one."

/

A month later.

"Haymitch, come on," I mutter, pushing my old mentor towards the front door. "Go home. Sleep off the alcohol."

The older man murmurs something equally unintelligible and also somehow still undoubtedly rude at me, shoving my hands away from his back, where I'm trying to aim him in the direction of the exit.

"The boy is much gentler," he snaps, swaying heavily with his vigorous words.

"We have always agreed that Peeta is superior to me. You can go to his house if you want him to tuck you in tonight."

Haymitch guffaws at that, out of his skull. "Now wouldn't that make you jealous?"

"Get out!"

"Night night, Sweetheart."

After he's gone, I lock the door in case he tries to come back, tries to raid my kitchen again or use my couch as a free bed.

Nothing is more freighting than thinking I'm alone in my house and then seeing a man sleeping in my living room, first thing in the morning.

As I head upstairs though, I realize what I just did. Giving Haymitch the idea to go to Peeta's house, to torture him with his inebriation like he does me, and I wonder if Peeta's angry with me now.

Not real, long lasting anger, of course. Just simple irritation. But still, as I change into my pajamas and brush out my braid, I wonder if I've now destroyed Peeta's night.

At first the idea of our mentor giving Peeta a hard time tonight still doesn't seem like a too terrible situation to me. Peeta's definitively the one that will put up with the tiresome antics of the old drunk until he can't any longer. He's the one who will be more likely to have mercy on a sloshed Haymitch and let himself lose sleep, too kind for his own good.

But then it hits me that when Peeta loses too much sleep, when his insomnia kicks in, or when commotion keeps him awake, he surely has a flashback the following day. Resting later into the day doesn't help either, as any disruption to his sleep schedule can really mess with him good.

I feel myself rush to the window across from my bed, peering out to look three houses down, to see if I can spot the paunchy old man heading in that direction.

I see nothing and no one. It's the black of night, in the middle of winter. No one else lives in what used to be Victor's Village, aside from us three. The road between our houses is cold and wet and entirely void.

Still, I try to squint, to see if I can make anything out over at Peeta's.

His light is off. That much I can tell. The light in his bedroom is turned off, the room is too dark to see into, porchlight is turned off, and all this indicates he's fast asleep, Haymitch went home to his own house and I have nothing to worry about.

However, something else catches me attention then. Peeta's window. It's open. Just like it used to be. Just like before the Quarter Quell. Even in the middle of winter, in the darkest part of the night, he's always kept his bedroom window open.

I tell myself it's paranoia, or it's neighborly kindness. But I decide to open my window as well, in case I hear Haymitch pounding on Peeta's door and disturbing him at an ungodly hour. In case I hear Haymitch causing a ruckus outside Peeta's house and I have to go get him before he causes any massive disturbance.

I tell myself it's because I feel guilt and not because I miss Peeta, even in my sleep.

Especially in my sleep.

I doze off, desperately forcing myself to believe that lie.

When I wake up three hours later, it's not because Haymitch is making noise. No, he hasn't made a peep that I could hear since I kicked him out.

No, I wake up because of a wholly unexpected cacophonous sound.

I wake up because Peeta is screaming.

Peeta is screaming loud, on top of his lungs, like someone is holding a knife or a gun to his throat at this very moment.

It's a sound I recognize instinctively. And not because it resembles the version of him that was rescued and brought to Thirteen.

No, I recognize the sound because it sounds eerily similar to the noises I make from nightmares of the same events, because of flashbacks of the same memories.

Most victors understand each other to varying degrees. We've all lived through literal hells, we've all had our trauma projected across the country, we've all been through horrible ordeals that almost no one else could ever empathize with.

However, most victors didn't win their games together. Most victors don't know what anyone else's personal nightmares are about. Most victors can't even imagine what any of the others are seeing, in any shadow of a dark room. In a the cobwebs of our minds that not even the most proficient doctor can clear. Most victors can't see the haunting reflection in the dark smeared glass that remains unique to each individual victor.

Except me and Peeta. Except us, the once Star-Crossed Lovers, the girl on fire and the baker's boy, the two mouthpieces of opposing sides of war.

The two of us understand each other on a level deeper than anyone else on the planet can even begin to imagine, and it's this fact that draws me thoughtlessly out of my bed at the sound of his cries, and over the threshold and down the street before I even realize what I'm doing. Before I can contemplate it and think my way out of doing it.

I pound on his door, turning my palm pink with the applied force. "Peeta?" I exclaim but all I hear in response is a gut-wrenching howl in pain. I worry for a moment that he's managed to injury himself somehow. That he's lost his prosthetic in his own frenzy and now is lying helpless on the ground.

I take a chance, pleading silently for the door to be unlocked as I turn the knob.

I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Peeta doesn't lock his doors before going to sleep—he doesn't even close his windows though, so how can I be surprised?—but for the moment I bask in the one lucky instance and make a mental note to yell at him tomorrow for it.

My tired, cold legs shoot up the stairs, racing towards his bedroom blindly through the darkness. "Peeta?" I call out again, quieter now than before, not wanting to give him a heart attack.

After all, an intruder, just about any intruder-even my own mother-appearing in my house in the dead of night, would probably knock me unconscious from the adrenaline overload that would surely overtake me.

Because unlike Peeta, I do lock my door—every single door in my house—at night, the image of anyone coming to hurt me while I'm asleep and at my most vulnerable too powerful for me to rationalize away.

But Peeta doesn't hear my voice now and even without any light, I easily locate his bedroom. Despite the fact I've never been in it before. That revelation occurs to me as I'm about to open the door.

Even in our closest and most sacred moments together, I never once set foot inside his bedroom. I'd barely even walked into his house prior to coming back to Twelve after the war. And when I did come here now, we typically stayed in the kitchen or art room for some reason.

All this races through the back of my mind as I push the door open and reveal Peeta, tangled up in his bed sheets, bare-chested and sleeping in only his pajama pants. His fingers clawing at the wall ferociously, his eyes wild as the deer I hunt, when they realize I'm there at the very last second before the arrow pierces their hearts.

"Peeta," I whisper now, my concern for what must have set him off overtaking any qualms I may still have. I try to tell myself to be careful and keep a safe distance, as I don't know if he's himself right now or if he's once again the loaded weapon Snow broke him down and turned him into.

But when he looks at me, his blue eyes wide and wet and terrified and awed, like he thinks I'm nothing but a dream, I can't make myself believe he's anyone but the boy who saved my life years ago. So many years ago now, it seems.

And when he whispers my name and blindly, instinctively, desperately, reaches for me, I just can't make myself stay away. Without hesitating, I lunge forward and for the first time since the Quarter Quell, I throw myself straight into his arms, like I belong there.

My arms wrap around his neck and I feel him pull my body to his, pulling me down against him, molding our two shaky forms together as one. He pulls my legs around his waist and wraps me in a hug so tight my ribs physically hurt and I can't even breathe.

I burrow my face into the skin of his throat, inhaling his scent in an unabashed, reckless act, and turn my cold cheek to lay against his rapid beating heart.

"I thought you were dead," is the first thing he whispers, as the tears still running down his face hit my forehead.

"I'm not," I promise, trying to make my voice convincing, even as I'm reeling by this sudden turn of events.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd ever end up in his arms like this again. This embrace, this comfort, is something else I truly believed Snow had stolen away from me.

"I dreamed you died," he whimpers again, like he didn't hear me.

"I'm here, Peeta. I heard you having a nightmare and I came. As fast as I could." I don't know why I feel the need to tell him this information, but when his trembling starts to lessen I feel slightly validated.

"I lost you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"You couldn't lose me if you tried." The words come out without warning, and I'm glad somehow. I'm so tired of words being held back or dropped between us, of neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Of shoving down what we're both really feeling.

Even if right now may be the worst time for declarations, with Peeta exhausted and upset and visibly traumatized, I still feel relief spread all over my body, for having the guts to say what I'm thinking for once.

I see the wheels beginning to turn now, in his bloodshot, puffy eyes as he slowly begins to process the last couple of minutes that's brought us back into the position we held nightly only one year ago.

Has it really only been a year?

I expect then for him to recoil away from me, or apologize even, citing that he doesn't know what possibly came over him. But, to my surprise, he does none of that. Instead Peeta hugs me tighter to him, pulling up the covers he'd kicked away, effectively sheltering us beneath their protective warmth.

"Stay," he whispers into my hair, his arms shaking as they become a soothing balm around me, leaving me feeling safe in a way I refuse to ask for. Giving me back a refuge I considered all but gone. "Please, Katniss, stay with me?"

Without thinking twice, without giving myself a chance to second-guess the words, I whisper into his chest, exactly where I can feel his beating heart, "Always."

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

iii: i hate you but i need your van (bucky barnes x reader)

i hate you but masterlist

summary: bucky and y/n can’t stand each other, but y/n needs help with her sister’s kids (enemies to lovers au)

word count: 2115

warnings: swearing, arguing, death, and this is not proofread

taglist is CLOSED

A/N: I forgot to mention this when I first uploaded this but the one line in russian means “I will take all your knives and shove them up your ass if you don’t” but then again idk since I just used google translate lmao

       “Miss l/n, while Ethan and Olivia are being questioned, do you want to meet Jackson and Allie for now?” Elise questioned as y/n got back to the waiting area. y/n’s eyes grew wide at the question; was she ready to face her sister’s kids in the state she was in? Was she ready to meet the niece she’d never met before?

       “There’s no time like the present, I guess,” y/n smiled, earning a nod from Elise as she led the h/c-haired girl through the police precinct and to a green door with a frosted glass window.

       “They’re in this room,” Elise smiled before twisting open the doorknob.

       “—fly like the superheroes do, Allie!” Jackson’s high-pitched voice was the first thing y/n heard as the door swung open. There, she saw Jackson holding up an Iron Man action figure over the head of a much younger girl. God, she couldn’t have been over 2 years old.

       With the creak of the door, the pair turned their head to where y/n and Elise stood and Jackson’s eyes grew wide in excitement.

       “Auntie y/n!” Jackson exclaimed, throwing the toy on the ground and running towards y/n as quickly as his short legs could take him and he wrapped his chubby arms around her leg. y/n froze up at the feeling of it all. She couldn’t believe that her 5-year-old nephew—who she hadn’t seen for 2 years, still remembered her.

       “Hey, buddy,” y/n smiled as she broke herself out of her trance. She leaned down to return the hug Jackson was trying to give her before pulling away and tousling his hair.

       Allie, at the lack of having her big brother near her, began to wail loudly, her cries echoing off the walls of the colorful room.

       “No, no, Allie, don’t cry,” Jackson cooed, rushing to his little sister’s side and instinctively wrapping his arms around her tiny frame. The toddler wrapped her arms around her older brother as her sobbing began to cease slowly. y/n smiled; she saw so much of Cassy in the kids.

       “What are you waiting for? Talk to them,” Elise smiled at y/n, motioning towards the kids.

       “Allie, this is auntie y/n. She’s mommy’s sister,” the young blue-eyed boy smiled down at his sister as the toddler, out of curiosity, crawled towards y/n. It was the first time she got a glimpse of Allie’s e/c eyes up close. Damn, Allie was a mini Cassy and that thought itself scared her.

       “Auntie!” the toddler babbled, reaching up as if to ask y/n to carry her. Of course, to y/n, it sounded more like “OTIE!”

       She hesitantly pulled the toddler up, one arm supporting Allie’s weight and the other resting on her back. Allie, with her big e/c eyes, looked up at y/n and giggled, pulling a smile from y/n.

       “Auntie y/n, mommy know you visiting?” Jackson questioned, ditching the toys altogether and standing beside y/n. y/n’s heart clenched; of course, Jackson didn’t know about his mother’s passing. Elise sent y/n a look of sympathy before mouthing ‘we told him she’s on a trip’ to her.

       “Yeah, she does. Your mommy told me to take care of you while she was on her trip,” y/n smiled warmly at the young boy, holding in her tears as she noticed his face fall.

       “Why mommy not bring us on her trip? Does mommy no love us?” Jackson frowned. y/n, Allie still in her arms, got on her knees so she stood at the same level Jackson did, and shook her head.

       “Your mommy loves you very very very much, Jackson. She didn’t take you with her because she knows Auntie y/n misses you,” y/n smiled as Jackson wrapped his arms around her.

       “I hate to break up this moment, but they’re done questioning Ethan and Olivia,” Mike interrupted them as he entered the room. y/n nodded, heading out the door with Jackson and Allie before getting interrupted by Elise.

       “Miss l/n, take them away as quickly as you can. I don’t think it would be good for Ethan or Olivia if they stayed here any longer than they should,” Elise requested, earning a nod from y/n. They followed Mike back out to the waiting room and there sat two familiar faces.

       When it came to seeing Jackson for the first time, y/n could instantly recognize him. After all, he’d only aged two years since she’d last seen him. Olivia and Ethan however, those two were a different story. Since they were part of the population that didn’t turn to dust after the effects of Thanos’ snap; the two were unrecognizable.

       To them, it had been seven years since they’d seen y/n. Ethan, who was a shaggy-haired ten-year-old the last time y/n had seen him, was now a tired-looking seventeen-year-old. Olivia, who was a starry-eyed eight-year-old when y/n had last seen him, was now fifteen; a young woman with a sad smile as she reassuringly held her older brother’s hand.

