#corpse corpse fruit is another potential name

[clamsjams]

if i rewrote one piece robins fruit would be called the body body fruit or the limb limb fruit or something like that and instead of appearing out of thin air with flower petals you would get to see the bones and the muscles and flesh and nerves and veins etc grow spontaneously from nothing and it would be accompanied by the nauseating sounds of bones snapping into place and a lot of gorey flesh squishing and tearing every single time and instead of disappearing magically they would die and go through rigor mortis and rot and decay into bones which would then crumble into dust all in a fraction of a second and it would all be incredibly disturbing

[seongwars]

𝔞𝔰𝔥 | 𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

Pairing: pyromaniac!Jeong Yunho x slasher!Reader AU: non-idol Summary: When Dr. Kim Hongjoong arrives at the manor with his assistant, Jeong Yunho, an unsettling urge stirs within you—to extinguish his vibrant spark. But little did you know that even the brightest lights have a way of casting the darkest shadows—OR, you and Yunho commit crimes all in the name of love. Word Count: 6.6K Warnings: MDNI SMUT (18+), dark themes, swearing, blood, m*rder, violence, this is purely fictional and the characters are unhinged, I don't condone this behavior, sorry San

Fic Masterlist

a/n: dropping my poor attempt at gothic horror and running away

“Love?” you sang, skipping toward your paramour, your voice lilting in a way that would have sounded sweet if not for the blood splattered across your cheeks and the wicked gleam in your eye. The crimson stained your dress as you twirled the blade in hand, its tip dripping in time with your steps.

“How did I do?”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Yunho sighed, almost wistfully, his tone warm despite the dark intent behind his words. He reached out, his thumb tracing a path down your blood-streaked cheek.

You grinned, throwing yourself into his arms as he caught you effortlessly, pulling you into a kiss so deep that the world around you blurred. Smoke clung to him like a second skin, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of blood that lingered in the air.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes flickered to the bloodied corpse swaying gently from the chandelier—your latest masterpiece. Yunho’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable, save for the slight curl of his lips. Approval, tinged with something far darker.

“Wasted potential,” you pouted, toying with the lapel of Yunho’s jacket. “I really wanted to keep him.”

His jaw tensed, and you caught the way his eyes darkened, the playful warmth in them giving way to something far more dangerous. Yunho’s hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm enough to send a spark of heat through your body. The small, possessive squeeze was a reminder of the simmering jealousy lurking beneath his otherwise laid-back demeanor.

“There’s no more room in your collection, darling,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he locked eyes with you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“You know I don’t like it when other men look at you.”

Something about his possessiveness sent a thrill through you. Most people would cower under such intensity, but you? You reveled in it. Your pulse quickened, your breaths coming shallow and fast, giddy with excitement. 

The first time you met Yunho, he was supposed to die like all the others. 

Aurora Manor had been in the Kang family for generations. The sprawling manor, with its towering spires and labyrinthine gardens, served as both your home and your hunting ground. Most guests, enchanted by the manor’s old-world charm and your family’s disarming smiles, never suspected the danger lurking within. 

Yunho had arrived as the assistant to your brother’s college friend, Dr. Kim Hongjoong, who was staying at the manor for a weeklong visit, and like any good hunter, you set your sights on him almost immediately. 

Yunho’s kind personality and genuine warmth made him your forbidden fruit, all the more tempting with every effortless gesture. He seamlessly fit into the household, endearing himself to everyone with his intoxicating laughter echoing through the halls. There was something about him—too vibrant, too tempting, like a fire burning too brightly. 

It made you want to extinguish that spark, to dim the light in his eyes just to see what he looked like in the dark–perfect, still, and beautiful, another piece in your collection.

But you were wrong. So, wrong. 

“Oh hush, Mimi,” you said, tilting your head in mock sympathy. “No one can hear you out here—not even San.” The mention of his name sent another wave of sobs through her, and you smirked, savoring every broken sound.

Her voice cracked under the strain, her cries fraught with desperation as she dangled helplessly from the barn rafter.

“But soon,” you continued, more to yourself now, “with you out of the way, I’ll finally have the chance to add him to my collection. Perhaps Father can even arrange for me to marry him.” 

Mimi’s screams turned to pitiful whimpers as her strength waned, and you took a step closer, the wooden floor creaking under your weight. 

“You know,” you began, your voice carrying an eerie sweetness, “I’d almost feel bad for you if you weren’t so utterly insufferable.” You twirled a silver blade between your fingers, watching how the dim light caught on its edge. 

“Parading around high society as if you’re anything more than a lowborn whore,” you added, your tone sharpening. “Throwing yourself at him like the desperate little thing you are, sullying him… but now”—you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper—“here we are.”

You leaned in, your face inches from hers, and grinned. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure San remembers you fondly. Maybe I’ll tell him you ran away, too ashamed to show your face after I caught you alone with–”

“Y/N?”

The barn door creaked open suddenly, and you froze, your blood turning to ice. Slowly, you turned to see Yunho standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight. The horror in his eyes was unmistakable.

If Yunho ran, if he told anyone—

No. You wouldn’t let that happen.

“Oh, Yunho,” you said, your tone light and sweet, though your heart was thumping in your chest. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Without a second thought, you drew your knife across Mimi’s throat. A wet gurgle escaped her lips, and blood spurting from the gash, painting the wooden floor and splattering across your dress. You didn’t flinch, your eyes never leaving Yunho’s as her body went limp, swaying slightly from the rafter.

You stepped forward, but Yunho matched you with a step back, his dark eyes unreadable before he turned and fled into the night. He was fast—far faster than you had anticipated. His long strides carried him through the maze of shadows, but you were relentless, the knife in your hand catching the moonlight as you darted after him.

You surged forward, your knife aiming for his chest. But he sidestepped, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist mid-swing, knocking the knife from your grasp. The weapon clattered to the ground, but you didn’t falter. You fought back, striking at him with every ounce of strength you had. He caught your arm, spun you around, and pinned it above your head as he pressed you against a tree.

But with a sharp twist, you broke free, shoving him back and diving for the knife. Your fingers brushed the handle just as his hand closed around your ankle, dragging you away. You kicked out, forcing him to release you, and scrambled to your feet, the knife now firmly in your grasp. 

The blade’s edge hovered above his skin, the pressure faint enough to make your intentions clear. Yunho’s back pressed firmly against the rough bark, his breath steady despite the danger glinting in your eyes. You dragged the blade downward, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath the cold steel.

“Killing you would be such a waste,” you murmured, tilting your head as if savoring the thought. You dragged the tip slowly, deliberately, savoring the subtle resistance as it caught on the fabric without piercing his skin.

“You’d make such a beautiful addition,” you continued, “I wouldn’t mind another pretty face.”

Yunho didn’t flinch. Instead, his smirk grew, his gaze dipping to your lips before dragging back up to meet your eyes. 

“You talk like I’m prey,” he said, his voice low and disturbingly calm.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, stopping the knife mid-drag, his grip unyielding as he leaned in. 

“But you’re not the only predator here.”

The blade slipped from your hand, falling to the ground with a muffled thud. You barely had a second to react before he reversed your positions, pinning you against the tree. His lips crashed against yours with a force that stole your breath, his hand flying to your throat and loosening its grip just enough to let you gasp against him.

The kiss was anything but gentle; it was raw, demanding, and unapologetically consuming, as though he wanted to claim you in a way words never could. You responded with equal fervor, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw a low growl from him. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips red and slightly swollen, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Let me show you.”

You searched his face, trying to gauge his seriousness. The dark, glittering look in his eyes—filled with an almost reverent fascination—sent a shiver down your spine.

⊹

“Fire has always spoken to me,” Yunho murmured, his voice low and smooth, as he grabbed your hand and led you back to the barn. 

“It’s wild, uncontrollable…but if you know how to handle it, it becomes art.” 

Yunho reached into his pocket and retrieved a small metal lighter, its polished silver surface glinting faintly in the light. 

“Do you see it?” He tilted the lighter slightly, letting the flame stretch upward. “It’s alive. It breathes, it moves, and when it’s fed… it transforms.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, captivated by the intensity in his voice and the mesmerizing way he handled the flame. A slow smile tugged at your lips as you stared into the flickering light, an exhilarating, dark thrill coursing through you, making your fingers twitch.

Your gaze shifted to Mimi’s lifeless body, her form dangling lifelessly in the position you’d left her. Her vacant eyes stared into nothingness, her form swaying faintly with the whispers of wind slipping through the cracks in the barn walls. You took a step closer, unable to resist admiring your work. The silence was deafening, yet perversely satisfying—a chilling reminder of the finality of it all.

Behind you, Yunho moved with quiet precision, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against him. His free hand pressed the lighter into your palm, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

“See for yourself,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. 

With a flick of your thumb, the lighter sparked to life, its small flame casting a faint glow. You lowered it to the edge of her clothes. The instant the fire touched the fabric, it flared with a hungry hiss, consuming it greedily as tendrils of smoke spiraled into the air.

As the flames climbed higher, their flickering light reflecting in your eyes, you leaned back against Yunho. A laugh rose from deep within you—soft and subdued at first, then breaking free, loud and unrestrained.

Smoke clung to your clothes and hair as you and Yunho darted through the garden, the night air doing little to temper the heat still pulsing in your veins.

The faint glow of the fire lit your path back to the manor, its flickering light casting eerie shadows on the statues and hedges as you weaved through them. Breathless but still riding the high, you slipped inside the manor, creeping up the grand staircase to your room.

Yunho surged toward you, mouth latching onto your lips as he tore at your bodice, desperate to devour that chaos that was you. He pressed a kiss to the swell of your breasts, the tip of his tongue tracing over the soft skin before latching on to a nipple. Your hands fumbled to unbutton his trousers, desperate to get him undressed. You couldn't help the cry that escaped your throat when you felt his hand slip under your skirts and between your legs.

“Do you know how quickly a fire spreads when there’s gasoline in the air?” he asked, lips ghosting against the sensitive mound. His long fingers traced lazy circles around your slit, his ministrations, deliberate and teasing, as if drawing more of those precious sounds from you was his sole purpose.

You shook your head, stumbling back on to the mattress, your mind scrambling to respond, but you couldn't. Not when everything about him—his eyes, voice, and intensity—was pulling you deeper into the fire.

“It only takes a spark,” he purred, pressing against your lips. 

Yunho’s fingers brushed gently against the strands of your hair that clung to your face, tucking them behind your ear. He sat back on his heels, working his cock out of his trousers, fisting it without breaking eye contact with you. 

“One tiny spark, and everything you thought you controlled goes up in flames.”

He lined his leaky cockhead against you, teasing your sopping cunt with the tip. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing and kneading as he pulled out, then moved back in halfway. 

“W-What happens when the fire gets out of control?” you gasped, your breath hitching with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your face flushed with intensity. 

Yunho bottomed out with a low groan, his body tense as he stilled inside you. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, the primal focus in them unwavering as he watched your face twist in pleasure. The way your lips parted, your eyes fluttering and rolling back, and the way your tits bounced—he drank it all in, captivated.

“You let it burn,” his lips latched on to your jawline, peppering kisses down to your neck, pushing your leg up higher so he could angle himself deeper. 

“Because once it consumes everything,” his voice faltered, at the way your pussy twitched around him, “there’s no escape.” 

Yunho’s pace became erratic, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. You squealed when his cock slid against your walls, and you couldn’t think of anything other than how you wanted him to fuck you stupid. You wanted to surrender to him, to be completely devoured by someone who could match you, challenge you, and make you feel alive in ways you never imagined. 

“Fuck fuck, take me, Yunho, please,” you babbled, ready to submit to him.

The way he stuffed you full, the sound of his hips pounding against your ass, accompanied by the sloppy squelches of your pussy drenching him with your juices, or the way he tugged at your hair, making sure you couldn’t get away stirred a heat in your lower belly, growing unbearable. 

You could smell his musk, sweat, and something else—something primal invade your senses, and you shivered. You were getting lightheaded and you swore you could hear your own heartbeat, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe as your orgasm tore through you.   

It was a smoldering ache that spread like wildfire. You clung to him, every sensation heightened—the warmth of his body beneath your touch, and the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Yunho felt the knot in his stomach tighten, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down through the aftershocks. You knew he was teetering on the edge of his own high, and you wiggled, clenching down hard to milking him. You felt it. The way his hips stuttered, filling you completely to the brim with thick velvety ropes of cum. 

"Want you, o-only you," he stammered, struggling to catch his bread. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss a desperate collision of tongues and teeth, an unspoken promise of the darkness that bound you together. 

“Let me be yours.”

"Darling," you called out, your voice carrying a playful lilt as you meticulously polished a set of knives laid out before you. 

Yunho, seated comfortably by the hearth with a book in hand, tilted his head slightly in your direction but didn’t yet look up. His sharp features softened under the golden glow of the firelight, but there was a glint of suspicion in his eyes.

“Yes?” he replied, dragging out the word in that familiar tone that was both indulgent and wary—a tone reserved just for you when he suspected you were up to something.

You stepped closer, draping your arms lazily over his broad shoulders, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest. His lips quirked into a small smile despite himself, though his gaze flicked briefly to the blades on the table.

“It seems we’ll be going to our next victim, rather than him coming to us.”

"The Choi’s," Yunho muttered, his jaw tightening, the muscle twitching ever so slightly as he processed your words.

“Isn’t it perfect?” you continued, a note of excitement in your voice. “A grand estate, a lavish event, and San, all under one roof. It’s almost as if the stars aligned just for us.”

A shadow flickered across Yunho’s expression, his eyes narrowing briefly. In a swift, almost instinctive motion, his hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he yanked you against him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with a growl that sent a thrill down your spine.

Tilting your head, you offered him a coy smile, feigning innocence. “San’s hardly a threat to you.” Your fingers reached up, tracing a delicate path along the line of his jaw, the touch soft, meant to soothe.

“You know you're the only one I have eyes for.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though the possessive gleam in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against the corner of your lips. 

“Because if he tries anything, it won’t be you who takes care of him.”

The carriage rattled along the cobblestone, every jolt and bump pressing you further into the cramped confines of the plush interior.

“Who thought this was a good idea?” you grumbled, wedged between Yeosang’s broad shoulders on one side and Hongjoong’s sharp elbows on the other. Across from you, Yunho sat with an amused smile tugging at his lips, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Might I remind you,” Yeosang began, his tone clipped and precise, “that as an unwed woman, you are still subject to scrutiny amongst the rest of society.”

You shot him a look. “Oh, forgive me, dear brother. I didn’t realize your lectures came free with the cramped seating arrangement.”

Hongjoong snorted, trying—and failing—to stifle his laughter. “Yeosang does have a point, though. You wouldn’t want whispers of impropriety, would you?”

“Whispers of impropriety are practically a given,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. 

“And if they get too loud, I could always… take care of the problem.” You punctuated the statement with a wicked smirk, earning raised brows from both men beside you.

“Take care of the problem?” Hongjoong echoed, feigning shock as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You mean every single person in attendance at the ball?”

“I wouldn’t need to dispose of everyone,” you replied smoothly, leaning back in your seat despite the lack of room.

“Just the ones who I particularly dislike. Though I would spare your fiance, brother, she’s quite lovely.” 

Yeosang’s betrothed was indeed lovely, but in the way a porcelain doll might be—delicate, beautiful, and utterly unaware of the shadows looming just beyond her perfect little world.

The Choi estate finally loomed into view, its grand spires and glowing windows promising a night of intrigue and chaos. For now, you were content to let the banter fade as you prepared for the night ahead.

“You all survived,” Hongjoong declared as the carriage came to a halt. He threw the door open with a flourish, stepping out dramatically. “You’re welcome.”

You navigated the crowd of guests with purpose, the fabric of your gown swishing against the polished marble floor as you scanned the room, intent on finding San.

Convincing your father to agree to the engagement hadn’t been easy. You’d begged and pleaded, painting San as the perfect addition to the collection—handsome, charming, well-connected, and clever enough to keep you interested.

Your father remained unmoved, but you persisted, highlighting the political advantages of the match. Eventually, he relented—not because of your arguments, but because of your relentless determination that promised you’d stop at nothing to make San yours.

“There you are,” you said, slipping seamlessly into the role of the devoted fiancée. Without waiting for an invitation, you placed your hand lightly on San’s arm, your touch both possessive and calculated.

From the shadows, Yunho’s eyes burned with a dark intensity as he watched the exchange. His jaw clenched as San’s hand brushed yours—a gesture that seemed casual to spectators but carried intent he didn’t like.

“Walk with me,” you whispered, the command so lightly delivered it felt like an invitation. You didn’t wait for San’s answer, turning toward the garden doors with a confidence that ensured he’d follow.

The night air greeted you as you stepped onto the terrace, the chatter of the ballroom fading behind you. You barely glanced back as San fell into step beside you, his movements measured and unhurried.

“Not a fan of the crowd?” he asked, his tone conversational.

“Am I not allowed to have any privacy with my betrothed?” you replied, leading him down a path lined with hedges. 

San followed, his footsteps measured and unhurried. “Privacy?” he repeated, a soft chuckle escaping him. “That’s a rare luxury in our world. You know that everyone is waiting for the next scandal.”

“Indeed,” you sighed, your tone tinged with weariness, the perfect prelude to what came next.

You took a small step closer, your movement subtle yet designed to chip away at his composure. Your gaze locked onto his, steady and inviting, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His eyes flickered to your lips before returning to meet yours, his composure faltering for a heartbeat. 

“That’s why,” you murmured, your voice soft, intimate, as though the words were meant for him alone, “this is the perfect opportunity for us to… escape.”

His brows lifted slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Escape?” 

You leaned in just enough to let your breath ghost against his skin, your next words dripping with suggestion.

“Away from the eyes that watch our every move. Doesn’t the idea tempt you, even just a little?” you whispered, your fingers lightly brushing his sleeve. 

Yunho watched as you wove your trap with precision, the threads of your web wrapping tighter around your victim. He fought to suppress his darker instincts: to tear San away from you, to smother him in flames, and put an end to the amusement. 

Yet he remained still, rooted in the shadows like a predator lying in wait. He knew better than to interfere. The success of your hunt depended on San’s willingness to step into your web, unaware of the danger closing in from every side. 

⊹

“Mmph, San just like that,” you moaned, voice breathy and as he slammed up into you. You could feel every inch of him as you rode him, the tip of his cock sliding against your walls and pressing into your soft, slick flesh.

Your thighs were trembling as you rose up and rolled back down onto his length, your own slickness dripping from your core, down your legs and over his thighs. 

“Fuck, you little minx,” he chuckled, reaching out to swat your ass. “Your idea of an escape wasn’t such a bad idea.”

San was panting now, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, muscles coiled tight beneath his skin. You leaned in closer, your fingers curling around his jaw, tilting his face upward into a kiss. Your lips brushed his, but your eyes stayed open, a faint smirk dancing on your lips as you watched Yunho out of the corner of your eye.

Yunho's brow twitched ever so slightly. His gaze remained steady, but the subtle tightening of his jaw hinted at the jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He could have ended this easily, efficiently, moments ago. One swift move, and San would’ve been neutralized, sparing him the theatrics unfolding before him. 

San’s hands slid down to the fat of your ass, his grip firm and possessive, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. He was consumed by the heat of your touch and the illusion of control.

“I can practically feel your jealousy from here,” you purred, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. 

San stiffened at your words, his head snapping around to follow your gaze. His eyes widened as they locked onto Yunho, who stepped out from the shadows, the glint of a syringe catching the dim light.

“What the—” San began, his voice tinged with confusion and anger.

“I’m sorry about this, darling,” you whispered, your tone laced with a teasing sweetness. “You’re far too sweet for someone like me.”

In one fluid motion, Yunho struck, the needle slipping into San’s neck with clinical precision. The sharp hiss of the syringe was barely audible, but the effect was immediate. His body jerked, muscles tensing for a brief moment before the sedative began to take hold. 

“Sannie?” you cooed mockingly, your voice lilting as you gazed up at him. 

A low groan escaped San’s lips, his eyelids fluttering weakly as the haze of unconsciousness began to lift. His head lolled to the side before snapping upright, a sharp intake of breath signaling the return of his senses.

Above him, the elaborate chandelier swayed, its gilded arms and crystal droplets gleaming eerily in the dim light. Thick ropes cut into his wrists, binding him to the curved metal and leaving him strung up like a puppet.

As a figure emerged beneath the chandelier, the haze in his vision couldn't obscure your unmistakable presence. Despite the pain and confusion, he recognized you instantly.

“Y/N!” he barked, his tinged with anger.

“Me?” you replied with a mock innocence, pointing to yourself with the knife in hand.

“Why are you doing this? Put me down!”

You tilted your head, your expression hovering somewhere between amusement and indifference. The faintest smile tugged at your lips as you took a step closer, inspecting the blade in your hand as if it were far more interesting than his presence.

“Well, I wanted to keep you for myself,” you began, your voice light and casual, as though discussing the weather. Slowly, you circled around San, your footsteps muffled by the exquisite rug. 

“But, you see, keeping someone requires a certain...process.”

San’s eyes followed your every move, his body tensing with every word. “Process?” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You stopped in front of him, leaning slightly closer as if sharing a secret. 

“It’s something of a family tradition” you began, fiddling with the blade in hand. “We’ve been curators for generations. Artists, really, in preserving beauty. Faces, bodies... souls. It’s an art passed down from my ancestors.”

“You…kill people and turn them into...into trophies?” San’s breathing grew heavier, his heart racing as he struggled to process your words.

“And you were going to do that to…me?” 

“Of course,” you replied, as if the answer were obvious. “You would’ve been my crown jewel.”

“You’re insane!” San hissed. 

“People keep saying that,” you mused, “but I think they just don’t understand that it’s about preservation—ensuring the things we treasure don’t fade away with time.”

Your eyes roamed over his face with a detached sort of admiration, as if he were a sculpture in a gallery rather than a living, breathing man. Slowly, you closed the distance between you, craning your neck upward to meet his scowl. 

“It’s a shame,” you murmured, your voice softening into something disturbingly tender, “to waste a face and body sculpted by God himself.”

San’s form was a masterpiece, from the way his chest heaved beneath the ropes binding him to the ridges of his abdomen catching the flickering candlelight like carved stone. His arms strained against the restraints, biceps taut, and the sheen of sweat on his body accentuated every curve and line, turning him into a living, breathing statue.

The faint screech of steel against flesh made him flinch, his head jerking away sharply as he tried to put even the smallest distance between you. 

“It starts with the skin,” you said, the blade’s edge gliding slowly up his abdomen, its cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. “Carefully removed, tenderly treated with salts and oils to keep it soft, supple… perfect. No flaws, no mistakes.”

The blade lingered against his chest, resting just above the frantic beat of his heart. Your fingers tightened around the hilt, tilting it slightly as you admire the quiver of his muscles beneath the steel. "Then the muscle—preserved layer by layer, until what’s left is the very essence of you. It’s… devotion.”

“I’m not some thing,” he spat, his voice trembling with anger.

“No,” you agreed, stepping back just enough to grant him the illusion of space.

“You’re not a thing, San. You’re divine. I had to have you. Something as perfect as you deserves to be worshiped...forever.”

His chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths, his eyes flickering with desperation as he tried to process your words. But before he could respond, you turned your attention elsewhere, mischief creeping into your expression.

“But alas,” you said, your voice laced with mock sorrow, “I only have eyes for one man now. And since he said no...”

You stepped closer, your movements unhurried, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Your smile widened ever so slightly as you tilted your head toward San, “...you can’t be a part of my collection.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, the knife moved, finding its mark in an instant, slicing clean through the fragile barrier of flesh at the base of his throat.

A strangled gasp escaped him as his body jerked violently against the ropes that bound him. His wide eyes met yours, filled with disbelief, a desperate plea lingering just behind the surface. But you weren’t done.

Another thrust. And another.

The blade sank into his gut, each motion deliberate and unhurried, as if you were painting a masterpiece with every strike. Blood gushed from the fresh wounds, pooling beneath him, staining the floor at your feet. His body convulsed, his muscles straining against the bonds in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

You stepped back, watching the light drain from his eyes. There was a strange beauty in the way his features softened, his defiance melting into something quieter, almost serene.

“Love?” you sang, skipping toward your paramour, your voice lilting in a way that would have sounded sweet if not for the blood splattered across your cheeks and the wicked gleam in your eye. The crimson stained your dress as you twirled the blade in hand, its tip dripping in time with your steps.

“How did I do?”

“Did you enjoy pouring accelerant around the manor?” you asked, your voice teasing as you glanced at Yunho. 

He huffed, slipping his hand into San’s fur coat. His fingers rummaged through the pockets, seeking anything worth pilfering, until they brushed against a cigar case.

"I would have enjoyed it a lot more if he didn't have his hands all over you," Yunho muttered with displeasure. He bit down on the cigar, his gaze never leaving yours. The flicker of his lighter caught the curve of his pout, the cigar’s tip flaring bright before he exhaled a slow, lazy plume of smoke.

“I’m sorry my love, it was part of the plan,” you said softly. 

Rising onto your tiptoes, your hands rested lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. You leaned in, brushing a tender kiss to his lips. His mouth softened against yours, the lingering tension dissolving with his quiet sigh, leaving the cigar forgotten in his hand.

“Let me make it up to you?” you whispered against his lips.

His gaze bore into yours for a moment, intense and unyielding before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without a word, Yunho turned and sauntered toward the chaise, easing himself against the cushions. With his arm draped along the backrest, he commanded you with hooded eyes, tracking your movement as you approached.

Trembling with excitement, you let your bloodied dress slip from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You sunk to your knees before him as your hands smoothed up his thighs, working to undo his trousers. The fabric gave away and Yunho lifted his hips as you pulled them down, his hand immediately fisting in your hair, dragging you up. 

"Open,” he commanded with a tone that could only send a shiver down your spine. 

Your lips parted, and he leaned in, capturing you in a rough, consuming kiss. The taste of tobacco lingered on his tongue, its rich, smoky heat clouding your senses and making your head spin. As the kiss deepened, he exhaled slowly, sending a plume of smoke into your mouth.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled from the loss of contact, the ghost of his touch still lingering. Yunho crushed the cigar against the ashtray before beckoning you forward with his fingers.

You stuck your tongue out, allowing his thick shaft to slide past your lips. Yunho groaned as you wrapped your hands around the base of his cock, your tongue flattening along his length and tucking his tip along the underside. Your tongue swirled around the tip before as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

He threw his head back, his thrusts growing rougher as he bucked into your mouth, tears forming in the corner of your eyes from how thick your lover’s cock was. 

“That’s it, you’ll take it all won’t you love?” he encouraged. 

You nodded as best you could, moaning wantonly as he proceeded to fuck your face, moving faster and harder. Wetness dripped between your thighs, the taste of his arousal driving your own need to be fucked as you slid a hand down, fingers pressing between your legs.

Yunho hissed from the vibration of your moan and momentarily released his grip on your hair. His fingers pressed into your cheeks, squishing them gently but firmly, tilting your head to ensure your gaze stayed locked with his. You looked up at him, panting, cheeks flushed and swollen lips parted–his little angel. He yanked you toward him, his mouth crushing against yours as his tongue forced its way past your lips, savoring his own taste. 

“Mmph, Yunho please,” you gasped between kisses, “I need it,” you begged, squeezing your thighs together to relieve the ache you felt between them. 

“I thought you were going to make it up to me, but I guess I can’t help it when you look like a fucking angel.” 

His grip on your arm was firm, as he hauled you upward with almost no effort. He guided you on to his lap, his angry cockhead teasing your folds as you straddled his hips. You bit back a whimper, grinding against his dick, giving you the relief you so desperately needed. 

“What do you need? Use your words, darling.”

“Need to be fucked, need you in me,” you whined, reaching between your to line his cock against your cunt but he stopped, grabbing a hold of your wrist. 

“You want me to fuck you right after you had another man in you?”

“You know there is no one else. Please, please just fuck me, please! I'm begging you, I'm yours, only yours. Only ever yours. Always!”

Yunho hoisted you up by the hips and sheathed himself inside of you, his tip kissing against your most sensitive spot. You reveled in the way the curve of his dick caressed your walls, writhing yourself against him, desperate to fuck yourself up and down his length. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

You obeyed, bringing your hands behind your back as his hand wrapped firmly around your wrists, holding them in place, a reminder of who was in control. 

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered, rolling your hips against him. Yunho sucked his teeth, admiring the way you were so compliant for him, how you desperately wanted to please him–a sharp contrast from the calculated killer you had been moments before. 

Squelching sounds filled the room as you slid along his length before slamming back down, the sound spurring you on as he entered you again and again, each thrust harder than the last. You felt like you could cum at any moment as the pleasure was overwhelming but you didn’t want him to know how close you were. 

“I know you’re close, angel,” he taunted against your nipple, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. “Let go for mmph–”

You leaned forward, stuffing Yunho’s mouth with one of your tits, revenge for forcing you to keep your hands behind your back. He groaned, tongue lapping against your nipple as your arousal seeped from your core down, pooling around in a milky white ring around the base of his cock. 

Yunho was growing impatient with you and slid his hand up, his fingers curling around your throat with a slight squeeze that had you spiraling into a haze of delirium. That was all it took for your cunt to spasm as your release finally came. 

"That's my angel," he cooed, relaxing the grip on your wrists and letting his hand slide behind your back. He cupped the back of your head, pulling you toward him, his dark gaze still holding you captive. Despite the haziness, you fought to meet his stare, feeling every ounce of your control slip further away.

You couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, the way his bangs clung to his forehead, and the tension in the muscles of his arms and torso.

He looked breathtaking like this.

You could tell he was close, breathing heavily and moaning against your skin before a deep shudder rolled through him. You watched with delight as his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back in pleasure as he stuffed you full with his seed. 

"Can I still keep the fur coat?" you asked, glancing up at Yunho with wide, pleading eyes. 

“No.”

⊹

“I think I might retire from hunting. Burning is much more efficient. Fun, even.”

“Fun?” he echoed, arching a brow as his dark eyes fixed on you. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, his gaze studying your face like you were the only thing worth noticing amidst the chaos.

You held Yunho’s hand, your fingers intertwined with his, swinging idly as the two of you strolled away from the estate. Taking one last drag, he tossed the cigar, letting it tumble to the ground before igniting the trail of gasoline. A sudden rush of flames raced toward the manor, hungrily consuming the line of accelerant until it disappeared into the heart of the ballroom.

The pungent smell of smoke filled the air as you and Yunho made your way down the winding path from the Choi estate. Screams pierced the night as flames erupted within, and guests fled the grounds in a chaotic swarm, their tailored suits and gowns streaked with soot and ash as they stumbled across the manicured lawns.

You could feel the faint tremble of excitement in Yunho’s grip, the subtle way his thumb traced small circles against your knuckles.

“I mean, look at this,” you gestured at the inferno behind you as another section of the manor’s roof caved in. “There’s no need to clean up, no loose ends, and it’s efficient.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked back to the blaze, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something almost reverent in his expression. The heat, the destruction—it spoke to something deep within him, a hunger he tried to keep buried but could never fully ignore. He inhaled deeply, the scent of smoke filling his lungs, and his lips curved into a slow, almost dreamy smile.

“There’s instant satisfaction in destruction. I won’t have to feel bad about letting potential dolls go to waste,” you sighed, your tone carrying a faint edge. You were still a bit bitter about having to dispose of San. A pity, really.

But the things you do for love.

Yunho laughter rumbled through his chest as he pulled you closer.  “Looks like I’ve created a monster,” he mused, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Behind you, the inferno raged on, the deep groans of the collapsing manor blending with the desperate cries of those escaping. But you both kept moving, the blaze fading into the distance as the night swallowed you whole.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Through the Vine

Surrounded by some of the most coveted vineyards on the continent, your party sits in the shaded garden and listens to the old alchemist explaining why she needs your help getting drunk enough to see the face of god.

Every adventurer knows the name Ultani, at least those with coin and taste enough to order bottles of wine when they and their friends hit up a tavern after a delve. What an irony then for one of the Ultani family to ask for THEM at her table, and with a business proposition of all things.

Bent with age but bright of eye, Ivilia Ultani needs their help tracking down the location of an abandoned druid sanctum in the far wilderness and retrieving fruit sacred to the god of vintners and healers left over from a disastrous ritual. Her reasons? Apparently after decades perusing the alchemical mysteries Ivilia got her hands on a bottle blessed by the wine-god himself, and spent four days in a state of drunken revelation pencilling out her magnum opus. The bottle and her inspiration dry just before she finished, so rather than waiting years trying to trial and error the last piece or searching for another bottle she's decided to make some of her own.

Along the way the party will contend with family drama, the cutthroat politics of the wine trade, and the long echoing consequences of stealing from merciful gods. For their troubles they'll not only earn the thanks of a talented alchemist, but also potentially a new home should they hold true to their task.

