#i don’t want it to flop i want it to be better and compel to me care again 😭

[watchingwisteria]

finally watching the witcher season 3 but i fear the shitshow that was season 2 killed my enthusiasm for the whole thing

[morganbritton132]

Steve Has Older Siblings AU: Robin Edition

In an ideal world, Steve’s family life is completely separate from everything important. But in an ideal world, monsters don’t exist so, you know.

1. Technically the first of Steve’s siblings that Robin meets is Jason because he came into Scoops Ahoy to be an asshole. Robin liked to see King Steve knocked down a peg or two more than the next person but not by a forty year old (he’s 32) loser who has nothing better to do on a Tuesday afternoon. Robin sees him knock Steve’s hat off his head and then informs him that they had a zero tolerance harassment policy (they don’t) and they can and are denying him service. “So leave, now.”

2. The first time she is aware that she’s meeting one of Steve’s siblings is after Starcourt burns down. They were drugged, tired, and Russians took Steve’s car keys so it felt like a good idea to just lay back on the hood of the Beemer and watch the smoke swirl in the air until they come up with what to do.

They never think of anything, and she is startled awake the next morning hungover and dehydrated by someone laying on their horn. Robin looks at the car and then at Steve, and then asks, “Is that your dad?”

Steve - looking somehow worse than yesterday - just blinks in the direction of the car like, “Richie?”

“Get in the car,” Richie practically seethes, barely lets them get in before he starts asking questions like, what the fuck and are you high, right now?”

“I don’t dooo drugs, Dad,” Steve spat out annoyed and Robin, in the backseat, felt compelled to adds, “Drugs do me.”

They both start giggling and can’t stop even when Richie tries to lecture them.

3. Robin meets Jason again when he attacks her.

She doesn’t remember much about the car ride back to Loch Nora or how Steve convinced Richie not to take them to the hospital, but she remembers flopping face first onto Steve’s cloud of a bed. She remembers him taking her shoes off for her and pulling the covers up.

Then she is rudely woken up by a hand yanking her out of bed and big arms wrapping around her head. They’re barely there before Steve is shoving them off her like, “Fuck off, Jason.”

“Carver?” She asks but, no. It’s the dick from the mall. She is ignored while Jason prattles on about how it’s not his fault that Steve looks so much like a girl that he confused him with one. Then he’s whistling about how Steve has a girl in his bed and how surprising that is to them considering they all thought he was a queer.

Robin stiffens beside him. New queer ally, Steve Harrington, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, blurts out, “What if I am?”

And the room goes quiet. Steve’s quiet. Jason’s frozen. Richie, coming in through the door, wasn’t moving. This family doesn’t really paint a picture of unconditional love and acceptance so Robin throws her entire (unsuccessful) theater career into use and slugs Steve in the arm with a snort like, “Yeah, right. With all the girls you flirt with? Ha!”

And everything comes back to life. The hospital conversation comes up and morphs into an argument immediately. Robin is just happy to fade into the background and observe.

4. Robin probably should’ve met Claire that day too but the hospital was an apparent disaster. She actually meets Claire randomly at Family Video.

She sees a woman who’s kinda cute come in and peruse the shelves. She comes to the counter where Robin is on register and Steve is stocking candy right next to her.

She’s carrying The Muppet Movie and makes small talk about watching it with her kids, and never looks twice in Steve’s directly. She’s not in the system and just laughs, “It’s probably under my maiden name, Harrington.”

Robin gives her a tight smile and finishes the transaction. Claire leaves with barely a ‘bye’ to her brother and Robin decides right there that she hates them all.

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s) 10

Part 9

Shawn tried not to think too hard about his dad and his teacher dating. He knew his family was a little different than the others. Most people had two parents. But he’d never ask for his sire to show up. Never in a million years. He still remembered how bad it got. 

It made him a little wary of Mr. Munson. He didn’t think he’d ever hit his father. But sometimes pain wasn’t physical. Even when Billy hadn’t put his hands on Steve, the yelling had been horrible too. But Steve had been in love. And there had been a time when Billy cared for him. He’d told Shawn so.