       “Ethan, Olivia, this is—,” Elise began only to be harshly cut off by Ethan.

       “Agent y/n l/n. The same one who hasn’t visited us for seven years. Why is she here?” Ethan scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. y/n sighed sadly. What was she expecting? Did she really think all of Cassy’s kids would welcome her with open arms after she stopped visiting?

       “From now on, she’s your legal guardian. You’re going to be staying over at her place for a while,” Elise explained carefully.

        “Of all the people mom could leave us with, she left us with her? Why?” Ethan scoffed, shooting up from his seat. Olivia rolled her eyes before speaking.

       “I trust mom and if she decided leaving us with Aunt y/n’s what she wanted for us, I respect that decision,” Olivia flashed y/n a tired smile as she got up from her seat and wrapped her arms around y/n. y/n, shocked from the action, just stood there, frozen in place.

      “Yeah, Ethan. Auntie y/n’s nice,” Jackson smiled, holding y/n’s hand.

       “Ethan, I know you’re probably pissed off at me, but I also know you don’t want to stay here, so can we just go?” y/n huffed, already feeling exhausted from the hell of a day she had.

      “Fine,” he huffed, motioning for y/n to lead the way to her car.

       “Miss l/n, we’ll take care of the documents for now. We’ll contact you if we need anything else,” Elise smiled before letting y/n leave the precinct. y/n, using her handprint, unlocked the doors to her modified Aston Martin coupe (one of the benefits of being an Avenger) as she motioned for everyone to get in the car.

       She handed Allie over to Olivia before getting into the driver’s seat and driving to the Avengers compound.

       “Auntie y/n, where we going?” Jackson questioned, peeking over to the front seat.

       “I’m going to the Avengers Compound. I need to go get my bag, and then we’ll go to your house too,” y/n responded as she took a turn.

      “Am I gonna meet the Avengers?” Jackson’s eyes lit up with excitement.

       “Sorry, buddy, my teammates are on a mission, they aren’t in the compound. Maybe after a week or two we can visit them, okay?” y/n lied, not really wanting to explain to her teammates how she became the legal guardian of two kids and two teenagers.

       “Promise?” Jackson questioned.

       “I promise,” y/n chuckled.

       A few minutes later, they stopped at the gate to the compound. y/n rolled down a window and pressed the button on the intercom system.

       “FRIDAY, unlock the gates,” y/n requested, only to get a loud beep in response.

       “Name?”

       “Agent y/n l/n,” y/n spoke into the intercom, only to get yet another beep in response to her words.

       “My apologies Agent l/n, but Sergeant Barnes is restricting your access to the compound,” FRIDAY responded as y/n’s nails began to dig into the leather of the steering wheel.

       “Redirect this channel to wherever Barnes is,” y/n commanded, rolling her eyes in frustration.

       “Oh, hey, y/n,” Bucky spoke nonchalantly from the other side of the intercom. y/n swore she could hear his smirk from the intercom.  

       “Hey, prick, maybe you want to remove the restrictions you put on my access,” y/n huffed.

       “Yeah, no,” Bucky sassed.

       “Я возьму все твои ножи и засуну их тебе в задницу, если ты этого не сделаешь,” y/n threatened him in Russian since, well, she had kids in her car and she wasn’t supposed to be threatening people or swearing around them.

       “Well, you could try,” Bucky chuckled.

       “Barnes, I don’t have time for this!” y/n exclaimed as she now held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

       “Jeez, no need to get so riled up. FRIDAY, remove all restrictions on Agent l/n’s access to the compound. She’s not secretly a HYDRA agent,” Bucky huffed as the gates to the compound swung open and y/n drove into the parking area of the compound.

       “I’m going to leave the AC on, but stay in the car. I’ll just grab my bag from upstairs and we’ll be good to go,” y/n explained before walking back into the compound and heading straight to her bedroom.

       There, she pulled away a compartment from her closet to reveal a black suitcase filled with enough of her clothes to last her two weeks. Ever since that surprise vacation Tony took the team on—where y/n did not have any of her belongings packed on time—she hid the suitcase away just in case.

       “FRIDAY, lock my door,” y/n requested. The light outside y/n’s door flashed from green to red, meaning the door was locked and nobody other than y/n could bypass FRIDAY’s systems or command FRIDAY to unlock her door.

       y/n, with the heavy suitcase rolling behind her came to a realization. A realization that there was no way in hell she could manage to fit her suitcase, the kids, and the kids’ suitcases in her car without leaving it cramped or making two trips between her apartment and their house.

       y/n sighed knowing damn well what she had to do.

       “FRIDAY, can I have a location on Barnes?” y/n requested, stopping in her tracks and awaiting a response.

       “Sergeant Barnes is in the kitchen. Shall I let him know you require his presence?” FRIDAY questioned.

        “No, thanks,” y/n responded as she made her way to the partially burned down kitchen area where she found Bucky fixing himself a sandwich on one of the ash-covered countertops.

        “You here to burn down the kitchen again?” Bucky raised a brow at y/n, his eyes fixated on the suitcase she trailed behind her.

       “Sam already told you he was the one who burned the fucking kitchen down, bitch. I need something,” y/n paused, tapping her fingers against the countertop.

       “If you’re going to ask for tips on how to go on the run, you’re going to need a less obvious way to carry everything you own because that suitcase is only going to raise suspicion,” Bucky chuckled, motioning to the suitcase.

        “That wasn’t it, bitch. I need your van,” y/n crossed her arms impatiently.

       “My van? Don’t you have that car Stark gave you? You know, that fancy sportscar you drive around on undercover missions?” Bucky raised a brow at y/n.

       “You don’t even use the damn thing! It’s literally rotting away in the fucking car basement. Plus, you prefer using your motorcycle! I’ll give it back, I swear,” y/n begged, facing Bucky with her best e/c puppy dog eyes.

        “No,” Bucky smirked.

       “Barnes, I swear, I’ll fucking give it back!” y/n exclaimed, letting go of the handle of the suitcase and shaking Bucky’s shoulders dramatically which pulled an eye roll from him.

       “Damn it, I don’t know why I’m actually agreeing to this, but fine,” Bucky huffed, walking away from the kitchen and disappearing into his bedroom for a quick moment.

       When he reemerged, he set his van keys on to the counter and returned to making his sandwich, acting as though y/n wasn’t in the room—y/n was used to it, though.

        She snatched the keys from the counter and headed off to the parking basement where she swung the door of her car.

       “I just realized we aren’t going to fit in this car when we go fetch your things so we are going to be using a different car,” y/n explained, earning a nod from Olivia.

       “Irresponsible,” Ethan coughed out as y/n pretended not to hear him. Instead, she just promised herself to be more prepared next time she had to deal with these kids—which she knew would be all the damn time now that she had custody of them.  

a/n; i have no idea what im doing im just trying to get to the plot point i actually planned which is next chapter because i’m too excited

i hate you but taglist: @sarcastic-britt​ / @kmuir1​ / @shower-me-with-roses​ / @justab-eautifulmess​ / @thomasthetankson​ / @x-abi-sharp-x​ / @intovert-gone-wild​ / @brittanymcsharry​ / @leaving-the-past-behind​ / @xoxabs88xox​​ / @mylifeiscrazy0423​​ / @howliebucky​​ / @i-cry-so-much​​ /

 Forever tags: @spatium-viatorem​​​ / @sxphiiwrld​​​ / @strangersstranger​​​ / @nerdy-bookworm-1998​​ / @cutie1365​​ / @valeriiaaass​ / @adorkably​

MARVEL TAGLIST: @captainamerica-is-bae​​

BUCKY TAGLIST: @missmidnightxo​​ / @tinymalscoffee​ / @howliebucky​ /

[hanniiesuckle17]

Stray Kids: Celebrating Their S/o's Birthday

A/n: this was requested by @9staytiny8-allie-5moarmy7​ this was such a cute idea! I hope you like it! I got a little carried away with jinnie’s and chan’s lol

Bangchan:

The ringing of your phone brought your attention away from your schoolwork. The familiar sound of your boyfriend’s verse in ‘WOW’ filled the room making you laugh. “Hey! Are you home?” Chan said as you enabled video chat. 

“Yeah, I got home about an hour ago. Are you in the car?” 

He nodded and adjusted his phone. “So, I know we couldn’t be together for your birthday because I’m on tour and I’m really sorry.” He sighed, a frown on his face. It was a little disappointing Chan wasn’t here, but you had finally accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to be home. “Chan, don’t apologize! It’s fine! We’ve only been going out a couple months. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m going to call you when I get back to the hotel in about thirty minutes. Put on something nice!” 

Confused you nodded and smiled at him before he hung up. Following your boyfriend’s direction you put on some makeup and put on a nice dress. Just as he said Chan called you back, this time on your laptop. When you answered you laughed seeing Chan in a nice suit. “Happy Birthday, baby girl!” 

“Chan! What are you doing?” 

“You and I are going to have a special birthday dinner to celebrate.” 

“But how-” Suddenly your doorbell rang. Chan smiled and pulled a plate in front of him, probably from room service. “You better get that, baby.” Standing, you answered the door to see a man holding takeout from your favorite restaurant. He told you someone had already paid for the meal. Quickly, you ran back to Chan on your laptop.

“Chan you are the best. This is the best gift ever!”

“Oh, your gift is still in the mail. Don’t worry.”

Minho:

“Y/n! Hey, honey, open the door!” Your brows furrowed hearing your boyfriend's voice from outside your apartment. Getting off the couch, you walked over and opened the door. There stood Minho carrying one very large birthday bag and a cat carrier. He also had a cat strapped to his chest in one of those baby slings and another peeking over his shoulder

“You brought the cats?” You said with a laugh.

“This is a family affair. Of course, I brought our children.”

You laughed as he walked into your apartment and started to let his cats down. You thought it was cute that you had only been dating for six months yet he considered you a second parent to Soongi, Doongi, and Doori. 

Minho watched his little cats explore your apartment before turning to you. “Am I cooking or ordering, because your cute little butt is not lifting a finger tonight.” He smiled and wrapped his arms around you.

“Will you order in? I want cuddles.”

“Of course!” 

“Can it be pizza and sides?” 

“....Sure!” 

You laughed as he pulled out his phone and ordered the pizza. He followed you as you plopped down on the couch, pulling him down with you. A cat soon followed jumping up on your stomach.  Happily, the two of you sat on your couch with your kitty children and snacking on pizza. 

Changbin:

You checked yourself in the mirror one last time. Changbin would be here any minute to pick you up. You had been together for almost a year now, but you still got nervous before going out with him. “I should change my lipstick. This is way too dark.” 

Before you could return to your makeup to change, someone knocked on the door. With a nervous smile, you opened the door to see Changbin dressed in a nice suit. “Wow, you look...incredible. Happy Birthday, gorgeous.” He handed you the prettiest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen.

“You ready to go?” He asked with a bright smile, looking you up and down. You watched him nervously wring his hands together with a cute smile. After nodding, he offered you his arm and escorted you to his car. On the way to the restaurant, you were surprised with a playlist filled with all of your favorite songs made by him. 

“My lady,” Changbin said opening your door. “Thank you, my good sir.” Looping your arm through his, he led you into the very nice restaurant. Your eyes widened, when you saw the expensive decor and the trays of fancy appetizers 

“Bin, you didn’t have to do this!” You said as the waiter led the two of you to a secluded booth. He shrugged and sat down pulling out the menu.

“It’s your birthday, gorgeous. Order anything you want. Also little heads up, I told them to sing when they bring the champagne.”

“Bin!”

Hyunjin:

“Okay, get dressed. We are going out,” Hyunjin said walking into your bedroom. “Umm excuse you? When did you even get here?” Hyunjin being the dramatic ass he was slammed your bedroom door letting his jaw drop.

“No, no, no, no, no. You aren’t turning this on me. I’m the one who just found out through Snapchat that it’s your birthday today!”

You laughed as he walked over to your closet and started searching through your clothes. You had only been dating for a couple of weeks so you didn’t really think Hyunjin would care so much if you just let the day slip by. You certainly hadn’t expected him to barge into your apartment unannounced.“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But, I don’t want you to spend money on me, okay? You worked really hard. Don’t spend it on me.”

“LET ME SPOIL YOU, WOMAN. WE MUST HONOR THE DAY YOU CAME TO THIS EARTH!”

You laughed as he tossed a dress at you. “Hyunjin, I don’t really want to go out.” He sighed and reluctantly put the dress back in your closet when you threw it back to him. You watched your boyfriend fall back onto your bed, clearly exasperated. 

“Y/n if you don’t let me do something for your birthday I’ll jump off your balcony.” Instead of responding you just turned back to your homework. Your eyes widened hearing your sliding door open. “I’m not kidding, I’ll do it.” Hyunjin stood facing you on the ledge of your balcony, a completely serious look on his handsome face. “Fine. Do it.” Without questioning it, Hyunjin fell backward off the balcony. “OW!” He yelped. Quickly you rushed over to the balcony to see Hyunjin lying on the grass about four feet below. “Did you forget I live on the first floor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why don’t you come back in and I’ll let you buy me a pizza?”

Jisung:

Today had not been the best of days. Your professor gave you a four-page paper due in two days and your landlord just told you he was increasing your rent next month. On top of that, it seems your parents had forgotten your birthday. And much to your disappointment, it seems your boyfriend had too. The two of you had exchanged numerous texts today despite his busy schedule, and yet he didn’t even say ‘Happy Birthday’.