Setup: Though she is the oldest of her of her merchant clan Ivilia is not the head of the Ultani winery. Her younger brother Valtar had the talent for cultivation and business while she veered towards eccentric scholarship, now Valtar's adult grandchildren run the business and the numerous sprawling vineyards associated with it while she lives in learned obscurity on the original family homestead.

While she occasionally helps out whit a new formulation of fertilizer or pest repellent, Ivilia is rather distant from the rest of the Ultani family who view her as a bit of a kook, who all to often uses her inherited share of the enterprise to buy obscure texts or finance futile experiments.

Challenges & Complications:

Actually finding the sanctum is going to be half the problem. Druidic orders are notoriously protective about the location of their secret clubhouses, and this order was scattered to the wind more than a century ago. Ivilia has tracked down the vague location where she thinks the sanctum might be, but unless the party wants to spend days combing the dangerous wilderness they're going to need to track down a more reliable source. Parsing through local rumours and records gives them three leads, an elf who still provides council to the local Count (goodluck getting an appointment), a vaguely helpful ditty that was recounted to a local bard (since dramatized in endless retelling), and an elder of the order who flew back to his home village in the shape of a falcon. Investigating the latter finds that the elder was apparently so scarred by what he'd seen at the sanctum that he transformed himself into a tree and has spent the intervening decades letting his mind and memory lignify.

The Sanctum itself and the landscape that surrounds it has been scarred by an act of divine wrath that still lingers in the form of dangerous fey and choking vines. Roots have undermined the walls and foundations, making chambers all to easy to collapse. In the centre of this ruin lays the undead corpse of Elmgrace , a once famed elven healer who sought the boon of the god Litirenn only to try and use that gift to reign the god towards his own purposes. Resentful at this deception Litirenn unleashed havoc on the sanctum, cursing Elmgrace never to die, never to rot, and never to rejoin the cycle of nature. Forever vinebound to the same altar he intended for the deity, Elmgrace's few last fanatical followers still tend to his broken body, attempting to brew up more potent poisons that will finally "free" their teacher from his torment.

Unfortunately, the fruit the party needs to pluck grows only from the plants impaling Elmgrace's body, which his followers are very protective of. Even after the party races through the wilderness and back to civilization with their prize they'll need to look over their shoulder for toxin obsessed cultists stalking their trail.

Further Adventures:

Milo Ultani has something to prove, the oldest of four siblings and a gaggle of cousins poised to inherit the winery he was raised to value hard work and loyalty to the family above all else. All his life it has irked him that his great aunt was allowed to dwell in their ancestral home, some of the nicest land his family owns, leaching off their enterprise like a withered limb. What finally drives him to act is Ivilia offhandedly mentioning that she intends to sign over her house and land to the party as a reward for helping her drink her way to enlightenment again. Resentment turns to rage in the young man's mind as a plan begins to form; A vine must be pruned in order to be fruitful after all.

When the party return with the godly fruit they're going to find Ivilia gone, her home broken into during the night her bed a mess of red that at first seems to be blood, but is infact wine. Surrounded by experts it doesn't take long for the vino in question to be identified as belonging to Jadash Hill, one of the Ultani's oldest rivals who are known for their unscrupulous business practices. It's at this point that Milo comes forward, reporting that some of their carters had gotten into brawls with those from Jadash Hill at a local tollhouse, sending the bastards packing and ignoring their threats of reprisal as idle boasting. This did indeed happen, but only because Milo is in charge of part of the family's delivery operation and instigated the fight himself.

The clock is ticking, the party has a bushel of miracle fruit that's going to rot and the alchemist they were supposed to deliver it to is nowhere to be seen. They can either find Ivilia quick, figure out a method of preserving the fruit, or read through her notes and attempt to concoct the divine wine themselves.

However badly he thinks of her, Milo would never kill his great aunt, having instead had his loyal carters drag her off to a small cottage on the edge of a property the family was keeping fallow for the year. In his reckoning the old woman won't live much longer, and while the emerging feud with Jadash hill keeps the family busy he can figure out a better place to keep his great aunt locked up. He wasn't delicate in his planning but he moves fast and the influence he has with the workforce as the presumptive heir cannot be overstated.

Art 1 Art 2

[tarnishedinquirer]

Case: Path of the Wolf Pt 1: Mistwood Ruins

Now we're getting somewhere.

It started when I ran into a strange looking tree in the woods. Now, I've gotten well acquainted with strange glowing trees since arriving here, but this one was different. For one, it glowed silver. For another, it didn't have leaves, but small orange flames. It was like a naturally-occurring candelabra.

When I touched the tree, a ghostly Wandering Noble appeared and started to walk through the woods, leaving behind golden footprints. It didn't feel like a trap. Didn't even really feel like a ghost either. Illusion, maybe? Set to go off when someone touched the tree?

I followed as it meandered through the woods. The route it took was circuitous and passed through several points of danger, but that seemed more like indifference than malice. Maybe some kind of security system, meant to frustrate your average person into giving up the chase.

It disappeared at some ruins, where I heard a wolf howl. I couldn't find the source until I looked up. It was hard to get a good angle due to the trees, but there seemed to be some guy dressed as a wolf up there. Couldn't get his attention, so I left him alone and continued to Fort Haight.

Kept it in the back of my mind though, and brought it up next time I visited Kalé. Seems like he knew the guy and advised me to snap my fingers in the air to get his attention. Figured it was worth a shot.

It worked, and he jumped down to join me. He introduced himself as Blaidd, which I believe in the Land of Leeks just means "wolf," which seemed appropriate since he wasn't just dressed as a wolf. He actually was a wolf-man, and a hell of a lot bigger than I anticipated. Surprisingly soft-spoken for a beastman, but hey, it's a crazy world I find myself in.

He asked me if I could help find a former associate of his named Darriwil, who he called a traitor. I hadn't seen the guy, but I'll call Blaidd if I ever find him.

Well, now I'm on the trail of a real case. Not just figuring out what happened to a bunch of corpses or pursuing a vague conspiracy. An actual, honest to gods CASE. Feels good.

Unrelated to the case: Before I left the area, I decided to poke around and found one of those monster bears fast asleep, surrounded by Trina's Lillies. Back at the bear jamboree, one of them was asleep and also surrounded by these lilies. I've heard of animals going after fermented fruits or toxic mushrooms to get a buzz, and I'm starting to think these lilies might be the drug of choice for giant bears. Seems to have a soporific effect.

Unfortunately, this one was blocking my way into a potentially treasure-filled basement. I had to wake him up to get by, and he was none too happy about that. Fortunately, he was also far too big to fit into the basement. I slipped in when he was still groggy and was far out of reach by the time he started rampaging. Cold be the day when I fight one of those things willingly.

Inside was an Axe Talisman, depicting a behelmed warrior with an axe not unlike the offering axe I found on the dark carriage. Less elaborate by far, but a similar bearded design. The warrior's helmet was also similar to but distinct from the helmets worn by the Kaidan sellswords. Perhaps this was once a home of theirs before the woods swallowed it? Or perhaps there was once a warrior culture here that shared a similar root.

Questions:

Where is Darriwil?

Why was he named a traitor?

What effects do St. Trina's Lilies have?

Who were the warriors that called these ruins home?

[tpwkjerii]

oh, zombie!

you’re certain you’ve met the end when you’re cornered by flesh-hungry zombies, but a man with a bat and the bone structure of a god proves you otherwise.

pairing: jungkook x reader

warnings: cursing, shooting guns, weapons, mentions of death, minor angst, fluff, blood, zombies (duh), attempted murder, kinda heated makeout session, namjoon is an accidental cockblock, kissing

genre: zombie apocalypse au, thrill/gore (not too descriptive or graphic), strangers to lovers

word count: 9.8k+

a/n: the zombies in this fic have enhanced smell for corpses and human stress hormones!! and help i have like two other jk drafts rn (& disclaimer: i don’t own the gif above!!)

Fucked.

That was the best word to describe you and your current predicament. Now, with the loud groans of at least four zombies and heavy bangs against the door ringing in your ears, you were really starting to regret entering this grocery store.

You knew you should have trusted your gut when you first approached the store, but the thought of having actual food (not the dry ramen packets you were currently surviving on) and more water (you were on your last bottle) tempted you to push open the glass door and rush into the supermarket without so much as a noise scan. It took only eight seconds for the zombies and their enhanced smell to know that you entered. You were barely able to grab a single bottle of water before you heard an eerily low groan and immediately rushed for shelter in the dairy freezer.

Your twenty seconds of recklessness led you to where you are now, pushed against a cold door while zombies banged heavily against it. You held onto the inner lock as you reached down for your gun, which you were certain only had a few more bullets; regardless, it was your best shot at escaping this store alive. Gathering yourself, you inhaled and exhaled deeply with hope that you could shoot them all fast enough.

Just as you were about to release the lock and face your fate, the groans fell silent and were replaced by the sound of heavy and almost cartoon-like thwacks. Your feet froze as you realized that that was no sound or action a zombie could make — there was another human outside. You had only a few seconds to decide your next move, which would ultimately decide your future and whether you die in the middle of a grocery store dairy storage freezer or not.

Whoever killed the zombies outside could either be a kind-hearted person who didn’t want to see you succumb to a tragic fate or a person who wanted to save you from death by zombies only to kill you for your survival supplies. Considering the fact that they just knocked at least four zombies on their own, you prayed that it wasn’t the latter.

A few silent seconds passed until you eventually moved your hand, and you prayed that this wouldn’t be your second fatal mistake of the day as you slowly unlocked and opened the heavy steel door. Your gun visible in your other hand, you stepped out to see who your potential savior (or murderer) was.

Your eyes landed on the face of an extremely handsome man. Despite the obvious disarray he was in (then again, everyone who manages to survive during a zombie apocalypse is at least some form of messed up), it was clear as day that he was attractive. He had alluring doe-shaped eyes that were deceivingly innocent-looking, long dark hair that fell messily over his forehead, and the facial structure of an absolute god. The cut on his lip, small scratches scattered across his face, and his silver earrings only added to his intimidating impression, and upon seeing the heavy metal bat he held in his right hand, you instinctively tighten your grip on your handgun.

You were so enraptured by his captivating appearance that you nearly forgot the situation you were in.

“Who - who are you?” you finally asked, attempting to keep your voice as level as possible and praying that your face wasn’t red since he definitely noticed you checking him out.

He didn’t look intimidated at all, and a part of you died internally when his lip curled into a smirk. This was not looking good for you. “Are you gonna put that gun down?” he asked, the depth and warmth of his voice throwing you off. He laughed as you only blinked and he continued, “You certainly didn’t have a problem with me when you were checking me out earlier, so why keep the gun up now, babygirl?”

If you weren’t blushing before, you definitely were now. You cursed under your breath as you moved your hand down and quickly placed your gun back in your thigh holster, deciding that he was safe and probably wouldn’t kill you. “I wasn’t checking you out,” you muttered, and he laughed at your obvious lie.

“Whatever makes you feel better, babygirl,” he said, a teasing tone in his airy voice.

Your brows knitted together in irritation at the pet name. “Don’t call me that,” you mumbled, looking down at your worn sneakers awkwardly.

He laughed again, and you found yourself oddly enchanted to his tiny laugh. He took a step towards you, causing you to look up at him as he told you, “I won’t call you ‘babygirl’ if you tell me what your name is.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before you answered, “My name’s Y/N, what’s yours?”

He grinned, which somehow turned his entire demeanor upside down. With his wide smile, he was no longer the intimidating guy that took down three zombies on his own with just a bat, but rather a nice guy that just wanted to help out a fellow human from being killed by zombies.

“Jungkook,” he answered simply as he began to walk away from you and through the store aisles.

“Jungkook,” you repeated, familiarizing the way his name rolled off your tongue with a nod. “So, Jungkook, what brought you into this store?” you asked, rushing to walk alongside him and skim through the aisles.

“This your first time outside, Y/N?” he asked, abruptly stopping to turn and look at you. You froze and dropped the bag of chips you were holding at the sudden eye contact. He sighed and moved to pick up the chips and place it back onto the shelves. “I was wandering around the area, and I saw that you walked right into a trap,” he told you.

“A trap?” you asked, your mouth falling open in surprise.

He nodded and motioned for you to help him fill his rucksack with water bottles. “Looters will leave trace scents or pieces of human remains to attract zombies to popular places survivors will drift to. Once any survivors enter and get killed by the zombies, the looters will come back, off the zombies, and take their supplies,” he explained with a grimace.

Your face twisted, and you suddenly felt even luckier that Jungkook saved you. “How do you know? I mean, how did you know that the looters were here?” you asked, still a bit unsettled at the fact that you basically walked straight-first into a death trap.

Jungkook zipped up his backpack, now full of at least 20 water bottles, and headed towards the dried foods. “I spotted one of their vans when I was walking around, so I figured they were in the area. Then I saw you entering the store and bingo — I was right,” he told you nonchalantly as he stuffed various dried fruits and snacks into his pockets.

“Take some of these,” he added, gesturing towards the few remaining dark chocolate bars.

You nodded, briefly admiring his casual attitude as you shoved two handfuls of the chocolate into your jacket pockets. “How did you recognize them? Have you had any… run-ins with them?” you wondered curiously, picking up your pace to match his quicker steps as he made his way down the remaining store aisles.

“They approached me to join them when this whole thing started,” he started, pausing to laugh softly at the shocked expression on your face. He shook his head as he continued, “I said no because what they do is twisted. Luring people to their deaths for some sick form of fun. They say they do it for the supplies but we all know that’s a lie.”

You nodded your head thoughtfully. “Oh, well, I guess that’s an admirable and sane choice.”

He murmured in agreement, and you walked alongside him, unconsciously humming a song that had been stuck in your head for a while. Being with Jungkook, who was both stronger and more knowledgeable than you, provided you with a sense of comfort. Additionally, he wasn’t shooing you off and willingly accepted your company (for the past 10 minutes, at least). Before you even knew it, you two reached the front store doors.

He walked out first, holding the door open behind him. You faltered, a second thought of “does he really want me to go with him?” running through your head.

He raised a brow, opening the door a bit wider. “You coming?”

“Wh- what?” you stuttered in disbelief.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” he asked. “C’mon, babygirl. We don’t have all day. Those looters are bound to come back soon.”

At the mention of those evil people, your legs moved instantly. You rushed out of the door towards Jungkook’s side and eagerly turned to face him. “Where to?”

He laughed, and you swore it was one of the most enchanting tones you’ve ever heard, before saying, “What’s the place you’re staying in like?”

You thought back to your small home and the painful disarray it was in. It was a miracle that you were able to survive so long considering how ill-prepared you were for an apocalypse to happen.

“Er, probably not as good as yours,” you answered sheepishly.

“Fair enough.” He nodded at the anticipated answer and began to walk in the opposite direction that you came from. You continued alongside him, internally screaming at how lucky you were. Not only did Jungkook completely save your life, he let you stay with him! You didn’t understand why, seeing as you were arguably an impediment to his survival, but you were grateful regardless.

The city around you was lifeless. What was once home to millions of citizens and the hustle and bustle of daily routines was reduced to empty stone buildings, the only people left either roaming as the undead or too afraid to come out. Within two weeks, the city and all its people changed entirely.

As you walked alongside Jungkook, you wondered what type of life he led before the apocalypse. Was he a student like you? Did he have a job? Was he a police officer or firefighter? Did he have family?

Several questions imposed themselves in your brain, and it was enough to almost distract you from Jungkook’s words.

“That van over there is a looter van,” he informed you, pointing towards a parked black van that had unrecognizable red symbols sprayed on it. “Each one has different symbols on it, but they’re all in red so they know where each one is and don’t mess up a potential job.”

You nodded and absorbed his words. You definitely passed a van like that when you were walking towards the store. “That’s good to know,” you whispered, your voice strained with mild fear.

He didn’t say anything else in response and continued forward, gently tugging you along with him when you lingered in your spot a second too long as you stared at the van.

Jungkook led you for a few more minutes, each second only increasing your curiosity as to where he was taking you and what he was really like. Silence prevailed until you heard a low groan and the distinguishable sound of a foot dragging along gravel. You stiffened and unconsciously moved to grip Jungkook’s hand.

He stopped in his tracks and gently pushed you towards a building wall. Once both your backs were pressed flat against the stone wall, he adjusted the grip on his bat and you reached for the gun in your thigh holster. The zombie’s groans grew louder as it approached. You knew they couldn’t see and had a very limited sense of hearing, but you wondered if you or Jungkook had anything on you that attracted its hunger for rotting flesh or stress.

You held your breath as the zombie came into view, its decaying body and unsettling groans disturbing you. It walked closer, although not directly towards you. You raised your gun the same time as Jungkook lifted his bat, but you didn’t have to pull the trigger and Jungkook didn’t have to swing as the zombie only walked straight past you two, leaving only its rotting scent behind.

You breathed out in relief and relaxed your shoulders as you placed your handgun back in its holster. “Thank god,” you whispered.

“Let’s go,” was all Jungkook said before he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. It seemed like you weren’t the only one anxious to get out of the open.

Jungkook’s home was much, much better than yours (if you could even call your tiny studio that).

“Holy shit,” you whispered as you admired the fortified mansion. High stone walls and a metal gate surrounded the large two-story house. “You have this place all to yourself?” you asked Jungkook. Now you were really curious what his profession before this was.

He shook his head as he unlocked the gate with a key. “A few friends live with me,” he answered simply before slipping the key back in his jean pocket. “They should all be awake by now.”

You nodded and followed closely behind him as he walked up the short pathway to the front door. As he opened the door, you heard a loud yell come from within.

“Kookie!” he yelled, his voice smooth and deep.

You saw Jungkook’s face turn red as he quickly shut the door with a slightly mortified facial expression.

“Uh -”

The door burst open. “Kookie!” a man shouted before enveloping Jungkook into a tight hug. You stepped to the side, observing the affectionate interaction with a grin. The man who barreled into Jungkook had black, fluffy hair that was held back by a black hairband. He was on the thinner side, but still built, and appeared to be a bit taller and tanner than Jungkook. When he released the hug and turned to face you, your breath hitched.

He was attractive.

“Who’d you bring home?” he asked Jungkook, a boxy smile directed towards you.

“Her name is Y/N, I caught her just before some zombies got her,” Jungkook answered as he nudged you and the man inside.

As you stepped through the front door, you observed the large home’s tasteful interior. A pristine white kitchen was to the right of you, apparently well-stocked based on the two open cabinets that were filled with snacks and ramen. To the left of you was an open living room with one large couch and two smaller ones surrounding a paper-filled coffee table and a large TV mounted onto the wall.

Impressive, you thought.

The fluffy-haired man stepped in front of you, his contagious smile still going strong. “I’m Taehyung. It’s nice to meet you!”

You smiled at him. It’d been a while since you met new people, much less people with such warm and friendly dispositions. “It’s nice to meet you too,” you returned honestly.

Jungkook cleared his throat, announcing suddenly, “I’ll show Y/N around.”

You turned to face him, noticing that he had taken off his bags and leather jacket. His bare arms were now exposed, and you immediately noticed how sculpted he was. A sleeve of various tattoos decorated one of his arms, drawing your attention to the ink on his defined muscles. His other arm was more bare, but still had a few figures on it. Realizing that you were probably staring for too long, you tore your eyes away with a nod before you set down your own bag and followed Jungkook.

He took you past the living room and kitchen through a hallway, showing you where the first floor bathroom, in-home gym, and office were. You gaped at the book-filled office that also housed several weapons. Lined across the wall were several guns, knives, and other weapons you couldn’t even name. After you recovered from what you saw in the office, he led you up the stairs.

“This is Taehyung and Jimin’s room,” he said, pointing to the first door in the hallway. “Jin and Yoongi’s.” He pointed to the door next to the first one. “Namjoon’s.” He then pointed towards the first door on the opposite side of the hall. “And mine.” He pointed to the door next to Namjoon’s.

You nodded, resisting the urge to ask about their family members since you knew it could be a sensitive subject for them. “Are they all home?” you wondered. “Well, except for Taehyung, I guess,” you added as an afterthought.

Jungkook nodded. “Jin, Yoongi, and Jimin are probably in their rooms. Namjoon will be out for the next few days getting some stuff, so you can stay in his room for now.”

Your lips parted in shock. “No, no! That’s his room. It’s fine, I can sleep on the couches if anything!”

“It’s fine, he won’t mind,” Jungkook insisted.

But you shook your head in persistence. “Really, I’m completely fine with the couch. I wouldn’t want to make Namjoon feel uncomfortable or anything.”

He sighed and shrugged, seemingly relenting to your wishes. “Alright, we can head back down then,” he said as he turned back to the stairs.

Before you followed him, your eyes landed on the last door all the way down the hallway. You had no idea what was behind it, yet it still emitted an ominous and mysterious aura that called out to you. “Wait,” you said before you even thought about it. Just as he turned to face you, the realization that he probably didn’t tell you what was in that room for a reason (whatever that was) hit you.

“Er - nevermind!” You laughed awkwardly, hoping he would drop it. But it was too late — he already noticed your lingering gaze on the locked door.

“Don’t go in that room,” he stated bluntly before turning around, not giving you a chance to respond. “There’s nothing in there that’s of importance to you,” he added as he walked down the stairs. You rushed to follow him after him, still intimidated to be in this big house with completely new people, muttering words of agreement.

Everyone in this house was shockingly nice. Jimin was undeniably kind and spent your entire first night at your side, making sure you felt comfortable in this new place. Yoongi, although more reserved, didn’t hesitate to check if you were alright whenever you spaced out or got scared by a sudden noise. Lastly, Jin was incredibly attentive; from asking you if you had any food allergies or if you preferred baths or showers, he did his best to welcome you.

(They were all also really attractive, but that's besides the point).

Before you knew it, a week passed. Seven days of playing board games with Jimin and Taehyung, cooking with Jin, talking about conspiracy theories with Yoongi, and working out (and trying to avoid) with Jungkook.

Why were you trying to avoid him? Well, despite having met Jungkook first, you couldn’t help but start to feel awkward around him. Not because he made you feel uncomfortable or the reverse, but rather due to your undeniable attraction to him. It certainly didn’t help that his personality complemented his beautiful appearance well. On the outside, Jungkook appeared cold and intimidating, but on the inside he was soft and kind. He was exactly like one of the many fictional characters you’d fallen in love with before.

Your first official day at the house, you kept your cool pretty well. Of course, Jungkook and his endearing behavior and large, doe eyes had to ruin it. Then again, it was also on you for not listening to your initial instinct of avoiding the gym machines. What exactly happened?

Well, after three failed attempts of using the machine from hell (you didn’t even know it’s name), Jungkook finally decided that it was just getting sad and moved from his machine to help you.

“You’re supposed to use your arms to bring it back,” he said with a teasing tone as he neared you. You jumped in your seat and looked up at the mirror to see his figure stopping directly behind you. Your breath hitched as he leaned down and… oh fuck, did his arms just brush up against yours?

Face burning red, you looked away with a violent cough. “Er, I knew that.”

He laughed softly at your embarrassed expression, the enchanting sound of his lap wreaking havoc on your already weak heart. You turned towards him and gently pushed his chest with a scoff.

“You don’t have to laugh at me,” you grumbled.

“Sometimes I can’t help it,” he countered with a smug smile.

You particularly liked when he smiled since he reminded you of a bunny whenever he did — especially when he had a large smile and his eyes formed happy, crescent moons with twinkling stars. Jungkook’s grin (and laugh) was as infectious as Taehyung’s and Jin’s, and he was, overall, a perfect person in your eyes. Even as he made fun of you (jokingly, of course), you swore he was sent from the stars above.

Deciding it best to not catch feelings for your savior and person who graciously housed you, you tried to keep your distance from him since then. Whenever he entered the room, you tried your best to subtly leave (bless Seokjin for being exceptionally understanding of your “cramps”) and when he tried talking only to you or directing the conversation to you, you roped someone else into the discussion. It worked for the most part as you talked to the others more and ignored the way Jungkook made your heart race whenever you thought about him, but today you were out of luck.

“Y/N and Jungkook, supplies run today.”

You gaped at Jin from your spot on the couch. “What? Me? Are you sure?” you asked, silently pleading with your eyes.

He rolled his eyes and nodded, bending down to gently pat your head. “Yes, you. Don’t worry, you’ll have Kookie with you.”

“And this,” Yoongi added as he dropped a gun much larger than your small handgun in your lap.

You looked up at him in shock. “I don’t know how to use this!”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you’ll need to use it.”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’re gonna have to pull your weight if you wanna stay with us,” Taehyung told you, winking at you when Jungkook entered the living room with his gear. Your eyes widened at him, but you couldn’t say anything as Jungkook approached you.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You sighed and stood up begrudgingly. With an excessively-large gun in hand and empty backpack strapped to you, you exited the house with Jungkook at your side. Together, you silently walked down the same path he took you up almost a week ago.

You embraced the peacefulness of this secluded area. Jungkook’s home was quite secluded, and the surrounding trees were home to blissful breezes and a variety of chirping animals. Despite the downfall of humanity, it seemed that wildlife was flourishing, you noted.

“So I guess I’ll ask now,” Jungkook started, capturing your attention. You turned and looked up at him, anxiously waiting for him to continue. “Were you staying with anyone before? I assume not since you’re with us now…”

You shook your head. Your voice lowered as you answered, “I was all by myself.” He frowned while you continued. “My parents were on a trip abroad with my best friend Hobi when it happened.” Your eyes teared up as you mentioned your family and Hobi, who was basically your older brother.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It’s ok,” you mumbled. “The last call I got from my parents before all the cell towers went down, Hobi was doing alright with them. I’m thankful that they have him.”

“I’m sure that Hobi is doing a good job taking care of himself and your parents,” he responded soothingly.

You nodded, blinking your tears away as you diverted your gaze towards your moving feet. “So what about you?” you asked after a few silent moments. “Do you have any family?”

He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on his backpack. “My parents didn’t make it,” he answered bluntly.

Your head whipped towards him. “I’m so sorry,” you said rushedly. “I don’t know why I even asked you, I overste-”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, gently turning your head to face the road path ahead of you two. “I was the one who asked first, anyways.”

You looked down again in shame. “Sorry again,” you murmured.  

Jungkook smiled down at you before a small laugh escaped his lips. Your heart picked up it’s pace when he laced his hand with yours and pulled you forward. “Come on, the supplies won’t get themselves.”

You felt an odd sense of deja vu as you ran out of the grocery store, Jungkook following behind you and a horde of hungry zombies behind the both of you.

But let’s back up a few moments to ten minutes prior to this predicament.

You and Jungkook finally reached the grocery store that Jin had been scoping out via hidden camera for the past week. Your eyes were delighted by the sight of shelves lined with a variety of foods and freezers that still had cold air circulating behind the glass doors.

“This is one of the few places that run on solar power, so the electricity still functions in here,” Jungkook explained when he noticed your confusion at how he was able to turn off the lights and the gust of cold air that greeted him as he opened one of the freezer doors to grab an ice cream bar.

“I’m surprised no one’s hit this place up yet,” you said as you took out the list of supplies that Jin gave you before you left.

“Jin’s been watching this place for a while. He thinks no one’s come here because it’s kinda far away.”

You nodded in agreement, thinking back to the long walk you and Jungkook took to get here. You supposed not many people wanted to risk being out in the open for so long and didn’t find the commute worth it.

“Is Jin watching us right now?” you asked Jungkook curiously.

During your short few days at their house, you quickly learned each person’s role. Yoongi, who used to be an engineer, builds all the cameras and weapons. Jin, a former director and computer whiz, monitors the cameras that he and Taehyung set up around the city. Taehyung, a film and dance student, helps Jin set up the cameras in obscure places and trains with Jungkook and Jimin. Jimin, a skilled dancer, often accompanies Jungkook and Taehyung during training and supplies runs. Unfortunately, Jimin sprained his ankle recently and Taehyung injured his arm during training, leaving the supplies-run to Jungkook.

The only person you had yet to meet was Namjoon. According to the others, Namjoon was a former pre-med student and scientist who was on a trip to find something. Of course, they didn’t tell you what that something was. And while you were curious, you also didn’t want to overstep your boundaries and risk being kicked out.

“Probably, he usually watches camped out places to monitor and che-”

You and Jungkook both turned your head at the recognizable low rumble of a car. He was quick to grab your hand and pull you down onto the ground, out of view from the front glass windows. You held your breath at the sound of a car door opening and then the ringing bell as the front door was pulled open a few seconds later.

Jungkook reached towards his large gun, but he halted when he recognized the distinguishable stench that the random person carried in. Your eyes widened when Jungkook began panicking, his fingers fumbling for his walkie talkie.

You heard a heavy thud and the sound of the ringing bell again as the mysterious person exited the store. You waited until the rumbling of the car grew distant before you looked up and cursed loudly.

“Fuck! He dumped a dead body here!” you cried, stomach churning at the sight of the pale corpse.

Jungkook groaned from beside you and rushed towards the front of the store, poking his head out of the door and looking both ways. “Fucking looters!” he cursed as he moved his head back and hit the window.

Steering clear of the dead body, you walked towards Jungkook and craned your head to see what he was looking at. The sight of several zombies, more stumbling out of random buildings and streets to join the crowd, heading straight for the store. “Shit! What are we gonna do! They’re already down the block!”

Jungkook ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck, ok, did you get everything?”

You quickly scanned through the paper list and peered into your open backpack. “Most, but I forgot to get some things,” you answered quickly as you mentally checked off each item you saw.

“Which ones?” Jungkook asked, already zipping up his backpack.

A blush spread across your chest and neck, and you wished that you didn’t have to answer. But judging by Jungkook’s stressed face as the zombies’ groans grew louder, you knew you were in no position to stall. “Er. Feminine hygiene stuff,” you blurted.

Jungkook paled before blushing immediately after. His body movements stuttered momentarily before he nodded and headed towards the back of the store. “Shit, ok. Start running!”

You stared at him in bewilderment. “What? I’m not leaving you behind!”

“Just go!” he shouted.

You felt the alarm in your body grow as your head darted between Jungkook’s frantically moving body and the group of zombies just down the street. Knowing that even Jungkook didn’t stand a chance against all those zombies, you ended up on a decision that you really hoped would end up working out.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you looked down at your large gun and adjusted your grip. In one swift move, you kicked open the door and began shooting the zombies, which were now coming from both directions across the street. Your aim wasn’t the best, but it was good enough to pierce bullets through a good amount of them straight in the neck or chest.

“Jungkook! Hurry up!” you cried as you held down the trigger, praying that Yoongi packed enough bullets in the gun.

Small piles of rotting bodies began forming as deceased zombies collapsed to the ground and the other ones climbed over them to get to you. But the few zombies you managed to kill were easily outweighed by all the live ones still clamoring towards you. A cry of frustration left you as you realized that the noise from the gun and the obscene amount of stress radiating from you and Jungkook were just attracting more zombies in the area.

Jungkook ran up towards you, several boxes of various tampons and pads in hand. “I didn’t know which one you wanted! Let’s go!”

In a normal situation, you would have thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but this wasn’t a normal situation by any means.

You and Jungkook ran out of the store towards the house, both turning back occasionally to shoot any zombie that was getting too close. Your breaths grew uneven from exhaustion, but the sheer amount of adrenaline pumping within you kept you and your weak legs going.

“Don’t get too tired! I’ll shoot, just keep running!” Jungkook instructed you when he noticed you clutching your side in pain.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine!” you responded. But you spoke too soon as you tripped over a rock not even a minute later. “Shit!” you cursed as you landed on your hands and knees before immediately standing back up and catching up to Jungkook, who had stopped a few feet ahead of you when he noticed that you fell.

He didn’t say anything as he gently turned your hands over and examined them. Cuts, with blood flowing freely from them and tiny rocks stuck in between the open skin, covered the palm of your hand and your fingers. Jungkook’s eyebrows creased in concern as he moved his eyes down your body to your knees, which now had deep, bleeding gashes in them from the rocks that cut through your jeans and broke your skin.

“Jungkook, it’s fine. We have to go.” You moved your hands to your side and pulled him to continue running, cringing at how your blood stained the bottom of his black denim jacket and his hands. He cursed, obviously wanting to say something, but continued alongside you.

Thanks to the unexpected delay, the zombies had gained on you by a good few meters. You winced as you turned around and pressed the trigger of your gun, the spray of bullets taking a few of them down. But your tiny sense of relief didn’t last long as you soon heard an empty click and noticed that nothing was leaving the end of your gun — you were out of bullets.

You cursed and turned forwards again. “How many rounds do you have left?” you asked Jungkook, panting heavily as you continued running next to him.

“Not that many,” he answered, concern evident on his face.

You looked back at the relenting zombies, hot on your tail, and cursed. How were you going to get yourselves out of this one?

The answer to your question was presented to you in the form of a poorly-driven SUV that was heading down the road and straight towards you and Jungkook.

“Thank god!” Jungkook cried as he pulled you to the side and out of the vehicle’s path.

“Thank god?” you repeated in confusion.

The black SUV halted to a stop in front of you and Jungkook, the doors opening automatically.

“Get in!” you heard a new voice shout.