Shawn couldn’t believe it. People in love didn’t do that kind of thing. People in love did things like go out on dates, gave each other gifts and scented each other nicely.

Like how Shawn could smell Mr. Munson on his dad. He probably wouldn’t have been able to tell who it was if not by his powers of deduction. They’d been sitting on his bed, his dad reading him a bedtime story. He didn’t bring up the scent, or how it made him feel nice. He just hoped Mr. Munson would stay around a while.

“Are you and Mr. Munson in love?”

Steve fumbled with the basketball in his hands and Shawn used the opportunity to steal it from him and go for a shot. He missed, but getting a steal from his dad was still nice.

“He and I are…dating, as you know”, Steve said, grabbing the ball as it bounced his way. “I think it’s a little too soon to be using words like ‘love’.”

“He’s over here a lot”, Shawn said.

Steve didn’t know how much he should read into that. Was Shawn saying he didn’t like Eddie being around so much? Did he feel like someone else was taking time away from Steve? It was hard to tell with his son sometimes what he was thinking.

“How come you always make me go out when he’s over?”

“I don’t always-”

“I know you’re going on a date every time I have a sleepover. And I’ve been having a lot of sleepovers lately.” Shawn’s expression was a little too mature for a child his age.

“First, don’t interrupt, it’s rude. Second, I thought you liked having sleepovers.”

“I do. I just don’t know why you don’t want me around Mr. Munson. I see him all day at school.”

Steve kept his body language nonchalant while dribbling the ball. “Well that’s just it. I figured you’d be sick of him. He’s at school AND at home?” He shot and the ball went right in. 

“If I score more than you, can we get ice cream?”

“Shawn, it’s January.”

“I want chocolate with gummy bears.”

Steve was still thinking of it a few days later when he had sent Shawn on yet another sleepover while he, Eddie, and Robin got drunk and gave powerpoint presentations on a subject of their choice. Robin was about ten slides deep into one about why TV shows sucked on writing lesbians on purpose but somehow made the most compelling character chemistry on accident.

At first, he’d been sitting close to Eddie, legs in his lap, playing with his hair but Steve had learned that Eddie never sat still for long. Every few slides, he’d jump up with an interjection and Steve knew if he didn’t want to flop off the couch, he’d better not get too tangled.

Robin was very open to discussion. Heated discussion but still. Steve finally cleared his throat when they started getting closer, hands moving wildly as they argued about the sexuality of Sandy the Squirrel.

“Hey, it’s Powerpoint Night, not debate night”, Steve said.

Robin gasped. “Steve! Can we have debate night. We finally have a third party to mediate.”

“What do you guys need a mediator for?”, Eddie asked.

“She has very strong opinions on salted caramel”, Steve said. “Your turn Eddie.”

Eddie got up, his presentation popping up as he cleared his throat. “Pluto’s Planet Status: Logic vs Sentimentality….”

Robin stayed the night, taking up the guest bed while Eddie went up to Steve’s room. He’d been inside before, but it always felt momentous. A space that not many had seen before and Steve was allowing him. They collapsed next to each other, limbs tangling through the night.

The next day, they got up, making a breakfast of sausage, eggs, and other greasy things to stave off any hangover symptoms. And before Eddie left, Steve asked a favor of him.

“Do you…mind scenting some of the pillows? Not for me, but for Shawn? I want to gauge his reaction to the idea of you becoming more…permanent.”

Eddie’s eyes got wide. “Do you want me to be more permanent?”

Steve bit his lip and nodded, moving in close to scent Eddie at his neck. “You’ve always smelled like safety to me. And now…you’re starting to smell like home.”

Eddie wrapped his arms around him, confirming that he felt the same. He wanted more of Steve’s scent around his own home. Eddie completed the favor, scenting the soft throw pillows on the couch. 

When Shawn got home, he had Steve spent most of the day inside, doing various things but when the sun set, they had a movie night. Steve tried not to look too giddy when Shawn grabbed one of the pillows and held it to his chest, nose pressed to it. His body language may have been neutral, but the happiness must’ve shown in his scent because Shawn started to cuddle up to him. His omega hindbrain was filled with thoughts he hadn’t allowed for a long time.