You really just wanted to heat up some leftovers and go to bed early. Finally, the key turned in your lock to reveal your dark apartment. That’s funny. You were almost certain you left a light on in the living room. Then you noticed the extra pair of shoes by the door.  “Jisung? Are you here?” Then you heard footsteps shuffle in from the kitchen.

“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Y/n! Happy Birthday to you!” 

You almost cried seeing Jisung carrying in a lit birthday cake from your kitchen. You never should have doubted him. You knew he wouldn’t forget the first birthday you spent together. “Happy birthday, baby.” He said standing in front of you with the cake, his cute smile lighting the room up brighter than the candles. Wiping away a tear, you blew out the candles and set the cake down on the table wrapping him up in a hug.

“I thought you forgot.”

“Never, baby. I’m gonna be here for so many birthdays that you’ll get sick of me.”

You laughed as he kissed the top of your head. This was one of the best birthdays ever thanks to Jisung. “Thank you, Sungie. I’ve got a present for you in return.” He smiled when you leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

“Hey! It’s your birthday! Leave the present giving to me!” He said as he attacked your lips and face with kisses, making you laugh.

Felix:

“DON’T COME IN THE KITCHEN!” Your boyfriend, Felix, shouted at you in your bedroom. He had locked you in there claiming to ‘need time to prepare your birthday surprise’. While you and Felix had only been dating about three months, you had been friends much longer. And it genuinely scared you that Felix was alone in your kitchen with knives, and potential fire, and.....well that was about it. You were okay if he made your food taste bad.

Several nerve-wracking sounds came from your kitchen and all you could do was nervously sit on your bed. “Felix are you done yet?” You called checking the time. He had been at this close to two hours now. 

“Almost! I’m plating!”

“You know what plating is?” 

“Yeah, I saw it on CHOPPED.”

After a few more minutes, Felix called out again. “Okay, you can come out now, Y/n!” Smiling, you opened your door and walked into your relatively small kitchen. When you walked in you were greeted with your boyfriend doing a silly little dance as he sprinkled cheese on top of the plates.

“Felix, oh my god! This is incredible!” The plates were gorgeously plated with your absolute favorite meal. And when you looked around your kitchen was perfectly intact. Felix wrapped you up in a hug and kissed your forehead.

“Happy birthday, love.”

Seungmin:

Come outside. 

You shrugged looking at the text from your boyfriend. It wasn’t unusual for him to text you this late, but it was weird for Seungmin to send you something like this. Throwing on a sweater and slipping on some shoes you headed outside your dorm. Seungmin’s ringtone startled you as you stood alone in the dark outside.

“Minnie, what’s going on?”

“Hey, you see the JYP van?” He asked. You could hear the smile in his voice. A smile slipped onto your face when you spotted the gray van Stray Kids ride around in parked under a streetlight. 

“Yeah,” 

“Well, hurry up, dummy.”

Jogging over you were greeted by one of the JYP security guys getting out of the driver’s side door. He smiled and opened up the sliding door revealing your smiling boyfriend in the back. When the door opened he started to sing happy birthday to you, his amazing voice floating out into the empty college dorm parking lot.

When he was finished he joyfully pulled you in to sit with him in the back of the van. You laughed when the security closed the door giving you two some privacy. “So, on the way home, I picked up takeout and told the driver to drop the guys off and then bring me here.” He was too cute. He smiled when you cupped his cheeks and kissed him. 

“Thank you, Seungmin. This is the best birthday present ever.” 

Jeongin:

Hey, baby! Can you pick up some drinks for me and the boys on your way back from class? 

You smiled seeing the text from your boyfriend. Both of you had a busy schedule, him with his schedules and you with class. He had often sent you this kind of message as an excuse to see you. You thought it was really cute.

Yeah! I’ll be there in 20!

Twenty minutes later you were carrying eight drinks in two carriers up to the JYP practice room. When you entered the room was dark and you heard whispers in the back. “Um......guys? Are you in here?” Feeling around for the table near the door you set the drinks down. And there was a light switch around here somewhere.

“SURPRISE!”

You jumped hearing the eight boys scream when you turned on the lights. Turning around you saw your boyfriend’s dark hair running towards you, a big bright happy smile on his face. “Happy birthday, Y/n!” He cheered wrapping you up in a big hug.

“Jeongin, you did this all for me?” He smiled and nodded, laughing when you started peppering kisses all over his face. When you had finished he led you over to the other boys who each gave you their own version of a happy birthday wish. Jeongin got a little worried you had stopped breathing during Changbin’s bone-crushing hug. 

“Jeongin this is the best surprise party ever! Thank you so much for doing this for me!” 

Requests are open my lovelies! ALSO IM SIX DAYS FROM GRADUATING OMG

Masterlist

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG197!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Jon’s fascination with the pit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin got friends………

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

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

- Martin likes Jon’s voice!!

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

That’s an adorable little detail <3

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

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

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

Also, games, in that apocalypse?

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

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

Never quite working.

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

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

- Sob about the set-up because:

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

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

- Annabelle, PLEASE.

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

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

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

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

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

(MAG197) [BASIRA BRUSHES AGAINST A STRAND WHICH THRUMS AND ECHOES, AND THE CADENCE OF BUZZING SOUNDS CHANGE AS TAPE SQUEALS WITH THE REVERBERATIONS] BASIRA: Sorry…! ARCHIVIST: … It’s okay. She already knew I was here, I just… I hoped we might be able to sneak you in. […] MARTIN: W–, yeah, well– [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND TAPE SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Wait… Wait, hang on… is that him? ANNABELLE: Yes! I guess you’re better with The Web than we thought. MARTIN: And… Wait, ha–, no, uh… Is that… Basira? He–he’s got Basira with him! ANNABELLE: Yes. I did wonder if that would be the case. Interesting. And unfortunate for me. That’s two heads we’ll need to keep cool. My odds aren’t looking good.

So it gave us a nice perspective on who was talking about what when!

I’m surprised that Annabelle indeed only discovered it at that moment – meaning that if Basira hadn’t touched the threads, she wouldn’t have known she was there… although she had been recorded more than once since Jon had left London. Web is not omniscient, uh.

- Annabelle’s taste for theatrics was hilarious, and Martin sarcastically following her request by trying out postures of the Main Love Interest In Distress And Held Hostage was incredible. Martin, PLEASE.

(I wonder if she spat in his mouth, to gag him? Where did that thread come from.)

- It still amuses me how dry Jon can sound in front of avatars, while he’s way more emotional (soft, annoyed, amused, desperate sometimes) in front of Martin! He really adapts his presence to the people in front of him, in this new world.

- Love how Basira pointed out that Jon shouldn’t do anything rash… and then he immediately went for a smiting attempt when he saw that Martin was positioned in a dangerous and precarious situation.

- Jon’s new “Fuck” means that he’s now The Biggest Sayer Of Fuck in the series!

(MAG154) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] [SOFTLY BUT WITH FEELING] … Fuck.

(MAG158) DAISY: Oh, shit! ARCHIVIST: You gotta be fucking kidding m–

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: “Free will,” she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web!

Martin (MAG154), Melanie (MAG131) and the Inspector (MAG185) are at 1; Trevor was at 2 (MAG176); Tim was at 3 (MAG065, MAG080, MAG104); Basira is at 3 (MAG148, MAG177, MAG178)… and now Jon takes the lead with four ;w; Who would have thought, when listening to episode 1!

(If taking “shit” into account: Martin explodes the counter because of his litanies in MAG163 and MAG179.)

- Oh Martin…

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: He came of his own free will. MARTIN: [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] ARCHIVIST: “Free will,” she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web! ANNABELLE: [LAUGH] A fair point! But that’s a debate for another time. I simply mean I did not bring him here through force, threat or false pretence. I made an offer, and he agreed. ARCHIVIST: Martin, is this true? [TAPE SQUEALS] MARTIN: [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] BASIRA: Told you. ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk about it later. Once you’re safe.

I love how we could indeed tell his emotions at the moment, at first objecting, then slowly having to concede.

There is still a tiny possibility that Annabelle still pulled a string and made Martin keener to follow her, but I don’t feel like that would be necessary – the point was that he was out of options, that Annabelle had dangled the fact that she had one, and offered to give it while simultaneously threatening to not ever share it if Martin didn’t immediately come with her (as it was explained last episode). Of course, in retrospect, it sounds like Annabelle/The Web needs them more than they need it… but the point was that Martin was lacking options, that Jon was seriously thinking about replacing Jonah as Beholding’s pupil the last time they had talked (which would have meant: for Martin, still being stuck as a Watcher, so still planning to die rather than feeding on people’s suffering), and that Martin is “as bad” as Jon when it comes to self-sacrifice, as Also!Martin had pointed out. I like that Basira had been able to guess that Martin had probably made the choice to follow Annabelle, while Jon… apparently stayed stuck to his perception of The Web as a big manipulator which compels and forces people to do things all the time, without taking detours or subtler approaches.

- Regarding Annabelle’s “lesson” on the Fears, I like how it began on familiar territories, since it roughly followed Gertrude’s own perception of the Fears:

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: … Fine. Speak your piece. Tell us about your… “way out”. ANNABELLE: As you wish. … The Great Fears, do you believe they think the way we do? ARCHIVIST: They don’t “think” at all. They just are. ANNABELLE: Almost true. In truth, it depends on the Fear. [TAPE SQUEALS] Some exist in an eternal moment, some make use of memory to reflect and corrupt, but for most, time is simply another thing for them to play with. To consider the future, to plan, is not something they’re capable of. ARCHIVIST: But not The Web? ANNABELLE: No. Not the Mother-of-Puppets, the Spinner-of-Schemes. BASIRA: Hang on. What about the rituals? Those were plans. ARCHIVIST: No. [INHALE] They were… desires, filtered and interpreted by people and the thinking creatures that they spawned. ANNABELLE: You are well informed, aren’t you? Exactly this.

(MAG145) ARTHUR: You never had to second-guess a god. ‘Cause that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? We feel Its joy and Its… anger; It warps us, and changes us, and feeds on us, though not in the ways we expect. The one thing It never does is just… tell us what to do. It seeds us with this… aching, impossible desire to change the world, to bring It to us. Then, It leaves us to guess and bicker and fight over how the hell you can actually do it. … If it’s possible. Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do. GERTRUDE: I’m not actually convinced they “think” at all. ARTHUR: You might be right. But Agnes did.

The idea that avatars had no clear idea about what they were doing had been confirmed by Simon in MAG151, so that wasn’t new. It did colour all of Annabelle’s speech, however, since she argued that The Web was different due to its own way of functioning and she was judge and party in that regard – isn’t she precisely projecting what she thinks The Web is to give it intention, when it’s perfectly possible that “The Web’s plan” might have been mostly inherited through its agents throughout history?

- Confirmation that Oliver might have said the truth in MAG168 about the fact that The End’s domains ultimately had to deliver a genuine death (or, well: confirmation that Jon was convinced that it was saying the truth). And Basira hadn’t been there back then, hence why she needed a bit more information:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “When Danika Gelsthorpe reaches the end of her Corpse Root, she will die. This new world of Fear reviles death as a release, but the Coming End cannot exist without its reality. It is not a being of dangled promises and shifting torments; the certainty of death waits for all who travel the Corpse Roots, and that certainty… will be delivered on, without hesitation or consideration of any other factors. […] The others may take what actions they wish; they may plot and plan and tear themselves apart in an attempt to separate from the fate that they know they cannot escape; but they will fail. The currents of perception and reality may twist in whatever shapes they want; but none of them can ever render things truly eternal. […] I am too much of my patron now and my feelings cannot help but reflect the shadows of… anticipation that lurk within the grave. The End does not fear its own cessation, for it is the certainty and promise of all life, however strange, that it will one day finish, and that includes its own stark existence. […] All – things – end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose… only brings you closer to it.”

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: But only two of them could truly conceive of such. Terminus, The End, knows that in such a world they will ultimately consume themselves. And it desires that finality. ARCHIVIST: [REALISING] And The Web understands it as well. That eventually a successful ritual would doom them all. Leave them trapped and starving in a used-up world with no-one to feed on. BASIRA: Hang on, what? This is news to me. ARCHIVIST: We passed a death domain, of The End. The victims there do actually die, meaning even though it would take… I don’t know how long, eventually The End will claim everyone and everything. It’s inevitable.

Damnit, it means that Peter had kiiiiind of been right in season 4 when he had explained to Martin that The Web and The End didn’t appear interested in trying to achieve their rituals:

(MAG134) PETER: There are two Powers that, to my knowledge, have never attempted to fully manifest, never had followers set them up for a ritual: Mother-of-Puppets, and Terminus. The Web, and The End. The Web, I’ve never really been sure about: if I were to guess, I would say it actually prefers the world as is, playing everyone against each other, and so on. The End, on the other hand… The End doesn’t really need one: it knows that it gets everything eventually, so why bother. The End manifesting would not be a new world of terror; it would be a lifeless world. Devoid of everything. MARTIN: … Including fear.