You and Jungkook didn’t waste a second to climb into the car, which quickly sped away once Jungkook slammed the door shut behind him. Neither of you had the chance to breathe as the zombies, which seemed to have grown even faster, jumped for the back of the car.

“How did they get even faster?” Jungkook cried as he pulled your shaking body towards him.

“The fast ones might be mutations, I found more reports on them the other day,” the silver-haired man in the front with glasses answered. You assumed that this was Namjoon, considering his answer and that Jungkook didn’t mention anyone else.

“Mutations?” you cried, jumping when a hand smacked your backseat window. “These fuckers are mutating?”

Namjoon didn’t get a chance to answer as he harshly turned the steering wheel, sending the car swerving and you and Jungkook barrelling to the other side of the car.

“Namjoon you’re so shit at driving!” Jungkook exclaimed as he rubbed the side of his head that clashed with the glass window.

Namjoon scoffed. “Don’t talk to your hyung like that when I just saved your life! And who told you not to put on seat belts?!”

“Yeah, let me just put on a seatbelt while there’s zombies cha-”

You gasped suddenly and pulled yourself up towards the front. Head directly next to Namjoon’s, you reached your bloody hands up towards the steering wheel. “There’s a bunny!” you shouted as you swerved the car out of the way, sending Jungkook to the other side of the car and wincing as your waist collided with the firm side of the passenger seat.

“Y/N, what the fuck!” you heard Jungkook moan.

“We were gonna kill the bunny!” you protested in your defense as you rubbed your side and sat back down next to Jungkook.

“We have other things to worry about!” he yelled.

“God! I’m sorry, you’re right,” you groaned as you leaned back down into the back seat.

“They’re slowing down!” Namjoon suddenly announced, his eyes focused on his windshield mirror. “Look, they’re retreating!”

You and Jungkook both turned around towards the back window. Just as Namjoon said, the zombies stopped chasing you, instead shuffling in place or back the other direction. With the threat of zombies gone, you let out a breath of relief and closed your eyes.

You kept your eyes shut as Jungkook grabbed your hands and gently ran his fingers across the open wounds, his touch sending electricity through your body. Despite the rush from his soft touch, exhaustion still tugged at you and weighed down your eyelids.

With the comforting feeling of Jungkook’s hand wrapped around yours, you drifted into unconsciousness.

Your nap was unfortunately short lived. It took only a few moments to arrive back home, and upon exiting the car, the three of you were immediately greeted by everyone else in the home.

“Y/N!!” Jimin greeted as he walked slowly over to you. Jin closely followed the blond to make sure that he didn’t hurt his ankle.

“Jimin!” you said with an equal amount of excitement, throwing your hands up into a welcoming gesture.

Jimin and Jin gasped as you revealed your bloodied and cut up hands.

“You’re hurt!” Jin sputtered as he rushed towards you. “Your knees too!”

“It’s fine, it only stings a little,” you admitted sheepishly. It wasn’t a complete lie — you didn’t exactly have the time to think about your injuries while running for your life.

Jin shook his head. “Come inside, I’ll treat the cuts a-”

“It’s fine, I can do it,” Jungkook said, suddenly appearing at your side.

The older man raised his eyebrows. “You sure, Kookie? Don’t you want to rest?”

Jungkook shook his head and silently pulled you into the house, leaving you to shrug in confusion at the guys behind you. You followed Jungkook through the first floor, up the stairs, and into his room.

His bedroom was similar to what you expected. The walls were painted a dark grey color and there wasn’t much in the room other than the basic furniture and a few pictures and art frames. You sat down on the plain black sheets as Jungkook walked to his dresser and pulled out a first aid kit.

“Why didn’t you just let Jin treat my cuts?” you asked Jungkook quietly, noticing faint signs of exhaustion in his slow movements.

He hesitated to respond. His hands stilled on the top of the red kit as he slowly responded, “I thought this was the only way I’d be able to speak with you… alone.”

“Why?” you asked, praying that you weren’t blushing as assumptions instantly formed in your mind.

He cleared his throat and opened the kit, instantly reaching for several bandaids, disinfectant pads, and antibacterial wound ointment. “Well,” he started as he gently grabbed your hands and turned them so your palms were facing up. He opened the pack of disinfectant pads and swiped them across your hands and knees. “I wanted to ask you why you’ve been avoiding me the past few days.”

Your heart dropped. You didn’t realize that Jungkook noticed how you tried your best to steer clear of him; but it wasn’t like you could really tell him that it was because you were starting to have feelings for him,

“Was it something I said? I did?” he asked as he spread the cold ointment on the open wounds.

“No,” you answered quickly — a little too quickly judging by the way his head darted up to meet your eyes. You blushed under his stare and continued, “You didn’t do anything to offend me, Jungkook.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading.

You groaned inwardly and wished you could cover your face with your hands, but Jungkook held them firmly in his as he bandaged them. A few seconds of dragged-on silence passed before you looked down at your lap and responded vaguely. “I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

His hands stopped and his brows furrowed in confusion. “Why would things be awkward between us?”

Blood rushed to your face as you looked up to make painful eye contact with him. “Do you really want to know?” you whined, already anticipating Jungkook’s answer since you’d become quite familiar with his stubbornness over the past few days.

“Yes,” he started. “Please tell me,” he said, feigning an expression of a wounded puppy.

You cursed under your breath and brought your freshly bandaged hands (you ignored that one of the bandages was only half on, courtesy of Jungkook’s prior confusion) up to your face.

“Do you promise not to make fun of me? Or kick me out?”

He laughed, although the soft sound didn’t match the nervousness in his expression. “Yes, I promise.”

His words prompted you to breathe in deeply, mentally preparing yourself for your confession. You can do this, you said to yourself. If you could shoot and run from at least thirty zombies, then you could definitely tell Jungkook you had feelings for him. Right?

It wasn’t like you could keep on avoiding him forever, anyways. With the rate that the apocalypse was going and based off the past few days, it looked like you were going to be at this house a while. You just hoped that your reveal wouldn’t make your stay awkward for either him or you.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Y/N?”

You hummed, still stuck in your thoughts before finally responding. “I… I may or may not be incredibly attracted to you and have feelings for you,” you admitted reluctantly. Jungkook’s lips parted in shock, but he didn’t get a chance to respond before you continued in a panic. “You already promised you wouldn’t make fun of me or kick me out! No take backs!”

He laughed, and you cringed as you were sure it was a laugh of rejection and that the dulcet notes would be a new cause of your nightmares. But the words he said after proved the opposite.

“That’s a relief.” You looked up, a bewildered look on your face. “I like you too,” he mumbled bashfully, his long hair falling in front of his face as he looked down at his lap.

Your body froze. “D-Did I hear that right? Have I not gone crazy?”

He looked back up at you with a grin. “Crazy for me,” he joked with a wink.

Unimpressed, your face dropped. “I take it all back, I’ll go pack my-”

Jungkook shook his head with a chuckle. “Kidding, kidding,” he said, enveloping his slender hands around yours. “But I was completely serious about liking you back.”

“Really?” you asked, still in slight disbelief that Jungkook, who could literally have his portrait and biography in a hall of all Earthly legends, had feelings for you.

“Yes, really.”

You opened your mouth, ready to shoot a doubtful reply, but Jungkook cut you off with the lift of his hand. He rested his hand back down around yours before continuing, “I know you’re probably going to say something self-deprecating or a joke or ask me if i’m joking again, so you might as well let me speak first.”

He grinned at the way your face heated, priding himself on how well he knew you already.

“The way you wish each of us goodnight every night, the way you wake up early to help Jin prepare breakfast, the way you cuss whenever you’re nervous, the way you always try to keep up with whatever stuff we’re doing - even when it’s stupid - and keep a smile on your face; everything about you made me fall for you. Even before the apocalypse, I never felt this way for anyone else.” He took a deep breath, gently squeezing your hands. “The night I first brought you here, it felt like seeing you enter that store and meeting you was fate. You make questionable decisions, we both saw that today, but I’m glad that one of them brought us together because I honestly don’t think I can ever meet anyone else like you.”

A wide smile spread across your face and tears pricked your eyes. Never in your many years of life had anyone told you such genuine, heartfelt words. And no one noticed (or appreciated) those small things about you - your habits that were always brushed over - like Jungkook did.

You agreed with his claim of you making questionable (stupid) decisions, but in this moment you were thankful for your sometimes-dangerous spontaneity and rash decision making. Because if it weren’t for that sudden moment of desperation where you ran into the grocery store, you never would have met Jungkook. Your heart wouldn’t be racing like it was right now and your hands wouldn’t be warm from the feeling of his wrapped around them.

“What do you say?” he asked weakly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“What is there to say?” you countered before you released your hands from his and interlocked your fingers around his lower body. The position was a bit awkward, but you didn’t mind. Less than a few seconds later, your lips were pressed against his.

Jungkook moved his hands from the small of your back to your neck up to your hair. He pulled you in closer to him as he deepened the kiss. You gasped and tightened your grip around him as he effortlessly lifted you up so you were sitting on his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip and gently bit it, drawing a moan from you.

You shifted in his lap, pulling a deep groan from him as he pulled away from your lips to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt him suck on your collarbone and upper chest to leave marks for him to see the next day. Just as Jungkook slipped his cool hands under your shirt, a startling voice rang from the other side of the door.

“Jungkook!”

The long-haired boy beneath you groaned in annoyance but continued to kiss you. “Just ignore him, he’ll go away,” Jungkook mumbled against your lips as he dragged his hands against the skin of your stomach.

You nodded, embracing the fiery feeling of his kisses and his hands against your bare skin.

“Jungkook!” the voice cried again, causing Jungkook to curse and groan again. “It’s urgent!”

“This better be good,” Jungkook grumbled as he reluctantly pulled away from you.

You frowned at the loss of his touch, but you didn’t have much time to mourn it as he instantly straightened his back once Namjoon said, “It’s about Project B.”

Your brows raised at Jungkook’s sudden reaction to whatever this “Project B” was. He turned to you with an apologetic look before gently setting you onto the bed and moving towards the door.

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly as he straightened his shirt. “I’ll talk to you tonight, I promise.” With that, he was out the door, leaving you in his room with only your thoughts (and hands and knees that had yet to be fully bandaged).

It had been nearly 8 hours since Jungkook had promised that he would speak to you at night. By now, the moon was high in the sky, it’s radiant glow doing nothing to calm your nerves. You knew that whatever Jungkook and Namjoon had to discuss was urgent, but how could he just leave you like that? You were barely able to process the best kiss of your life by the time you realized that you were still sitting stupidly on his bed after he left the room.

You sighed and moved from the window seat in the living room to the kitchen. Joining Jin at the counter, you plopped your head against the stone material with a groan.

“Jungkook and Joon are still in their little lab?” he guessed, nonchalantly flipping his book to the next page.

You nodded pitifully, now knowing that the mysterious room was a lab of some sorts.

“Here,” Jin said before standing suddenly, prompting you to look up at him. He grabbed a bowl of washed fruits from beside the sink and gestured for you to take it. “Bring it up to them.”

“But Jungkook said I ca-”

“I don’t care what he said. Tell him that they shouldn’t have skipped dinner,” Jin instructed firmly.

You nodded, a bit intimidated by Jin’s sudden sternness, and quickly took the bowl with you up the stairs. You slowly approached the door at the end of the hall, the ceramic bowl filled with strawberries and peeled clementines wobbling in your shaky hands. As you took each step, you imagined Jungkook bursting through the door and expressing his disappointment in you for even thinking about entering the room.

Luckily, that didn’t come and you reached the door in less than a minute.

Clearing your throat, you knocked against the door with your elbow. “Jungkook?” you called.

No response.

“Jungkook? Namjoon?” you called again, only to be met with what sounded like a low groan.

Your breath hitched in your throat. That noise didn’t sound pleasant at all.

You placed a weary hand on the door knob but quickly pulled it away as if it was burning hot. Debating thoughts battled in your hand: Jungkook clearly told you not to go in the room but what if Jungkook or Namjoon was in trouble? Wouldn’t leaving despite knowing that one of them could be hurt make you a terrible person (or girlfriend—you didn’t really know what you and Jungkook were yet)?

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the silver doorknob and twisted it open. You stepped into the dimly lit room slowly, gasping at the sight before you.

“Lab” was definitely the right word to describe the room that almost mirrored your high school chemistry class. Seven tables sat in the room, four of which were filled with stacks of papers and folders while the other three had various lab equipment tools atop the black tabletops. It didn’t just end at the tables either.

“What is all this?” you mumbled to yourself as you examined the crowded walls. There was barely an inch of blank wall left as papers, newspaper clippings, photos (some rather disturbing), and notes decorated the wall like a second wallpaper.

You slowly walked through the room, examining the items pinned to the walls. Most of it was related to the zombie apocalypse, with newspapers (from when those were still around) detailing the first outbreaks and theories of the cause and papers filled with concepts you barely remembered from chemistry, physiology, and biology. Accompanying the scientific notes and articles were several pictures, some of zombies and others of medical abnormalities that you couldn’t quite explain.

One picture caught your eye, and you barely managed to place the fruit bowl down on a table with just enough space for it before you rushed over to the photo. The aged photo had three people, presumably a family, in it. A mother and father stood proudly behind their son, their hands on his shoulders as he beamed at the camera with his hands on his lap. The boy looked familiar. His round eyes and bunny-like smile eerily reminded you of -

“What are you doing?”

The unexpected voice sent a shiver down your body, and you jumped as you turned around to face him.

Jungkook.

You mentally hit yourself — you were so distracted by the items of the room that you failed to notice Jungkook waking up at his spot with Namjoon, slouched over and faces pressed onto one of the paper-filled tables.

“Um,” you started, unable to find the right words as you stared at his unreadable facial expression. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, disappointed, sad, scared, or possibly even all four.

He let out a frustrated groan and ran his tattooed hand through his long hair. “Just tell me what you saw,” he instructed firmly.

“N-not much!” you stuttered, your eyes wide. “I — Jin fruit! Yes! I just came here to bring you Jin — I mean fruit! I came to bring you fruit! Like Jin told me to!” Heat spread across your face as you attempted to explain yourself.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed between you and the ceramic fruit bowl you pointed to, and he would’ve laughed at your clear disarray if he didn’t feel so anxious.

“You were looking at the walls, you must have seen something,” he deduced.

Your body stuttered as you gestured towards the photo you were looking at. “Nope! Just some things about zombies and… and this picture of you — fun stuff!”

He sighed and you cringed as he placed his hands on your shoulders. But he didn’t scold you or tell you how disappointed he was like you expected; instead, he let his head fall and mumbled something that you weren’t sure if it was meant towards you or himself.

“I guess it’s time I told you the truth.”

Your brows furrowed at his words. The truth? Judging by the contents of the room, they were studying the zombies; and it wasn’t all that surprising considering that Namjoon was technically a scientist and almost-doctor. Why was Jungkook so afraid to tell you?

He lifted his head up, and your heart clenched at the look of pure vulnerability on his face. “Will you promise me that you won’t judge me or run away?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Of course.”

“My parents were scientists who worked for the national lab. I didn’t really know what happened at their work or what projects they were doing because I was in university doing my own stuff,” he paused and briefly closed his eyes to take in a deep breath, “but one day I went home and they told me about an idea they had that was so great.

Super humans, they said. Humans with enhanced senses that would make them superior to regular humans and form the perfect army. I told them it was a shitty idea and that this was stuff they shouldn’t mess with, but they got upset and kicked me out.” He laughed bitterly. “This wasn’t the first time my parents and I ever disagreed on anything, and I thought they were smart enough to not go through with it so I just left. But I guess I was wrong because one day something at the lab went wrong.”

Jungkook hesitated for a second upon seeing the disturbed expression on your face — you knew exactly where this was heading.

He willed himself to continue. “A few months later I got a call from the hospital. They told me that my parents were severely injured while at work, and when I went to see them, they told me the truth of what happened: how they went through with the project but realized too late that it was a mistake, how they were trapped by the government, and how they created monsters.

My parents died from their injuries two days later, and a week after that there was a covered-up breakout at the lab they worked in. Only one day after the breakout, there was the first outbreak in the city only a few miles away. And now we’re here, trying to find a cure for the mess my parents started.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said, a mournful expression on your face. You couldn’t imagine the guilt and sorrow that Jungkook must feel.

He scoffed. “Sorry? Why are you apologizing? This entire thing is my fault,” he muttered.

Your face fell and you moved to grasp his hands. “Jungkook, I don’t see how any of this is your fault,” you spoke honestly, your voice soft.

His eyes widened and he pulled his hands away from you. “Y/N, my parents are the reason this apocalypse happened! And - and they told me about their idea and I didn’t do anything to stop it!”

“You did what you could,” you stressed. “You told them it was a bad idea and they made their own adult decision to go through with it.” You took a step closer to him and looked at him in the eyes. “You can’t blame yourself for your parents’ actions.”

He shook his head and looked away. “I should’ve fought harder,” he countered stubbornly. “I’m a terrible person.”

“Jeon Jungkook, look at me.” You used your finger to turn his head so his gaze was directed towards you again. “You are not a terrible person. If you were, you wouldn’t have saved me that day at the grocery store or risked your life to get me pads or spending your days working to find a cure that isn’t even your responsibility.” You took another step towards him and slowly wrapped your arms around him. “You’re a good person, Jungkook. I’m saying this from the bottom of my heart,” you murmured with your head against his chest.

He was silent for a few moments until his body relaxed into your hold. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he gripped your waist and upper back and rested his head atop of yours. “Do you still feel… the same for me?” he questioned cautiously.

“No,” you answered quickly, causing him to quickly pull away from you in offense. You giggled at his reaction before continuing, “I like you even more now. You were honest with me and now I feel closer to you.”

His face relaxed as he let out a relieved sigh before bringing you back into his arms again. And for a few moments, the two of you simply basked in each others’ embrace.

Jungkook was the first to break the silence. “We’re not very close to finding the solution, you know,” he mentioned with a disappointed tone.

You shrugged. “It’s ok. This isn’t something you can really rush, but I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

He pulled his head back to look down at you, a gentle expression painted on his face. “Promise?”

You smiled at him. “I promise,” you whispered before you moved to close the distance between your lips and kiss him once again.

The future was unsure for you and Jungkook and tomorrow or the next week wasn’t guaranteed. But you were sure that if there was anyone you wanted to survive and overcome a zombie apocalypse with, it was Jungkook (and his unconventional group of friends that he calls his family).

a/n: ngl i would feel so safe in a zombie apocalypse w bts akjnkas. also might write a drabble about hobi in this plot hehe. i hope you enjoyed and pls leave comments as they’re rlly encouraging and will  help me improve in the future :’))

[ganymedesclock]

Meta is good cause i love your writing! Also i offer another prompt: we know the pale kings origins and everyone and their mother speculates on grimms (not complaining) so tell us how you think the White Lady came to be.

Oh I am DELIGHTED you asked because frankly I feel like a lot of people forget about WL because she’s not a lore heavyweight and she never kicks your ass.

So here’s some fun things:

1. I personally read the white lady as a fungus! She is described as alien to Unn’s people, of moss and green leaves (does not share our dream) and is characterized unfailingly as a “root”. Most of what we think of as a mushroom is actually merely the fruiting body- just a surface organ attached to a much larger lower structure. 

2. WL is fucking large, if we go by her comments about feeling Hollow weakening (suggesting she is in the crossroads), her statement that she knew Ghost was coming from possibly a long way off. you could choose to read this as her being aware the moment Ghost stepped on “Hallownest’s Soil”-

That anywhere they are in the game, besides in the dream world, they are walking over White Lady’s roots. Even if you don’t take that extreme take, the implications are pretty good she reaches at least as far from the location of her upper body in the queen’s garden, to the White Palace that she was implicitly in at some point in the past.

So here is my hot take on WL:

Hallownest, we are told, is old. That this land, known by many names, and held holy by many gods, has been inhabited over and over and over again. The layers of the kingdom are stacked like sediment. This is hinted to in one of the first pieces of lore text we even have: the epitaph at the end of King’s Pass describes Hallownest as the “last and only civilization”- it is the latest in a series, that denies or rejects all others even though those others inexorably came before it.

But when one place has had so much concentrated history, even if that was just fortuitous; even if it was just caves cut by a sinking water table or mountains that provided shelter from the winds and hostility of the wasteland- even if what was special about this place was originally just useful; there had to be something. Look at the way people approach folk medicine- so many people in the past came to this specific solution, there had to have been a reason.

So, there’s something. The soil is special. The air is special. There has to be something that lives in the earth that makes this the special place to build a kingdom.

White Lady is also curiously contemptuous of Grimm- she scorns the idea that the Grimmchild could ever be “accepted by this land as a king”.

I feel like White Lady is basically the spirit “of the land”- in a sense, she is Hallownest. Not the physical earth and stones- those things know an anonymity that is beyond even her, before her, and that is the domain of the Void, not loyalty to anything but memory- but the idea of the land. The enduring and compelling idea that there is something here worth cultivating, worth building.

PK is obsessed with Hallownest, its glory and potential. It is one of the few things he describes unambiguously positively. He suggests it’s the only thing of value or significance in the world. And we know that PK and WL were, well, king and queen; they were united, they were wedded in a way that didn’t really seem to have enough precursors or contemporaries to suggest this was demanded. They were lovers, and she speaks tenderly of missing him, a tenderness that is echoed in the fading light of the hidden nursery room in the white palace.

If PK had a regret that crystalized into a charm, it was that without WL, half of himself was gone. That’s a pretty damn strong suggestion for however functional or not they were as a couple, they were in love. 

White Lady is... quieter than PK in many ways. She does not have the ambitions to shape the land. But her comment about Grimmchild, and her alternative comment to Ghost after they acquire the void heart that “the future is yours now”, suggests to me that White Lady’s someone who has had this sort of dance with those who’ve sought the holy land, to cultivate and make something of it for themselves.

Without a dance partner, she is faded, reduced, weakened; in the way that the ruins of Hallownest are very slowly losing their face and eyes to the onslaught of time. But she’s nowhere near death; she will endure long enough to be rediscovered. Even if Hallownest is overrun by Radiance, she just remarks that she doesn’t prefer that; she implies she’d still be around. 

So, as far as WL origins, my read on her is that she sort of grew as a pampered thing, in a sense- that this land that became so favored, so sought, likely during one of its golden ages, a holy ‘tree’ grew from holy soil, and became adored, became tended. 

Then, after some time spent as a doted-upon princess, she discovered silence. The kingdom that adored her collapsed entirely. She continued to grow, spread, propagate, her roots curled through its basements, but only the occasional wistful wanderer still seeking the legendary holy thing that might yet be there, stumbling to her to speak, offer gifts. Eventually, one of those wanderers had ideas, and built her a temple, and shaped the land again, and she had attention once more, and then the silence.

She’s used to this cycle; in a way, she’s very spoiled, and in others, she is used to a kind of neglect that would make most beings completely lose their mind. Capable of moving, capable of great acts, but she seldom really invests enough in a situation to bother. Patience is a great virtue, and if you’re ever really mad at someone you can just think about what you’ll plant in their corpse after a few centuries have tenderized everything about them.

PK is... kind of a sticking point. PK was more directly attached to her than she got to anyone. She may have picked him up just because he was funny and so full of ideas and she was in the mood for some company, the land had sat still too long, but damn if she didn’t end up actually caring.

And now the silence is here again, and that’s just..... not sitting right with her. And she’s sitting, because she always has, but she doesn’t really know what else to do, because the sitting and the silence isn’t making her miss him any less, and the possibility that, oh, give it a century, the wyrm’s works will crumble and she’ll mostly forget about him- isn’t reassuring her like it usually does.

Now the silence... disquiets.

[k7l4d4]

Two New AUs (Loud House & Amphibia)

Today I am rolling out two new AUs for all you folks looking for something to help fill the hole in your lives that only inspiration can! ...That was too over the top and I apologize for it. First off, my Loud House AU, Ring Me Up!

Did somebody call for a hero!? I had an idea for DC Crossover with The Loud House, and I was hoping to share it with everyone. Has anyone heard of the H-Dial? Not to worry for those who haven't, as I will explain! The H-Dial, also called the Hero Dial, is a device that allows someone to tap into a location known as the Hero-Verse, a dimension where every possible superhero that ever was, is, or will be, no matter how improbable, is connected. By dialing HERO, the wielder of the H-Dial can turn into any hero throughout the Multi-Verse! But it's totally random, so you can get either something totally amazing, or incredibly bizarre, and the second is far more likely unfortunately. Enter Lincoln Loud, a seemingly ordinary boy with a less than ordinary family who find the H-Dial. The version he finds is a bit different, as it is an experimental proof-of-concept with an unusual nature; rather than turn the wielder into a hero, it turns someone close to the wielder into one instead! To use it, Lincoln enters HERO into the Dial, and then presses a number. 1: The Determined, heroes with nothing special to them, with either very weak powers or none at all, they became heroes due to the hard work they put in and nothing less. The avatar of this number is Lori. 2: The Gentle, heroes whose greatest strength isn't their powers, but rather their compassion and connection with others, they will reach out to save anyone, even a villain. The avatar of this number is Leni. 3: The Gifted, heroes who were lost in life, without purpose or direction, until something or someone not only inspired them to be more, but gave them the ability to do it. The avatar of this number is Luna. 4: The Manic, heroes who don't always fit in to society, filled with boundless energy, and a though process that is absolutely unique. The avatar of this number is Luan. 5: The Mighty, heroes of strength and prowess, the ferocity within them can never be restrained, whether for good or ill, they invariably have powers that either let them hit, or be hit, harder and longer. The avatar of this number is Lynn. 6: The Tired, heroes who are not accepted by society, defined by the suffering they have endured, they constantly walk the border between the light and the dark. The avatar of this number is Lucy. 7: The Wild, heroes of nature, they aren't afraid to get rough and tumble, and thrive off of what most civilized folks struggle with. The avatar of this number is Lana. 8: The Elegent, heroes who have it all, grace, beauty, power, they constantly battle the temptation to do bad with all that they have, as beneath their beauty lies something twisted. The avatar of this number is Lola. 9: The Brilliant, heroes defined by their minds, who dedicated themselves to using their gifts not just to benefit mankind in the long-term, but the here-and-now as well. The avatar of this number is Lisa. 0: The Future, heroes who embody all the hopes and dreams of a brighter tomorrow, who have walked to the abyss and seen not horror, but unrealized potential and beauty. The avatar of this number is Lily. What do you all think? The above AU requires no hard knowledge of DC Comics, as the only element from DC is the H-Dial, one of the most obscure relics of power in all of DCU Publishing History!

The next AU is for Amphibia, and is what I like to call, Alone Together. Note: This is meant to be a Superhero Reconstruction AU, in which the idea is to breakdown the premise and uplifting notions of comic books heroes, and then build them back up. Here we GO!!! Also, the name of the AU is Gifted Calamities.

Long ago, the Outer Rulers were, well, bored. They had existed for so long, experienced so much, that they struggled to find anything to break the monotony of their immortal existence; it would not be wrong to say that they had been driven mad from boredom!! Yet, soon, they came across a world, just starting to fill with life, and thought of an idea. They had experienced so much, why not make something instead? Falling to the world, which had only just started developing its civilizations, they came upon its people, the humans. With mischief and intrigue within whatever counted for them as hearts, they blessed upon the simple race three gifts: Wisdom, Strength, and Heart. With the seeds of their entertainment planted, the Outer Rulers vanished, eager to see what fruits would bloom under the labor of their unknowing pawns.

As humanity found the Three Gifts, they were enthralled; with Wisdom, no knowledge was beyond their understanding, with Strength, no feat was too daring to accomplish, and with Heart, no soul was beyond salvation. But as with all power, there came those who coveted it for themselves and themselves alone; the Order of the Hungry Beast. This ancient brotherhood found the power as enthralling as their brethren, yet where the others saw beauty, they saw only their most depraved wants and whims come to life. With Wisdom, no scheme could fail, with Strength, no nation could not be conquered, and with Heart, no soul could not fall under their sway. As the Order grew in influence, they encroached upon the Gifts, drawing them deeper and deeper into their clutches. Yet, one day, a young nomad, gifted in the ways of Heart, came upon them in the dead of night, as they schemed to kill the village that held the Gifts and seize them for themselves. Horrified, the nomad, roared in alarm, her furious shriek rousing the village to action. Coming in droves, the humble village, tasked for all these years with guarding the Three Gifts, stormed outward, horrified to see that the members of the Order, those they called brother, sister, mother, father, son, and daughter, were plotting against them.

A great clash rocked the land as the Order of the Beast and the Villagers, headed by the young Nomad, battled to decide once and for all how the power of the Gifts would be used; would they be gifts of wonder, bringing humanity closer together, or gifts of strife, driving humanity against one another in eternal darkness? As more and more members of each side fell, the Nomad looked on in sorrow; for every one of the Order who were taken, three or more of the villagers were lost. It was a battle of attrition, one that they were losing! What could be done? Yet, over the din and cacophony of battle, the Nomad could here two fierce cheers; the young inventress, barred from the conflict due to a broken leg, and the chief guard’s apprentice, who volunteered to protect the children, both yelling to the heavens: “Don’t give up. You haven’t lost. You can still win. We believe you will win, so win!” As the Nomad, heard them cheer, her heart filling with joy and resolve, something... sparked. 

Just as the feeling came, it quelled at the sight of two soldiers from the Order rushed the cheering onlookers, hell-bent on silencing their voices that bolstered the hearts and resolve of the Villagers. As her heart filled with dread at the no doubt bloody sight to come, the Nomad reached out, screams of warning resting on her lips, only to fall silent as the two cheering onlookers sprung into action; the injured inventor pulled a peculiar apparatus, and launched a bolt of sharpened wood into the soldier nearest to her, and apprentice guard sprung into action, crashing down onto the hapless enemy with a fierce grin. Both turned to the Nomad, seemingly seeing her across the carnage and chaos of the battle field, and nodded. As the spark once more burned into her heart, the Nomad turned to the oncoming hoard of Soldiers and said this: “You may rage and struggle, lash out and torment with your cruelty and selfishness all you like. But you will never win. Not because we are stronger than you, that we are more than you, but because, unlike you, we have not forgotten the first Gift humanity ever had. The Gift of HOPE!” With a roar, hearts filled with the Hope burning through the Nomad’s cry, the Villagers, resolve honed into an unstoppable force, leapt into the final clash.

It was over. The Villagers had one. With the final rally of the Nomad, they pulled together the strength to break and scatter the cowardly Order. Yet, in the end, the victory was bitter-sweet. The Nomad, a kind stranger who none knew the name of, had fallen in battle, the corpse of the Order’s leader cooling beneath her. The apprentice guard, so full of life and fire that drew all into her orbit, died standing, guarding the door to the children held within, the corpses of all who tried to cross the threshold piled around her, unwavering in her duty even in her death. The inventor, heedless of her injuries, had lured a platoon that had broken into the Hold into her workshop, and collapsed it all around them, a defiant smile beaming across her face. As the Villagers took stock of the ones who had given so much for them, a noble stranger who could’ve left them to their fate, an absent-minded inventor who constantly worried the village with her studies sacrificed her prized inventions, that which she held more sacred than even her own life, to fell the enemy, and the young guard who went above and beyond her duty for those she loved, they knew what must be done. Taking the Three Gifts and the bodies of their three heroes, the Villagers committed all to fire, both to honor those who gave them their future, and to keep the Gifts from EVER falling into the hands of the Order and their selfish crusade. The Gifts were destroyed, the heroes bodies lost. All they had to do was pick up the pieces.

Thousands of years have passed, and a new era has dawned. The Gifts have returned, as has the order. The only question is: what happens now?

[feralphoenix]

BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE NOT PREPARED TO TRY

if you’re following my blog or if you read my fanfiction, you may have seen me talking in tags or comments about how the radiance hollowknight was a pacifist. “feral, wtf?” you may have thought. “she’s the freaking final boss and tries really, really hard to kill you and all her attacks do 2 entire masks damage. where on earth do you get pacifism out of that???”

to you specifically i say, that’s an understandable reaction! the short version of how i got here was that i started thinking about the story implications of radi not inflicting contact damage and took a deep dive into game mechanics and lore. when i came up for air i had made myself Very Sad.

if this intrigues you and you would like to know more, come along with me, i am happy to point out the things i noticed and share the Big Sad around.

this essay is also available on dreamwidth for accessibility purposes, since my layout’s text may be too small for folks on pc with high-res screens.

CONTENT WARNING: This essay discusses pseudo-zombie plagues and associated body horror, colonialism and genocide, horrible things that happened in real life Australian history... you know, the usual topics that come up when I’m talking about Hollow Knight.