The End was indeed fine with anything, while The Web indeed preferred the world as is – because it had an inkling that rituals would lead to the Fears’ own annihilation. Given how Annabelle pointed out how the escape route had been worked on for so long, I wonder if it had really understood that a successful ritual needed to bring all the Fears into the world a long time ago… or if not at all, and it was, until then, planning an escape in case any of the Fears were to succeed on its own.

- Web!Jonah, Web!Jonah, Web!Jonah.

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: And knowing this, knowing for centuries you would eventually be trapped, doomed to starvation, what would you do? [LONG CONSIDERED PAUSE] ARCHIVIST: … Plan an escape. ANNABELLE: Just so. […] ARCHIVIST: So The Web, it wants to spread? To escape into new realities? ANNABELLE: Yes. But not alone. Any attempt to separate the Fears is ultimately doomed, as you well know.

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Why does a man seek to destroy the world? It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality, and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my God! The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness; to place yourself beyond pain, and death, and fear. […] I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die. […] Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?”

The way Annabelle presented it, The Web shared the same logic as Jonah and took the same horrible decision about it: desiring self-preservation, fearing their own end, fearing that others would doom them… and instead of taking active measures to ensure that no doom would happen, they chose to cause it themselves to be in control of it. Jonah could have gone on spending many more centuries body-hopping once he understood that other rituals would never work anyway, but he chose to work on this ritual thinking it would grant him domination and control over the result; and likewise, The Web could have worked to ensure no Jonah-like person would cause the big ritual… but chose instead to actively help him, to cause the apocalypse, thus dooming itself if Jon doesn’t help to make them hop into another world to contaminate it. Same fear of death, same thirst for control, same selfish thought process.

As mentioned above: given how Annabelle might have selected her information, I wonder if The Web had known for a long while that individual rituals wouldn’t work, or if it had discovered that fairly recently, alongside Jonah. It’s possible that the escape route had initially been planned for The Web itself and solely itself in case one of the other Fears succeeded, then The Web discovered that the Dread Powers couldn’t be separated and slightly changed its plan by accepting that all the Fears would need to be yeeted into the passage together?

- I can’t believe we now can answer “What does the Spider want?!”.

It does explain why The Web seemed to ensure Jon’s survival and support Jonah’s plan (Jonah even acknowledged the latter in his letter), and why Annabelle still wanted something out of Jon&Martin although the apocalypse had already happened. It also answered Jon’s own question from the trailer about the tape recorder:

(Season 5 trailer) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … What? What do you want? … The world is…! It’s over. You’ve won. What can you possibly still need to hear?

His question had even been followed by a “knock-knock” joke. It really felt like a Mr. Spider reference.

Regarding the tapes: it was indeed right to link them to The Web! I remember that pre-season 4, upon listening to the series for the first time, I was convinced that they were Web, but I had begun to doubt in season 4 because of a potential slight nuance: The Web was using the tapes, it didn’t necessarily mean that it was the thing listening behind the tape recorder. What I did not expect, and am delighted about, is that The Web required the tapes to exist as a hook for its plans:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice. ARCHIVIST: No… ANNABELLE: His, and those he walked with. We inscribed them on shining strands of word and meaning, and used them to weave a web which cast itself out through the gate and beyond our universe. So that when the Fears heard that voice, and came in their terrible glory, they might then travel out along it. [TAPE SQUEALS] Or be dragged. BASIRA: Is she talking about the tapes? ARCHIVIST: Yes. […] Do both at the same time, and… for just a moment, all that power rushes through their only remaining connection with reality: the tapes. ANNABELLE: And they would be swept along by it, dragged out of our realities, and into new ones…

And now I wonder about the reasons why the statements didn’t work on Jon’s computer in (and before) season 1, leading him to use the tape recorders. It had been pointed out in MAG065 that tapes were technically digital too, that the difference between a computer and a tape recorder wasn’t a matter of analogue vs. digital, so why did the statements resist computer recording? With the new information: it might have been simply that The Web was making Jon’s computer crash to push him to find another solution for his recordings – Jon indeed ended up relying on the tape recorder (found covered in cobwebs; spotted by Tim first according to the TMA liveshow, and then found back by Sasha according to MAG162’s tape).

Did The Web mostly require a story for their plan? The statements contain bits of Fears, some of Jon&co’s encounters were supernatural, but not everything that was caught on tapes was dealing with fear – we’ve had very mundane exchanges and conversations that did not contain anything supernatural. It, of course, asks the question of whether an audience in-universe is listening to the tapes that have been reordered chronologically: have the tapes already been sent into another world, with or without the Fears coming with them? The current labels on episodes are presented as “Case ########–xx”, a sign that time is not as reliable but that there is still a chronological and logical progression to follow. I wonder if the last episode will go back to having a date-based file number like episodes used to have (MAG160’s, “Case #0181810”, being the last one).

- The problem with Archivists really is their voices, uh? Gertrude and Jon both needed to read the statements aloud to feed Beholding, and the Black Forest tomb had the “For The Silence” coin. I’m a bit curious about whether the Fears would truly follow the tapes because they contain Jon’s voice… if Jon, with that original voice, is staying behind? Wouldn’t he need to go with the tapes, or to be deprived of his voice, for that plan to work?

- Annabelle’s offer was a bit more complex than redirecting their full apocalypse to another world, which I feared, instead presenting it as another world being subjected to this one’s previous and less intense fate… but I’m extremely glad that Jon immediately pointed out that it would likely mean a complete repeat of what their own world had experienced, apocalypse included eventually:

(MAG197) BASIRA: What are you saying? ARCHIVIST: … We can pass them our apocalypse. MARTIN: [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] ANNABELLE: Nothing so extreme. In these new worlds, they would exist as they used to in ours, lurking just beyond the threshold. ARCHIVIST: Until someone is stupid enough to release them there as well. ANNABELLE: Perhaps. Even the Mother cannot see the future. Only try to shape it. ARCHIVIST: And so they spread through realities like a disease. ANNABELLE: Perhaps. ARCHIVIST: … I won’t do it.

Jon even kept using the verb “spread” (“So The Web, it wants to spread?”, “for the Fears to spread into these new worlds”, “And so they spread through realities like a disease”) which really highlighted what it was: not a trade-off, not an equivalent exchange, but really allowing the Fears to possibly impact many other worlds to save theirs, causing way more victims in the process.

I like how it also put another perspective on the Mr. Spider tape welcoming Jon at the end of MAG195, ending with the “MR. SPIDER WANTS MORE”: in the same way, The Web is precisely trying to get more than what it used to have (from affecting one world to potentially hurting many more).

- I am curious about what would individually happen to avatars with that plan:

(MAG197) BASIRA: What happens to you if they escape? What happens to us? We’ve all been touched by them. ANNABELLE: I would either travel with them, or I would die. I do not know which. My life is only sustained by The Web. Most would simply lose whatever power they have been gifted. Jon would lose much of himself, the parts of him that are The Eye. But he would survive. And perhaps, more importantly, he would remain who he believes himself to be.

Would Simon turn to dust due to his old age? Would Arthur become inanimate wax? Would Oliver die (since he already died once)? Or would they be simply left in their current body? Annabelle is indeed a special case since it was pointed out many times that her head never healed from the injury during the experiments (MAG069) and is stitched with cobwebs – it’s possible that her “life is only sustained by The Web” in a strictly literal life-support manner, unrelated to her avatar status.

… I’m concerned about many caveats regarding Jon: Annabelle, what is your definition of “survive”? And what does Jon “believe himself to be” at this point? Jon had pointed out that he was intrinsically tied to Beholding by now, and that he doubted that Beholding leaving this world would mean good things for him:

(MAG191) MARTIN: Jon. If… When we defeat The Eye, the Fears… What happens to you? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Nothing good. I think it depends on what actually happens. If we figure out a way to defeat them, banish them somehow, kick them out of our reality and back to where they came from, I might… survive? I think I’d stay more or less like this; w–weaker, but fundamentally… still an avatar in a world where the Fears are… once again lurking on the edges. MARTIN: … But I assume that’s the best case scenario? ARCHIVIST: Depends on your point of view, I guess. In the long term all we’d have done is… bought some more time. … If, however, we… find a way to destroy or, uh… eliminate the Powers… I’m not going to be okay. There’s… too much of me that’s part of The Eye now. I don’t… know what would be left of me without it. Maybe I just… die. Maybe I survive, but I–I lose… something. My identity? My mind? My… memories? I don’t know.

Which is making me suspicious of what Annabelle is saying, since she seems to go in the exact same direction as what Jon thought might happen to him in the “best” case scenario of the Fears disappearing but him not dying right away.

- Alright, it does clear up what I didn’t understand in Annabelle’s previous plan regarding Jon&Martin’s relationship, and the reason why she discarded it!

(MAG196) MARTIN: Okay, let’s try a different question. What was your plan? ANNABELLE: I was going to snatch you away. Lure you both into this web, and then take you. Drive him to despair, so that when you returned to him, bulging and talking in a thousand tiny voices, it would drive him to a final push. MARTIN: … And now? ANNABELLE: [SIGH] Your bond is too complicated. I couldn’t drive that kind of rift between you now. I’ve considered every angle, examined every cause and effect, and have finally come to the conclusion that I… [SIGH] I need to tell you the truth. To explain things.

(MAG197) BASIRA: What happens to you if they escape? What happens to us? We’ve all been touched by them. ANNABELLE: I would either travel with them, or I would die. I do not know which. My life is only sustained by The Web. Most would simply lose whatever power they have been gifted.

She might have initially planned to pressure Jon to go along with her plan by spider-ing Martin, since it would have meant saving him once the Powers would have left (instead of it being a permanent process). However, their “bond is too complicated” for that plan now because they talked and made a promise about not dooming the world in exchange for the other’s safety:

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Martin, when the time comes, I need you to promise me that you won’t try to stop me. MARTIN: … I promise. I love you, Jon. ARCHIVIST: [FOND HUFF] I love you too. MARTIN: But I’m not going to doom the world over it. ARCHIVIST: … Thank you. MARTIN: [INHALE] And you have to promise me that you’re going to do everything in your power to live. That you’re not going to… sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity, just because you feel guilty about what happened. ARCHIVIST: [BREATH] … I promise.

(… Well. Martin had promised to not doom the world over Jon. Jon himself had not done the same.)

It might be what caused Annabelle to change plans: before, she might have thought that Jon would have done anything to save Martin, including throwing the Fears into other worlds without any hesitation; but since that conversation, she might have been fearing that Jon would have refused to doom other worlds for the sake of Martin’s well-being.

- Although Jon apparently immediately interpreted it as Basira being likely to go Annabelle’s way…

(MAG197) BASIRA: … How would we do it? ARCHIVIST: Basira! BASIRA: We need to know, Jon.

… she really felt, to me, like she was trying to get all the information they needed to be able to manoeuvre with it all afterwards. Same as at the beginning of the episode, she gave me the impression that she was trying to stay in control while ensuring Martin wouldn’t get hurt (not being too antagonistic towards Annabelle, and getting her to talk), but it didn’t sound like she was approving.

- OKAY for Annabelle’s plan:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: It’s very simple. Destroy the Archives, and cut out The Eye’s pupil. BASIRA: [SARCASTIC] Oh, is that all? ANNABELLE: Simultaneously. MARTIN: [MUFFLED DESPONDENCY] ARCHIVIST: I see. Destroy the Panopticon, and you release its power. Kill Jonah, and you cut the connection between the Fears and the world. Do both at the same time, and… for just a moment, all that power rushes through their only remaining connection with reality: the tapes. ANNABELLE: And they would be swept along by it, dragged out of our realities, and into new ones… BASIRA: And how exactly are we supposed to destroy the Archives?

* It kind of explains why she waited for them to reach London first before making them come to Hill Top Road: they needed to see for themselves that the tunnels had been mostly insulated from the apocalypse, and what state Jonah was in. (Plus, making it sink in that no, “killing Jonah” wouldn’t solve anything, so waiting for them to be a bit more desperate for another option).

* I’m… worried about the fact that Annabelle specifically stated that they needed to destroy “the Archives” but that Jon translated it into “the Panopticon”. Is it the same thing by now? We haven’t seen the Archives when we were in London – what did the statements and documents turn into?

* … And relatedly: Jonah had introduced the idea that Jon was “the Archive”. Is it really about destroying the Panopticon, or is it about destroying Jon…

(* It also explained why Annabelle had found “reassuring” that Martin was worried about victims on their way to Hill Top Road, since her plan relied on them agreeing to throw other worlds under the bus to save these people from this world. If they didn’t care much about random victims all around here… then they would be even less likely to accept her solution.)

- It reminds me that we still haven’t been told what is Jon’s domain and what is Annabelle’s domain. Annabelle’s could be Hill Top Road, but it was never stated! As for Jon, his only indication was that Martin&him had been walking “towards it” during their first journey towards London, so it could be the Panopticon itself… but we don’t know for sure either. What happens, when you destroy someone’s domain? (We have the case of Helen-the-Distortion, who was her own domain in a way… and it seems to have destroyed it entirely in her case.)

- HECK YEAH for the gas main not being done with /o/

(MAG161) GERTRUDE: [SHARPLY] We’re wasting time. Do you still have the Ruskin book? LEITNER: I do. Though I don’t relish the thought of using it. Makes it rather hard to breathe, like your chest– GERTRUDE: You know– LEITNER: –is being… GERTRUDE: –the gas main, little way out in the tunnel? LEITNER: I do. GERTRUDE: I need you to move it. LEITNER: I, hum… That’s… I mean, that’s not just earth, there’s pipework and all sorts of– GERTRUDE: Find a way. I need it to be directly under the Institute, or… at least, closer. LEITNER: I’m more likely to rupture it and fill the place with gas. GERTRUDE: Hm! That would also be acceptable. LEITNER: Hm… I’ll do what I can. When do you need it? [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] GERTRUDE: If my guess is right, the Church’s ritual should be collapsing at any time now, so… immediately. LEITNER: And if you’re wrong? GERTRUDE: Then a bit of gas will be the least of our worries. LEITNER: Right… What are you going to do? GERTRUDE: Paper burns well. [GURGLING LIQUID] Petrol burns… better. LEITNER: Aha! I always forget about your pyromaniac streak.

(MAG068) ARCHIVIST: Supplemental. I’m in the tunnels. I was exploring and I got lost. I haven’t gone down any of the stairs and I– I think I’m still under the Institute. There were a couple of spiders, so I changed routes and found, I think it’s a gas main. Must be for the whole building.

(MAG197) BASIRA: And how exactly are we supposed to destroy the Archives? ANNABELLE: Many years ago, a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. [TAPE SQUEALS] You need only ignite it. ARCHIVIST: “Ignite it”? ANNABELLE: Indeed! And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow, it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it? ARCHIVIST: What…? BASIRA: Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours.

I had been surprised that it had been narratively brought back at the beginning of the season clarifying why it was there – Gertrude had asked Leitner to bring it closer to the Institute, which is why Jon had seen it in season 2 (… while fleeing because of spiders… in the episode right before the one he heard of Annabelle Cane for the first time…), and it was still hanging out there.

Annabelle never confirmed whether or not she had been the one who had sent tapes alongside the package containing Jonah’s statement, but it really feels like she was trying to prepare Jon to the idea of burning the Archive down, since all the tapes (and the beginning of the statement Jonah used to cover his) had mentioned fire in some way.

(MAG160) MARTIN: Still, she did manage to talk them out of burning the whole place to the ground? Oh, ah! Actually, that reminds me. Hum… [PAPER RUSTLES] ARCHIVIST: Ah! These, these are the… statements. MARTIN: Uh, yes. Basira said last week she’d send some up as soon as the Archives weren’t a crime scene. ARCHIVIST: Yes… MARTIN: And she wasn’t sure which ones you’d read already, so she–she just said she’d send a bunch. [CLATTERING SOUNDS] ARCHIVIST: There’s… tapes in here, as well. D… did she say anything about tapes? MARTIN: She… didn’t mention it? But… I–I didn’t check it until after the call. ARCHIVIST: Mm. MARTIN: I assume it’s her attempt at a… a–a “varied diet”? Eating your greens, you know? ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLE] Probably! I’m sure it will work fine.

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: –yes, thank you, I do hope you’re not planning to light those candles…! TIM: … Oh, goodness! [SHAKES A BOX OF MATCHES] A source of ignition? In the Archives? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] SASHA: [CHUCKLES] TIM: Uh oh! ARCHIVIST: Tim. TIM: Oh? Woops! [A MATCH IS LIT] Sorry; my hand slipped. And again. [CRACKLE OF A BIRTHDAY CANDLE WICK] And again. And… a couple more times, here – I’m so clumsy today; that is a lot of fire! ARCHIVIST: I’m really not comfortable with– SASHA: So blow them out, then. ARCHIVIST: Oh. [FIRE CRACKLING] … Right, yeah– ELIAS: And make a wish.

(MAG161) GERTRUDE: Paper burns well. [GURGLING LIQUID] Petrol burns… better. LEITNER: Aha! I always forget about your pyromaniac streak. GERTRUDE: Mm. Remind me to tell you about Agnes, sometime…!

(MAG162) GERTRUDE: Eh! [INHALE] You can probably burn it in the back courtyard, if you’re careful. GERRY: Yeah, will do! GERTRUDE: And for goodness’s sake, make sure no one sees you. The last thing we need is a letter to Elias about book-burnings. GERRY: Look, if you have somewhere better to burn these books, then– GERTRUDE: Of course, Gerard…! I just happened not to mention the network of sinister tunnels that snake beneath the Archive, where I keep all my darkest secrets…!

(MAG162) TIM: Well… Tell you what. If you get eaten alive [STAPLING] by improperly filed statements? Me and Martin will avenge you. SASHA: Myeah, aren’t you sweet. TIM: I mean it! We’ll burn this place to the ground, it’ll be all like, “Sashaaa! Saaashaaaa!”

(Adding to Rosa Meyer’s attempt to burn the building in MAG060, Gertrude likely destroying the Archives under Alexandria by blowing up a gas main in MAG053…)

So: whatever Annabelle said, Jon could lend it some credence since he had seen the gas main and knows where it is; he knows why it’s so close to the Institute; he knows it used to be part of Gertrude’s plan to take down Elias/Jonah in March 2015. Whether Jon will pursue that plan or not, we know what it meant narratively, same with the lighter.

It’s also really interesting that what Annabelle offered used to be exactly Gertrude’s plan:

(MAG080) LEITNER: I believe it was Elias. ARCHIVIST: What? Why? LEITNER: I assume he discovered we were planning to destroy the Archives. ARCHIVIST: Gertrude was going to destroy the Archives?

… and it’s exactly when Elias had strike and killed her. Did a spider whisper to his ear that it was way too soon to blow up the building?

(WHICH WOULD HAVE PREVENTED THIS APOCALYPSE, BY GETTING RID OF JONAH, WHO HAD JUST UNDERSTOOD WHAT HE NEEDED TO DO TO MAKE IT HAPPEN.)

- The lighter reveal was just comedy gold, and I’m so glad that the reccurring thing with “Jon isn’t able to pay attention to the lighter and tends (/is compelled) to change the subject when it’s brought up” led to this.

(MAG037) TIM: Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it? ARCHIVIST: No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk draw, hold on. [SOUND OF PACKAGE BEING RETRIEVED AND OPENED] TIM: Er, what is it? ARCHIVIST: A lighter. An old Zippo. TIM: You smoke? ARCHIVIST: No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive! TIM: Okay. Is there anything unusual about it? ARCHIVIST: Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front. Doesn’t mean anything to me. You? TIM: Ah no. No. ARCHIVIST: Well… show it to the others, see what they think.

(MAG039) SASHA: So why hasn’t it gone off? ELIAS: Because there isn’t an actual fire. SASHA: Right, right. Can we set it off manually? I think Jon’s got a lighter somewhere. ELIAS: He’s not smoking again, is he? Anyway, it shouldn’t be necessary.

(MAG079) TIM: But he’s going to do something, and it’s going to be bad. And I don’t mean like “sneaking a cigarette” bad. Like properly bad.

(MAG111) GERARD: Nice lighter. You a spider freak, then? ARCHIVIST: What? Oh! Er, n–no. I–I, I never really, uh… I never really thought of it. I–I’m Jon. I’m with the Magnus Institute. … I–I’m the Archivist.

(MAG136) DAISY: [SCOFF] She’s… Web. Spider’s sneaky like that. [PAUSE] Like that lighter you’re always using. Where’d you get that? ARCHIVIST: Mm. [STATIC RISES] Good point. We should keep our eyes open. [STATIC FADES] Anyway, how’s Basira doing?

(MAG162) MARTIN: You said this place, the–the cabin was… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It, it’s feeding on us, right? ARCHIVIST: Yes… MARTIN: … So should we… destroy it, before we go? […] We’re not even gonna try? We, we’ve got your lighter, maybe we could just– ARCHIVIST: We can’t fight the world, Martin.

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: “Ignite it”? ANNABELLE: Indeed! And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow, it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it? ARCHIVIST: What…? BASIRA: Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours. ARCHIVIST: [INDIGNANT] My what? I… [STATIC RISES] [PULLS THE GOLD LIGHTER WITH EMBOSSED SPIDERWEB FROM POCKET AND FLICKS IT OPEN] Oh? … Oh. [STATIC FADES]

Sasha remembered it, Tim had commented on Jon trying to discreetly smoke (though that might have been a figure of speech?), Gerry had first assumed that Jon was with the Spider because of it, Daisy had directly asked about the lighter and Jon had redirected the conversation elsewhere, Martin had pointed out at the beginning of this season that Jon still had that lighter with him… and now, Basira revealed that she had noticed it too. The static in MAG136 had made it clear that it wasn’t Jon’s fault, that he was likely supernaturally compelled to not think too long about the lighter, but I love that silly moment, that “My WHAT?! =<= … oh” was one of Jon’s best moments. ever.

- I really wonder whether Annabelle’s reaction was sincere when Jon threatened to let the lighter fall into the hole:

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: I see. So… [FLICKS LIGHTER SHUT] If I were to throw it away– ANNABELLE: [GASP] ARCHIVIST: –into your little pit… MARTIN: [MUFFLED WORRY] ANNABELLE: [CAREFULLY] I would advise against that. ARCHIVIST: Oh, would you? BASIRA: Jon, she still has Martin. MARTIN: [MUFFLED REMINDER] [TENSE STAND-OFF] ARCHIVIST: Fine! … Fine.

* Jon going for the throat, taunting and threatening and relishing the power he thinks he has is terrifying but also incredibly hot. That condescension…! (And it kind of made a twisted parallel with Annabelle’s discussion with Martin earlier, when she defended that she had once thought about filling him with spiders but discarded that plan. It’s not the same power dynamic, but it still shows that… now, Jon knows how to handle the avatar-game better, and to revel in the power he can have over other terrible beings.)

* … What would have happened exactly? It can’t be just that it would have meant that Jon would have lost his way of igniting the gas main – that could be easily replaced by anything, getting a spark wouldn’t be hard and they have some supplies. What would have happened, if the Web artefact had been thrown into the pit…? Would it have deprived The Web of some of its power, would it have contaminated another world…? Why was Annabelle suddenly that tense over it…?

- Another JonMartin hug ;w;

(MAG159) MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] I see… [INHALE] I see you, Jon. [BREATHLESS CHUCKLE] [PRESENT, ECHO FADES] I see you…! ARCHIVIST: Oh, Martin… [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: [FRANTIC BREATHING] I w–I was on my own…! I was all on my own… ARCHIVIST: Not anymore. Come on – let’s go home…

(Season 5 trailer) MARTIN: You know I’m here for you. ARCHIVIST: [LONG SIGH] … Yes. Yes I do. [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: All right. All right.

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: Oh, Martin! Thank god, I, I was… I–I thought you were behind me. [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: I thought you’d left me behind…! Gone on without me.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: … I’m sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: [SIGH] It’s okay. I understand. [BAG JOSTLING] [FABRIC RUSTLES] BASIRA: Urgh… [SILENCE] You done?

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: If you’re sure. MARTIN: … I’m sure I love you. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I love you too. [FABRIC RUSTLES] Let’s go.

(MAG187) ARCHIVIST: [GROGGY] Oh. Martin, good! [BAG JOSTLING] [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: Wh–, wh–wh–what happened? Th–th–there was the hotel and then…

(MAG191) ARCHIVIST: Sorry. Not something I can help, I’m afraid…! MARTIN: No, I, I know, I know. I’m sorry, it’s okay. [SIGH] [FABRIC RUSTLES] ARCHIVIST: … Bad dream? […] Maybe I survive, but I–I lose… something. My identity? My mind? My… memories? I don’t know. [FABRIC RUSTLES AS THEY EMBRACE] MARTIN: [LONG EXHALE]

(MAG197) MARTIN: [COUGHING AND SPLUTTERING] Jon…! ARCHIVIST: Martin! [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: … Oh god, I’m sorry, I– ARCHIVIST: It’s fine. MARTIN: I didn’t realise that– ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk later.

(MAG159 was confirmed by Alex, and MAG187 wasn’t marked in the transcript but I definitely hear it!)

;_; Every time, I wonder if it will be the last one… but I’m kind of expecting a big, biiig dramatic hug for the last one so… not there yet.

- I come out of this episode still not knowing exactly what to think about Annabelle – it sounded like her last appearance (“Very well. We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision.”), though it doesn’t mean we wouldn’t hear about her.

My feeling from this episode is that she’s mostly… a sort of vessel of The Web, a puppet herself (her use of “we” sounded like she was the spokeswoman of a greater conscience), and I don’t know what is left of who-she-used-to-be – contrarily to other avatars, she didn’t seem to cast much value in her own self-preservation, since she did point out multiple times that it wouldn’t matter if she got killed in the process of The Web’s plan as long as she delivered its message to Jon first. I’m crossing fingers for something more about Annabelle herself because… it was already the case with The Distortion using Helen as a face and the tragedy of Jon not having been able to know her (plus, when it comes to monsters taking women’s faces: The Hive had invaded Jane Prentiss, the Not!Them postured as Sasha, even Nikola was technically a being older than this particular mannequin), while we got male antagonists who were their own despicable selves like Peter or Elias. On the other hand, Annabelle’s theme seems to be a play with the fears and thoughts people project onto her, the things they expect from her, the role she is forced to play because of these expectations:

(MAG147, Annabelle Cane) “Now, I believe the tradition is to tell you the story of my life; the sinister path that led me inevitably to the sorry state in which I now find myself. Well, let it never be said I do not dance the steps I am assigned.”