ADDITIONAL NOTICE: TPK fans of the “TPK meant well/was working for the greater good”/“TPK and Radi are equally bad”/“TPK is bad but Radi is worse” variety please give this one a pass, it ain’t for you.

finally if youre from a christian cultural upbringing (whether currently practicing, agnostic/secular, or atheist now), understand that some of what i’m discussing here may challenge you. if thinking thru the implications of this particular part of hollow knight worldbuilding/lore is distressing for you, PLEASE only approach this essay when youre in a safe mindset & open to listening, and ask the help of a therapist or anti-racism teacher/mentor to help you process your thoughts & feelings. just like keep in mind that youre listening to an ethnoreligiously marginalized person and please be respectful here or wherever else youre discussing this dang essay

BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE NOT PREPARED TO TRY: The Radiance Doesn’t Deal Contact Damage And That’s Kind Of Fucked Up And Sad

The vast majority of hostile creatures in Hollow Knight deal contact damage: This is to say, if the Wandering Knight (who I’ll probably spend most of this essay calling by their affectionate fan name Ghost) touches a hostile creature, this harms them.

There are exceptions to this rule. The most notable and most oft-memed example is the game’s literal actual true final boss, the Radiance. Not only will Ghost not be harmed by running into any part of her body, but during her stagger animation, where she drops to the boss arena floor on her front with her whole body splayed out, Ghost still isn’t harmed if she lands on top of them! What’s more, this holds true for her full-power form Absolute Radiance, the secret final boss of the Godmaster quest/endings.

A lot of people find this amusing, because it’s a little absurd that a game’s final boss is an exception to such a consistent element of gameplay! Hence all the “haha moth too soft and fluffy for contact damage” jokes. It is objective facts that Radi is very soft and very fluffy, so it’s very easy to understand why people don’t overthink this too much.

Thinking about things I like in gross detail is unfortunately my hobby. When it comes to Hollow Knight this usually leads to me making myself really sad. I’d like to share the fruits of my theorizing with the class, so other people can be sad with me.

Now, from a game design perspective I can think of a lot of reasons why Team Cherry chose for Radiance not to inflict contact damage. Her hitbox only covers the central part of her body. Her limbs are large, so because of the way she floats, if she did contact damage she would be protected from nail strikes from below and to either side. This would give a player who prefers nail combat a punishingly small margin through which they could inflict damage without also taking a hit, potentially forcing them to adapt to a new and unfamiliar play style at the very end of the game. That’s not fun for anybody and tends to make players feel very frustrated.

In addition to this, Radiance’s attacks are all bullet hell-style spells. All of them except the floor hazards inflict two masks of damage, meaning if you want to stay alive and identify points where it’s possible to heal, you need to learn the spell patterns and dodge a lot. Radi is a large boss. If running into her hurt you this would make the bullet hell elements of her fight extra punishing.

So, I think the purely game mechanics reason for Moth Too Soft And Fluffy is in interest of keeping her boss fight fair, and helping players feel like they have a chance of actually defeating her.

Part of why we all love Hollow Knight, though, is that there’s not much in the game that only exists for purely mechanical reasons. There’s always some form of story or lore integration.

So what on earth is the story reason behind why Radiance doesn’t deal contact damage?

OTHER ENEMIES THAT DON’T DEAL CONTACT DAMAGE

Radi isn’t the only enemy (here defined as fightable/killable creature) in Hollow Knight who doesn't inflict contact damage, so let’s take a look at her fellow exceptions to the rule to see what we can learn.

Broadly speaking there are two categories of Enemies That Don’t Deal Contact Damage. The first is enemies or bosses who used to be hostile, but have become friendly to the player. For instance, when characters like Ogrim and Hornet are not being fought in boss battles, touching them won’t cause damage to Ghost. These story characters who Ghost has more or less reconciled with can’t be damaged by the player out of combat either.

In terms of generic enemies who used to be hostile but have become friendly to the player, we have the mantises of the Fungal Wastes and the Siblings/Ghost’s Shade. We learn from the game’s lore that the mantises Did Not Like The Pale King and were hostile to Hallownest, but that they established a ceasefire conditional on their keeping the people of Deepnest (who were also hostile to Hallownest) from leaving through the area’s main entrance/exit in the Fungal Wastes - essentially the two native kingdoms were pitted against one another by the Pale King.

Now, just because there was a ceasefire, that doesn’t mean the mantises take kindly to Hallownest bugs brazenly trespassing into their dang house; they will get in your face and try to kill you unless you have permission to be there. But once you’ve defeated the Mantis Lords in combat and proven yourself worthy of the mantises’ respect, they’ll let you pass through their turf unmolested. They are no longer actively hostile and don't deal contact damage.

(You're still able to attack them, though - maybe because you’d be locked out of receiving the Hunter’s Mark if you complete the Respect quest/achievement before you’ve successfully killed enough mantises? - and if you attack them, or if your pet charm familiars attack them, any mantises you aggroed will fight back and deal contact damage again.)

The Siblings, as well as Ghost’s Shade, are initially indiscriminately hostile. Our window into Shade psychology is limited, but we know that the Shade died violently and the Siblings probably did too; they may be lashing out. They’re also Void creatures, and Ghost looks a lot like the Pale King, whom we can guess from context clues pissed the Void off significantly by using it as his personal play-doh to make tools and toys with and also using its house as his personal garbage dump for baby corpses.

However, once Ghost recalls their past and breaks the mask of the Kingsoul charm to reveal the Void Heart at its core, the Void recognizes them as a part of it, and Ghost becomes able to direct/lead the Void to some extent. As an extension of this, the Siblings and Ghost’s shade become docile and can now be killed by any weapon in one hit instead of just the Dream Nail (which is made of Radiance’s Light and is the Void’s natural weakness). They don’t deal contact damage anymore either.

That’s it for “enemies that inflict contact damage at one point, but stop inflicting it after becoming friendly or neutral to Ghost”.

The generic enemies which don't inflict contact damage include shrumelings, maggots, maskflies, and lightseeds/lifeseeds. These enemies are incapable of inflicting any damage on Ghost whatsoever, because by themselves they are completely helpless entities with no natural defenses.

Shrumelings are infant members of the mushroom clan who are usually protected by adult fungi like shrumal warriors and ogres. Lightseeds and lifeseeds are harmless single-celled organisms. Maskflies are similarly harmless. Maggots, we glean from the Hunter’s Journal and dialogue from False Knight/Failed Champion, are the bottom rung of Hallownest’s society because they are weak and helpless, and are forced into menial and slave labor by other Hallownest bugs because they cannot defend themselves. The maggots’ plight is the whole reason why False Knight/Failed Champion stole Hegemol's armor in the first place, as he wanted to protect his people.

All of these enemies flee when Ghost approaches them. (Some maskfly groups’ flight triggers are set to specific areas on a map and won’t flee if you can avoid stepping on/passing through those areas, but this is clearly due to a programming oversight because their whole Thing is running away.)

But, there’s something interesting to be observed in the case of lightseeds and maggots: They can fight back against and harm Ghost if they use tools. The little flock of lightseeds you chase around the Ancient Basin eventually get sick of Ghost’s shit and take over Broken Vessel/Lost Kin’s corpse, which they puppet around to try to murder you. By doing so they gain access to Broken Vessel/Lost Kin’s considerable combat prowess and become very dangerous, contact damage included in the bargain. (The lightseeds’ doing this seems to evoke the vessel’s spirit, since they reach for Ghost when defeated. That’s not a gesture the lightseeds have any reason to make. The Lost Kin fight, by which the spirit seems to gain some form of closure, becomes available here too.)

False Knight/Failed Champion’s fights work on the same general principle. Now that he has a weapon he can attack Ghost, and his armor deals contact damage. The maggot inside the armor does not inflict contact damage; essentially both his boss fights consist of your whacking the armor until he’s stunned and pops out of the armor for a moment so you can hit his vulnerable real body, which is the only part of him that yields Soul when you smack him. In fact, his boss fights will last forever if you let him recover from being stunned on his own.

Between these two groups, Radiance very obviously doesn’t fit in the first, as she’s the final boss and is very vigorously trying to kill Ghost with various magic spells. You can tell from her Dream Nail dialogue that she’s furious about what the Pale King did to her and her people, and is afraid for her life. She is willing to use everything at her disposal to try to destroy Ghost so she can survive, go free, and get revenge for the Pale King’s crimes. If she could do contact damage to Ghost she would.

So, the only logical conclusion to make is that Radi falls into the second group of enemies that don’t inflict contact damage. She is physically incapable of causing any harm to anyone with only her body. Her magic is deadly as all get out and the 2 masks damage explosion noise probably haunts the nightmares of anyone who’s struggled fighting her, but without it she is helpless.

WHY CAN’T RADIANCE DO CONTACT DAMAGE?

It might be pretty hard to reconcile the fact that a character with Audre Lorde energy as potent as Radi Hollowknight’s is has a whopping 0 ATK. The biggest clues we get in terms of story context for her inability to inflict physical harm of any kind can be found within the culture of the moth tribe, who were her people.

Thistlewind, the backer-designed moth ghost who can be found in the Resting Grounds, tells you that the majority of moths were pacifists, and that individuals like them and like Markoth who learned to wield a nail were in the minority. Thistlewind appears to have learned to fight as a means of self-defense while they explored the crater area, and describes Markoth as having done so in order to “[brave] the edges of this world, hoping to uncover a truth long forgotten”. It sounds to me like Markoth was trying to recover parts of moth culture that were lost when their tribe was assimilated into Hallownest, or maybe even searching for Radiance or trying to learn what happened to her. (Judging that his corpse is hidden behind one of the Pale King’s shade gates it seems this didn’t go well. Thanks TPK.)

As far as fighting moths go there’s Marmu too, but she seems to be a special case, possibly raised in Hallownest's culture instead of with her tribe. We don’t actually get any sort of canon explanation for how a baby moth wound up as a child soldier who died defending the Queen’s Gardens, but given the overall tone of Hollow Knight as a game and all the colonization/Australian history parallel subtext, some horrifying possibilities come to mind.

So, if Thistlewind, Markoth, and Marmu are Outliers Lepidoptera and should not be counted, how did the majority of moths spend their time? According to Seer, who knows more about the tribe’s history than most (and to Quirrel, who points you to her if you defeat Uumuu before picking up the Dream Nail), the moths’ main prerogative was cultivating and developing dream magic. From the way the Seer describes dreams as a living history as you collect Essence, dream magic seems to be a parallel to the Dreaming (or Dreamtime), a spiritual concept in Indigenous Australian religion related to both history and myth.

To translate this into simple terms, the moths were by and large pacifists whose culture celebrated art, history, and spirituality.

Team Cherry tends to adapt at least some aspects of real-life bug behavior and biology into their sad cartoon bugs, so moths-as-pacifists tracks: Real moths do not really have any way to fight. They defend themselves from predators via their mobility and their markings, which tend towards either camouflage that helps them hide or bright markings intended to scare predators off by indicating they’re poisonous (therefore not good to eat) or look like the face of something much bigger and more dangerous than they are.

There's not that much we can glean about the moths in pre-Hallownest society aside from Seer’s dialogue, because Hallownest destroyed their civilization so thoroughly: Except in the Dream Realm (which is filled with Essence spirographs and the wisteria charms that decorate Seer’s room), their architecture can only be found anymore in hidden parts of the Resting Grounds and at the very top of the Crystal Peak where Radi’s statue and a fuckton of lore tablets Ghost doesn’t know how to read are located.

But, we know that the crater pre-Hallownest was home to a ton of diverse bug nations - the mosskin, the mushroom tribe, the mantises, Deepnest, the Hive, the flukes - and every SINGLE one of those had some kind of warrior tradition, as well as their own unique cultures. In the midst of all that it was only the moths who were pacifists, so from there we can tentatively assume that they were on good enough terms with their neighbors for there not to be any fighting. The mosskin in particular also had and still have a Higher Being on their side, though in the modern day Unn seems to be rather conflict avoidant to say the least.

And we know from Hallownest’s past dealings with the mantises and Deepnest that even having Two (2) Higher Beings isn’t enough to keep rival civilizations off your nuts if they hate you, so it’s improbable that Radiance just did all the moths’ fighting for them.

The only hint that the moths ever had beef with anyone at all is one of Radiance’s Dream Nail lines, “ancient enemy” - this is popularly theorized to refer to the Void and might be corroborated by the Void’s willingness to follow Ghost into Radi’s boss fights and fight alongside them. As the Void seems to be some sort of Higher Being/god of darkness and nothingness, and the Dream Nail’s only offensive ability is to kill Void creatures, the Void and creatures of Light appear to be in a position of mutual vulnerability. Some of the Pale King’s writings in his workshop, which identify the Void as a power in direct opposition to his, support this too.

It’s unclear whether the Void civilization and Radiance ever directly came to blows or whether they were just giving each other the stink eye over being natural enemies - personally I think the latter is more likely because the two civilizations existed on opposite sides of the crater*, and again, the moths were pacifists; plus when Ghost brings the Void along to Radi’s boss fight she is quickly and gruesomely overwhelmed by it.

What I am saying here is that if pacifism was such an integral aspect of moth culture, and Radiance epitomized her people’s culture, and she is 100% incapable of inflicting physical harm, she was probably a pacifist too.

DEEP DOWN YOU KNOW YOU WEREN'T BUILT FOR FIGHTING

Hallownest flourished for a long, long time between the Pale King and White Lady first establishing it and the initial outbreak of the Infection.

There’s no conclusive information in-game as to why this is. We can only guess: Maybe Radiance was so badly hurt or weakened by the moths’ assimilation that it simply took her That Long to become capable of the mass dream broadcast to Literally Everyone In Hallownest that would eventually become the Infection when Hallownest’s people tried to suppress it. Or, maybe it just took a long time for her to come up with a way to fight back. It’s possible that it took her a while to find the resolve to actually fight back, too, with her principles of pacifism in conflict with the necessity of defending herself and taking her people back. Maybe there was a change in the moths’ situation in Hallownest somewhere down the line that compelled her to step in - all the moths are super extremely dead at the time Hollow Knight starts, after all. Even Seer is eventually revealed to be a revenant like Ze’mer the Grey Mourner, only lingering in the world to pass on the Dream Nail and tell Radiance’s story. Maybe it was a combination of all those factors. Barring Team Cherry dropping in to explain this bit of Sekret Deep Lore, we are never going to know.

All we DO know for sure is that when we mosey into Hollow’s brain (and/or Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny our way to the top of Hallownest’s Pantheon) and challenge the literal actual sun to a fight, Radi takes the challenge with extreme prejudice and comes in swinging.

Something interesting I noticed while comparing the Radiance boss fights with the Pure Vessel fight is that some of their attacks are vaguely similar. Where warrior-mage characters like Xero and Markoth have physical weapons that they summon and manipulate with magic, Radiance and Pure Vessel both create nails and daggers out of Essence and Soul respectively. Both characters’ magical weapon attacks are similar in nature too: Some are used to create hazards that must be dodged or avoided, and some are fired directly at Ghost in radial patterns.

This begs a very sad chicken-and-egg question. Did Radi and Hollow develop these battle techniques independently of each other, has Hollow in their prime form somehow absorbed similar techniques to Radi through osmosis since they’re currently chained together by the brain... or is Radi mimicking and innovating on these attacks she knows Hollow can do?

All her other attacks seem very obvious for a light-themed character, after all: Beam attacks and blobs of light. A flash of bright light is also how she shakes off the Void the first time it tries to grab her, too, making for a strong argument that that’s the original natural defense she possessed, and that’s what she based most of her attack magic off of.

Making sword’s and knive’s from Essence when most of her people didn’t even handle these sorts of tools even at the height of her power and influence, though... that seems less like something that would come naturally to her. i don’t really know i don’t have a definitive answer or theory for this one it just Seems Possible and it’s fucking me up guys

Even the Infection - which began life as Radiance’s attempt to communicate, let’s remember, before it progressed to “The End Of Eva Disease Will Continue Until Someone Actually Listens To Me” and then finally Radi screaming “FUCK U LET ME OUT, GET THAT NEW SUNNY D BOTTLE THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, HALLOWNEST EAT SHIT” during canon - does not appear to be fatal to living bugs until the tumorous growths grow so large they impede bodily functions, like real cancer. We can observe this phenomenon via a number of NPCs and enemies that are rediscovered as tumorous corpses after the whole Crossroads area becomes infected.

At least to me, all of this points to Radiance being a character to whom violence and causing harm doesn't come naturally, and who has resorted to these methods in desperation.

It actually reminds me a lot of False Knight/Failed Champion. It’s a very common theory among fans that when he stole Hegemol’s armor he killed Hegemol - this is a reasonable thing to believe, since Hegemol is the only one of the Five Great Knights of Hallownest who never appears at all in-game, not even as a corpse like Dryya and Isma. Like Radi, False Knight/Failed Champion is a character who rose up and turned to violence in order to protect his people, despite the maggots not being a belligerent species.

False Knight is one of the game’s first major bosses, sometimes the first boss that players encounter at all. And so Hollow Knight’s story bookends with two separate victims of a predatory system, one who lived within and was cannibalized by it, one outside of it who was deliberately targeted by the Pale King. Neither of them started out as a fighter, but both of them still adopted violence as a tool to protect themselves and their people. Radiance is as doomed as False Knight by the Pale King’s genocide, but just like False Knight, she has no intention of going quietly, and will rage against the dying of the light as only the literal actual sun can.

Cue Deedee Magno Hall voice clip. You all know the one.

*A footnote: There’s no conclusive evidence to tell us whether the Void civilization was contemporaneous with the other pre-Hallownest indigenous bug nations or whether it predated them. Mask Maker has a line suggesting that the Void civilization tried to expand throughout the crater in its heyday and that maybe this was linked to its collapse, but in general the Void lore is just too darn thin to draw firm conclusions - it’s like trying to speculate on the ancient stone age cultures of the Americas that came before pre-settler Indigenous countries when the only sources you can easily access are elementary school level US history textbooks. (To non-Americans: We mostly teach kids propaganda until they hit college-level courses and it sucks so much ass.) This is very realistic worldbuilding, but also please Team Cherry I want to know more about these ancient bugs who apparently got lost in the sauce

[hennyjolzen]

Smell Your Way Home A razzle of citrus. Cut grass. Spike of bergamot crushed between dogteeth. Star-scent. Shiver-musk. Your antennae quiver with sparkling electrons. You hum and skim through oak trees, singing with your whole body until you reach it: the hollowed out oak trunk. The place your brothers and sister have been covering with a perfume called 'home'.   "Swarming bees locate a new hive and attract the rest of the colony through the use of a pheromone called Nasanov that includes such familiar terpenoids as geraniol, nerolic acid, and citral acid. Produced by glands placed parenthetically around a worker bee’s stinger, beekeepers have noted that the Nasanov pheromone can be detected by a naked human nose and smells of lemongrass. This is a fact that beekeepers take advantage of when they use lemongrass essential oil to trap bees or introduce them to a new 'hive'. In fact, bees' lives are intimately orchestrated by smells. The smells of flowers and, most importantly, the pheromones secreted by their queen. The queen coordinates behavior, hive-building, defensive techniques, and nectar-collecting strategies via her pheromones. Interestingly enough, if you remove a queen and wait for her 'smell' to blow away, you insert in another queen and drastically alter the collective behavior of the hive. The bees live in the Queen’s smell, her atmospheric aroma, like we live inside culture, unwittingly letting it orchestrate and organize our tasks and lives. Beekeepers have observed that when dealing with an aggressive hive, if you remove the queen and let her pheromones fade before adding in a 'gentle' queen substitute, you can create the conditions for a 'calm' colony.   "Smell is vital across species. Dogs are the most popular example, smelling oncoming seizures in human owners, unearthing Iron Age corpses, and locating prized truffles blooming darkly below the duff. In Texas, cadaver compound was injected into oil pipes, and the pipes were observed for vulture activity to locate where the pipes had sprung a leak. The vultures honed in on the smell of corpse emanating from the broken pipes. Elephants choose the most nutritious, highest sugar-content fruit, by way of a scent evaluation. Recent studies at Oxford University’s Department of Zoology demonstrated that Scopoli shearwater birds navigate great distances across water by way of 'olfactory maps'. The study shows that many other birds find their way home by smell. The ocean is an odoriferous landscape. It is a series of perfumed songlines. "The idea of songlines might not be that much of a stretch. The Vibration Theory of Smell posits that just as smell is, in a manner, touch – an interaction between scent molecules 'touching' into the olfactory cleft of our nose and setting off a domino-chain of electrons – so smell might also be sound. First formulated by Malcom Dyson in 1928, it suggests that a molecule’s smell is due to its vibration frequency. The theory has received pushback from the 'shape' theory, which posits that molecular shape is more important than vibration, but as a poet, I am drawn to the lyrical nature of smell as song. Perhaps that’s why, faced by impoverished smell vocabulary, we rely on phrases like 'chord' or 'note' or 'symphony' when describing perfumes and complex aromas.   "Humans, although we live in a culture biased towards visual and auditory stimuli, receive a remarkable amount of information via smell. Recent research has upended the myth that humans are smell deficient. The human nose is capable of distinguishing over a trillion distinct odors. A Scottish woman named Joy Milne can accurately make a diagnosis of Parkinson with her nose. In fact, her nose is a finer diagnostic tool than any technology, picking up the disease years before it even registers on traditional tests. It may be that this skill isn’t just her superpower. We are all making subconscious decisions based on smell all the time, like the worker bees inside the pheromonal ocean of the queen’s influence. In a famous study nicknamed the 'sweaty T-shirt' experiment, a Swiss scientist Claus Wedekind showed that people exposed to T-shirts soaked in different people’s body odor, unknowingly and consistently picked the T-shirt from the person with the histocompatibility gene (MHC) that was most different from their own. The MHC gene is responsible for the growth of a healthy immune system and it has been shown that mates that represent a diverse combination of MHC genes produce healthier, more immunologically robust children. Studies aside, most people have had the experience, at least once in their life, of smelling a lover’s body odor and knowing deeply, somatically, that there is chemistry. What if we didn’t date via visual cues, but dated via smell? Would we make better partner choices?   "We smell events before they happen. Cut grass blows downwind. Bad smells shepherd us away from fire, from pollutants, from eating rotten food. We smell events that have happened. And memory is intimately entangled with smell. A perfect blend of lily and gardenia summons my grandmother with such vivacity that the rest of her easily materializes: I see her powder blue dress, her dove broach, her mischievous eyes. Long dead, I open her old perfume jar and suddenly I can touch her again, speak to her. Smell is often the doorway into other sensory experiences. The Song of Songs, one of the most popular parts of the Jewish Bible, is a glossary of erotic smells. The smell of spikenard and aloes and myrrh leads us through the Gospels. Jesus is constantly anointed, washed, articulated by smell. As a writer, I have observed in the writing I love and the writing that I create, that smell is one of the most effective ways to build an embodied world. We know that most of taste is really smell. The first mouthful of wine on a summer night. The dark cherry of black coffee sipped as the sun spills into your living room.   "The artist Kate McLean, interested in biosemiotics defined as the exchange of sensory signals between animals and their environments, has created a project called Sensory Maps. She gets people to 'map' their cities by smell and creates complex 'smellscape' maps with the aggregate information she receives from participants. Mostly focusing on urban environments, McLean has suggested these maps can be utilized by Urban planners and developments. Where should smells be preserved? Where should we not develop, due to a bad odor? Diving into her work, I was immediately reminded of Bernie Krause and his Acoustic Niche Hypothesis in relationship to Soundscape Ecology. The theory is that animals in a shared ecosystem develop different tones and rhythms that collaborate like an orchestra. Each sound finds its perfect channel so that it doesn’t 'interrupt' anyone else’s song. "Poetically thinking with the Vibration theory of smell as being related to sound, I wonder what an Aroma Niche Hypothesis would look like? Do ecosystems evolve complex symphonies of smell – fungal, vegetal, animal, elemental – that all cooperate and combine into a polyphony? And if this is true, what of anthropogenic smell? What about smell pollution that is so pervasive it almost, especially in the smell maps of Kate Mclean, overwhelms any other biological, environmentally excreted perfumes? What if birds can’t find their song/smell lines across the ocean? What if we are wearing so much synthetic perfume that we can’t make a correct olfactory assessment of a potential mate? "I’m not trying to answer any questions. I’m trying to smell them. I’ve always had a problematically sensitive nose. I can smell when someone is sick before they know it. There are certain mycelium I know by a taste as I walk over their hidden underground bodies, not their visible fruiting mushrooms. I have often thought I will know I have found my partner when my nose tells me. My nose will know, better than my mind ever will. In fact, I harbor a deep, mushy belief that my nose is my most direct connection to my heart.   "What if, taking our inspiration from Kate McLean, and bringing it out of human-dominated environments, we tried to retrain our noses to detect subtle cues. What if you mapped your neighborhood? A nearby trail? Keep a notebook of smell observations. Don’t worry about using smell words. Make something up. Use a color. A sound. A feeling. The English language needs to be composted. It needs neologisms and kennings that properly reflect our ability to detect over a trillion different 'smell songs'.  Smell is haptic. It reflects our intimacy with the world every time we breathe in volatile molecules and let them cascade into our brain chemistry. Smell is song, vibrating with melodic messages about behavior and mates and environmental hazards. And smell is deeply erotic. It connects us with our deep somatic appetites. Maybe it even guides us toward our ecological olfactory niche. Just like the bees follow the lemongrass pheromone to their new hive, maybe smell can show us how to get 'home': home, for me, being a state of mind. A state of mind where I realize everything is alive. Everything is funky. Musty. Lusting. Loving. Everything, even without a voice, without a sound, is talking.

Sophie Strand

[talltales]

pair:   jackson / reader desc:   decay gives way to life         through time, and time only words:  2k rated:  15+ genre:  drama/romance notice: sequel to safe harbor gifted: to @alrightyaphroditie​ and @dawnofus, for their requests

                           —AND THE SIGHTS WERE AS STARK AS MY BABY                                    AND THE COLD WAS AS SHARP AS MY BABY

she is a dangerous, seamless sort of woman—filled to the brim with a fusion of beauty and chaos. it suits her in the same way that red suits roses, jackson thinks, after she’s drifted to sleep with her fingers curled under his shirt.

he can’t really imagine it being any other way.

it takes several minutes to pull himself out of her grasp, half for her determination to chase his heat and half for his own hesitation to leave hers—a balancing act in more ways than one, centered on the growing ambiguity between what is and what could be.

ninety-six days.

in the dark, he turns to watch her curl into a ball beneath the thick blankets, fending off the cold that he leaves in his wake. a glance at the window reveals only the pitch blackness of night, rain dimly lit by the glow of the moon. the smell of it lingers in the air like a cloud of smoke. but jackson has learned to breathe it and draw strength from it.

the rain is plague and sustenance—fortune and fury. the only mercy that it ever granted was the leveling of those deadly tides. somewhere, he supposed, the dam holding those waters in the city had broken and it was flowing unchecked, into the surrounding lands.

maybe there were people still out there. maybe they’d already left.

he finds it hard to care, regardless. the center of his concerns mumbles in her sleep against her pillow, lashes fluttering against the onslaught of her own dreams.

wordlessly, he slips into the kitchen and allows his fingers to trail along the pots that litter the tables between; the beginnings of a flower garden, with seeds nestled deep into rich soil. potential lies locked within them and jackson has taken to waiting with her, holding onto bated breath for the first sprout to breach the earth from below.

she’d taken to gardening with less fuss than he’d imagined. once she’d grasped the basic concepts she was unstoppable.

the network of lights crossing the ceiling beams is his own contribution, offered in lieu of laundry duties for the week. it was a simple enough trade. jackson pretends that the veiled excitement in her eyes had nothing to do with it.

with a quick look over his shoulder, he assures himself that she’s still sleeping. practiced hands open the drawers and cabinets that contain a simple mixing bowl, the sugars and flours and miscellaneous things required for his task. a small packet with a faded label lays beneath his fingers when he’s done and examining the ingredients with an engineer’s eye.

he begins his work.

fifty-one days.

he’s given his first taste of hope. there is promise in the quieting of those deadly waters, and jackson—reasonably, he thinks—decides to act upon it. when he dons his raincoat and ventures down the stairs instead of up, he dares to believe that something could change.

it takes all of two days to get her to stop screaming and let him leave the shelter they’d made for themselves. it takes a day longer to stop her crying.

the first time, all he finds is a dozen corpses between them and the building next door, sunken beneath the waters and reaching for the slate grey skies. jackson learns again not to look down. the second, he finds a rowboat to tow into the hollowed out shelter of the first floor. it’s a fruitful journey that exceeds the bounty of the last, and the two to come.

there isn’t a soul alive as far as he goes, but there are empty units; apartments and small groceries situated above expansive garages. he empties each little by little, building his bachelor’s apartment into something better resembling a home, one piece at a time.

the grocery has a generator. he spends the better part of two weeks dismantling it and transporting the parts, and another week stocking their newly functioning refrigerator with the spoils of his afternoon journeys. it beats dragging their bagged perishables from cold, dirty water.

he brings back books. art. board games.

when he unloads the latter, jackson hears her laugh for the first time in months. the sound draws his eye upward, along the stair-line to where she stands. startled, with a quivering hand held over her mouth.

she cries for the next two hours.

the grieving process, he supposes, is a messy thing. particularly when the loss is not of a single person but an entire world. she folds herself into his coat when he opens it, crawling across his lap and burrowing to the warmth hidden beneath. jackson can’t say he minds the contact when his eyes begin to burn; when it gets harder to shove it back and back and back. there are other times for those sorts of things.

there are always other times.

seventy-five days.

“do you think that we’ll ever taste fruit again?” the question comes quietly, murmured between spoonfuls of chicken soup and the flickering of the candlelight, “or eggs? are there even farms anymore?”

there is an absence in her voice; an airy quality that makes her seem as if she’ll blow away in the slightest wind. but her eyes are fixed upon him—holding his gaze with no give.

she is daring him, jackson realizes.

challenging him to feed her more hope, when he is clinging to that first and only taste of it from weeks before. she is a dangerous, seamless sort of woman. beauty and chaos. it suits her in a way that red suits roses. he can’t really imagine it being any other way.

but, there are no more roses.

there are no more fruit.

“if i find a melon out there, you’ll be the first to know,” he says instead, biting his tongue against the spiked words that he wants to inflict upon her—quiet retaliation for making him think.

“my birthday is in three weeks. you better hurry.”

there is no humor in her smile; merely pain.

eighty-one days.

and though logic argues against any effort, he ventures ever further into the outskirts in the city when the rain relents; in search of rooftop gardens that haven’t been washed away, markets that aren’t swelling with the sickly sweet scent of rotten fruit.

if she notices his efforts, she says nothing. her only answer to the packet of rose seeds laying in her palm is a soft sigh—“putting me to work, are you?”

“i figured it was time,” he watches her bite her lip before she steps closer, past the ever-shrinking boundaries between them to strip away the heavy layers of his outerwear.

the seeds vanish into her pocket.

“you would.”

their banter gives way to silence, as it does of late. he preoccupies himself with the easy way she smoothes his damp hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. there is care in her movements, clouded as it is by her usual bristling demeanor.

“now that’s what i call a tragedy,” she whispers, busying her fingers with the buttons of his shirt—through the violent shivers rattling his bones, jackson realizes that she is talking about him, “you’re a mess.”

his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth; every thought skitters to a stop at the tentative smile playing across her lips. finally, he finds his words and pushes them out as she peels the wet fabric down his shoulders, “watch your mouth. you, of all people, should understand what i’m trying to do here.”

it has the intended effect. her lips press together as she winds the soaked clothing into a ball and tosses it into the waiting metal bin with the rest of their wash.

“yeah, i do.” she levels a look at him—sharp and bittersweet; filled with a secret that he isn’t meant to know. “you’re trying to get yourself killed going out there for something that you think i want more than i want you here. safe.”

as if the air has been drawn out of her, she drifts to the window and remains there, back turned and arms crossed over her waist.

whatever glimpse he’d caught of joy in her is lost.

he is lost.

ninety-six days.

he only notices that she’s awake by the sound of her muted footsteps, crossing the space between them—his attention is on the improvised stand and the smoother held between his fingers. the tips of them are caked in a layer of vanilla icing that is nothing short of an assault on the senses.

“you’re making a cake,” she asks, and it is anything but a question. how could she wonder, after all, when the evidence is laid out before her?

“and you’re distracting me,” muttering, jackson sets aside the smoother and wipes his hand on his t-shirt before picking up the half-full piping bag of forest green icing. the only color he could find, as it were. “go get cleaned up, we’re having breakfast.”

when he spares her a glance, she is watching him with a strange look—lips parted as if to speak—before she enters their small kitchen space and begins digging for a skillet, “we’re not eating cake for breakfast.”

“it’s your birthday. why not?”

he pauses when he hears the telltale sniffle, faint enough that it almost slips beneath the click of the gas being turned on. from the refrigerator, she pulls a small bottle of plant-based eggs and pours them onto the heating pan, “because it’s my birthday, and i say so.”