(MAG196) MARTIN: I don’t know, like… something a bit more dramatic, I guess. ANNABELLE: We’ll see what we can do. [FOOTSTEPS, THEN CREAKING AS ANNABELLE OPENS THE DOOR] [DRAMATICALLY] Step into my parlour…! […] Let’s make the setting a little more… appropriate, shall we? MARTIN: Hey, just… ah, hah, p–put the camera down, okay? ANNABELLE: You said you wanted something more… “dramatic”. Right?

(MAG197) MARTIN: Oh. Wonderful. I can’t wait to attend the Annabelle Cane Show. ANNABELLE: Huh! You know, I did consider it once. MARTIN: Excuse me? ANNABELLE: A TV show. Reaching out into the homes of millions, giving the more vulnerable ones a subtle nudge towards terror. [TAPE SQUEALS] Probably something for children. … It never went anywhere, of course. These things rarely do. […] Now settle back. Try to look… intentional. MARTIN: What does that mean? ANNABELLE: They’re going to expect a suitably elaborate scene when they arrive, a monstrous tableau. I’d hate to disappoint them…! MARTIN: Rrright… [MARTIN GINGERLY TRIES TO ADJUST HIS POSITION] So, w–were you thinking something like this, or–? ANNABELLE: [SIGH] [ANNABELLE RELEASES A BURST OF WEBBING, GAGGING MARTIN, AND STICKING HIM FIRMLY TO THE CHAIR] MARTIN: [MUFFLED INDIGNANCY] ANNABELLE: My apologies for the inconvenience but appearances are everything, Martin. Now, if you’ll excuse me? I need to change into something more suitable. [BONE CRACKS AND FLESH TEARS AS ANNABELLE REVEALS THIS WASN’T EVEN HER FINAL FORM] [ANNABELLE’S VOICE IS DEEPER FROM HERE ON OUT AND TAPE RECORDERS CAN NO LONGER BE HEARD] [TWISTED STATIC CRACKLE] ANNABELLE: It is so very important to prime your audience. […] I’ve played my part to its completion. You get to decide how I exit the stage.

The entirety of her interaction with Jon was framed as a performance – the performance he expected out of her. Jon was expecting the worse out of Annabelle? He was welcomed with a tape reminding him of his childhood trauma, putting him in the position of the next “guest” who would be devoured by the Spider when he would enter its home. Jon was wary of Annabelle as being dangerous and harming Martin? Annabelle turned into a monster and threatened to harm Martin. Martin might have had some doubts and fears about turning Web, to the point of refusing Jon would look into his head to know what was happening with him in MAG172? Annabelle kept going back and forth about whether Martin was suitable for it or not, with any detail going in a direction and then the other (Martin calculating his behaviour with others making him a likely candidate, but his impatience showing that he wasn’t fitted for it, but his perception of The Web proving that he had what it took…). Annabelle even pointed out to Martin that he was prompt to make a judgement and distrust her before she had done anything to him (“Why? Because of what I say, or because of the assumptions you make about my motives?”): she kept feeding them the lines they were expecting from her. It can simply fit with The Web’s whole thing about making you second-guess and playing on your indecisions, on your uncertainties and doubts; it could also be that there is something more underneath…?

(Especially since… well, technically, Annabelle gave them a lot of information and left them free to think about it. If she were trying to sabotage The Web from the inside, that would probably be the best way to go about it: following the plan like a puppet, and ensuring it goes badly at the same time.)

- That’s FUN, we got the same annihilation as MAG160 for Jon by putting him as responsible of the situation, while at the same time taking the reverse approach regarding being “chosen”:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “It does tickle me, that in this world of… would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the “Chosen One” is… simply that: someone I chose! It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your… destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck. […] You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of The Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here. Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here – in the world that we have made.”

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: So The Web, it wants to spread? To escape into new realities? ANNABELLE: Yes. But not alone. Any attempt to separate the Fears is ultimately doomed, as you well know. ARCHIVIST: But how? ANNABELLE: We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice. […] ARCHIVIST: … I won’t do it. ANNABELLE: Possibly. You’ve seen your other options. […] BASIRA: … What about her? ARCHIVIST: [HARSH] Good question. As far as I can tell, there’s now nothing to stop me killing you. And throwing this lighter away forever. ANNABELLE: Nothing, except your own indecision. […] We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision.

There are so many little differences between the ways they pictured Jon’s role! Both presented him at the centre of their plans, as a necessary piece: Jonah gloated about the way he had picked and shaped Jon’s fate, and his whole letter was about retroactively depriving Jon of his own agency (shaping the fantasies that Jonah had always been in control and had led Jon where he wanted to ultimately be); and surprisingly, The Web took another approach, no less hurtful – framing the apocalypse as the result of a sort of uniqueness which meant that, since Jon was a child, he was likely to cause the apocalypse, and presenting the outcome and destiny of their world… as his, leaving him the possibility to “decide”.

And as much as Jonah blew the idea that he had always been in control out of proportions (the idea to send Jared after Jon and then going pikachuface when Jared attacked the Archives without waiting…), he still felt more honest than what Annabelle said about Jon! I’m especially interested in this bit:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice.

Because… what bullshit, what with giving the impression that there would have been anything special about an eight-year-old boy making him the “most likely” to cause the apocalypse! Implying that it was even Jon’s choice by failing to remind that Jonah had been responsible for it! It’s easy to describe Jon as the person who was meant to Open The Door now that it indeed happened, and I’m absolutely ready to picture that there were actually thousands of potential people who could have done it in the world and it “simply” happened with Jon. After all, Annabelle had pointed out last episode that “People get so caught up on how intricate they are, how perfectly constructed. They never consider how flexible they can be. The sort of storm they need to weather. You can’t be precious about a single strand.”: how many discarded plans had there been in the last century or so? I also love and hate how it paralleled The Web’s use of tapes: individually, each segment might have been true… but not necessarily in the order Annabelle suggested:

“We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation.” => Web indeed did support Jonah’s plans, but when did it decide that Jon would be the perfect candidate?

“We marked him young” => Jonah pointed out that Jon already had The Web mark and that it contributed in making him pick Jon as the next Archivist for his project.

“guided his path as best we could” => The Web tipped Jon off here and there during the series (a spider led to the season 1 climax, strengthening Jon’s chances of survival since the worms weren’t fully ready yet; there were cobwebs on Jon’s first tape recorder; The Web sent Oliver to help Jon to “make his choice” and wake up at the start of season 4; a tape covered in cobwebs sent Jon on a quest for an anchor, it was specifically a Flesh statement so likely trying to direct him towards Jared…)

“And then, we took his voice.” => Pushing Jon in the direction of the tape recorder to record the “difficult” statements that didn’t work on computers.

Did The Web send Jon to the Institute, or did Jon’s curiosity push him to wanting to understand what had happened with the book when he was a child? Who knows! But it’s all about framing these various elements in a certain order to make it feel like there is a coherent, merciless narrative that had used Jon like a puppet all along, while potentially keeping the most important part under silence: that The Web needed someone to bring the apocalypse… but that it mostly needed someone who would hate said apocalypse and would try to reverse it. That was the part The Web needed above all, given what Annabelle had just explained.

- Maybe it’s a useless wish at this point (only three episodes left) but Annabelle pushing the idea that Jon was “most likely” to bring the apocalypse screams “destiny as a concept” screams “Agnes” to me ;; Someone involved with The Web, whose voice was hidden and who was only described through the eyes of men and/or people romantically interested in her, who was aware of the expectations and the “destiny” announced for her and who might have decided to go another way…

- Jon said they would talk:

(MAG197) ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk about it later. Once you’re safe. MARTIN: [MUFFLED DOWNBEAT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT] […] Oh god, I’m sorry, I– ARCHIVIST: It’s fine. MARTIN: I didn’t realise that– ARCHIVIST: We’ll talk later. […] MARTIN: So… what do we do now? ARCHIVIST: Let’s get out of here. After that… we’ll see.

And indeed, they ought to. Two things that have been established and that I could see coming back:

* Martin had forbidden Jon to look into his head, to be able to respect some privacy (MAG167) and because he thought he would second-guess everything if it turned out The Web had been manipulating him (MAG172). Basira just reminded Jon that he needed to trust them to have their own opinions, that having an opposite stance to his didn’t mean they were manipulated… but I could also see Martin asking Jon to look inside him again to have the absolute certainty that no, Martin wasn’t manipulated. (Or maybe was, even partially, being nudged in a direction he partially wanted anyway.)

* Martin still hasn’t shared that he planned to ask Jon to smite him if they couldn’t find any way to turn the world back. As things are, sadly, it would feel extremely pressuring (since the only way to not go in that direction… would then be to follow Annabelle’s plan to get rid of the Fears).

- Given everything that was thrown in his face with this episode? I want Jon to have a breakdown and cry :w

- There are two gigantic lines of small print coming with Annabelle’s plan:

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: It’s very simple. Destroy the Archives, and cut out The Eye’s pupil. BASIRA: [SARCASTIC] Oh, is that all? […] And how exactly are we supposed to destroy the Archives? ANNABELLE: Many years ago, a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. [TAPE SQUEALS] You need only ignite it.

* Destroying the Panopticon through the tunnels means that the survivors would lose their only mean of protection. Melanie had pointed out that her and Georgie’s own protection was neither total nor long-lasting for others:

(MAG190) MELANIE: I wasn’t exactly going to leave her there so… we grabbed her and legged it. And… that’s when we discovered that we can keep others hidden as well. MARTIN: Hm. MELANIE: Not completely, and, and, not for long, but… it’s enough to get them here to the tunnels.

So they wouldn’t be able to protect the other survivors on the outside, and Annabelle just destroyed the camera (which could have been an alternative way to protect them for a while). Going with that plan would mean evacuating them and them consenting to it, and… would they agree? On the one hand, they could firmly oppose that plan (nobody would want to be put back in the domains’ hells); on the other hand, they might agree if it seems like Melanie&Georgie believe that this option has a chance to succeed (and out of belief that this is the way to achieve Melanie’s “premonition” of the apocalypse stopping)… and at the same time, Melanie&Georgie would probably refuse because of that, since it would be abusing the survivors’ trust and security over such a big lie, when they have no way to know if it would work.

* … Igniting a gas main through a lighter of all things means that the person taking care of the ignition is absolutely sure to be engulfed into the explosion, since it requires the flame to get into contact with the gas – unless they still have some materials from the Gertrude era or from the Exploding The Unknowing plans back from season 3 down in the tunnel, like a fuse?

Jon had pointed out that he should be able to harm Jonah:

(MAG193) ARCHIVIST: You were right. MARTIN: About what? ARCHIVIST: His body is vulnerable. A–at least to me. MARTIN: … What’s the catch? ARCHIVIST: I could kill his body, sever the link, break The Eye’s power, and… Jonah Magnus would die. MARTIN: Okay, that sounds good but…? ARCHIVIST: But… that wouldn’t actually harm The Eye itself. And with him gone it would… it would choose a suitable replacement. MARTIN: Oh. ARCHIVIST: If we kill Jonah Magnus… I take his place.

Which means it would probably be his role to severe the link between Jonah and Beholding, which means someone else would have to take care of the ignition… aaaaaaaand we have a certain someone who already proved himself regarding fire, and who recently stated that he actually had a fear of it.

(MAG117) MARTIN: This way I finally get to do something. It’s gonna hurt but… I’m ready. And I want to. Also, I get to burn some stuff, so that’s cool!

(MAG118) [CLICK–] MARTIN: [EXHALE] Are you listening? [DEEP INHALE] … Good. [PAPER RUSTLE] Case, uh… 0071304. Statement of… Ivo Lensik. [EXHALE] [LIGHTER FLICKED OPEN] All right…! [LIGHTER BEING TURNED ON] [SMALL GASP] [SOUND OF PAPER BURNING] [DEEP EXHALE] [PAPER RUSTLE] “Statement ends”, I guess…! Hum… [PAPER RUSTLE] “Harold Silvana”! Number 0020406. Will probably do! [PAPER RUSTLE] [LIGHTER BEING TURNED ON] [SOUND OF PAPER BURNING] All right, then! 0140207, Dylan Anderson. [PAPER RUSTLE] Yeah? … Okay~ [LIGHTER BEING TURNED ON] [EXHALE] There’s plenty more on the pile~ [SOUND OF PAPER BURNING]

(MAG169) MARTIN: Will the fire feel hot to me? ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: Will it cause me lots of pain, if I touch it? ARCHIVIST: Yes, though not as much as– MARTIN: [SHAKILY BUT STRONG] Will it burn me alive, and kill me dead? ARCHIVIST: … No. It can’t do us any permanent harm; once we’re out, we’ll be fine. MARTIN: You are aware that intense pain can do you loads of harm, even if there’s no any physical injury! […] I know! I know, okay, I just… [SOMETHING SHATTERS] Look, I j–, I just don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favourite pain ever. ARCHIVIST: Is that… a joke? MARTIN: No, no! Okay? I… I legitimately hate burns, all right, they’re–they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just, it– It–it just makes me sick, I–I hate it. Hate it!

… It screams “Martin igniting the gas main” a bit ;; (I wonder if he will confirm whether or not Jon had lent the lighter to him in MAG118, or if that one was another, more mundane lighter?)

* Additionally: being at the top of the tower cutting the link between Jonah and Beholding precisely when the (under)ground level of that same building is being exploded with the goal of destroying the Panopticon/the Archives (since both words were used)… doesn’t bode well for whoever is at the top of that tower when it happens.

- Overall, I’m curious about what Jon and the others will do, concretely right now and after taking a decision, but I’m also not expecting them to follow Annabelle’s plan and presented binary at all.

Regarding what will happen immediately after the end of this episode: as much as Georgie’s last words (when she sent Jon&Martin on their way in MAG192) might have worked as a last appearance, Melanie’s (when she invited Jon to think about where Martin could have gone in MAG194) would be more surprising. Although there are only three episodes left, holy heck, I’m expecting Basira&Jon&Martin to regroup with Melanie&Georgie&the survivors in the tunnels to discuss what they’ve learned and their options? It will feel a bit weird to go back immediately to the tunnels but, at the same time, the framing device granted by the tapes has just been pointed out again – if the tape recorders don’t feel like the journey back to the tower (even with Jon pouring out a domain statement) is worth their while, if Jon&Basira&Martin don’t talk at all during that journey or don’t say anything that they find relevant, then they won’t get recorded at all until they’re back and ready to talk about things. (There is still a tiny possibility that they do talk on the way back and that Jon gives a statement… but since there are only three episodes left, I think we would all collectively lose it if one of them was used up for a domain statement.)

I’m curious about their individual stance on the whole thing. Jon was quick to point out that it would likely mean a rinse and repeat in another world of what they experienced – the Fears lurking at the border until they would be invoked in their fullest, dooming that world (these other worlds?) in turn. But on a personal level… they all know the amount of misery the Fears were able to cause even before the apocalypse: Jon was traumatised as a kid; Sasha’s whole life and existence were stolen; Tim had lost his brother because of the Fears; Georgie had lost her precious friend Alex because of them; Melanie had to gouge her eyes out to escape Beholding; Martin almost got swallowed entirely by The Lonely; and even the survivors: they were trapped in the domains, they know how bad it was, they know what inflicting the Fears on others would mean… but it would also be understandable for all of them to want to survive and save their own world. But what about the weight of responsibility? All of them in this world were subjected to the apocalypse by the decision of one person, Jonah (and the support he received from The Web), who manipulated Jon into opening the door: now redirecting the Fears on other people would mean making an active choice, being responsible for their misery. But what about the intrinsic bias in the fact that the people who would be able to make that choice and to act on it are precisely people who are not currently subjected to the domains? Choosing to sacrifice their world and the billions of people suffering for the sake of other worlds would be awful considering they’re not getting tortured alongside them at the moment. It’s all one big complicated trolley problem.

Thematically, I have trouble picturing them following Annabelle’s plan: Jon immediately refused, they have no guarantee that it would work exactly as she announced (and that there aren’t a few more caveats), and it would mean validating The Web’s plan, what it had worked on for so long, and which was based on the same reasoning as Jonah – the idea that someone would irremediably cause the apocalypse, and that it was better to stay in control of when and how it would happen to prepare its own escape rather than to try to prevent it. But at the same time, it might be a bit too hopeful to think that the group and the survivors would find and manoeuvre around a third way that would indeed nerf the Fears? ;; Technically, Annabelle’s instructions contained new information that could still be useful:

* The Fears are currently anchored through (at least) three elements: Beholding’s pupil (currently Jonah); the Panostitute/the Archives, vulnerable through Smirke’s tunnels; and the tapes, containing records of Fears. Annabelle didn’t mention Jon at all as a lynchpin, which is quite surprising given how the whole world had been able to identify him as someone special (as Simon had put it, “You might be the closest thing the universe has ever had to an important person”).

* The blob of Fears contains its own contradictions: some part of it wants to survive and is able to scheme for that survival (The Web), some part of it craves its own annihilation (The End) – technically, it inherently contains its own potential death.

(- I’m not sure what to expect about the survivors, whether they’ll be down with any plan or vehemently oppose or sabotage some of it. I know that personally, I would prefer them to just be… people who’ve been hurt, who are not nefarious, and who might even be able to provide out-of-the-box ideas? I fear that if they were the ones to “ruin” any plan, it would be an easy way to absolve our main characters of having made the final mistakes dooming everything, by redirecting the blame on random people, and give the idea that Humanity Sucks Actually, so it’s really not something that appeals to me.

I wonder if Rosie might join them in the tunnels? She would be another of the collaterals if the Panopticon were to get destroyed, since she’s trapped in that one…)

- I am really curious about how characters will now behave with the tape recorders, and whether we have learned everything there is to know about them. I’m onboard with the idea that The Web needed fragments of Fears woven onto the tapes, and had worked for the tapes to get created in the first place, but I’m still having some interrogations regarding what Annabelle said and how she acted around them.

* Characters had mentioned multiple times that something was “listening” through the tape recorders, or that they felt “watched” when it was on. However, Annabelle demonstrated that she doesn’t have an immediate knowledge of things as they were getting recorded:

(MAG197) MARTIN: And… Wait, ha–, no, uh… Is that… Basira? He–he’s got Basira with him! ANNABELLE: Yes. I did wonder if that would be the case. Interesting. And unfortunate for me. That’s two heads we’ll need to keep cool. My odds aren’t looking good.

If that knowledge had been instantaneous, Annabelle would have known for a while now that Basira was with Jon, since he picked her up in the lake in MAG195, on tape. Annabelle had taunted Martin about what was listening at the end of MAG196 but never clearly answered about that – her plan relies on the Fears hearing the voices and following… but are they the thing that had been listening through the tape recorders since the beginning? Could be that The Web itself is listening though the tape recorders? If so, that would also mean that Annabelle is not directly connected to it.

* The thing about the lighter having allowed The Web and the tapes to follow Jon… only partially works, technically.

(MAG197) ANNABELLE: A little anchor of our power, so that we, and our tapes, may follow wherever you go.

Season 2’s trailer had announced the tape recorder turning on by themselves, which is something we first witnessed in MAG080: the official transcript had two [CLICK] at the beginning of the episode (Jon taking Leitner’s statement); at some point, Jon, shaken, left the office to have a smoke (possibly compelled by the lighter), leaving Leitner alone; there was another [CLICK] when Elias entered the room and the “texture” of the tape spooling changed; Elias murdered Leitner, left the office; Jon came back and discovered the body and the recording stopped. What might have happened is that Jon was recording the event, but that another recorder had been sneakily double-recording everything by itself; when Elias entered the office, he turned off one of the recorders, unaware that there was another still running and catching everything on tape. Said tape was still in the Institute afterwards – Melanie retrieved it from Elias’s desk in MAG118, and it was the piece of evidence that forced Section 31 to arrest Elias in MAG120 (since the Inspector pointed out that it contains the recording of a murder – if it had been Gertrude’s, the secret of Elias-being-Jonah would have been known at that point).

It is true that the tapes had turned on and off around Jon after that point during season 3… but they did the same at the Institute when Jon was away, including when he was in America. In fact, the first times the tapes had begun acting up were around the Assistants (Tim didn’t want to get recorded in MAG082, and he&Daisy commented that it had turned back on; and it turned back on again at the end of the episode when Martin&Tim were discussing); by MAG114, Jon even thought that Tim was navigating through the tunnels because he wanted to avoid the tape recorders in the Archives. Chronologically, there are even a few cases where tape recorders might have been acting up pre-Jon: it’s unclear whether Gerry had accidentally turned it on in MAG162, and the recording of Gertrude’s murder in MAG158 had started when she was already busy pouring gasoline around.

I could accept that at that point, The Web had basically made its nest in the Archives (since Gertrude had her own connections with The Web through Hill Top Road and Emma had been working there for a while), but the point remains that the lighter had not been the (only?) thing allowing the tape recorders to act up. Actually, it’s even surprising that Annabelle kept talking about the “tapes” but not the “tape recorders”, and that neither she nor Jon ever clearly stated that it was The Web controlling or listening through the tape recorders themselves:

(MAG196) MARTIN: Wait… Wait. The tapes… ANNABELLE: A fine material to spin a web with, don’t you think? MARTIN: What? All this time, through all of this… it, it was just you spying on us? ANNABELLE: Oh, Martin! You have no idea who’s listening, do you?

(MAG197) BASIRA: … So. The tapes. They’re from The Web, then? ARCHIVIST: Looks like it. BASIRA: Were they always? Right from the start? ARCHIVIST: As far as I can tell. I–it’s hard to s–… If I look too closely at them, my own voice, things get… recursive. Hard to follow. BASIRA: I always assumed they were with The Eye. The whole “watching, listening, waiting” thing, you know? ARCHIVIST: No… They were always using them to spin their own web. Out of my words. […] MARTIN: I’d hardly call this silence. ANNABELLE: I’d stop them if I could…! […] We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice. ARCHIVIST: No… ANNABELLE: His, and those he walked with. We inscribed them on shining strands of word and meaning, and used them to weave a web which cast itself out through the gate and beyond our universe. So that when the Fears heard that voice, and came in their terrible glory, they might then travel out along it. [TAPE SQUEALS] Or be dragged. BASIRA: Is she talking about the tapes? ARCHIVIST: Yes.

So: was it always The Web controlling the recorders, is it still The Web? Or did something else happen, either from the start, either growing over the power that was being stored, and which led to the tape recorders also catching mundane conversations in the Archives…?

Regardless: characters might now associate tapes with The Web spying on them, which means that we could get a few more games of whack-a-tape-recorder or characters deliberately refraining from pouring their hearts out when they’re in the vicinity, or being unreliable on tape on purpose.

Only 3 episodes to go ;_; In previous seasons, at this point: Jon had just interrogated Martin about the lighter delivery (ha.), Jon had listened to Gertrude’s tape about the Not!Them, the Archive team had recorded their testaments and Jon had burned Gerry’s page with a lighter (ha.), Jon had read Adelard’s last statement to Gertrude explaining his incoming death and was panicking over Peter&Martin’s plan being set into motion, leading to Georgie&Melanie refusing to help and Helen gloating about it.

MAG198’s title is the WORST and doesn’t inspire me anything else than: shit going down soon TTwwTT

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

The Scent of Cigarette Smoke

Summary: Arrow House has been in Ally’s mother’s family for a hundred years. For the first time, she’s going to visit her uncle who lives there. While she’s spending her summer holiday there, she realizes quickly that Arrow House is haunted. And not just by anyone, but by her great-great grandfather, notorious Brummie gangster, Tommy Shelby. 

//This was something meant for Halloween but kept being delayed. I hope you all enjoy it, I know it’s much different from my other fics but it was just something stuck in my mind for a while.

            Ally’s uncle lived in a mansion. At least, that’s what her father said when he ranted about unequal wealth. It was true that Ally’s father came from a working-class family while her mother was a part of a family that came from old money.

            “Got that whole fucking house all to himself. Fucking wanker. No one on this godforsaken Earth needs a house that big.”

            Ally had never been there before but she’d seen pictures of the house. They called it Arrow House and it had been in the Shelby family for over a hundred years. There were little whispers about how the Shelbys acquired their wealth, way back when. But Ally figured they were all funny little stories.

            Despite her father’s resentment, Ally accepted an invitation to stay at her uncle’s for the summer. He said if she helped with the horses, he would pay her as well as giving her free lodging. It was too sweet of a deal to pass up as a university student.

                       Arrow House was much more imposing in person than it was in pictures. When she pulled up the drive, her uncle came out to greet her.

            “Ally!” He exclaimed, hugging her tight.

            She enjoyed her uncle’s company. He was the youngest of her mother’s siblings so he wasn’t so stuffy and snobbish like most of that side of the family. She knew he was a good man with a good sense of humor. "Wow, Uncle Charlie, this place is incredible!" She remarked.

            “Come in, I'll show you around the place,” He took her bags to lead her inside.

~~~~~~~~~           

            After a grand tour of the estate that was in the middle of renovations, Ally’s uncle excused himself to talk to one of the people helping with the house. She made herself at home one of the guest bedrooms. Although everything was a little dated, it had a charm to it. She just couldn’t imagine living there all on her own.

            As she unpacked, she suddenly got a very strong whiff of cigarette smoke passing by her. She frowned and looked around to see where such a scent would be coming from. The windows were closed, as was the door. She put down the shirt in her hand and walked around the room to investigate. But the smell disappeared as suddenly as it came and she couldn’t detect any sources of where it may have come from. But throughout the rest of the day, she kept getting fleeting whiffs of cigarettes all throughout the house.

            That same night, Ally called her mother.

            “Does Uncle Charlie smoke?”

            “Smoke? No of course not. Our grandad smoked and it killed him. Charlie would never do the same.”

~~~~~~~~~           

            After a few days, it was driving Ally mad so she approached her uncle about it.        

            “I keep smelling cigarettes. Have you noticed that?” She asked as they were making dinner together in the massive kitchen.

            He got an amused look on his face when she brought it up. “Oh, that’s just Tommy.”

            “Who?”

            He chuckled and shook his head. “Did your mum really not tell you about the ghost that lives here?”

            “Ghost?” It didn’t sound completely outlandish. The old estate would be a prime spot for ghosts, but it was still a shock. She’d never had an other-worldly encounter before. She wasn’t even sure she believed in ghosts.

            “Keep going with this.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll be right back.” He said before heading upstairs to retrieve something.