“heard.”

they work in comfortable quiet, steadily through the dull echoes of rain washing over the roof. the constancy of it lulls him into a daze. it’s easy to work in, he finds, while piping amateurish decorations onto the perimeter of the cake.

he tops the piped icing with diced pieces of dried melon.

it looks good enough.

he’s in the middle of writing her name across the top when he feels warmth at his back; a soft heat that sinks into his bones and makes it hard to focus, “what is it?”

her words are muffled against the fabric of his shirt—face pressed into the expanse between his shoulders, “you really get on my nerves sometimes, you know? you’re so fucking pragmatic about this whole thing that i wonder if you've even grasped the reality of what happened.”

she exhales, and the sound is shaky at best. teary at worst.

frozen, jackson listens—tries to quell the racing of his heart. it pounds rebelliously against his ribcage, but he keeps his voice even, “and?”

“but i realize that i needed that. more than i needed to be coddled like a child. as far as we know, it’s just the two of us now anyways. so i might as well learn how to see the good in what you do.”

her grip tightens, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. it’s far from the first time that she’s been this close; far from the first time that he’s felt the effects of it—a residual glow at the edges of his thoughts.

giddiness, he labels it, before shoving into a box reserved for things he does not need to think about.

“i love you.”

but there is no box for that.

“i love you,” she repeats, so softly that he can barely hear it. but jackson can feel her lips moving against his back, “you don’t have to reciprocate—“

“i do.”

slowly, he sets down the piping bag and lays it next to the almost almost finished cake.

it takes effort to loosen her grasp on him and turn around; to think past the voice in his head roaring that this is a bad idea. this is the very thing that he’d been trying to avoid, living in such cramped quarters with the only soul he’d dared to bring into his sanctuary.

looking back, it’d been her, the pretty barista with the prettier smile that’d drawn him downstairs in the first place—hoping that he’d be fortunate enough to find her standing behind the counter, making his favorite drink.

he’d gotten lucky, looking back.

“i do,” he admits, threading his fingers through her hair. as her head dips into the crook of his neck, jackson allows himself to breathe. she smiles, and he feels it against his skin—

beauty and chaos. it suits her in the same way that red suits roses.

he can’t really imagine it being any other way.

“i do.”

for longer than you’ll ever know.

                           and the nights were as dark as my baby                            half as beautiful too

[inumaqi]

top ten tagged by @linkspooky 🍊 explanations under the cut! sorry for rambling xo → rules: name your top ten favourite characters from ten different fandoms, and then tag ten people - @osomanga @kara-suno @anonimarevolts @zeninmaki @wildbishonen @shysheeperz @tkmewthyou @kaldurlenn @joxterism @marshmallowdonutsprinkles

snufkin okay so he’s the only one not from an anime or manga but i had to put him on bc he’s the most important fictional character to me, ever. i grew up watching the moomin cartoons in the 90s and thinking about it instantly calms me down - they used to air the episodes early in the morning when it would still be dark outside: the landscapes were moody and cosy, the characters were so softly spoken and articulate... it’s just peak nostalgia. anyway, snufkin is moomin’s best friend; he returns to moominvalley every year to be with his friends during the spring and says his goodbyes to go adventure again come winter. it upsets moomin when he leaves but snufkin is adamant that quiet and solitude are important and healthy, and it’s not fair to expect him to compromise on his independence - that made a really big impact on me as a kid, especially as someone who never really had their ‘own’ space (twinsies). relationships aren’t weakened by physical distance or time, they’re about communication and understanding. that was important too. i don’t think i realised just how influential it had been until i was an adult but snufkin is an anarchist. he first shows up in the comics when moomin and sniff are talking about opening a bank - he tells them they should plant fruit trees instead. he destroys private property and rescues orphans, he refuses to participate in things that don’t bring him joy. when he’s asked where home is, he replies, “nowhere. or everywhere! it depends how you look at it” - the whole world belongs to him, and the whole world belongs to everyone else too.

yomo renji in general, i like characters that trudge along in the background and do the nitty-gritty work that supports the main story. i like people like that irl too. more than anything else, yomo is desperate to form human connections, even though he’s shackled by self-doubt and self-loathing. he just wants to positively contribute to a community, thinking he’s most useful keeping a quiet eye on people who might need protection/guidance (while still giving them space to grow and act themselves) or foraging for human corpses so that others aren’t in danger or moral anguish doing it for themselves.

bird boy is a total weapon - “the perfect ghoul” - and you’re reminded over and over again but a lot of his growth is about rejecting violence and repurposing his power as something productive that he can use to help the people around him instead of hurting people (the yang to uta’s yin). in the first few chapters, he says he kills humans (he’s a ghoul, humans are food, it’s natural) and yet he’s consistently framed as a scavenger who seeks out ‘roadkill’ [suicide victims] for sustenance, even before coming to anteiku, and implements a system so other people can do the same.

suguru getou i was originally gonna say meg bc i love him but, having just finished The Flashback Arc, i can’t stop thinking about getou and i’m beyond impressed with how akutami has managed to ground him so well, so sympathetically. getou is the sick, warped darkness to the hopeful light that gojou commands but... in an uncomfortable twist, the reverse is true, kind of.

actually, gojou is arrogant and confrontational and hyper individualistic. he’s a dissident. getou is obedient, compassionate, self-aware... he has a sense of social responsibility and passionately believes that his skills should be used to protect those who can’t protect themselves - non-jujutsu sorcerers - and all of the suffering he endures as a result is worth that. idk if others are reading his downfall differently but, from where i’m standing, that overwhelming responsibility never goes away, he doesn’t give up on it - he just starts to view the social landscape differently and begins to see how jujutsu sorcerers are vilified and mistreated in spite of all the good that they do. the ‘weak’ aren’t really weak when they’re able to organise and assert collective power over a minority, and so his sympathies shift.

the nail in the coffin for getou is learning that the hurt and pain could be eradicted from the world by cutting the head of the proverbial snake: non-jujutsu users generate cursed energy, so get rid of non-jujutsu users and cursed energy won’t be generated. it’s all horribly, weirdly rooted in good intentions that weigh him down and misdirect him.  shinazugawa genya i feel like the bond that slowly starts to develop betwen tanjirou, and zenitsu and inosuke (in particular) is nicely foiled by genya’s lonely journey towards becoming a pillar. after losing almost all of his family and having sanemi walk away, genya is angry, antisocial, rude, violent, evasive...

he’s characterised as competitive, as if he hates his peers and wants to leave them in the dust as an act of self-satisfaction, a power fantasy or whenever, but this is a deliberate misdirection to cover for the fact that he’s scrambling to be a pillar so that he can reconnect with his brother and prove to him that he can protect himself; that sanemi doesn’t need to shoulder everything alone like he used to. his entire goal is an act of apology.

and in a story where so many characters are able to hone these exceptional skills, genya is uniquely disadvantaged as the only one who can’t master breathing techniques. rather than having a hero moment and powering up, his need to reconnect with sanemi is so strong that he essentially decides to compromise his humanity and become a kind of monster by ingesting the demons he’s pledged to annihilate. amajiki tamaki i wish i had a a longer explanation for this one but it’s actually super simple: tamaki is a really, really, really good portrayal of a person burdened with severe anxiety. the way he physically carries himself, the way he hides his face, his manner of speaking, his dependency on his mirio, how he interprets compliments as trickery, how he needs to be pushed and pushed and pushed before he’s finally able to release his potential... every single scene with tamaki felt deeply personal when i was reading bnha and i knew exactly what he was supposed to be feeling. shinmon benimaru sometimes good, nice people don’t fit a little friendly mould and i like that benimaru is hostile and rough and antisocial, even with people he cares about. he doesn’t expect anything of people, he doesn’t want them interfering with him, and he wants to help and support them all the same because he believes in community. he’s completely oppositional to the special fire force because he thinks it’s a tool to pursue an ideology rather than to protect people, which is why it’s so important when the eighth are finally able to win his approval - they become the only company the seventh consider allies, and it’s proof that their objectives are righteous. despite his reputation as... kind of a nuisance, his skill is acknowledged by everyone and he’s universally regarded as the strongest fire soldier there is. in spite of his antisocial attitude, he agrees that it’s important to share that with younger fire soldiers - he’s incredibly patient and understanding with them, helps them to individually adapt. the way he (and others in company seven) operate in contrast to the other companies when fighting infernals is really cool to me for two reasons: (1) it provides a commentary on how cultures and traditions often struggle to survive when they’re systematically (forcefully) replaced through power and wealth - although the subtext is a little troubling because it’s unclear whether ōkubo is conflating multiculturalism with globalisation which, uh, big nope; and (2) philosophically speaking, the approach to death is interesting. where the other companies essentially perform last rites and offer absolution to the deceased, benimaru personally takes responsibility - at the request of the people in his district - for sending them off in huge public display, kind of like a festival intending to celebrate their life. i think it speaks to how profoundly he values life. akihiko kaji i liked akihiko from the beginning because he’s stoic and introspective and also excitable and dumb. he’s a people watcher and waits for opportunities to softly guide uenoyama and mafuyu when they’re quietly crying out for help but doesn’t interfere any more than he thinks is necessary because he knows they can make their own way to where they need to go. i liked akihiko even more when he got really fucking messy. his relationship with ugetsu is sweet and it’s incredibly ugly and unhealthy because they both fail utterly to communicate with one another - they’re both to blame for avoiding and hurting each other, and i think that’s a really normal issue that people find difficult to overcome. i’m super interested (and really nervous) to see how his relationship with haruki develops. he’s done some horrible things to haruki and i want him to be accountable for those things and have them affect their relationship in a realistic way.

tanigaki genjirou one thing i really, really love about golden kamuy is the way noda satoru incorporates the importance of minority cultures into the story, and tanigaki’s apparent abandonment of his matagi heritage is really beautifully written. matagi hunting traditions shaped his life as a young man, it’s how he was able to really assimilate to the people around him and form relationships and - without getting too spoilery - he divorces himself from it all when he’s overcome by grief and hatches a plan for revenge against the person responsible. so, by allowing himself to surrender to negative feelings and thoughts instead of seeking support and learning to heal from what happened, he becomes a total shadow of himself. 

makimura takeshi i know i’ve gushed about it before but i can’t properly explain just how incredible it felt seeing an asexual character in manga dialogue about being asexual, and devils’ line does it twice. the reason i’m so attached to makimura in particular is because he doesn’t seem to have fully figured it out - and he’s kinda... comfortable with that. he wants to be with someone and he wants to be monogamous but he can’t understand why he doesn’t feel sexual desire towards her; he knows his feelings aren’t platonic but doesn’t know whether they can really be called romantic either.

not to go dark mode but i very vividly remember just how lonely and horrifying it was battling with those uncertainties when i was a teenager, thinking i was broken because i didn’t have Normal Human Feelings and needed to be fixed. i was so worried about it that i thought about all the boys i knew, picked the one i thought was the nicest and actively tried to develop a crush on him. it was dumb as fuck but, ten years later, i realise it was really desperate and sad too. i forced myself to have ~my first kiss~ (it was horrible) because i felt like i was getting left behind and i think i would’ve put myself in worse situations as i got older if i hadn’t suffered with such bad social anxiety.

i hadn’t really thought too much about a lot of this stuff for yeaaars but it all came flooding back when i was reading devils’ line. it was bittersweet bc i was remembering all of those shitty feelings but also watching this character grapple with those same questions and go: i don’t know yet and that’s not weird, let’s just grow with it. i still don’t totally know whether i’m ace or aro or bi, or whatever, but i’m trying to be okay with just... not knowing.

misora shuuji anyway, devils’ line isn’t actually a manga with a specific focus on sexuality and gender but shimanami tasogare is and all of the characters are written beautifully. if you haven’t read it yet... then why haven’t you read it yet? misora is only about twelve years old and watching them battle with their growing pains is really compelling - they’re closeted but, through the lounge, they have somewhere to explore their gender and all the questions they have about it. they’re amab and present as traditionally feminine wrt clothes, wigs, makeup, etc. but can’t quite tell if they see themselves as a girl, a boy or non-binary.

with the onset of puberty and anxieties about physical changes to their body, misora’s story puts a lot of emphasis on the pressure they face to just ‘make up their mind’ about something that’s actually incredibly complex and doesn’t have any easy answers. they snap and shout and get upset, especially when tasuku (the protag) tries to push them into a corner because he wants a concrete label or identity he can attach to misora, even though space is exactly what misora needs.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG180!

- I really like how the statement really felt like a story advancing logically and through space, with its own codes; it felt a bit closer to my own nightmares, progressing, moving forwards, shifting a bit as the protagonist was forced to adapt and conform to exterior rules (which were never questioned), aware of the potential transgressions, that anything and anyone could punish them if they overstepped (the graves were listening, the angels were eager to punish, the reverend controlled the respectful pace and the words, the crowd was ready to judge, the alleys were full of danger, the dead mother was ready to attack). I really felt the dream-logic in that one, the immersion into an odd universe ruled by another logic than the real world?

… And that rule was the “NIHIL NISI BONUM” (from “De mortuis nihil nisi bonum”, “of the dead: nothing but good”) even when it was destroying the victim from the inside. Obviously, the fact that they were in a necropolis, that there were corpses haunting the living, that it was about a funeral ceremony, would point towards End; but it really felt Web and Beholding to me, too, with the idea of getting trapped in a situation and having to perform, and the sheer weight of the stares and the permanent judging?

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: “The names are carved with steady-handed reverence, and the dates do not make sense, but… [WOOD CREAKING] bite your tongue. [CHAINS CLINKING] Read the epitaphs quietly to yourself, in a respectful, solemn whisper – “loving son”, “noted philanthropist”, “honoured hero” – and do not question them out loud, for these graves… they are not silent. They are listening. Stop a moment and see the stone angels perched above you, staring down from the harsh corners of each mausoleum roof, looking out over the avenues of darkened […]. They keep their eager vigil, desperate for a comment, a word, a breath out of place against which they might strike. […] Walk faster now. Pick up the pace. For not all the tombs are silent, not all the graves are at peace. […] Don’t mention it. No point making a scene. The angels wouldn’t like it. Besides, those are the tombs with the longest epitaphs; so they must have been good people. […] The faceless gaze of each sepulchre angel fixes itself upon you, and you feel yourself turning back towards the house, though every muscle in your body screams at you to run. Instead you nod, and apologise for your lateness. [ANXIOUS, DEEP BREATHING IN THE BACKGROUND] The angels look away, and you step across the threshold. […] He leads you through the winding house towards the memorial room, the thick carpet crunching under your feet so loudly that it makes you wince, certain that it calls all attention to you. The Director’s steps are silent and dignified, the heavy fabric of his dark suit still and crisp as cold iron.[…] One hundred and sixty pairs of misty eyes follow your slow procession down the room, bile rising higher and higher with each row you pass. Fifteen left, you can make out her hair, still the cold grey you remember so vividly. Ten rows left, and you can see her mouth, those lips that hide the grin that now flashes thorough your memory. Five more, and you can see her eyes. Why are her eyes open? They are lustreless, and clouded, but still contain the cruelty you saw when she held the knife. […] He places you behind the podium, as the mourners stare at you, and you realise with a stab of agonised dread that they are waiting for your eulogy, their faces alight with hungry grief. […] Behind you, a dark shadow moves, [WOOD CREAKING] a shape that seems to slither from the coffin. [GROANING GURGLES IN THE BACKGROUND] You watch it coming closer from the corner of your eye but you cannot stop your kind words.”

(Hell Is Other People.) What hit me most in this one was the feeling of never managing to escape, the slow anguish and despair (while it wasn’t a quick pursuit nor a hunt!); the idea of having to conform to rules, of being imprisoned by other people’s eyes (“though you know that nothing escapes his eyes.”); the implacable neatness and order all around; the sudden mention of the abuse they had suffered from their mother (which… helped so much to recontextualise their dread) and the fact that even (especially) after death, nobody was ready to acknowledge it or to let them denounce it (the angels were ready to strike); the protagonist having to Perform like the others and pretend to negate what had been done to them; the fact that they saw their dead mother rise and come towards them… and couldn’t do anything about it. That crunch was AWFUL. Little apocalypse reference with the crowd (“The mourners are all lined up so very, very neatly, four chairs either side, twenty rows deep. […] One hundred and sixty pairs of misty eyes follow your slow procession down the room”), since it happened on the 160th tape… and sneaky sneaky spiders with the maths: it means 80 people on each side, and 8 eyes on each row on each side! =D

Another little thing which Got Me, too:

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: “‘If you would like to say a few words…,’ the Director commands.”

“if you would like” but “COMMANDS” (it wasn’t a choice.); the shortness of breath conveying the anxiety, starting mid-statement, which was… unsettling and indeed anxiety-inducing.

When it comes to sound: once again, Jon’s statement “created” the soundscape! It was gradual: the cries of birds were different from the ones we could hear around Jon&Martin before; then we heard the footsteps; then we began to hear the occasional wood creaking, the chains clinking, the stone scraping, the gurgles, and the crowd whispering. Big YIKES moment there:

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: “Just knock and ask to enter. Or try your best not to hear, to think nothing but good and admirable thoughts of those who wait in monuments to their own virtue. [GRAVEYARD SOUNDS AS THE WIND GUSTS, CHAINS CLINK, WOOD CREAKS] There now, a face, pale and stained with age and death and sin – no, not “sin”, never sin. [GURGLES IN THE BACKGROUND] Misjudgement. Indiscretion. Misunderstanding. Never sin. Never evil. It grins and smiles and nods its head with broken yellow teeth. It is a smile that wants you closer, wants you near. A bloated, purple tongue that tries to whisper reassurance, but can only gurgle promises that smell like sour fruit.”

… because with the chains clinking, we could see the denegation through the sounds and/or the creature potentially getting annoyed.

(- AHAHAHHA SOB that the statement’s climax was about a forced eulogy about someone who had been awful and continued to hurt the protagonist even after death… in the episode right after Daisy’s death. Daisy who had hurt Jon. Complicated relationships, complicated mix of feelings – although the mother from the statement was an “a monster, brutal and unrepentant”… while Daisy, the real Daisy cut from The Hunt, was repentant. Even Peter had made a jab about it (MAG134: “And he even brings a Penitent Thief along, in the form of your pet murderer!”).)

- Regarding sounds! I really like how we could hear Martin run or accelerate his pace thanks to the sound of his bag, early in the episode!

(MAG180) [CLICK–] [FOOTSTEPS CRUNCHING ON GRAVEL, AS THE WIND WHISTLES] [BAG JOSTLING] MARTIN: Hey, hang on! ARCHIVIST: Oh! Right you are. MARTIN: Sorry, I just… don’t want to lose sight of you, you keep… disappearing behind tombs and that. ARCHIVIST: I’ll try to slow down. [FOOTSTEPS STOP] […] [FOOTSTEPS RESUME] MARTIN: … Yeah, all right. [INHALE] Come– Hey! Hey! I said slow down! ARCHIVIST: S–sorry. MARTIN: H–how exactly does a leg wound make you faster? ARCHIVIST: I just want to get through here quickly.

Small thing I appreciate, too: the fact that Martin used to be more angsty about Jon leading and him following…

(MAG170) MARTIN: Why am I here? I… I, I fell behind. I was, I was too slow, and, and, and the fog caught up, I was… I was following, al–always following, never leading; never leading. Why did he leave me behind? Di–did he? Who we, who, who are you? Who am–?

… but also/now doesn’t hesitate to voice when Jon is going too fast for him <3

- It’s terrible and amazing how the episode managed to be both gloomy and funny, since:

(MAG180) MARTIN: Sorry, I just… don’t want to lose sight of you, you keep… disappearing behind tombs and that. ARCHIVIST: I’ll try to slow down. [FOOTSTEPS STOP] MARTIN: … Thank you. [INHALE] I really rather not end up lost in a… what did you call it? ARCHIVIST: A necropolis. It’s like a cemetery but all the tombs are above ground. [INHALE] New Orleans has a very impressive one. Or… had.

They were almost (unwillingly) playing hide-and-seek in a necropolis.

- Martin’s list of vocabulary when it comes to Jon’s activities during the apocalypse:

(MAG164) MARTIN: I don’t, I don’t feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your… y–you–your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is…

(MAG168) MARTIN: Right, yes, yes, of course. You… [INHALE] You vomit your horrors. [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: [REVULSED SOUND] Uh! I’m… not sure I like that metaphor…! MARTIN: “Puke your terrors”? ARCHIVIST: … Just go.

(MAG177) MARTIN: [SIGH] It’s… It… He needs to make a statement. BASIRA: Is that like a euphemism, or…? MARTIN: Ew, no! It’s, hum… He sort of describes the place he’s in to the recorder and… Look, it’s–it’s, it’s magic Eye stuff, he can’t help it. He needs to do it, and if he doesn’t… ARCHIVIST: [FAINT GRUNT] BASIRA: He gets constipated? ARCHIVIST: Hardly! MARTIN: Actually, yeah, basically. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] BASIRA: Right.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: No, obviously. This place is a manifestation of– MARTIN: No. Nope. ARCHIVIST: … I understand. Of course. MARTIN: Sorry, I’ve just… [INHALE] I’ve been hearing altogether too many of your statements lately, and– ARCHIVIST: Yeah, no, no, I– MARTIN: –yeah. ARCHIVIST: I, I get it. MARTIN: Just… a little break. ARCHIVIST: That’s fair enough. MARTIN: In fact, this time, when you start to… intone… ARCHIVIST: [AMUSED HUFF] MARTIN: I’m going to find a nice soundproof mausoleum, and just… just chill, with whatever horrors they’ve got lurking in there!

No respect for statements, uh. (I feel like Martin was talking even more casually than usual, early in this episode? He contracted words a loooot!)

Still glad that Martin doesn’t hesitate to say no, and that he doesn’t want to hear about this stuff! Although I’m a bit worried, still, of him… being back to removing himself when Jon gives his statement – it still really feels like at some point, Jon will come back from the statement only to discover that Martin is gone or has been attacked… ;; (We know from MAG179, and Basira sneaking on him, that Jon is unaware of what is happening around him when he is engrossed in one.)

- JON AND MARTIN WERE SO ADORABLE, GOSH?!

(MAG180) MARTIN: Maybe play a bit of “I Spy” or something. ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLES] MARTIN: … I–I’ll start. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… T– ARCHIVIST: Tombs. MARTIN: … Cheater. ARCHIVIST: [INDIGNANT] I did not!

Playing lil’games!! I love how “I Spy” felt like a reference to something-Martin we had on Patreon, to Beholding watching everything, and potentially to The Web (“I spy, with my little eye(s)…”). I love that Martin was super-predictable, since going with “T(ea)”? Jon knowing him too well? Their banter, Martin’s inconsequential accusation, Jon sounding SO OFFENDED (hand-on-heart, perfect picture of Victorian offense, in my mind!). And Jon’s sense of humour?!

(MAG180) 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] MARTIN: Right. [SIGH] Sorry. Forgot. [SIGH] Levity is just… off the cards. ARCHIVIST: Mm-mm! [SIGH]

Martin used to not get it (MAG088: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a joke.”), but now he sure does!! I love that Jon deadpanned and used his Serious Archivist From Season 1 voice for it, it was adorable and so silly! Their laughs were so adorable!

(… And then the seriousness struck, reminding them of where they were. Apocalypse not giving Martin a break, uh.) (But eh! Jon even makes eldritch horrors laugh at his jokes!)

- I’m a bit surprised that Martin was having trouble with what had happened:

(MAG180) MARTIN: [LONG SIGH] ARCHIVIST: How are you doing? About… MARTIN: Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m–I’m not sure how to feel; just… pressing on, you know? ARCHIVIST: I do. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you think she’ll be okay without us?

Was it just about leaving Basira behind? Or was it about Daisy’s death? I was suspecting that Daisy having to die might be a bit of a shock for him (… since he had expressed multiple times wanting to make things “better”, and Daisy was a case of… it not being possible, with the added fact that it was also putting to mind of Jon’s own situation), with a potentially delayed response, but nothing explicit in that regard so far. He was a bit closer to Basira, and clearly upset and worried over her going solo again for a while, so it’s understandable ;; Jon had mentioned he had trouble expressing his own feelings:

(MAG167) MARTIN: Okay, so how exactly would you describe your current emotional state regarding all of this? ARCHIVIST: I… MARTIN: Go on. I’m all ears. ARCHIVIST: I feel… MARTIN: Mm–mm? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: [FRUSTRATED EXHALE] I feel… sad. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Sad. ARCHIVIST: Very sad. [BAG JOSTLING] MARTIN: Very sad. ARCHIVIST: Yes, all right, point taken.

(MAG179) ARCHIVIST: Is it… Is it awful that I wish she’d recognised me? MARTIN: Daisy? ARCHIVIST: Yeah. I mean, she was… We were friends there, sort of, near the end. We went through so much and it just… I wish I could have actually said goodbye. MARTIN: Would it have made you feel any better about any of it? ARCHIVIST: I don’t know. Maybe? It’s hard to know how I feel about… anything these days. [SILENCE] MARTIN: We said our goodbyes to Daisy after the institute. This was just… This was just dealing with all the stuff she left behind. ARCHIVIST: … I suppose.

So they’re the same in that regard. Still glad that they notice when the other isn’t talking much about what they’re feeling, and convey that it’s okay to talk about it if they want, still?

(There is not much more to say about Daisy, now, but I still hope that they’ll talk about it again… I want to feel the consequences of this death, how it hurt? It might come back when Basira returns, though…)

- Just An Archival Team Worrying:

(MAG095) MARTIN: And–and I’m glad we can help, of course I am. It’s just what he’s doing seems really dangerous. And I get that he’s worried about us. I mean, we worry about him as well. I worry. And we should just–

(MAG112) BASIRA: I’m sorry, I just… I worry. DAISY: Worry about yourself. I’m fine.

(MAG117) ARCHIVIST: I do worry about Martin and Melanie, leaving them behind, but… I– I suppose that’s– part of trusting someone, isn’t it? Letting them help how they can.

(MAG117) MARTIN: Anyway. I guess I’m just… sick of sitting on my hands, drinking tea and hoping everyone’s okay. 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! I just… really hope everyone makes it back.

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: I just– I worry. You’re working for someone… really bad! MARTIN: Yes, I’m not an idiot, Jon, but it’s no… worse than working for something really bad, so…

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: … [SIGH] I’m just worried about Martin. … Christ… Every other Avatar gets to have their feelings… burned right out of them, but me? I’ve… just got to sit in mine.

(MAG142) DAISY: Melanie’s out, and… [EXHALE] Jon and Basira’re still off. Bit worried. But they can take care of themselves, you know?

(MAG180) MARTIN: Do you think she’ll be okay without us? ARCHIVIST: Oh, she’s made it this far. MARTIN: … Yeah. I just worry.

- I’m glad that Jon got Basira’s consent about it:

(MAG179) BASIRA: All going well, I’ll meet you both in London. He’ll know where to find me. ARCHIVIST: So, you won’t mind if I check up on you sometimes? BASIRA: If you must! But don’t overdo it. I don’t like being watched. ARCHIVIST: Understood.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: Yeah, me too. But I’m… uh, “keeping an eye on her”, so…

Because dang, using double meaning like this, and using his power like this… he really sounds like Elias, lately. (On the surface – the fact that he got Basira’s consent, and that it’s genuinely for Basira’s well-being, does make a gigantic difference.)

- Jon’s leg injury was mentioned again this episode, with the fact that he was walking very fast:

(MAG180) MARTIN: H–how exactly does a leg wound make you faster? ARCHIVIST: I just want to get through here quickly.

And it made sense if reflecting Jon’s enthusiasm? But I can’t help but wonder if there is a Trick about it (like Jon’s body metamorphosing a bit after healing from injuries; or a reminder that he had recently been injured because the wound will reopen soon, or something).

- Levity, and at the same time a few reminders of what is at stake:

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: I just want to get through here quickly. MARTIN: Really? I mean, it seems pretty calm apart from… Wait. Wait, wait, no, no, no, no, no, no! It’s not more children, is it? ARCHIVIST: No, no, no, the necropolis is fine. Uh, I mean, well; obviously it’s, it’s… bad, i–i–it’s horrible, but– MARTIN: S–so why the hurry? Where are we going? ARCHIVIST: Er… Well… MARTIN: Oh, come on, don’t play coy. ARCHIVIST: I’m not being coy, i–it’s just, well, I, I… MARTIN: … Wait. Wait, are you excited? ARCHIVIST: A–a bit? Maybe?

Understandable from Martin to be cautious about Jon’s behaviour, since last time Jon was trying to hurry in a domain… was because the domain was absolutely awful. (I’m super fond of the way he’s nagging Jon, when suspicious? I picture him narrowing his eyes, every time.) I love and am sad at the same time about how Jon scrambled a bit to remember his moral stance (he still knows that these places are awful and wants to label them as such, wants to reject them, although he’s now made to enjoy them on some level), a bit performatively, because his attention wasn’t even focused on the domain this time around? He was entirely focused on what was coming up next:

(MAG180) MARTIN: … [SUSPICIOUS] Why? What’s next? ARCHIVIST: [EXCITED] I don’t know! MARTIN: Wh–, y– … In what way? ARCHIVIST: All the ways. I don’t know what’s next. MARTIN: What…? But, like, you, you can see “literally everything”, so– ARCHIVIST: I–I can, but i–it’s a blind spot! No idea why; I–I didn’t realise until we got closer, and I was looking at our route, but… I can’t see the area after the necropolis. None of it; it’s, it’s like the inside of the Panopticon, or, or wherever Georgie and Melanie are hiding. MARTIN: Or Annabelle. ARCHIVIST: … Or Annabelle. MARTIN: You think the others might be there? ARCHIVIST: [DELIGHTED] I have no idea! It’s a mystery! […] Right, then…! I’m done. Let’s see what we’ve got…! […] It’s beautiful… MARTIN: … It’s a trap…! ARCHIVIST: [STILL DELIGHTED] No; it might be a trap. We, we just don’t know!

And it’s so understandable? It was something so unexpected and surprising for him? I love how it felt so different and unexpected to have him enthusiastic about something, and yet absolutely understandable, because, for once… he didn’t know something. And there was no way to tell (well, no static at least) whether it was because Jon was under an influence pushing him to discover about that ~mystery~, or if it was genuine excitement because it was breaking his routine, it was so different from everything else that he couldn’t help but hope and be curious about it? Since for once, there was potentially something “better” ahead of them? … Which left poor Martin having to remind him, multiple times, that it didn’t necessarily mean good news, but could be “a trap”, something worse. It is indeed a bit suspect that Jon didn’t consider that it could be Annabelle, or hiding Annabelle, although he had mentioned that he couldn’t see her. Precautions out of the window, there was NOVELTY, there was a MYSTERY!

- Jon’s character development!! ;w;

(MAG164) MARTIN: Maybe she’s right…! ARCHIVIST: I am not, nor have I ever been “adorable”. MARTIN: [CHUCKLE] Okay, not true.

(MAG180) MARTIN: Just so you know, this… this is an adorable look on you, by the way. ARCHIVIST: [IMPATIENT] Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes… MARTIN: [EXHALE] [HUMOURING] All right, then!

He didn’t reject the word, this time! … And I can only concur with Martin, Jon sounded adorable (we have to take Martin’s words for it, that he also looked it!). I think this is the most excited and delighted we’ve ever heard him? His outburst was genuine and spontaneous, not even driven by relief, this time around!

(On another hand, CRIES, because we do know since MAG080 that Jon, as a child already, was mostly drawn towards novelty (“I hated to read anything I felt like I had read before”), and Elias (fuck him) has commented about Jon’s tendency to push on and run into things (MAG092: “In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see.”). It’s just ;; A reminder about how much Jon’s personality made him vulnerable to Beholding taking over, twisting what was already there. Wanting to see and to uncover mysteries is part of Jon. It’s Jon.) (Also cries cries, if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, Jon&Martin could just have gone travelling around the world together, and Jon would have been the most excited tourist, uh.)

- Martin and pop culture this season…

(MAG166) MARTIN: If you want to stop them and have the power to, then… then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill! ARCHIVIST: [LOW] I, I, I haven’t seen it…

(MAG168) MARTIN: What, what happened to Kill Bill? … Jon? Jon, you said– ARCHIVIST: I know what I said, and I don’t… [SIGH] I don’t know, Martin.

(MAG180) MARTIN: [EXHALE] [HUMOURING] All right, then! Lead on Scooby, let’s go solve a mystery, woo-oo-ooh…! […] It’s fine, fine. Just… stay in this… avenue while you do it, I don’t want to lose sight of you. ARCHIVIST: Of course. MARTIN: Not when there’s a mystery on the loose, woo-oo-ooh…!

Taking on Tim’s mantle TT___TT

(I’m keyboardsmashing that he’s comparing Jon to Scooby, though. But eh! It’s also kinda cute: Martin is a dog-lover, so if he had to pick one for Jon…)

- Jon’s excitement was so contagious! And I like how we could get a feel of something being different when they came closer to the house – just the wind whirling, peacocks screaming and birds twittering, but without the usual sense of dread?