            Alone and now with the knowledge that she might be in the presence of a ghost, Ally felt a chill go down her spine. She looked over her shoulder and almost expected to see some shadowy figure standing in the corner, but there was no one there.

            Charlie returned and set a big book on the counter. “Here we are.” He flipped to a page and showed her. “Your great-great-grandfather bought this house in the ’20s. His name was Thomas Shelby. He was a gangster who made his money as a bookie initially.” Charlie pointed to the family tree. “He had two children, my grandfather Charlie. Your great-grandfather.”

            “Oh…” Ally wasn’t sure she knew the origin of her uncle’s name. And she certainly didn’t know about her great-great-grandfather.

            “We’re having one of his portraits restored. But there’s still one of him on the stairs with his first wife Grace and Charlie.” He said. “Go take a look, I’ll finish up here.”

            Curious, Ally left what she was doing and went to the foyer. There were many pictures and portraits but one of the largest ones was hard to ignore. A massive family portrait of a young woman with blonde hair holding a little boy in her lap. Beside them was a man who hardly looked like a gangster. Just a well-dressed man typical of the times. But there was something in his blue eyes that held a secret. Perhaps something he took to the grave.

            As she stood on the stairs, she picked up the scent of cigarettes passing her. Then, she heard a loud sound from upstairs. Although gripped with fear, she went up to the room she was staying in. That’s where she found her suitcase had been knocked over. “What the hell…”

            Grace.

            The deep whisper was clear as day in her ear. So much so that, Ally let out a scream. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her out of the room and downstairs. She let out another shriek when she ran into a solid form.

            “Whoa, whoa!” Her uncle steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. “What’s all the screaming about?”

            “I heard someone! I swear to God I heard someone speak to me.”

            “Did he have a real deep voice?” Charlie didn’t even bat an eye.

            “Y-yeah.” She nodded; her eyes still wide with terror.

            “That’s what I told ya, it’s Tommy. Maybe he’s taken a liking to you, took him years to say anything to me. What did he say to you?”

            Ally’s eyes went up to the portrait on the stairs. A chill went up her spine. “He said, Grace.”

            “Maybe he mistook you for her.”

            “Uncle Charlie, are you hearing yourself?” She scoffed in an exasperated tone. “I mean, ghosts?”

            He just shrugged. “Did you hear someone speaking to you or not?” He questioned.

            Ally was certain she heard the voice. She knew what he said to her. She heard the Birmingham accent in his deep voice. It was clear as day. Yet, admitting that to her uncle and to herself would mean she was admitting ghosts were real. She wasn’t sure she was ready to accept such a wild idea.

            “C’mon, dinner’s just about ready.”  

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Ally was terrified to go to bed that night. She considered asking if Charlie would stay up with her, but then she remembered she was a grown adult. She was perfectly capable of handling herself. Even if ghosts were real, what could they do to her? Aside from horror movies…

            She shivered and pulled the comforter closer to her. The big house was so drafty, it wasn’t helping the eerie feeling she felt in her bones. In the darkness, she was starting to see things in the shadows.

            Then, she smelled cigarette smoke pass by her again.

            Grace.

            Ally yelped and buried her head under the covers. “I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid. You’re not real.” She said over and over again. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

~~~~~~~~~~           

            She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep. For a good part of the night, Ally was awake, jumping at every little noise the old house-made. She realized she must’ve just passed out from exhaustion. Peeking out from under the covers, she found sunlight pouring in through the window. She sighed with relief. Ghosts weren’t scary during the daytime.

            After checking her phone to see it was nearly noon, Ally got dressed for the day. Downstairs, she found her uncle having lunch.

            “There you are, thought you were going to sleep the whole night away.” He commented with a smile. “I was about to check on you.”

            “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She admitted.

            “Did Tommy keep you up?”

            Her shoulders fell. There was no denying it anymore. Her uncle’s house was haunted. “Yes.” She mumbled.

            “Nothing to be afraid of.” He assured her. “Tommy’s a gentle ghost. Probably just wondering who you are. My advice, talk to him.”

            She gave him a look. “Talk to myself, you mean?”

            He chuckled. “Alright, I don’t want you going back to your mum telling her I’m crazy. She knows about Tommy too. She’s had her fair amount of experiences with him.”

            “No one has ever told me about any of this!” She protested.

            “Well, some people in the family don’t like talking about him. They don’t think his methods of business were very savory. But I know everyone’s had at least one encounter with him.” Charlie said with a shrug.

            Ally ran a hand through her hair, still trying to let the idea of ghosts sink in. “I’m going to go to the stables.”

            “Careful, Tommy wanders out there too,” Charlie called after her as she went to the back door.

            “Of course, he does!” She shouted back.  

 ~~~~~~~~

            Ally didn’t have any run-ins with Tommy in the stables. She got to know the other grooms who worked there and they all told her tales. There was consistency with her experience. The smell of cigarette smoke and a deep voice whispering to them.

            It got her thinking about why Tommy would be hanging around his old estate. Maybe there was something unfinished in his life, that’s why ghosts were stuck on Earth, right? She felt like she was making up a story in her head to try and explain it all away.

            After dinner, Ally sat on her bed with her laptop. She did some research on ghosts, scoffing at some of the theories and furrowing her brow with puzzlement at others.

            Around ten o’clock, she caught the scent of cigarettes coming into the room from the hallway. She was trembling as she put down her laptop and got off her bed.

            “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She whispered to herself as she stepped out into the hallway where the smell was stronger. “He’s your great-great-grandfather, he won’t hurt you.” Her hands shook as she turned on her phone’s flashlight and held it up to see the end of the hallway.

            Her heart stopped beating when she saw a misty form pass right through a door. Instinct told her to run, but bravery pushed her forward.

            She continued down the hallway and stopped at the door where she saw the figure. She attempted to open it but it was locked. The scent of cigarettes eventually disappeared.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The next morning, Ally brought this up to her uncle. “There’s a locked door upstairs.”

            “Mhm, that’s Grace’s room.” He answered.

            “Grace, the woman in the portrait?” She recalled.

            “Right. Tommy’s first wife was murdered. The room was left exactly how it was the day she died. I decided not to renovate it, just to let it be. Out of respect, you know? Sometimes, we’ll go in and clean a bit, just to make sure there are no damp or pests.”

            “Can I see it?” Ally asked hesitantly.

            “Sure. It’s quite the sight, everything left as it was from the ’20s. You finish eating, I’ll go get the key.”

~~~~~~~~~~~           

            Upstairs, Charlie opened the door and let his niece inside. It smelled musty and old, but the appearance was almost like stepping through a time machine. Everything was pristinely kept as it was when Grace left it. As Ally explored, she found Grace’s dresses and makeup. There was a pair of heels left by the vanity, the pair that Grace decided not to wear to the gala the night she was killed.

            It was overwhelming and Ally felt a deep sadness come over her. “He must have loved her very much.” She said quietly.

            “People said he was never the same after she died,” Charlie remarked, swiping a bit of dust off the windowsill.

            “Could you leave the room open, just for tonight? I want to try something.” Ally asked.

            “Sure, just be mindful. Everything is very fragile because of how old it is.”

            “I won’t mess anything up, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~ 

            Later that night, Ally made her way to Grace’s room. She continued to breathe deeply to keep her nerves under control.

            She closed the door and turned on a flashlight that her uncle had lent her for the occasion. She sat down on the floor, not wanting to damage any of the furniture.

            After a few more breaths, she began to speak out loud. “My name is Ally. I’m your great-great-granddaughter. I’m here to visit my Uncle Charlie. He was named after your son. I saw the portrait of you and your family by the stairs. Your wife, Grace, was beautiful. I’m sorry about what happened to her.”

            Goosebumps formed on her arms when she caught the now familiar smell of cigarettes.

            “I just wanted to know if there’s anything you wanted to do before you died? Unfinished business that maybe I could help you with.” She waited in the silence for a painful five minutes. Then the scent got stronger.

             Jewelry box.

            Ally could hear him perfectly. It drove a chill up her spine but she persisted. “A jewelry box?” She stood and panned the flashlight around the room until she found Grace’s vanity. On top was an ornate jewelry box. “Do you…do you want me to open it?” She was hesitant to break the untouched nature of the room. Plus, she wasn’t looking to anger any ghosts.

            Inside.

            Taking that as a yes, she carefully unlatched the box and peered inside. The only pieces of jewelry inside were two rings. One was a man’s gold wedding band; the other was a woman’s engagement ring. She picked up the band first and turned it over in her palm.

            Inside, Ally found an inscription

            TS

            So, it was Tommy’s ring. It was in good shape seeing as he and Grace weren’t married that long, so there was no weathering of the metal.

            “I don’t understand, what do you want me to do with these?” She asked out loud.

            There was another moment of silence, then a louder whisper spoke out.              Bury.

            “Oh.” She came to realize what his disembodied voice was trying to get her to understand. “You want me to bring these to your grave? To bury them there?”

            But there was no answer. The room began to smell more like dust and mothballs again instead of cigarettes.

            Ally placed the wedding band back in the jewelry box and left it there. She would tell her uncle about it the next day, then he could decide what to do. In the meantime, she took her flashlight and left to let Tommy be at peace for a bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            “Huh.” Charlie looked a little confused. “You think that’s going to make him…disappear or move on?”

            “I don’t know. At least it might make him happy.” Ally shrugged. “It’s worth a try. If it doesn’t do anything, we can always go get the rings back. I mean, they aren’t really doing anything just sitting up there.” She pointed out.

            “I suppose you’re right.” Her uncle nodded. “No one’s really marked them as heirlooms. I think some people are under the impression that the rings are cursed.” 

            “Well, maybe this will make them uncursed or whatever. Where is Tommy buried?” She wondered.

            “At the village church, not too far from here. It’s where he and Grace got married. They’re buried next to each other. His second wife, Lizzie, is buried there too.”

            “Would you come with me?”

            “Sure, let’s go tomorrow after we finish taking care of the horses in the morning. We can take a ride out. It’s a nice trail, not too far.”

            “Alright.” Ally smiled. She felt as if she was doing something good. Something that had been unfinished for a very long time. There was no telling what would happen, but she hoped maybe, she could help Tommy Shelby rest. She just didn’t know how monumental that was.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

            That night, Ally slipped back into Grace’s room. “Hello.” She called out shyly as she moved toward the vanity. “I talked to my uncle and he said it was alright if we did what you asked. Would you mind if I take the rings now? I’ll keep them safe until we get there.”

            There was no answer and she couldn’t smell any cigarette smoke nearby. For a moment, she was worried that she had done something wrong. Could she have scared him off? Determined, Ally gathered the jewelry box with the rings and headed outside. Maybe she could find Tommy out in the stables as Charlie had said.

            Almost like magic, she opened the stable doors and was hit with a whiff of cigarettes. “Hello?” She called out.

            A few horses stuck their heads out of their stalls to see who was waking them up in the middle of the night.

            Ally walked down the stable aisle, heading toward where the scent was strongest even amongst the smell of horses and hay. She stopped at the last stall on the left, one that had been empty ever since she arrived that summer.

            The nameplate on the stall door was extremely weathered and looked as old as the rest of the stables were.

            Dangerous

            Ally hadn’t thought about the empty stall much. She figured it might be a horse that was out showing somewhere prestigious. Her uncle said that a lot of their horses came from good stock and were leased out by world-class riders to be shown across the country.

            “So…I’m going to take the rings to the church tomorrow.” She said out loud, hoping Tommy was there. “My uncle said it was okay.” She lingered around the empty stall for a few moments before catching a chill. “I’ll be going tomorrow, good night.”

            Good night, she had wished a ghost goodnight.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

            After feeding the horses and letting them out, Charlie and Ally tacked up two horses to take to the church. Ally hadn’t ridden a horse in a while so her uncle set her up with a calm mare who was perfect to take for a trail ride.

            Ally was nervous, not about riding necessarily, but about the rings. She had secured the jewelry box safely in her backpack, treating them as if they were priceless treasures. In a way, they really were.

            Charlie led the way down the old dirt road to the church. On the way, Ally asked about the empty stall.

            “Sorry, I meant to tell you sooner. But we keep that stall empty. Every horse that’s in there goes nuts. It used to be the stall of Tommy’s favorite horse, Dangerous. There’s a picture of her in the office.

            “Oh.” She nodded in understanding. “So, do you think it’ll be nice having things be a little quieter around the house?”

            Her uncle chuckled. “Well, be a bit lonely, won’t it? But that’s alright. He’s given me a fright plenty of times before, now I’ll have some peace and quiet. He will too, I think that’s nice.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            They arrived at the small church with an old graveyard nearby. Charlie tied up the horses and followed Ally into the overgrown graveyard.

            “Let’s see if I can remember where they are.” He thought out loud. “Think in the right corner, over there.”

            Ally went ahead, reading the names on the tombstones as she passed. Finally, she came to names she was now familiar with.

             Thomas Michael Shelby

            Grace Burgess Shelby

            Elizabeth Stark Shelby

             Ally called her uncle over and knelt down in front of Tommy’s grave so she could bury the rings. “I hope this lets you rest.” She said quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

            That night, the house was silent. There was no smell of cigarettes anywhere. No deep whispers. The sadness that hung over the atmosphere felt lifted. Finally, it seemed, Tommy Shelby could be at peace.

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