(MAG180) MARTIN: Is that… ARCHIVIST: [PLEASED] Looks like it…! [FOOTSTEPS STOP] MARTIN: … No, no– ARCHIVIST: Or yes! [PEACOCK SCREAM IN THE DISTANCE] MARTIN: It… can’t be real. ARCHIVIST: And yet! MARTIN: But, eh! But it’s… it’s… ARCHIVIST: Yeah! […] MARTIN: But it’s… It’s, it’s fine. It’s better than fine, th–there are trees! Look! Like… real trees! [BIRDS TWITTER] ARCHIVIST: It’s beautiful… MARTIN: … It’s a trap…!

* A bit “YIKES” that Martin is taking the presence of Actual Trees as a sign of a place being Fine And Well… when we’ve been haunted by Trees in Magnus. Albrecht’s tree, that he wanted “dead” (… complete with a mausoleum nearby); the tree at Hill Top Road, sealing (?) the Web box…

* “It’s fine” as opposed to:

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: What happened? MARTIN: I–I, I don’t, I don’t know, everything… [FOOTSTEPS] It’s all gone wrong! ARCHIVIST: Help me up! [GRUNT] MARTIN: No, no, no! Don’t–don’t, don’t go outside. It’s… It’s real bad…

Truly an anti-apocalypse pocket, uh…

- So we have one domain that is not Jon’s specialty!

(MAG180) MARTIN: It–it’s like something out of a National Trust brochure…! ARCHIVIST: I–I mean, I’m pretty sure it is National Trust. It was, anyway. MARTIN: But… you don’t know for sure? ARCHIVIST: No! I can’t see anything about it. If I had to guess… Upton House, maybe? I–I mean, country houses and stately homes… are not exactly my specialist subjects…!

He infodumped about necropolises, however, and I can believe that that was just out of personal knowledge. But it’s interesting that he already couldn’t know with certainty what the house was or had been, even with Beholding powers?

If it is indeed Upton House: 1°) it’s not a Smirke building (so, interesting that the ~oasis~ in the chaos wouldn’t be from the guy who might have contributed to structuring the chaos a bit too much), 2°) they’re getting quite close to London! … And there is Hill Top Road more or less on their current way to London, it wouldn’t be a big detour. (Martin had packed maps when they left the cabin, I wonder if he’ll get an opportunity to use them?)

- I AM MELTING, DROWNING AND DISSOLVING IN JONMARTIN

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: It’s beautiful… MARTIN: … It’s a trap…! ARCHIVIST: [STILL DELIGHTED] No; it might be a trap. We, we just don’t know! MARTIN: … Jon… [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [RESIGNED] … Yeah. [INHALE] We’ll go around. [PEACOCK SCREAM IN THE DISTANCE] [BAG JOSTLING] MARTIN: No… [SIGH] No, no, no. [SIGH] Let’s, let’s check it out. I mean… obviously it can’t be how it seems but… Well. ARCHIVIST: What if it is! MARTIN: [CHUCKLE] Exactly. ARCHIVIST: A beautiful oasis, untouched by the end of the world. MARTIN: It’s got to be worth a shot, right? [BIRDS TWITTER] ARCHIVIST: … Thank you. MARTIN: [SOFT HUFF] Don’t fret it. It’s just nice to see you like this…!

(“It’s beautiful” / “You know what else is beautiful? :-)” etc.)

The fact that Martin had to be The Voice Of Reason, and tried to be cautious, but relented because Jon was too excited/curious/adorable about it ;_; It made sense for both? Jon already knew that this place was different because he couldn’t See it before getting closer to it, unlike the rest of the world; and Martin didn’t do a good job about it when it comes to the smiting, but he knows from experience that Jon can be influenced by Beholding impulses – so that he would have to stop him if necessary. It was a nice role-reversal from most of season 5 since, usually, Jon had to remind Martin of how the apocalypse worked, and to not “trust comfort”? But right now, it was Martin pointing out and reminding Jon that when they look good, things can’t be as they seem.

… I’ll be laughing for a while that Martin only relented because Jon was cute. Like, understandable! Fair! But also, Martin, please <3

(There was no static, but if they were influenced by Annabelle to come here, I’m not sure she did anything to Jon. Martin, however… making him focus on Jon’s excitement, on wanting to see him even happier? Jon has sworn that he wouldn’t look in Martin’s head and they have discussed the possibility that he could be influenced, I wonder if we’ll hear about whether it’s the case or not soon.)

- Did they think that the front of the building was kind of a façade, a décor? Like a theatre setting? Or was it about the fact that for old big houses, you generally don’t come through the giant doors (although they work!), they’re closed to public use while the functional doors are elsewhere? Awww that Martin has not enough experience with big houses to know about the latter:

(MAG180) MARTIN: So… what now? I don’t see a doorbell. ARCHIVIST: I’m not even sure this door actually opens. MARTIN: But it should, it’s the front door! [DISTANT, MUFFLED PIANO NOTES] Besides, it’s the biggest one so if it’s not, then– ARCHIVIST: I mean, maybe they expect you to come in through the café or…

(We could already hear, very faintly, Salesa playing! There were a few interruptions when they were waiting outside, I wonder if they were for the Aesthetic or if he was actually practicing?)

- Jon sounded SO HAPPY to not know things!

(MAG180) MARTIN: … [SUSPICIOUS] Why? What’s next? ARCHIVIST: [EXCITED] I don’t know! MARTIN: Wh–, y– … In what way? ARCHIVIST: All the ways. I don’t know what’s next. […] MARTIN: You think the others might be there? ARCHIVIST: [DELIGHTED] I have no idea! It’s a mystery! […] ARCHIVIST: I–I mean, I’m pretty sure it is National Trust. It was, anyway. MARTIN: But… you don’t know for sure? ARCHIVIST: No! I can’t see anything about it. If I had to guess… Upton House, maybe? I–I mean, country houses and stately homes… are not exactly my specialist subjects…! […] MARTIN: … It’s a trap…! ARCHIVIST: [STILL DELIGHTED] No; it might be a trap. We, we just don’t know! […] ARCHIVIST: I mean, they usually have a little… gift shop or something. MARTIN: Okay, so where would they be? ARCHIVIST: … No idea! [SMALL LAUGH] MARTIN: I thought you said you’d been here before. ARCHIVIST: I said I might have been, and even if I have, I was twelve. MARTIN: I’ll tell you what, it’s more convenient when you know everything. [SOUNDS OF A DOOR UNLOCKING] ARCHIVIST: [PLEASED] Oh! Guess I was wrong!

You bet that if it’s still the same when he wakes up, he’ll just be obnoxiously “I DON’T KNOW =D” about so many things <3 And he deserves to be happy about it <3

- So, at least, Jon identified the building as potentially Upton House, which he visited when he was twelve:

(MAG180) MARTIN: I thought you said you’d been here before. ARCHIVIST: I said I might have been, and even if I have, I was twelve.

So the house shouldn’t be Mr. Spider’s building (and Jon was eight), nor Hill Top Road (that Jon visited in MAG147) (… well. The new one, at least. He wouldn’t know what the pre-1974 looked like. But likely not a country house comparable to Upton House.) Still, given that Annabelle opened the door, there were a few elements reminding me of Jon’s childhood misadventure? Visiting a house as a child, and a spider behind the door… (BUT JON DIDN’T KNOCK ON THIS ONE, AT LEAST……… Annabelle opened the door without being prompted. They were taking too much time, uh.)

- Martin still wants to rely on the smiting, uh.

(MAG180) MARTIN: Get ready. ARCHIVIST: To do… what? MARTIN: What do you mean “what”? To smite them, if we need to. Wait, hang on, can you even smite people here? ARCHIVIST: I, I don’t think so.

Jon had already seemed less fond of that one ability (while for Martin… it was a potential defence, power against monsters and avatars susceptible to hurt them), I’m not surprised that he wasn’t even thinking about it… but he sure was a bit oddly relaxed, still.

It was the first indication that the area of the house itself was operating differently from the apocalypse – is Jon cut off from The Eye? Can he use any power at all? Or has he just “lost” the ability to use the new powers he got in the apocalypse – the sea of knowledge and turning someone who is feared into someone who is afraid? (MAG166, Helen: “there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other.”)

- I love that Jon&Martin took so long deliberating/talking that Annabelle had to open the door even before they knocked or called for someone.

(MAG180) [DOOR OPENS] [MUSIC CAN BE HEARD PLAYING MORE CLEARLY] MARTIN: Oh. Oh no, uh… [FOOTSTEPS] ANNABELLE: Good morning. ARCHIVIST: [FAINT GRUNT] MARTIN: Uh… Yes… ANNABELLE: Come on in. He’s waiting for you. ARCHIVIST: Oh. And who exactly– MARTIN: J–J–Jon. Jon. ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: I think… Hum… Annabelle? Annabelle Cane? ANNABELLE: Come on. He’s very excited, you know.

Hurry, guys.

Note about Annabelle: she’s POLITE when talking directly with someone!

(MAG166) MARTIN: Hello? ANNABELLE: Hello? Is that Martin?

… There had been no “Hello” to Jon in the statement she had left for him, but to be fair, Jon&co had burst into her home and talked about burning it down, so they had been a bit rude first, maybe. (… though she had written it and left it for them before they did.)

- Quite surprised that Jon apparently didn’t recognise Annabelle on sight?

(MAG123, Angie Santos) “As he told it, she was young, rail-thin underneath an oversized brown hoodie, which she kept pulled up, trying to cover up a network of pale stitches that stretched over one side of her head.”

(MAG150) 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!

Annabelle’s appearance is pretty distinctive, we had descriptions of her and it involved “stitches”/cobwebs on/in her head, following her injuries from MAG069. Martin probably recognised her voice from their call in MAG166, but Jon didn’t have any reaction until Martin pointed it out despite Annabelle having such a characteristic look. Was part of her head hidden? Has she healed, or did her appearance revert to before her head injury once she got into the house? Or was Jon under influence, unable to connect the dots or notice the cobwebs? (What if Jon has actually met Annabelle before, off-tape, and wasn’t able to recognise her back then either?)

- … I love that Jon immediately went for Questions as soon as Annabelle was identified, though.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: So… Annabelle, what are you playing at, what are you doing here? ANNABELLE: I really wouldn’t worry about that. I’m just helping out around the place a little bit. Making myself at home. You know how it is.

* Jon… It’s so typical of him, it’s very Beholding, and very Jon, and very… earnest? from him to just go for questions right away – his questions weren’t exactly tender, but he could have gone for recriminations or complains or acidic remarks about her MAG147 statements or the nagging phone calls, especially given that he has no affection for The Web in particular… but no. He went for questions.

* “Making myself at home” just like how spiders just decide your home is their home, uh. (I’m picturing a dozen boxes and bags made out of cobwebs lying around near the entrance. “Just making myself at home!” said the spider person.)

*“helping out around the place”: same as with “I want to help you, of course” (MAG166), define “help”, Annabelle, please.

- Jon was not the rudest he’s ever been, but Martin sounded way more careful and less antagonistic? He avoided directly interacting with her once he got confirmation of who she was, just answered her when she directly addressed him:

(MAG180) ANNABELLE: Good morning. ARCHIVIST: [FAINT GRUNT] MARTIN: Uh… Yes… […] MARTIN: … Jon, I don’t like this. ANNABELLE: You can relax, Mr. Blackwood. You’re safe here. MARTIN: I don’t feel it. ANNABELLE: Not something I can help, I’m afraid.

* Was the “Mr. Blackwood” a reference to their first exchange:

(MAG166) MARTIN: Hello? ANNABELLE: Hello? Is that Martin? MARTIN: Don’t do that. […] [SIGH] Look, look, look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right? ANNABELLE: You never gave me your name – so why should I offer mine?

While she had allowed herself to call Jon “Jon” in her statement (with the added cruelty that Jon would read her “‘Free will’ is a funny old thing – isn’t it, Jon? Can I call you Jon? I’m going to call you Jon.” without being able to stop). Is it her sense of humour showing towards Martin’s name, reminding that he had never introduced himself properly? Would she switch to “Mr. Sims” for Jon just for funsies too? Is it a reference to Martin’s poetry pen names, or a reference to Martin lying about having a middle name (as Jon discovered in MAG164)?

(Damnit, sad that Jon didn’t chirp in with “Actually, it’s Blackwood-Sims now :|” or something like that, though! =D)

* MMMM, is her “Not something I can help” a reference to The Web not working like this (not able to force you to feel an emotion, mostly nudging you towards certain actions and letting you rationalise Why You Wanted To Do That Anyway), or does it imply that Annabelle also has less power in this house and might be cut off from The Web, at least a little…?

- Obligatory YIKES though, because… Spiders-affiliated people inviting you to ~come in~… rarely leads to anything good…

(MAG059, Ronald Sinclair) “On Sunday evenings however, we’d all gather for the evening meal and before we sat down to eat, he would remove the bright white tablecloth that covered it and we gather around the dark wood. I remember it was carved in all sorts of strange swirling designs and patterns; it felt like you picked a line, any line, you could follow it through to the centre to some deep truth if only your eye could keep track of the strands that had caught it. The centre of the table looked at first like it was simply part of the wooden top, but if you looked closely, as I did so often, you could see an outline marking the very middle, as a small square box carved with patterns just like the ones that laced their way over the rest of the table. I don’t remember how long we sat around the table those evenings nor do I have any memory of what we might have eaten. […] Then, without warning, I wasn’t waiting anymore. I had turned around, put down my suitcase, and started walking back towards Raymond Fielding’s house. I didn’t want to go back. I had no reason to go back, but I had apparently decided to anyway, because I knew that’s where I was going. After two and a half years, I was rather used to this feeling, but there was something else there, this time, something in the back of my mind – a frantic scuttling terror. It didn’t do any good, though. I was returning to Hill Top Road, no matter what I might feel about it. Choices didn’t even come into it. The door was unlocked when I returned, and the house was quiet. My eyes darted around looking for anyone who might be able to tell me what was going on, why the fine threads that pulled me through my life had dragged me back here, but I was alone.”

(MAG081) ARCHIVIST: The second-to-last page shows the right-hand door up close, the stains and the ink seeping from the edges. It is looks like it has a cut-away panel that can be opened onto the final page. “MR. SPIDER WANTS ANOTHER GUEST FOR DINNER” it reads, “IT IS POLITE TO KNOCK”. I feel my hand closing into a fist and reaching for the door, preparing to rap my knuckles on the grimy old wood.

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “Finally, Dexter announced that it was time for the unveiling, for the Spider, for… Kumo to make its appearance. We were all excited, as we assembled outside the workshop, but… there was a nervous energy in the air that day. It was about as cold as it ever gets in L.A., but the shiver that passed through us when he told us it was time was… something else entirely. Dexter told us the actors would see it first. He gave no reasoning for this, and silenced the outcry from a couple of the crew with a vicious glare. He then gathered up the cast and, with Brandon leading them, took them through a small door in the side of the workshop. And they disappeared inside.”

(MAG123, Angie Santos) “It was bare bones, since he’d been given no copy or indication of how it was to be organised, except for the name of the site: [STATIC] Chelicerae, which he made sure stood prominently at the top in a tasteful Sans Serif. The client had requested only a single area where threads could be posted, labelled ‘Come in’. Of course, there was never anything in there.”

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “Sometimes, I remember, he would invite people over to his studio that I was sure he hated, for screenings of his “original cuts”. I was quite… jealous of this at the time, as I’d never got such an invitation. But it was probably for the best. I didn’t… realise it back then, but… [SIGH] those guests… they never quite looked the same afterwards.”

(MAG147, Annabelle Cane) “And sitting on the side of the road above it, casting a thick, angular shadow, was the squat brick structure of the old chip shop. I’d never seen it open. No one had, as far as I could tell. It was painted a dark blue, that never quite matched any colour of sky that was behind it, and had a hand-lettered sign that could still be seen covering much of the bare left hand wall, in curling, faded typeface. “CHIPS”, it said. […] I don’t really know why I decided to hide there. But assuming you’ve been paying attention, I’m sure by now you understand how little that means. Perhaps deep down… I simply knew it would be unlocked. […] A light rain began to patter down, and I, not having had the foresight to pack an umbrella, ran to it, and opened the door as quickly and quietly as I could.”

Bad, bad sign? Although it seems to be Salesa’s residence more than Annabelle’s ;;

- Uhoh, interesting that there was static and even a glitch when they crossed the threshold:

(MAG180) MARTIN: [FAINT GROAN] So, do we… follow or…? [PIANO CEASES] ARCHIVIST: I… I suppose. [FOOTSTEPS] [DOOR CREAKS] [STATIC RISES ABRUPTLY, WITH A GLITCH, AND FADES] ARCHIVIST: Oh… MARTIN: Oh, hum… ARCHIVIST: Oh. [PIANO RESUMES] [DOOR CLOSES] [FOOTSTEPS ECHOING AS THEY GO] MARTIN: [INHALE] [SIGH]

The glitch reminds me of Jon smiting avatars; there was also a slight ripping sound when the door opened in MAG160. Jon and Martin’s very light reactions indicated that they did feel something, and that entering the house… indeed meant entering somewhere different, a place that might operate following its own rules. And as they noticed right away, hunger&tiredness caught up with them:

(MAG180) MARTIN: Though… Jon, do you feel… Huh! Do you feel hungry? ARCHIVIST: I, hum… Actually, I was going to say I’m feeling… really tired…! [BAG JOSTLING] ANNABELLE: Not surprising. When’s the last time you slept? MARTIN: [YAWN] ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, I–I mean… weeks ago. Months, maybe.

Jon had pointed out that in the world of Fears, they didn’t need those:

(MAG161) MARTIN: You should get some sleep. [CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: I… [SIGH] can’t. I–I–I can’t, I–I don’t think I do anymore… “Sleep”. [EXHALE] How long’s it been, now? MARTIN: I don’t know. It’s not like there are days to count anymore. All the clocks have stopped, and… [DISTANT HOWL] ARCHIVIST: Well, I haven’t yet. I get… tired, but it doesn’t feel the same. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] Probably for the best. Sleep doesn’t look… pleasant. MARTIN: Nnno, it’s… it’s not. […] MARTIN: [MIRTHLESS HUFF] What about food? ARCHIVIST: What about it? When’s the last time you thought to eat, o–or even felt hungry? MARTIN: [FAINT] What…? Wha… Uh… I don’t know. ARCHIVIST: No. Whatever is sustaining us now doesn’t need us to eat. MARTIN: That… that can’t be possible– ARCHIVIST: It’s a new world, Martin, the natural laws are whatever they want them to be. And I suspect they don’t much care to keep humanity fed and watered. MARTIN: Well, that as may be, we can’t just stay here forever.

So, their bodies do feel those needs again in the house, and it seems to work… like things should normally work. No more dream-logic, physical laws working again. Salesa mentioned that they would need to eat, so it probably means Actual Food – is he cultivating some in the house’s domain?

… Given what happened soon after (Martin and Jon crashing, sleeping, and the mention from Salesa that they would rest and eat), it’s… extremely reassuring for regular victims in the apocalypse? I was fearing that, even if the world was turned back, hunger and thirst would catch up with them in one go, killing them instantly. But if Martin and Jon are able to survive this, if it’s really that they just need to rest and eat a bit to be fine, then it should be manageable for everyone else if the apocalypse were to be somehow stopped? (Which might not happen. But at least, it’s reassuring that it wouldn’t lead to “well, everyone dies anyway because, now that the world is back and working normally again, they haven’t drunk or eaten anything for months”!)

- Given how Annabelle wasn’t surprised, and was even expecting that Jon and Martin would collapse from tiredness and hunger (since she had even warned Salesa about it)… did she herself experience that when she crossed the threshold? Is it doing that to Jon&Martin specifically because they’re connected to The Eye? Did Annabelle suspect that it would happen from experience or from sheer deduction? If it’s the latter, it means that she probably has a better grasp on the apocalypse’s rules than Jon, despite him being almost all-knowledgeable…

- I. Love. Salesa. Already.

(MAG180) ANNABELLE: Well. There you go, then! Just in here. [OPENS THE DOOR] Your guests are here, Mikaele. [PIANO CEASES] SALESA: Hoo-hoo-hoo! Excellent! Come in, come in! Ah, a pleasure to meet both of you. Thank you, Annabelle! ANNABELLE: You’re quite welcome. [PIANO RESUMES] Have fun. ARCHIVIST: [EXTREMELY TIRED] S–sorry… Uh, Mikaele… Salesa? SALESA: The one and only! I must say I have been, uh… [THE ARCHIVIST AND MARTIN COLLAPSE WITH A SMALL SNORE, FAST ASLEEP] [PIANO CEASES] SALESA: [SAD SIGH] [SILENCE BUT FOR CLOCK TICKING IN THE BACKGROUND] ANNABELLE: I did say this might happen. SALESA: You did, you diiid. Well… so much for my big reveal… Shame. Ah, well. We can talk after they’ve slept, I suppose. Urgh! And had a bath. And some food. No rush. [SOUNDS OF CROCKERY MOVING] We have all the time in the world. [CLICK.]

* He was working SO HARD on that dramatic effect. Stopping the piano to quickly greet them and immediately going back to playing it. He WANTED that dramatic background during their discussion, uh. (Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 31 in A major, Op. 110: I. Moderato cantabile, molto espressivo => it was only the first part. He probably would have kept going until the end of the third if they had managed to start talking, just for the sheer drama of the musical background. He knew that him turning out to actually be alive was a big deal, he banked on the surprise and was ready for the drama and flourish.)

* “So much for my big reveal”, HIS SAD SIGH, the fact that he was really hoping for his dramatic introduction while playing the piano, and he was robbed. ROBBED.

… I wonder if he was acquainted with Simon? At the very least, I’m LAUGHING SO HARD at Peter: look at the people he was on good terms with! First Simon, now Salesa? Peter definitely had a type, and it was Obnoxiously Cheerful Dudes Who Like To Show Off And Make Bets.

* Salesa was not at all how I was imagining him, and yet I’m fully onboard, I love him, he sounds insufferable like Simon while being casually savage. He had laughed about the antiques business joke in MAG038! Excited child sulking slightly, but immediately having mundane Priorities.

* To be fair, Jon and Martin’s level of filth might include: mud from the Trenches and the worms, potential spores from the Corruption village, Extinction juice from the couch, some ashes from the burning block of flats, Trevor and Daisy gore… so yep. They’re dirty, and they’ve probably never changed since they left the cabin.

* Laughing about Salesa’s Luxury taste. The house is big (it’s Upton House, or Upton House-like, and we could hear that through to the echo and the length of the corridor), he was playing the piano, he mentioned a bath (not a shower!), he used crockery at the end… Is it tea. Is there tea. Is Martin getting actual tea. (Martin had mentioned that he had found actual teabags in the cabin, before leaving; could he put them to good use here?)

* Another place, another clock ticking in the background, and me thinking about Elias’s office. (Or was that a metronome, for the piano?)

* How long has it been since Salesa took residence in this house? Since the apocalypse began? Or has he been travelling too, only staying there for a bit while waiting for Jon&Martin?

* Conversation incoming with Jon, I wonder if they will mention Floyd – as one of Salesa’s old crewmates, and someone Jon plagued with nightmares.

* I’m??? Surprised and delighted??? about Salesa and Annabelle being very polite with each other and kinda chill? There seems to be a mutual respect here, I want to learn more about it! They’re on first name-basis! Annabelle was calling him “Mikaele”! From what we knew until now, only Peter had called him “Mikaele”!

* I really love Annabelle’s voice so far, too? Very fluid, air-like, slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and I have absolutely no idea what she’s thinking at any moment, only guessing that she might have been having fun anyway.

* Since she dropped Jon&Martin in Salesa’s care with a “Have fun”, and then chirped in again, I was picturing her making Jon&Martin enter the room, then departing… and then coming back, popping her head through the door-case for that almost verbatim “I told you so <3”.

* “We have all the time in the world.” NO, YOU DON’T… NOT WHEN PEOPLE ARE LIVING HELL OUT THERE D:

- Jon And Collapsing is otp:

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: [WEAKLY] Statement… ends. [COLLAPSES] [CLICK.]

(MAG131) ARCHIVIST: Y–yes. Just, uh… Uh, i–if you start… walking, that way, I–I–I’m sure there’ll be a door, for you. JARED: There’d better be. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: Y–y–yes, I, uh… I… [COLLAPSES] [CLICK.]

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: … If I… Knew… what his plan was; if I knew what Peter was doing; if I just– [WHISPERING] … Can I…? [LOW RUMBLING SOUND, STATIC RISES] [CRIES OF PAIN] [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION STEADILY RISING] [NOISE OF SOMETHING-OR-JON FALLING] [SQUEAL OF DISTORTION DECREASES] ARCHIVIST: [MUMBLING] End… E–end recording…! [CLICK.]

(MAG160) ARCHIVIST: I – OPEN – THE DOOR! [STATIC REACHING A PEAK] [GLASS BREAKING] [DISTORTED SOUND] [CLICK.] [CLICK–] [CONSTANT FUZZY STATIC] MARTIN: Wake up, wake up…! Wake, Jon–Jon–JON, wake up! [SLAP] ARCHIVIST: [YELP] Uh, wha– … Martin…?

(MAG180) SALESA: The one and only! I must say I have been, uh… [THE ARCHIVIST AND MARTIN COLLAPSE WITH A SMALL SNORE, FAST ASLEEP] [PIANO CEASES] SALESA: [SAD SIGH]

And yet: extremely interesting that this time… Jon lost consciousness, but

the tape recorder kept going for a while

. It didn’t turn off the second Jon conked out. (And we could hear the passage through the domain, with the glitch, but the tape recorder didn’t click off either when they entered the house, although Jon&Martin noticed that natural laws were affecting them again; the tape recorder kept going just fine…)

- Still screaming that SALESA IS STILL ALIVE, HOLY SHEET.

Back when MAG141 had aired, I was deeply in camp “we haven’t heard the whole story, and the news of his death was only a third-hand account, no one’s seen the body, so it’s definitely suspicious and things were probably not as they seemed”. But since MAG160… happened… and the whole configuration changed, I was mostly expecting a tape or a second-hand account of what had truly happened? I wasn’t really expecting Salesa to be still around AND fine despite the apocalypse? So EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE =D

Floyd’s statement regarding Salesa’s disappearance had been riddled with oddities, starting with the content of his story: as mentioned, Floyd himself hadn’t witnessed Salesa’s death, and had only reported to Jon what Captain Gaultier had told the crew about how Salesa had ~met his end~:

(MAG141) FLOYD: Some tried to ask the captain about Salesa, but he just shook his head. He wasn’t making much sense. We managed to gather the two of them had left early to deliver the artefact, but something had gone wrong. There had been an argument. They had been betrayed. Salesa was dead. … The captain died soon after; the shrapnel trapped in his skull finally getting the better of him.

… which had felt, on a narrative level, like a way to circumvent Beholding’s compelling power (it’s not a lie from Floyd to say that he was told by someone else that Salesa had died, that’s his truth: Jon had already commented about this aspect in MAG107, about Gerry’s death: “It’s all very well, being able to get people to answer your questions, but if they genuinely don’t remember something, it’s not always as useful as it seems.”). But it was also a gigantic oddity when it came to Jon’s tape recorder:

(MAG141) BASIRA: Yeah, I heard. ‘anks. … What? ARCHIVIST: The tape recorder… BASIRA: [INHALE] Get ready. Any idea what’s coming? [QUICK FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: N–no, I’m… No, I–I don’t think that’s it. BASIRA: It’s not recording for nothing. ARCHIVIST: No, I… [STATIC RISING] … I think… [CALLING OUT] Excuse me? FLOYD: Yeah? [FOOTSTEPS APPROACH] ARCHIVIST: [INTERESTEDLY] You… FLOYD: Uh…? BASIRA: Jon? ARCHIVIST: You used to work for Salesa… […] He didn’t exactly seem inclined to volunteer the information. Besides, you said I needed to be ready for Ny-Ålesund. BASIRA: [SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: “Full power”, I believe were your words. The statement helped. BASIRA: And now he’s going to see you in his dreams as he relives that for the rest of his life! ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE] BASIRA: Because… because a tape recorder told you to do it?!

(MAG146) BASIRA: How many? ARCHIVIST: Basira, I– BASIRA: How. Many. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … Four. MELANIE: Jesus… ! BASIRA: Including the one on the boat? DAISY: What one on the boat? ARCHIVIST: Including Floyd? … Five. […] MELANIE: [EXHALE] Why didn’t you record them? BASIRA: Why do you think? Because he was ashamed. ARCHIVIST: No! I don’t– … I–I mean, I don’t record anything anymore, not… not really, I just… sort of assume they’ll… turn on, if it’s important. BASIRA: Well, they didn’t. ARCHIVIST: … No, I suppose not.

… since no recorder showed up to turn itself on for Jess and the three other victims, but did for Floyd, and for Floyd only, and we didn’t have any explanation about why – the only big distinction being that, unlike the others, Floyd was connected to a recurring character from statements Jon had read about, while Jon’s other victims didn’t feel connected to stories we had already explored a bit. It had also been an oddity when it came to… Jon’s behaviour by itself:

(MAG141) BASIRA: What the hell was that?! ARCHIVIST: He had information about Salesa; I thought it would help. BASIRA: Is that why you were so keen on this ship? ARCHIVIST: I wasn’t sure. Just had a hunch there was something here.

Since, at this point in time, he had already fed from Jess two weeks earlier (she would come in to file her complaint the day after Floyd’s statement) and, the way Jon later summarised it, he had mostly fed from people after using his powers (first one after waking up, second one after Melanie’s surgery, third one after the Coffin, and Jess after trying to take a peek into Peter’s plan at the end of MAG139). But Floyd hadn’t sounded like it was hunger; it had sounded like absolute curiosity.

… Was it because Salesa had found a way to go undercover from The Eye, and Jon was supernaturally drawn to knowledge hidden from it? What about the tape recorder: was it to convey to Jon that Salesa was important and that he should pay attention to him and his disappearance, or is it that whatever-is-behind-the-tapes was craving to know about Salesa specifically because he was one of these recurring figures? (For example, if Jon had been reading statements about an endless warehouse trapping people, would the tape recorder have turned on for the story of the supermarket janitor he attacked after waking up?) Or was it specifically because Salesa had done something to go under the radar, and whatever-is-behind-the-tapes knew that it hadn’t been by normal means? Or was it specifically to “narratively” prepare this encounter in Upton House?

(Damnit, now I’m going to cross fingers until the end of the series for an Agnes statement from Agnes herself, lying around on tape somewhere, or for Agnes to still be around somehow, somewhere ;_;)

- Extremely giddy about Salesa since he had been present since season 1, and we had mostly heard about him in the first two seasons!

*Pre-1994: was one of Leitner’s assistants/guinea-pigs, ran the fuck out of there with Leitner’s list of clients and slowly began to deal in spooky artefacts for money. (MAG115)

*Autumn 1999: lost his cook to a Flesh meat-grinder, which prompted him to establish his rule: “only I take stock of the merchandise.” (MAG115)

*January 2000: Vincent Yang accidentally touched an old wooden crate in Salesa’s shipping container, and got trapped inside until Peter Lukas&Salesa opened it. Salesa might have betted on his survival (? at the very least, Peter had lost a twenty pounds bet with him). (MAG066)

*January 7th 2007: Salesa gave a statement to the Institute after a Slaughter weapon he had sold to them apparently caused some damage. (MAG115)

*Spring 2010: bought an old Victorian syringe from Dr. Neil Thompson, which was said to have belonged to 19th-century physician John Snow. The team’s malarial research took a Corruption turn right after the sale. (MAG045)

*2011: Floyd Matharu began working on the Dorian; captain was Gaultier and reported to Salesa, who was travelling with them, although it felt like Salesa had the last word anyway (“Always felt a bit uncomfortable when the captain was giving orders and he was there. I could sometimes feel Captain Gaultier looking to him for support or confirmation, and that always slightly undermined our confidence in him.”) (MAG141)

*Shortly before May 29th 2011 (since Lee Rentoul was losing limbs fast): was seen “flanked by four men in dark suits, who carried a square wooden crate between them”, meeting with Paul Noriega for a transaction that didn’t pan out – Salesa departed still with the crate. Described as “paranoid”. [“four men in dark suits” would… fit… the Dark guys from D.K.N. Systems… but they were butchered by Julia&Trevor in summer 2010, so dates don’t seem to match up for that.] (MAG014)

*March 2012: “sold”/gave/passed over the Spiral Chinese pot from the Jiajing period to Andre Ramao. (MAG038)

*2014: Salesa was tired, especially after losing a crew to a (Spiral?) rug. He announced his retirement, took a few crewmembers with him to retrieve an item (“an old camera with a broken lens”) from a tiny island about a hundred kilometres south of Malé, which disappeared right after (swallowed by The Dark or The Vast?). The night of their return to Southampton, there was a big explosion when he was delivering the item with Captain Gaultier, who came back saying they had been “betrayed” and that Salesa was “dead”, before dying from his injuries shortly after. (MAG141)

Last mentions of him were from Peter… and about his relationship to Gertrude:

(MAG159) PETER: Thinking about it now, perhaps one of the reasons I lasted as long as I did was that I was, at the end of the day, predictable. A “known quantity”. I had my little patch, sending my poor lost sailors to their Forsaken end, but I rarely stepped outside of it. When I think of all those I met who travelled in this secret world we found ourselves in – Gertrude, Simon, Mikaele, even Rayner… there are plenty whose lives might well have been easier with my death, but it was rare that I strayed outside my habits.

(MAG167) ARCHIVIST: “And with that, Gertrude Robinson was without assistants. She never hired another. She worked with those that seemed useful until they were no longer so: Leitner; Dekker; Keay; even Salesa on occasion. But she never again allowed herself to trust.”

It’s true that we hadn’t actually seen any example of “collaboration” between Salesa and Gertrude; we only knew that a few items from Artefact Storage came from Salesa, and that he was aware of the consequences of giving a statement as per MAG115. We might learn more about the explosion he “died” in and the so-called betrayal from 2014! Was it Gertrude? Explosions would usually be her trademark, and she was still alive back then (she would die in 2015); depending on when it happened exactly in 2014, it could even have been after Gerry’s death. Still no idea about his connection to Annabelle, aaaaah!! … And I’m so happy that amongst the hypotheses enumerated by Jon:

(MAG045) ARCHIVIST: I don’t think there can be much doubt that the antiques dealer is the curious Mr. Salesa. He’s now turned up enough that I can no longer write it off as a coincidence, and have been having a word with Rosie about whether we can make contact with him. Apparently, he hasn’t been seen for almost two years now, with rumours in the trade running through everything from “he had a quiet retirement” to “he’s trying to dodge a jail sentence”, or even “he was shot dead in Columbia for stealing a priceless artefact from a drug lord”. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t look like he’ll be answering questions any time soon, though I have urged Rosie to keep trying.

… Mikaele Salesa DID apparently get his “quiet retirement”, if that house is any indication! =D

- There was this ~funny~ thematic of the dead haunting the living, in Jon’s statement, which is resonating in an amusing way with the fact that Salesa was presumed dead… and turned out to still be around. (Is he still absolutely human and just managed to escape the Fears? Did he turn into an avatar? End avatar? Something else?)

- … Since the house might be insulated from The Eye in some way (Jon wasn’t able to Know anything about it, didn’t think he could smite in there), that means Salesa shares something with Leitner:

(MAG080) ARCHIVIST: And the other book? LEITNER: Hardly a book. Barely twelve pages. It is entitled A Disappearance. If read cover to cover it removes one from the world. I cannot say precisely what that means, only that the assistant I assigned to it, Jacob Feng, was never seen again. I have found, however, that reading only one or two words is sufficient to hide me from the prying eyes of your master. It allowed me to talk with Gertrude in relative safety, and occasionally come above ground for my own ends. […] ELIAS: I’ve wondered for so long who it could be down there. Who was helping her. I honestly never would have guessed. LEITNER: How did you know I was here? ELIAS: I didn’t. You’re very well hidden. But Jon is not, and he failed to take the same precautions I’m sure you took for granted with Gertrude. I knew he was talking to someone. And it turns out to be Jurgen Leitner himself. [SOFT CHUCKLING] What an honour.

I’m not sure Salesa would be glad to know. (Leitner had the gall to be invisible to The Eye/Elias in The Eye’s own temple, but Salesa appears to be chilling quietly in the middle of The Eye’s apocalypse, so.)

- Obviously, there is the big question of how/why this house seems to be insulated from Jon’s powers and the Fears. Is it thanks to the camera he had retrieved on his last journey?

(MAG141) FLOYD: Then, he says he wants to send us off with a proper payday, that there’s one last job he wants us to do. Very dangerous; very… illegal. […] He was really cagey on the details, clearly being careful about exactly who he was telling exactly what. All I knew is that we were on our way to the Maldives, to a tiny island about a hundred kilometres south of Malé. No-one would tell me the name of the island, but in that area of the world, any islands that small are usually private, though I had no idea who the owner might have been. Once there, Salesa and the four crewmembers he trusted most were going to take the small boat over the island. We were to wait, and prepare to depart as quickly as possible as soon as they returned. […] I’ve gone over that memory so many times, trying to think what I might have missed. But even now, whenever I think of it, it just looked like an old camera with a broken lens. And then Salesa closed and locked the metal box, and carried it down into the hold as we started to sail away. […] A huge shape, a shadow surrounding it on all sides; getting darker, getting closer, coming up from deep, deep below the surface. It must have been huge, so large that the edge of it almost touched the ship. And had we been a few minutes slower? I have no doubt whatever awful thing emerged that night, it would have taken us as well. Something began to break the surface, as I realised the deep rumble was no longer the thunder, and I closed my eyes, and fell to the deck, gripping the rail with all my might, as a wave hit us from behind, propelling us away from it. When it had finally subsided, and I could bring myself to look back, the island was gone, and ocean was still.

We still don’t know what it was exactly: a pinhole camera, a Dark artefact, an anti-Fear artefact cancelling the Powers’ influence? Interesting thing is that he had bought the old Victorian syringe a few years prior (in 2010), which had apparently been protecting the team specialising in malarial research up until they parted with the item – all hell broke loose right after (MAG045). Had Salesa begun to get an idea about items able to protect you from a power’s influence thanks to that syringe? Does he have other items like this in his possession?

- I wonder when Annabelle and Salesa met! Did they begin to collaborate before Salesa went off to retrieve the camera? When the explosion happened, did she save him? Or only just now during the apocalypse?

I’M SO MAD THAT THERE IS TECHNICALLY A CONNECTION BETWEEN SALESA AND SPIDERS…

(MAG038) ARCHIVIST: This is not the first time Mikaele Salesa’s name has come to the attention of the Institute. Even discounting the incidental role he played in case #0112905, he appears to have something of a knack for locating objects displaying more… disconcerting phenomena. I believe some of the more bizarre things in the Artefact Storage area were purchased from him. It has been something of a– Urgh. Urgh. [CHAIR SCRAPES ON THE FLOOR] ARCHIVIST: I see you… [THUMP... THEN SOUND OF COLLAPSING SHELVES] [NOISES OF EXCLAMATION] [DOOR OPENS] SASHA: All right? ARCHIVIST: Ah… Yeah, a… a spider.

… The spider which warned the Archive team of the incoming worms invasion Happened when Jon was talking about Salesa.

I’M SO MAD.

I’m extremely surprised about Annabelle and Salesa collaborating, and at the same time, it seems thematically fitting? They’re both people of colour with a rough start in life, who were used as guinea pigs by academics attempting to learn more about the Fears through using others. Have they been collaborating for long? Are their goals aligning, or is it an alliance of circumstances? The way it was presented this episode, she mostly did Salesa a favour by bringing him Jon&Martin, but she was neutral about it…

What does Salesa want? Does he want to undo the apocalypse, has a high goal? Or did he want to invite Jon and Martin just as a distraction? He had seemed like a fair boss, looking after his crew as long as they were obeying him, and looked genuinely affected by the loss of some of them in Floyd’s statement (someone heartless and uncaring wouldn’t keep a picture of his past ship and now dead crewmembers to look at it sadly), so I’m not sure what to expect. Is he fine living in peace while knowing everyone else is suffering outside, including old crew like Floyd? (His “We have all the time in the world.” didn’t give me the impression he was in a hurry to do something to save people fast ;; They! Don’t! Have! All the time in the world! If others are suffering in the meantime… ;;)

Is this house cut off from all the Fears? What about Annabelle’s connection to The Web? What is Annabelle trying to achieve, will we learn about it right now? We tend to conflate her to her patron, but it’s true that… she could be in the same situation as Jon in that regard: influenced by The Mother, using her power when necessary but not actually going along with what it seeks?

- Interesting that Salesa has Heard about Jon and Martin:

(MAG180) ANNABELLE: Come on in. He’s waiting for you. […] Come on. He’s very excited, you know. […] Your guests are here, Mikaele. SALESA: Hoo-hoo-hoo! Excellent! Come in, come in! Ah, a pleasure to meet both of you. Thank you, Annabelle! ANNABELLE: You’re quite welcome. [PIANO RESUMES] Have fun.

… when he officially disappeared in 2014, so before Jon’s time as Head Archivist, and while Gertrude was still in tenure. Has Annabelle been updating him about them?

Really curious about next episode and what Salesa will discuss with the boys. Will he talk of Peter with Martin?

- I think there is a chance that Annabelle will have already left when Jon&Martin wake up, since they were Salesa’s guests and Annabelle was just leading and leaving them to him. Would be… extremely typical of her to remain full of secrets a bit longer (and Jon&Martin would be frustrated as heck). Or not! It could be the time to reveal her intention, it could be a joint statement, or she could stay as an observer, or she could talk with Martin.

- Anyway, cheers for Jon&Martin getting their second honeymoon (on their anniversary, for us, since the episode aired the week of September 25, the day MAG159 happened)! And Jon is sleeping! Coma and instances where he mentioned that he would nap or get some rest notwithstanding, I think this is only the second time in the show that he’s canonically taking a rest?

(MAG055) ARCHIVIST: Supplemental. I… Uh, I don’t have much to report, actually. It’s been Halloween week, which means the research department is always inundated with statements. Most of them are patently false, but the volume means that they’ve called in the Archive to assist with the overflow. It’s… been nice, actually. Disproving piles of nonsense felt good. Like… real work, not just driving myself to distraction with [CHUCKLES] conspiracy theories and paranoia. I even got a good night’s sleep.

(Although yeah, he technically passed out this time again, and he’s done a lot of that in the past already. Still, congrats, Jon /o/)

I really wonder about the logistics of it: Salesa was described as almost 6’6”/200cm-tall according to MAG045, and looking “like he could handle himself”, so he might be carrying Jon&Martin to bed? (Or I guess that many many small spiders could do the job if needed.) Will they wake up in the same room or in separate ones? Same bed? I wonder if the episode will begin with them waking up, or already having been in the house for a bit, and the tape recorder clicking on only for a big discussion… Though another possibility is that there would have been some hidden conversations having happened off-tape already.

- Mmm, since Melanie&Georgie have also been impossible to find:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Uh, oh, okay. Hum… How are the others? ARCHIVIST: I, uh… [STATIC INCREASES] Hm! I’m… I’m not… sure, I–I can’t really see Melanie o–or–or Georgie. MARTIN: They’re dead…? ARCHIVIST: No… No, I–I don’t think so; if they were dead, I– I think I would know that, I just… I–I don’t know… where they are, w–what they’re doing. [STATIC DECREASES] MARTIN: Hm! ARCHIVIST: L–London, maybe? […] At least with Georgie and Melanie, I have a vague sense they’re still alive, i–in London, and, or– Well, what was London.

(MAG177) BASIRA: Convenient. What about Melanie? MARTIN: He’s… not sure about her either? He can’t see her or Georgie. BASIRA: Dead, then. [STATIC INCREASES, THEN FADES] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] No. Uh, not dead. Just… hidden, somehow.

(MAG180) MARTIN: … [SUSPICIOUS] Why? What’s next? ARCHIVIST: [EXCITED] I don’t know! MARTIN: Wh–, y– … In what way? ARCHIVIST: All the ways. I don’t know what’s next. MARTIN: What…? But, like, you, you can see “literally everything”, so– ARCHIVIST: I–I can, but i–it’s a blind spot! No idea why; I–I didn’t realise until we got closer, and I was looking at our route, but… I can’t see the area after the necropolis. None of it; it’s, it’s like the inside of the Panopticon, or, or wherever Georgie and Melanie are hiding.

Jon had given an explanation regarding his inability to see what was inside the Panopticon (MAG164: “The, the way this works, this… “new sight”, the knowledge is, is… [SIGH] It’s somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? An eye can’t… see inside itself.”), we know that his inability to see Annabelle was different from Georgie&Melanie (MAG164: “That’s… weird, I, I know The Web was wrapped around that phone, but, but I can’t… see her. A–at all.”), that his inability to “know” and “see” The Web’s plans had to do with the fact that its plans were too intricate (MAG172: “Every time I try to know what The Web’s plan is, if it can even be called a plan, I see… a hundred thousand events and causes and links, an impossibly intricate pattern of consequences and subtle nudges, but I–I can’t…! … I can’t hold them all in my head at the same time. There’s no way to see the “whole”, the, the point of it all. I can see all the details, but it doesn’t… provide… context or… intention. I suppose The Web doesn’t work in knowledge, not in the same way.”). Unless they’ve been travelling too, Georgie and Melanie should be in London, so they shouldn’t be in the house if it is indeed Upton House, nor in Hill Top Road (Oxford), but we might get material to speculate why Jon can’t see them at the moment (and why he couldn’t see Annabelle) through the explanation regarding this house?

- Given that at least two of Jon’s powers are getting cancelled by the house (“Wait, hang on, can you even smite people here?” “I, I don’t think so.” + his inability to Know anything about this place)… do his other powers, such as compulsion, work in there? Will Salesa give a live statement? … Can Jon even compel in this house (since he can’t “smite”), or would it lead to a mess like MAG100 but with Jon struggling this time.

Given how he had been sustaining on fear already before MAG160, can he get sustenance from normal food while inside the house, or will he quickly begin to feel withdrawal symptoms again? Given how he had healed from injuries thanks to his powers (already in season 4, and having been hurt by Daisy last episode), and how Martin reminded us twice that Jon’s leg had been injured, would the house affect that, too – will Jon begin to crumble, without The Eye’s influence?  (Will Jon even wake up as long as they’re in the house? He had woken up from his coma in MAG121 by choosing Beholding over death…) If Jon happens to be cut from The Eye inside… ooft, it’s heart-breaking to remember how curious Jon is by himself, without any supernatural influence; he was extremely curious about the house because of not knowing anything about it, and he immediately asked Annabelle questions about her presence and plans when she was leading them to Salesa…

(I doubt the answer would be positive anyway but: they’ll��� probably wonder whether the house could have saved Daisy from The Hunt, cutting her from it like the Coffin had done? ;;)

- Once again, interesting to note that, at the very least, Jon’s powers aren’t working as they did in the apocalypse, preventing him from being all-powerful inside the house… but the tape recorder remained on, when they entered, and continued to run after they had collapsed, only clicking off a bit later. If this place happens to be neutralising The Eye, it might be another confirmation that it is not Beholding behind the recordings? (But if this place happens to be neutralising/cancelling all the Fears, what would that say about the tape recorders then…?)

- Jon and Martin began season 5 in the safehouse, which trapped Jon with a false sense of security (“But we can’t stay in this cabin forever…!” “Why not? It, it’s quiet here, an–and I have you…!”); Jon’s enthusiasm about potentially-Upton-House reminds me a bit of the fact that he could get reeled in by domains… So is it another domain, which would manipulate him into wanting to stay, stopping their journey? Is it a place powered by the nearby necropolis and the suffering of others? Or is it, indeed, a place protected from The Eye and/or all the fears, without any caveat or “trick”, where Martin and Jon could indeed choose to stay… if they’d agree to abandon their quest, to let the apocalypse go on to torture everyone who doesn’t happen to be them? It could fit very well with the exploration of exploitative and oppressive systems from the series; what about the temptation of letting everything go to hell as long as Jon and the person he loves are protected in that “oasis”, in a little bubble of privilege and safety? Could they even be happy there, while knowing people are still suffering outside, and that the only people able to find a solution to undo the apocalypse might be them? Martin alluded to the children of The Dark domain in this episode (“Wait. Wait, wait, no, no, no, no, no, no! It’s not more children, is it?”) and learning about their situation had only strengthened his resolve to reach the Panopticon in order to do something (MAG173: “The sooner we get back to the Archives, the sooner we can put a stop to this. All of this. They just… They’ll just need to hang on a little longer.”); there is not a lot of suspense about whether they would choose to stay there or not. Contrary to what Salesa said, they don’t really have “all the time in the world” when it means that others are suffering longer in the meantime. But the temptation to stay might still be there, and it might still hurt them to have to abandon it – forming another “what if they had stayed?” scenario to twist the knife when things… inevitably go down for them before the end of the show.

(We’ll see how the house affects Jon when it comes to his Beholding-affiliation; but the Jon we saw in MAG180 was at his most excited and enthusiastic. Would Martin get tempted to protect Jon’s happiness? For Jon, the temptation to have Martin stay there might be even stronger: he had already offered Martin to stay in the Lonely house… but it was still a place of misery. What about here, if it’s a place where Martin could genuinely be safe and fine?)

Aaaaand we’ve reached season 5’s midpoint with such a big surprise! (I’m a bit sad that this one wasn’t followed by a hiatus, since we could have had a gigantic wave of fanworks&headcanons about Jon&Martin living The Luxury Life in Upton House, The SafeHouse Returns.)

MAG181’s title sure puts to my mind a few banger lines from different seasons… 83 It could be about something Tim had bitterly said; it could be about what Annabelle wanted and something she needed from Jon&Martin (and what for); it could be about Annabelle&Jon’s own forced involvement with the Fears; it could be about Salesa’s; it could be about the temptation of staying in the country house, safe and protected while the world is still forked outside. Lore-episode? If there are dominant Fears, I would say Beholding and/or The Dark?

[aion-rsa]

Marvel’s WandaVision Episode 8: MCU Easter Eggs and Reference Guide

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This article contains WandaVision episode 8 spoilers and potential spoilers for the wider MCU.

“You didn’t think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?” 

Agatha Harkness makes good on that line from last week’s episode in WandaVision episode 8, which functions as a trip through Wanda Maximoff’s entire MCU history. Not only does it reveal previously hidden (and crucially necessary) depths to her character and her relationship with Vision, but it successfully adds new elements to her established origin story. These new wrinkles pull from Wanda’s entire Marvel history, and have massive implications for magic users and even mutants in the MCU going forward.

Here’s what we found…

Sitcom Influences

Among the bootleg DVDs Wanda’s father is selling we can see Bewitched, Malcolm in the Middle, I Love Lucy, Who’s the Boss?, I Dream of Jeannie, and The Addams Family, all of which have been major touchstones for WandaVision throughout its run. But Wanda’s favorite? That would be The Dick Van Dyke Show.

The Dick Van Dyke Show episode that the Maximoffs watch is season 2 episode 21 “It May Look Like A Walnut”, or as Wanda’s dad calls it “the walnut episode!” This installment finds Rob Petrie (Van Dyke) staying up late to watch a spooky sci-fi movie on TV, while his wife Laura (Mary Tyler Moore) tries to ignore it because it freaks her out. In the movie, aliens from the planet Twilo come to Earth in disguise to slow down humanity’s development by feeding us walnuts that contain the chemical element “absorbitron.” The walnuts take away our creativity and our thumbs – the two things that get us into outer space to challenge their Twiloian supremacy. The next day, walnuts seem to be the only food that Rob can find. He comes to believe that Laura is either playing a trick on him, or that the Twiloites have really invaded.

Why would WandaVision go out of its way to mention this episode in particular? Well, Wanda can certainly empathize with a protagonist who comes to believe his world is fabricated. And Marvel Phase 4 does seem destined to spend quite a bit more time in space.

The scene of Malcolm in the Middle that Vision watches but doesn’t quite understand has Hal build a deck, only for it to collapse on him. In the third WandaVision episode intro, Vision builds a swingset, only for it to suddenly collapse in front of him.

Wanda’s father sold DVDs as a trade and even had a Malcolm in the Middle box set in there. That’s pretty damn impressive, since he was killed by that bomb in 1999 and the show didn’t start airing until early 2000. That’s some Spaceballs VHS technology right there!

While at the HYDRA facility, Wanda watches The Brady Bunch. The episode appears to be season 1’s “Kitty Karry-All Is Missing.” When Cindy Brady’s beloved Kitty Karry-All goes missing, she thinks her brother Bobby stole her. The Bradys have a trial and everything! But it turns out the Bradys’ dog Tiger actually took Kitty Karry-All. Perhaps that’s why Agatha needed Sparky out of the way – dogs are unpredictable.

Wanda’s assurance that “He’s not really injured. It’s not that kind of show” is as much a commentary on superhero storytelling in both comics and in movies as it is about sitcoms.

Agatha Harkness

Kicking things off with an Agatha Harkness origin story is an inspired move…

Placing Agatha’s origin in witch-trial era Salem in 1693 ends up being a little piece of misdirection. She’s not on trial for being a witch, but rather by her own coven for seeking too much power. 

We get a sense of Agatha’s family here, with Agatha’s mother leading the coven against her while Agatha is still just a young witch. This doesn’t match her comics origin, where she was already centuries old by the time the Salem Witch Trials rolled around – she is old enough to remember Atlantis being above water. In the comics, she was a leader of the Salem community when the trials began. 

Agatha’s mother’s name is Evanora Harkness. She doesn’t appear to have a counterpart in the comics.

The Latin chant that the witches are repeating appears to be “mors monstru naturale” which would translate to “natural death is a monster,” which…given Agatha’s seemingly immortal nature, tracks pretty well.

The magical “crown” of energy that appears on Agatha’s mother’s head very faintly resembles the headgear that Wanda wears in the comics as the Scarlet Witch. Granted, it’s blue here.

Agatha’s use of “purple energy” may be the most damning sign of her intentions yet. In comics, purple is often coded as the color of villains.

We also learn the origin of the brooch Agatha has been wearing all through this series, with Agatha having taken it off her mother’s corpse. 

In the final scene with Agatha and the twins, she floats above them and holds them at will like marionettes. This is probably a reference to Master Pandemonium, whose reveal made the children look like hand puppets…except they were his actual hands.

Because comics!

Let’s dig into some of the spells Agatha says…is one of them “crystallum possession”. I also definitely heard an Imperio something in there, which calls to mind the Imperius curse from TERF High Harry Potter. The Imperius curse allowed the witch or wizard to control the victim’s body like a puppet.

The Scarlet Witch

Hoo-boy, we get a LOT of Wanda’s comics lore introduced in this episode…

This episode makes it pretty clear that Wanda was born with her abilities and that Strucker’s experiments merely amplified them. Should we officially welcome mutants to the MCU? If her powers were latent, then perhaps so were Pietro’s. The fact that Strucker’s experiments killed all the subjects except for Wanda and Pietro could be seen as further evidence of their mutant heritage.

We get some very different explanations of Wanda’s magical powers than we’ve had in the past, all via Agatha, and all of them referencing various ways Wanda’s powers have been explained in the comics in the past.

Why didn’t that Stark Industries bomb explode and kill Wanda and Pietro? She may have unknowingly cast a “probability hex” on it. For many years Wanda’s “magical” powers were explained as a mutant ability to alter the probability of outcomes, no matter how unlikely.

Later, it was revealed that she was a master of “chaos magic,” another term introduced here. Furthermore, now it seems that being able to wield chaos magic gives Wanda a specific magical title, that of “Scarlet Witch.” We…do not have to tell you where that comes from.

The vision (sorry) that the Mind Stone gives Wanda would appear to be one of her future, fully Scarlet Witch-ified self. This particular costume, which evokes a long jacket and crown, is very similar to the one she’s worn in the most recent Marvel Comics.

When Agatha finally discovers that Wanda is the Scarlet Witch, she says that the Scarlet Witch was supposed to be “a myth.” Big Buffy the Vampire Slayer vibes in this exchange! Buffy often faced off against foes who once thought she was just a fairytale created to spook demons and nothing more.

Agatha’s “That accent really comes and goes, doesn’t it?” is a terrific joke at the MCU’s expense. As well as her “so many costumes and hairstyles” also feels like a nod to Wanda’s changing looks in the comics just as much as it is about the chameleon-like nature of the WandaVision universe.

Vision

The scene of Wanda coming across the disassembled remnants of Vision’s body in the SWORD lab is taken from West Coast Avengers #43 into #44. Instead of dying heroically, Vision was taken out of commission by the world’s governments for trying to take over all of the world’s computers. He was reduced to nothing but metal and circuitry in order for writer John Byrne to drive home Vision’s lack of human biology. 

That disturbing scene of Vision being “dissected” with his body stretched out across multiple tables is a direct nod to a panel from those comics.

It also reminds us a little of how Thanos had Nebula pulled apart in Avengers: Endgame. At least Vision is offline!

Vision was then resurrected in the white form that we see here in the mid-credits scene, and brought back without his emotions or any connection to his past life as Wanda’s husband or Billy and Tommy’s father. This was one of the catalysts for Byrne sending Wanda into her Dark Scarlet Witch phase that abruptly ended when Byrne stormed off of West Coast Avengers for the cardinal sin of “being edited.” For more on this, type “Why did John Byrne” into Google and let autocomplete take you on a fun ride.

We’ll have more on White Vision in just a moment.

The Stark Bomb

The toaster commercial from the first episode was always supposed to be a reference to the Stark Industries bomb that tore apart the Maximoff household. That commercial also had the blinking red light of the toaster show up despite everything else being in black and white. We now see that the bomb itself had a very similar blinking red light and sound.

The popular running theory was that the commercials tracked to the different stones, and while that may still be applicable, do they also/instead track to Wanda’s memories or key parts of her life? 

We saw the toaster match up with the blinking light on the bomb.

We know the watch had the Hydra face on it. Could this match if future Wanda floating in through the stone was actually a paradox and not just a vision?

The paper towel commercial mentioned Lagos too prominently to not pair with that moment of trauma.

Does the fruit snack commercial match up with her conversation with Vision in the Avengers compound?

The anti-depressant commercial does track fairly well with Wanda’s visit to SWORD.

It feels like the only one that doesn’t have an obvious pair is the tesseract bubble bath. Give us a shout in the comments if you can figure out what that matches to.

Westview

When Wanda drives through Westview for the first time, she passes by the normal versions of Herb (John Collins), Mrs. Hart (Sharon Davis), and Phil (Harold Proctor). Notably, Harold is putting up an ad for piano lessons when in the second episode, playing the piano was his talent. It’s also when Wanda magically turned his grandmother’s piano into an illusion.

As Wanda transforms Westview, we see a billboard for “Super” paper towels become “Lagos” brand paper towels (ala the commercial from earlier this season), which “makes cleanup a snap!”

When the Coronet theater marquee transforms, it’s showing two Walt Disney Productions films of the appropriate WandaVision episode 1 era, Kidnapped and Big Red. But before that it’s showing Tannhauser Gate. Roy Batty, call your agent, please.

Fake Pietro

It’s revealed that “Pietro Maximoff” was indeed a complete fake. A “Fietro” as Agatha calls him. He became her “eyes and ears” and she refers to his manifestation as “a crystalline possession.” We sense there will be more revealed about this in the finale, as Evan Peters has been M.I.A. since his appearance in last week’s post-credits scene.

The Post-Credits Scene and White Vision

In West Coast Avengers #45, Vision’s personality was wiped completely, so by the time he was reassembled, he appeared as “White Vision”. He completely lacked emotion and didn’t even understand why Wanda was hugging him upon entering the room. This became the status quo version of Vision for a while until his old personality, look, and feelings for Wanda were eventually brought back. But hey, this version got to be a playable character in the 1991 arcade hit Captain America and the Avengers!

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

What are the chances that White Vision will have James Spader’s voice?

We wrote more about that post-credits scene here.

Spot anything we missed? Let us know in the comments!

The post Marvel’s WandaVision Episode 8: MCU Easter Eggs and Reference Guide appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Pb5kUp

[possiblypeachy]

opportunities missed.

―; summary: there are plenty of times during which the Warden and Alistair could've kissed. of course, in that terrible fashion of theirs, they were far too stupid to take these chances and instead fumbled around with their emotions like the fools that they were. at least we get some good pining out of it, hey?

―; pairing: alistair x female warden

―; word count: 4.8k

―; warnings: n/a (i think! please tell me if you deem otherwise.”

―; A/N: i am a Great Big Fool for never having written for alistair before. this himbo was my first love in a game and i need more content where he’s being useless so i thought i’d just write some myself. i can’t guarantee everyone’s 100% in-character but please do enjoy the oncoming antics regardless!!

― ❊ ―

To say that Alistair and the Warden’s relationship had been simple would be the biggest lie of the ages. Granted, during the Blight was a complicated time to decide that you love somebody but, Maker’s balls, did they make it difficult for themselves. It was all flushed cheeks and shy gifts in amongst the ruthless fighting and bloodshed; one might think they’d have been pushed to confess sooner, considering the looming threat of death, but one would also be bypassing the fact that they are idiots and idiots stray wildly from what is expected from them.

There had been a myriad of near-kisses on their journey together, all more ridiculous than the last, before it finally happened (afterwards, Zevran had owed Oghren a coin purse, much to the assassin’s chagrin). It was certainly something of a personal battle for everyone involved and, as we all know, battles always come will glorious tales behind them. Well, perhaps ‘glorious’ isn’t a viable word to use here but the whole ordeal was… interesting, for sure.

The first instance of this recurring disaster was while traipsing through Redcliffe Castle in hopes of finding Arl Eamon safe and well and not finding his demon-possessed son. Now, by this point, Alistair and our dear Warden were becoming steadfast friends; she had the same wit as him, that same sense of shy heroism, and, luckily for him, she seemed to have little tolerance for Morrigan’s constant mocking-- at least, she had little tolerance when she could tell that the apostate had hurt the poor man’s feelings. Nothing special was blooming yet but there was certainly a strong potential for that tension-- that delicious pining that everyone wants to read about or experience if they’re lucky.

“Do these corridors ever stop?” Was Alistair’s second complaint of the past hour, following a long, dismal monologue about the sheer amount of stairs in the castle. It was almost like he’d forgotten about how huge this place was as a child and was just now rediscovering it all.

“Do your complaints ever stop?” It was Morrigan who bit back, of course, and the Warden closed her eyes in anticipation. Hearing Morrigan speak was sometimes like being stood in the eye of a storm and knowing that there’s no escape from the battering soon to arrive. “One might think you Grey Wardens have bigger problems to whine about.”

Half-hoping that there’d be yet more walking corpses in the next room if only to stop their argument before it began, the Warden pushed open a door to her left and swerved into it, hand lingering near her weapon. Her hopes were crushed, however, when she was met instead with a horrible damp smell and a few rats-- not even of the giant variety-- skittering behind barrels and crates.

The disagreement didn’t stop either, with Alistair biting back a: “Well, I am truly, deeply sorry that I’ve not had my mind fully focused on-- what?-- the possible end to everything.” Morrigan scoffed but he continued over the sound of the Warden’s mabari barking-- he, too, quite obviously irritated with the bickering. “I suppose it’s easy to assume that people can’t have more than one thing on their mind when you live in a quaint, little bog--”

“I likely have more on my mind now than you ever have--”

“Ladies!” The Warden put one hand up, the other digging through the depths of a barrel in hopes that there was something useful there. “Why don’t we stop with the back-and-forth and-- Andraste’s tits, what is that?” She pulled out an object that resembled a fruit, brown and green due to age. An insect leapt from the surface of the fruit back into the grubby heaven that was the pit of the barrel. The Warden, able to handle things such as walking corpses and maleficarum but apparently not a rotting apple, threw the dastardly thing against the nearby wall. The impact made a disgusting, wet noise before sliding down to the floor.

The quartette stared at it briefly, all sharing a similar frown, before the Warden let out a tired sigh. “Well, if you two have stopped fighting, I think I’d like to leave this room and try to forget about what just happened.” With that, she turned.

Straight into Alistair.

It was a strange and decidedly awkward bump of chests, during which their faces were suddenly closer than they’d yet been. There were mutters of “Oh, Maker, sorry” and “Sorry, I didn’t-- uh-- see you there” that made Morrigan smile like… well, a witch behind them; they likely weren’t going to hear the end of it.

Alistair’s cheeks flushed a reddish colour, ears tinged with embarrassment, and it was in that moment that the Warden had decided that he was, for a warrior meant to help her save the world, quite adorable. He decided that same thing in the same moment about her, what with her averted gaze and little, apologetic smile.

Wonderful.

It happened the second time when they were both acutely aware of these growing feelings for one another. Leliana had already begun to poke fun-- in the kindest way possible-- about how she’d always catch them staring at each other from across the camp, a light in their eyes that declared admiration-- not only borne from respect for each other as fighters. Of course, in that way of theirs, they denied anything to begin with, despite their flirtatious banter and their want to protect one another on the battlefield.

Everyone in their merry little band could agree-- to this day-- that the Deep Roads around Orzammar were just the worst place to be in Thedas. Even without the extra darkspawn hanging about thanks to the Blight, the tight tunnels and deepstalkers were enough to keep anyone away. This, unfortunately, would be the next setting in their series of near-kisses.

A particularly tough squadron of darkspawn had set upon them during their search for Paragon Branka and, as always, their duty as Grey Wardens meant that they were obliged to at least try to take them out. The Warden could already feel the onset of muscle fatigue and sweating so much down in these depths was just bad for everyone. Quite frankly, she’d had enough and was considering calling for a retreat and trying to find a side tunnel they could take to pass by this onslaught; who knows what other beasts would be further along in the tunnels? They needed to conserve energy and supplies.

“Everyone!” She had shouted against the clash of metal and the crackle of magic, slamming her weapon into an attacking darkspawn, after which Morrigan promptly blasted it off of the rocky archway they’d been fighting on. “Retreat!”

The line of fighting started to pull back to the entrance to the cavern, darkspawn unable to crowd themselves onto the thinning walkway without stumbling and falling to the rocks below. It was all going well-- perfect, in fact-- until there was the distant and distinct burning sound of a fireball careening through the air. The Warden made direct eye contact with an emissary, holding its staff in its hands like it had just attacked, before a shout of her name came from her right and Alistair launched himself at her. The explosion of magic was deafening and blasted the entire party off of the rock arch and straight into the darkness below.

Despite the fall not being particularly high, the Warden was certainly ready for a painful impact, her skin already tender and hurting from the blast. Her body slammed into the floor, a cloud of dust following her as she rolled down a small ravine. Upon feeling the instant aching in her shoulder, she decided that she’d allow herself a few moments of grace and just lay there for a while-- at least to alleviate the ringing in her ears.

However, another body rolled into hers, the weight of them barreling her along with them until they both came to a stop tangled together. There was the distant groaning of Zevran, still lying on the floor, nursing a bleeding cut on his forehead, and Morrigan was stood a few metres away patting dirt off of her skirt with a face contorted with inconvenienced disgust. Admittedly, the Warden might’ve blacked out for a few moments but when she came to the realisation that the floor below her wasn’t rock and was, indeed, a person she inhaled sharply and sat up.

Alistair was beneath her-- to which she was sure that Zevran had said something to disgrace the Maker but the ringing in her ears was still too loud to hear it properly-- with cheeks painted red and a crooked little smile. His mouth was moving so she could only assume that he was speaking but rather than making it clear that she couldn’t hear him she did as was expected of her and said: “What?”

Well, perhaps ‘said’ isn’t the right word to use here. ‘Shouted’ maybe? Or, more appropriately ‘bellowed’? Either way, Alistair flinched when she all but yelled at him. As was expected, he shouted back in hopes that she’d be able to hear him over it all. “This is romantic, isn’t it?”

The ringing was slowly starting to subside so, luckily, she didn’t have to scream at him anymore. “Ah, yes, the stench of darkspawn and a painful shoulder really does get me going.” Zevran, now stood, chortled at her comment and, if you looked closely enough, Morrigan had given a little smile too.

Despite their joking, the hand on her lower back that helped her up made the Warden’s poor little heart flutter and the mere fact that they had landed like that made Alistair worried that the Maker would smite him, though he’d let it happen if only to see the gentle curl of her lips for the rest of his life. Love could always bloom in strange places-- in this case, the Deep Roads-- and their lingering looks and closeness during combat made that overbearingly obvious to everyone else. Sickeningly so, Morrigan might add.

To think this was the end of their everlasting pining would make you a great fool-- much like them, actually. After the Deep Roads and that dreaded encounter with the broodmother, Alistair had shyly offered up a rose to the Warden. He had said that he couldn’t allow such beauty to be tainted by the Blight and, in a certain way, he felt the same about her. She’d blushed, made a silly though overall on-brand joke, and took the rose from him, fiddling with petals with a fullness in her heart that made it hard to breathe. When he’d seen her setting it down beside her bedroll before she slept, staring at it for a little too long, he had to practice every bit of restraint he had to not smile like a madman.

She hated to leave it in that dismal little box as they travelled to the Brecilian Forest but had to so anyway, making a mental note to ask Wynne if it was possible to magically preserve the flower later on. During the trip, Alistair and the Warden would always walk just a little too closely, backs of hands brushing past one another with a desire to cave and finally entwine. They’d share the same night watches, staying up together until sunrise, pointing out strange shapes in the stars or trying to convince the other that there was a beast in the nearby bushes. It was horrendous to see such obvious adoration between two people without ever having seen either of them consolidate it-- like reading a book that never reaches its climax.

The forest was nice enough, what with all the greenery and rabbits, if you could just discount the overwhelming presence of werewolves and the trees-- the walking trees. In hopes that things might go more smoothly, the Warden had brought her mabari along for the ride, praying that maybe he and the werewolves could bark up some kind of deal. Admittedly, this wasn’t perhaps the best idea-- Morrigan made that very clear-- but the Warden wasn’t some kind of lycanthrope expert and was only doing what instinct told her. Besides, much like a pair of children who had decided on a stupid idea, herself and Alistair had declared that, as the two Grey Wardens of the group, no one could tell them not to bring the mabari along. Then, they mumbled some reasons that seemed to be good enough for Oghren at least and went on their merry way.

The Warden, her mabari, Alistair, and Wynne (who had come along if only to support Alistair in his belief that the mabari plan would work) had been traipsing through the forest, muttering curses at rocks hidden underneath leaves and felled trees that would block their path. The Warden was amazed at how many of those sylvan creatures there were in these woods and, Maker, did their long, twiggy arms hurt if you got slapped by them. However, they had yet to encounter any of these werewolves that Keeper Zathrian had mentioned and she was starting to wonder if this was some kind of ploy to get the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden killed or merely lost in the forest. Well, they could’ve done that themselves.

Her mabari barked a few times and looked at her, tension in his hindlegs that signalled agitation.

“What’s wrong, boy?” She bent down slightly to ask him, careful to not let her voice get too loud in case there were nearby enemies.

“Bark bark! Grrr!”

“What’s that? There are some other pooches on their way here that might not like us being on their territory?”

“Woof! Bark bark, woof!”

“Hiding would be advisable unless I’m willing to either fight them or be marked as territory--”

“Woof… woof, grrr.”

“-- and I’d never be able to wash that smell out of my clothes?” The Warden straightened herself again, her hands on her hips like she was considering what to put on her toast in the morning. “Well, you guys heard what the dog said; we should really find a spot to hide in.”

Wynne zoned out of what the Warden had said entirely and instead stared, open-mouthed, at her and the mabari. It’s difficult to describe the sheer level of confusion the wizened mage had painted across her features but, to put it into perspective, imagine that one of your friends had just had a full-blown conversation with a dog and-- oh, wait.

Alistair, on the other hand, had the kind of love in his eyes and curl to his lips that came from watching your partner do something altogether strange but genuinely quite skilful. This woman can talk to dogs-- how can she get any better? is what he probably thought upon watching this exchange.

The mabari barked again and it seemed to snap everyone out of their stupor and forced them to pay attention to what the Warden had just said, though Wynne would certainly be having words with the Warden about this later on. Did she understand him through tone of bark? Was it some kind of magic? How was he saying such long--

There was a crunch of fallen branches in the distance and snarl that even a war dog like her mabari couldn’t make. Wide eyes darted to Alistair, then Wynne, before she barrelled herself toward a gap between two nearby rocks, hoping that she didn’t smell too much of anything. The other two shared a look-- a panicked, helpless look. Wynne practically leapt behind a thick-trunked tree with surprising grace for a woman of her age and left Alistair to stiffen up in the middle of the path.

Her mabari barked at him once, a considerable amount of concern in his tone when one considers that he’s a dog, and Alistair plunged into a familiar state of panic-- one of the many reasons that he always insists on being a follower, not a leader. Maker, he was going to be eaten by one of these werewolves-- an oversized, probably stinking, mutt. What a way for one of the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden to die.

A hand yanked on his own and he suddenly had to suck in a breath to squeeze into this cold, slightly damp crack in the rock. The Warden was pushed a little further down the crack, one of her hands pressed against his shoulder to push him back against the wall a little, allowing her to peer out into the open. Alistair soon became acutely aware of how close they were and it got more and more difficult to keep any kind of attention on the task at hand. Instead, he’d let her do all the heavy-lifting while he decided if that smell of hers was more of a campfire aroma or some kind of lady product she might’ve picked up on the road. His brows furrowed. Were there such things to be picked up? And, surely she wouldn’t have the time to--

He fought back the need to heave out air when she wriggled herself closer to him, effectively squeezing her body right in front of his in this dastardly gap. Her hand pressed to his chest now instead of his shoulder in hopes of creating a little more breathing room for herself, though this, in turn, suffocated him a little bit. The curiosity in her eyes was quite sweet, however, so Alistair decided against saying anything yet.

Her mabari barked at the rustling on the outer edge of the clearing, that distinct threat in his eyes that marked him as a war dog. When a hulking foot crunched through the leaves and the guttural snarling became louder than ever before, he didn’t seem so eager to fight anymore and lowered his tail, flattening his ears to his head. He looked in the direction of the Warden, worried, and she did a strange kissy face as reassurance; he would be getting lots of hugs and treats after this, even if Morrigan complained about how the extra meat made him absurdly gassy.

From her position crushed between Alistair and the rock, she couldn’t crane her neck around to look at the source of the thumping footsteps. Alistair, on the other hand, could see the werewolf too well, breathing out a curse of “Maker’s breath” before the Warden slammed a hand over his mouth in a fit of sudden fear that the oversized pooch would hear him. Their gazes met and her eyes widened, silently asking him what he saw. Her hand stayed clamped over his mouth so he raised his hands awkwardly, careful not to jostle himself or her, and made a gesture that screamed ‘it’s huge!’. She swallowed down her nerves and poked her head out of the gap a little further, finally allowing Alistair to breathe through his mouth again.

The werewolf was alone, luckily, and sniffed at the air as it inched forward, poking its nose about before it landed its sight on the mabari. Beady eyes narrowed, its back hunched over more, and it padded toward the fellow dog. “What is this--” there was a little snort, “-- mutt doing alone?”

As the Warden had asked, the mabari barked a few times, though he was certainly less sure of himself now than he was before. She was proud of him, at least-- her little snookums, her tiny, baby boy; look at him, facing off against such a hardy foe! He’d come so far since he was a puppy. She did one of those strange, nostalgic smiles that made Alistair practically vibrate with the beginnings of laughter.

“Stupid dog. Thinks I can understand it’s tongue--”

The Warden had poked her head out a little too far and, filled with worry that she might stumble out of their spot, Alistair grabbed her shoulders and tugged her back toward him. A few pebbles slipped under her feet as she wobbled back into position which made the werewolf dart its head in their direction. Her mabari began to bark again, hopping about on the spot in hopes of drawing attention back to him.

Smart boy, is what Alistair thought as he eyed the situation, still holding the Warden in her spot; a bout of protector complex had come over him, it seemed. He wasn’t going to lose his partner in crime to some… ugly dog. They still had this whole Blight problem to sort out and, Maker, he would not be able to do that himself.

The Warden didn’t even get a chance to see if her dog’s distraction had worked since her mind had quite wonderfully latched onto the realisation that her face was mere inches from Alistair’s.

Welcome to the party, dearest Warden.

Her eyes began to study the little intricacies of his face: that stubble of his that he’d all too often cut himself trying to shave, the wound on his cheek that she’d have to remind him to clean later on, the crease that appeared between his eyebrows whenever he tried to concentrate a little too hard. It all made her want to bring a hand up to cup his cheek, to angle his face so that she might kiss his cheek or, even better, his--

“That bloody wolf is finally gone. I didn’t think--” Alistair turned to face her but words caught in his throat when he saw the way that she was looking at him, a sudden flush painting his cheeks. He swallowed once and finally croaked out the rest of his sentence, voice barely there, “-- I didn’t think your dog was going to-- to pull it off.”

The Warden paused for a moment, then her mouth curled into a grin, breathing out a laugh. He was so terribly awkward that it made her want to take his face in her hands and squish his stupid, idiot cheeks together. She’d want it no other way. “This is romantic, isn’t it?”

At this, Alistair’s nerves eased somewhat and he followed her in chuckling, shaking his head at her remembrance of a decidedly terrible line he’d said while they were stuck in the pit of the world. “Arguably more so than last time. I would’ve liked some flowers or maybe some atmospheric music but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” The Warden replied through laughter, a hand pressed delicately against his chest plate. Their gazes met, expressions softening into something different-- something like love, and her eyes soon flickered down to his lips. His cheeks flushed a darker colour, pupils blown wide.

Just as either one of them were about to make the first move, a bark sounded just outside the gap in the rock above the gentle fullness of Wynne’s laughter. “Ah, to be young and in love.” She mused, looking at them with the same kind of amusement that would befit a grandmother who just found out her teenage grandchild had a crush on someone: hands clasped together and a knowing little smile painted across her lips. “Come on, lovebirds; we have the world to save.”

The Warden shuffled out first, with the help of Alistair who had begun to ramble on to Wynne about how Grey Wardens could “actually telepathically communicate, which is what we were just doing.” Wynne simply murmured back sarcastic agreements, smiling up at Alistair all while trying to stop herself from laughing. Admittedly, even the Warden herself didn’t think they could talk themselves out of that one, though she admired Alistair for trying.

When they finally ambled back to camp after resolving Keeper Zathrian’s werewolf problem, the Warden had gone to sit with Alistair beside the fire as usual. Each time they sat together, they seemed to inch closer, shoulders and hands touching by this point. Sometimes, on cold evenings, the Warden would even rest her head on his shoulder, telling stories of her childhood and tales about the scars that littered her body.

This particular evening, Alistair seemed occupied with something, however-- so much so that he didn’t even respond when the Warden had offered him the crunchy end of the bread that he always begged for. She plonked her chin down on his shoulder and hummed, the vibration catching him off-guard. He turned a little so he could look at her and she pulled away, holding the bread out to him again. “What’s on your mind?”

Alistair pursed his lips, taking the bread and picking at the crust around the outside. “All this time we’ve spent together… you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…” He dropped his hands into his lap and let his eyes wander back to her. “Will you miss it once it's over?”

She thought for a few moments, gaze boring into the fire like it might give her some kind of answer. “There’ll always be more battles to fight somewhere.” There was a pause before she turned to him, a gentle curiosity about the nature of his question swimming about in her eyes. Though, she said nothing more, allowing him to continue.

“But that doesn’t mean we would necessarily be fighting them together.” His hands were shaking a little more than he would’ve liked and the next breath he released sounded more akin to an owl than anything else. “I know it… might sound strange, considering we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve come to… care for you.” He stopped, a nervous little smile coming to his face. “A great deal.”

It was safe to say that the Warden knew where this conversation was leading and the pit of her stomach felt like a cauldron, holding an unusual mixture of anxiety and joy, love and fear. She shuffled slightly so that she might face him more, though Alistair, lost in this little confession of his, seemed to be staring off over her shoulder, scared that looking into her eyes would reveal some form of rejection.

“I think maybe it’s because we’ve gone through so much together, I don’t know. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself.” His gaze finally met hers and there was such vulnerability in those depths of amber that it made her want to weep. “Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…” Maker, her heart was ready to burst, “...feel the same way about me?”

There wasn’t even room for her to think before her lips cracked into a wide grin and she did that little excited giggle of hers. “I already do, Alistair, you idiot.” It was her that pressed forward to kiss him, both hands coming up to cup his face like she’d wanted to ever since he’d donned that delightful blush of his at Redcliffe. The world became enveloped in him and, for a few moments, all thought of the Blight had been replaced with just this overwhelming desire to just… be with him. She wanted to be there whenever he tripped over little logs on their adventures, she wanted to help him choose tunics that compliment his hair colour, she wanted to feel that familiar rush of fighting alongside him-- she wanted him and all that he entails.

The kiss was short-lived but had enough feeling behind it that they pulled away feeling breathless-- as though the Maker Himself had crushed them both together. When they pulled away, Alistair had that pinkish tinge to his cheeks that made the Warden push them together with her hands. “Maker’s breath, you’re handsome.” She pecked his lips again. And, again. In fact, she looked a little bit like a duck.

She finally released his cheeks when his smile became too large to contain. With a laugh and a shake of his head, a hand coming up to try to cool his blush down, he finally lifted the bread she’d given him back up from his lap. “Right, well… that went far smoother than I expected.” He picked at the bread again, averting his gaze and dipping his head down slightly, trying to hide-- to not much avail-- the ever-growing smile upon his lips. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my bread and be off to sleep, lest I pass out entirely on the dirt here.”

The Warden huffed out a laugh, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, before hauling herself to her feet. “Well, I’ll be going to bed then. I’ll be sure to dream of you so…” She took a few steps towards her tent, pondering on her words. “... dream of me too so that we might meet in our sleep, eh? I couldn’t bear to wander the Fade without you.”

With that, she shuffled off to her bedroll, a smile on her face that just wouldn’t budge. Behind her, Alistair was the same, munching on the bread much like the cat who’d caught the canary.

They may have been idiots but at least they could be idiots together.

[simonsaidthat]

Reading JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure For The First Time (And Ranking Them)

Splitting my thoughts into Parts (appropriately), this is the Third Post (not to be confused with JoJo Part 3) of my first impressions of the JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Manga (Parts 1-8), and ranking them based on “Which version of the Anime I want to see”, which I have not watched yet because dedicating time to watch a show would put me further behind from all my JoJo friends.

The listing so far includes:

8th: Part 1: Phantom Blood 7th: Part 2: Battle Tendency 6th: Part 6: Stone Ocean

The next two entries I had in mind were kind of a toss up, but I think I’m going to give it to:

Part 8: Jojolion

So as of this writing, Part 8 is still in production and “incomplete”, though the last few chapters I’ve read do have an air of finality to them (all the plot points are converging, there’s a time limit on a character’s life, most of the lingering mysteries have been solved, etc.), and enough has happened that I feel confident in ranking this series next to the others.

JoJolion is a lot.

The universe of JoJolion is a direct sequel to Steel Ball Run (Part 7) which was itself a soft reboot of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Part 7 was filled with aesthetic references and similarities to the previous six parts, but it did not share their continuity. Part 8 does have continuity with Part 7, and makes a lot of key references to Part 4 (including the name of the same town as Part 4 “Morioh”, and name drops of famous characters and one Stand from Part 4). 

Because of this continuity, Part 8 starts with a lot of boring but needed exposition to explain how this Morioh is different from Part 4′s. But where Part 4 was a slice of life comedy that focused on the environment of the town and its people, Part 8 is a slice of life that focuses on this one eccentric family facing off against what basically amounts to a Drug Cartel, while the amnesiac main character (also named Josuke) slowly unravels the lingering mystery about his origin.

I was getting a dark “Family Sitcom” satirical vibe from this series, and hope someone makes a “Too Many Cooks” mashup when Part 8 finally gets an Anime. Or at least add a laugh track.

I don’t know how being a direct sequel to a story that took place a century ago in America’s Wild West would over complicate the story of a Japanese Family Sitcom but JoJolion finds a way. 

One of the most frustrating aspects of Part 8 is the recurring aesthetic choice that causes unnecessary confusion when trying to explain the story aloud.

The main character of Part 8 is named “Josuke”, and he is adopted by the “Higashikata” family, becoming “Josuke Higashikata” (not to be confused with the main character of Part 4 who shares the same name). This Higashikata Family has a rare Hereditary Disease referred to as the “Rock Disease” that slowly kills the eldest child by turning them into rocks on their 10th Birthday, and messes with their short term memory.

Unrelated to that disease, you have a group of meta-humans called “Rock People” (likely a nod to the Pillar Men) that have the innate ability to become Rocks and hibernate over long stretches of time but otherwise look and act like regular humans when they’re not Rocks. The Rock People also have Stand Powers but that’s unrelated to being Rock People.

 And finally there’s a magical fruit that if you eat it can heal any desired wound on the body but causes an “equivalent exchange” that turns a random body part into stone.

The “Rock Disease”, the “Rock People”, and the “Rock Fruit” are not related to each other. 

The people suffering from the Rock Disease, are trying to steal the Rock Fruit from the Rock People that sell it. The Rock People are not humans who survived the Rock Disease, nor ate the Rock Fruit themselves, they’re just meta-humans with secondary Rock powers that supply the Rock Fruit to people who need it (like people with Rock Disease).

It’s such a baffling, unnecessary aesthetic choice.

Maybe. MAYBE there’s enough time in the unfinished story to reveal that 2/3rd’s of those Rocks are related, but I thought the Rock Disease was accidentally created from Part 7 Johnny Joestar trying to cure his wife by messing with the Holy Corpse. 

Speaking of I’ve also found the Family Tree of the Higashikata to be a little confusing in relation to the Joestar Family Bloodline, because there’s a “Holly Joestar” in Part 8 who suffers from an unknown, incurable disease, that also affects her memories but that disease is not related to the Rock Disease suffered by members of the Higashikata family (if it is related, I don’t remember it being clear).

Also, is this universe Holly related to this universe’s Johnny? Like, you’d think so, given the name “Joestar”, but Part 8 makes a lot of repeated references to the Higashikata Family Tree and Holly doesn’t appear on it. If Holly is the granddaughter of Johnny, than wouldn’t that make Josuke (who’s complicated origin makes him related to Holly by blood), coincidentally a cousin to the family that adopted him?

Anyway the Rocks aren’t the reason to be reading JoJolion. You’d probably be reading/watching an anime adaption because you’re a JoJo fan and you’re morbidly curious about this version of “Josuke Higashikata”, this version of Morioh, and this version of Yoshikage Kira who starts off already dead before the story begins, and learn what his relationship is to this version of “Josuke”.

Similarly to Parts 2 + 4, the scope of the story of Part 8 isn’t made clear right away, and its just the Hero going through one bizarre encounter after another until finally some major Villains show up. Even then though, Part 8 is unique in that it’s not clear who the “main central antagonist” is even at the tail end of the series. There are a few contenders, but there’s no real obvious candidate, just an organized evil “Fruit Cartel”.

Because of Josuke’s unique origin (popping out of the dirt at the very start, he’s basically “born” into the world), Josuke starts off with a kind of passive personality, like Johnathan and Giorno, but develops into a fiercer more confident character like Jotaro and the first Josuke. 

Even when he’s at his most “innocent” stage, he very clearly shows signs of having a temper. I remember early on after defeating an enemy Stand User, Josuke would wait for the girl he’s crushing on to turn her back before punching the downed enemy a few more times. As a JoJo, he probably goes through the most dramatic development over the course of the story (despite being probably the silliest looking of all the JoJo’s).

But I love his Stand “Soft and Wet”. It’s a very silly, seemingly lame power, but it’s got a nice aesthetic to it that will probably flow well in animation, and I just think the personified Stand looks awesome. It might be my favorite (looking) Stand of all 8 JoJo’s.

In fact, with the one exception that I can think of, Part 8 might have my favorite Stand Powers and Designs.

(Though I just remembered that Caeser Zeppeli’s Hamon took the form of Bubbles, making Josuke’s Stand likely an intentional reference to it).

But other than the slow start, and an incredibly “r*pe-y Jughead” supporting character (not that the 10 year old is much better...), I find the winks and nods to previous entries, specifically Part 4, to be a little frustrating because I’m constantly made to compare the two (and between Part 4 and Part 8, it’s no contest). 

I’m honestly not a huge fan of continuity or flagrant fan-service that creates a continuity lock-out for potential new readers. Granted, I don’t think Part 8 is as burdened by continuity as Part 6 was (hence, ranking this one higher) but still.

I suspect that the Anime Adaptions of previous parts don’t rely on filler arcs, but I wouldn’t mind more filler to focus on the other Higashikata Family, particularly ones who’ve only used their Stands once and then (so far) never again. 

Once JoJolion hits its stride, it does become pretty good, and as I said about Stone Ocean, the Stand Battles become more creative and harrowing further down the JoJo anthology. But other than the mystery of Josuke’s origin which I think is fairly compelling (particularly the actual flash back arc that explains it), I honestly can’t say I was that invested in the plight of the kid suffering from the Rock Disease. The disease itself is horrific, but the kid was kinda crummy up until he starts undergoing the symptoms.

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

a mdzs scum villain au, based on @lee-luca‘s art. read on ao3. ( warning : implied car accident. )

Jingyi’s first thought upon waking up is ugh, it’s still dark outside. He’s lucky enough to live fairly close to school, so he doesn’t have to wake up anytime before seven, so why—

Memories from last night (?) hit. Thus, his second thought is shit, mom’s going to kill me.

Figuratively, of course. Besides the fact she’d miss him too much (pro tip : as long as your mom still brings you plates of sliced fruit, she still loves you), Jingyi’s fairly sure he’s already dead.

The question of how, though, remains mostly unanswered. Of course, that’s the point : he might have avoided dying if he’d been paying attention. But as things are, and try as he may to remember anything at all, there’s only the screech of tires and someone’s blood-curdling scream and then nothing. The thought makes his skin crawl.

He blinks at the ceiling blearily. There are probably other people right in this room, because he can hear quiet shuffling and whispers and the unmistakable sound of early morning yawns. Is this some kind of dorm? Did he flash back in time and wake up in his old boarding school?

No way. He hated the place, and it apparently hated him back, but at least the pillows there didn’t feel like they were made of wood. Jingyi sits up, rubbing at his neck with a wince, and the sight that greets him knocks the breath right out of him.

All around him, young boys are getting out of bed, shrugging out of their sleeping clothes and into white robes, occasionally shoving at each other until another friend shushes them into behaving, all of it in almost perfect silence. The scene looks like it was lifted straight out of some wuxia movie he used to watch on school nights to procrastinate homework.

Nobody seems to notice him staring (yet), so Jingyi keeps at it. Their clothes look kind of familiar. Maybe it’s cosplay? Wait, I know! Cloud-patterned robes and forehead ribbons, that’s it ⎯ these guys look exactly like Lan Wangji from ‘Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation’! The art’s everywhere on his Twitter feed, it’s hard not to catch the reference.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, something rings right next to his ear. He almost screams, right before he’s cut off by a cheerful mechanical voice.

【Activation Code：「Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation」. Automatically triggering system.】

Okay, what the hell?

Jingyi glances around. No one else seems to have heard anything. The oddest reaction he gets is from some of the boys, who stare at him, somewhat bewildered, before blinking it off and turning away, as if deciding it really isn’t any of their business if he decides to laze around in bed a little longer.

【We welcome your entrance into the System. This system is based on the developing concept of 「I wish school wasn’t that boring」. We hope to provide you with the best experience. It is our sincere hope that during the course of your experience, you can achieve what you desired. We pray for your happiness. 】

System? He can practically feel gears turning in his head before they click to a conclusion. Seems like all this time spent reading novels on his phone during class is paying off. He’s not that fond of transmigration novels, but damn if he’s not glad he’s read at least a few now. What does this entail, though? Is there any way to go back?

Mom’s going to miss me.

Even as concern clouds his mind, some little part of Jingyi knows there’s probably no turning back from here. What if he comes to in a hospital, bedridden forever, unable to even move his pinkie finger? What if the other him - if there’s another him at all - really is dead, and going home just means fading?

“Oi.” He grabs the nearest teenager by the sleeve and - by the looks of it - almost startles the soul out of him. “Where are we?”

The other looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What do you mean, where are we?”

“A-Ming, be kind, Shui-jie just allowed him out of the infirmary yesterday night,” another voice chides gently. Someone lays a warm hand on his forehead. “Jingyi, are you feeling better?”

He rubs his eyes. A kind-eyed face comes into focus. The newcomer’s hair is already neatly tied back with a cloud-patterned band, and his blue-gray eyes gaze down at him with enough benevolence that Jingyi feels his breakdown step back a little. “I’m alright,” he says, if only he can’t think of anything else that won’t sound weird.

“These are the Cloud Recesses,” Pretty Boy continues, with all the patience of a saint. He misinterprets Jingyi’s widened eyes wildly. “Don’t strain yourself, you’ve hit your head pretty hard, and Shui-jie said you might be a little confused when you wake up. But you remember me, right? Sizhui? We were together on that night-hunt.”

As Sizhui speaks, another screen has materialized. The AI, or whatever it is exactly, barrels on with renewed enthusiasm.

【System activation successful! Binding your role: Gusu Lan Sect, junior disciple ‘Lan Jingyi’. Starting B Points: 100】

Sizhui is still staring at him, looking increasingly worried. Jingyi’s brain short-circuits in more ways than one. He manages a weak “Huh”, clearly not at top eloquence.

Hey, man, Alexa, whatever you are, what the fuck?

As if reading his mind, the disembodied voice chirped, 【You initiated the command for the system’s implementation and are already bound to the account ‘Lan Jingyi.’】

I heard you the first time! To be honest, he’s still trying to process the implications. This is, as he suspected, the plot of ‘Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation’, plagiarized by this insane system down to a T, and Sizhui is Lan Sizhui, the protagonist’s kid. Not that either of them know that. If there’s even a smidgen of logic in this whole endeavor, he can assume he’s starting from the beginning, when everyone’s clueless about their relationship to everyone.

At least, if Lan Jingyi’s still alive, this must be before the Yi City arc. He can make it there too, right? Provided he doesn’t die from snorting corpse powder in the creepiest town in Fantasy Ancient China. Cool, cool, cool, cool. This is absolutely fine.

Jeez, he even thought it was funny that one of the side characters in the novel shared his first name. If he could go back, he’d punch his past self in the face then beg him to think about anyone else⎯ like someone cooler, or just someone who doesn’t die a stupid death as cannon fodder just to be forgotten in the next five chapters.

He buries his face in his hands, takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. So, what do I do now...System? Can I call you Alexa?

【You may not. As the plot progresses, there will be many point-giving missions gradually opened. Please make sure that the points obtained for each mission are not less than zero. Otherwise, the system will automatically give punishment. 】

Punishment? Doesn’t sound ominous at all. Just for that, he might be tempted to call it Alexa anyway. As if latching onto his train of thoughts, the System chides, 【Failure to keep your points value above zero will result in automatic deportation back to your original world. 】

Note to self : don’t complain too much. As it turns out, things can always get worse.

He digs through his brain to remember everything he can about Lan Jingyi. Not that there’s much to go off of in canon, given the page time he was allotted before his untimely death, some thirty-something chapters in.

Okay, be methodical about this.  It’s easy enough to place himself within Gusu Lan sect : even if his brain had somehow glossed over such an obvious piece of information, his surroundings would have reminded him soon enough. Jingyi’s fairly sure that the original was even part of the main clan. Does this mean he’s got other relatives now, maybe even a new set of parents? The moment the thought crosses his mind, he pushes it down. This deserves its own, separate freak-out.

Moving on to Lan Jingyi himself. In retrospect, Jingyi regrets not paying more attention to him, but why would he? The guy had been a background fixture, mildly important as a supporting character in the junior disciples’ group but still removed from the rest of them because - he’s not going to lieto himself - this dude was kind of a jerk. He remembers Lan Sizhui was nice to the original, but Lan Sizhui’s nice to basically everyone, even Jin Ling at his whiniest. It’s not much of a criteria. Even now, he’s shown nothing but patience to New-Jingyi. Some of it may be due to the fact he apparently just recovered from a pretty serious injury, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

The more he thinks about it, the more chaotic Jingyi’s thoughts get. How is he supposed to keep living here? It’s not his world, it’s not even real. And what if someone realizes he’s an impostor? If he gets thrown out of the sect on grounds of...possession or something, what’s he going to do?

He grunts, pressing his hands against his temples. Breathe in, breathe out. He can do this. Here’s the plan.

Step one : integrate. Make friends where the original guy didn’t manage (or didn’t want to). Besides potentially coming in handy later, Jingyi’s always hated being lonely.

Step two : learn everything he can. If he’d known, he would have spent more time reading up on ‘Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation’’s lore, but there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Keep it up at least until the plot begins. Then, he’s got to assume either the original plot or the System will show him the way. It did mention missions, right?

Step three : reach the end of Yi City arc alive, and then keep surviving. Maybe he won’t ever be the protagonist, but he can at least avoid kicking the bucket like some random extra. Best case scenario, the System will drop-kick him into another story (can you imagine landing in Proud Immortal Demon Way? ugh). Worst case scenario, he’ll just fade into the void, like some permanent game over.

Unpleasant. But at least, either way, he’s never going to spend a fortune in college funds.

“Jingyi?” Someone’s waving a tentative hand in front of his face. Jingyi blinks a few times, realizing he must have looked pretty spaced out. “Do you need any help getting ready?”

Sizhui again. The guy really is too sweet for his own good, Jingyi reflects, but as long as he’s out of his depth, he could do with a bit of help. So he does as any normal polite classmate would do : he smiles at the other and goes, “Yeah, if you don’t mind. Thanks.”

Almost immediately, the System blares out, 【Warning. Your current attitude constitutes a violation of behavior, please remain careful. In the event of another breach, the system will automatically give punishment. 】

Oh, come on!

read chapter 2.

hi guys! i hope you liked reading this piece of crack as much as i liked writing it. i don't plan on having a regular update schedule for this fic, as it's a rather light work and uni's kicking my ass on the daily, but i definitely plan to write more of it as soon as i can. some notes : - i took the liberty to make modern!jingyi a second gen kid, if only because he's going to keep making references (at least in his inner monologue) to his 'previous life' and i don't trust myself to be accurate if it was still set in china. and also because i do have a tendency to Project. - some of the system's 'standard' lines are from bcnovels' translation of scum villain.