Good alpha. Safe. Perfect alpha. Perfect for pup. Need to scent pup. Need him scented by both. 

That was all Steve needed to move things up to the next step. He enacted it when picking Shawn up from school one day. He was mindful not to take up too much of Eddie’s time during dismissal, but Eddie always assured Steve that he’d rather talk to him than the other parents.

“What if you’ve got something important to tell them?”

“That’s what emails are for. And really, how many times can I say ‘your kid cried because someone looked at them’ or ‘ they’re chattier than a telemarketer’?”

Steve figured some things about being a teacher didn’t change all that much between the age groups. He built up his nerves to ask the question. He had already asked Shawn if it was okay and his pup was more than happy about it.

“You know, Shawn’s birthday is coming up soon. We usually go out and do whatever he wants. And we were wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

Eddie looked between them both, mouth agape and looking like he wanted to jump for joy, hug them both, and blast off like a rocket all at once. It really made Steve want to kiss him in front of all these people, parents, teachers and all.

“Hell yeah-I mean, y-yeah”, Eddie stuttered when he remembered where he was.

Shawn looked elated too and things couldn’t be more right.

And of course, that was when things started going wrong.

Part 11

Tags

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog

@hippieg1rl420 @spectrum-spectre

[foursaints]

Just one ask and you have me hooked on Pandora/Lucius. I can't find anything on that ship. 🥺🥺 Feed me some crumbs plssss🥺🥺🥺

they’re literally just this image

ok let’s get into it…. to me, this all stems from the idea that i personally find pandora’s story more compelling if she’s with another death eater. her choice to stay out of the war is one of the few pieces of characterization we have — i don’t really like it when she’s with an order member, because it almost casts her decision as a choice of “my lover vs my brother”. i want both of pandora’s loyalties on the same side, and for her to ultimately choose herself

secondly, i want to emphasize pandora’s goodness bc it distinguishes her from evan. it’s a tricky needle to thread because pandora can be such a violent, ugly character (she’s a rosier!!) and i don’t want to see her softened or redeemed. i want her with someone worse, or bad in different ways, in whose life she can play a redemptive role despite her shortcomings. insert that “my very own honey-haired angel of death” quote

i like it when two characters who suck can make each other better specifically by having flaws that run in opposite directions… i see pandora & lucius as sad because of that. they shouldn’t have enjoyed each other as much as they did

lucius’s flop marriage to his lesbian wife hits a little differently if you consider pandora. maybe for ONCE in his miserable shallow life he grabbed ahold of something that was wild and magic and different and unfamiliar and REAL. then he lost it forever and never experienced anything similar ever again.

i think he thinks sometimes. that if he weren’t an heir, or if she wasn’t another in the sacred 28, or if they weren’t wizards at all- they could have kept sneaking around and arguing and incensing each other until they wound up doing it married. and sometimes he wonders if it would have been better to come home to a little flat instead of a pureblood manor, to a wife that would have swatted him on the head and called him an idiot. he thinks he would have rolled up his sleeves to help with her experiments.

and pandora marries xeno!! who is interesting and passionate and kind to her, and NEVER judgmental, and who couldn’t be more different from lucius. she tells herself that she loves being with someone smart and good-hearted and friendly, who she can really respect. she is happy, probably.

except lucius was nasty and contemptuous and stuck up and smug and soo judgmental and demanding and arrogant and conniving and essentially impossible to get along with, but he never once BORED her. and he made her laugh like nobody else. and he was capable of fully understanding her. she probably remembers that over & over

[merakiui]

what if darling randomly choses floyd at those husband selections bc they think ‘eh, he cant be that bad’ (he is very bad)

(cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, female reader, apocalypse logic, mentions of pregnancy/breeding, misogyny)

Floyd is an interesting case because whether or not he’ll agree to being chosen is solely mood dependent. If he’s not feeling it, he’ll just shrug you off and that’ll be that. But you’re the first bride to have enough courage to choose him, so either you’re fearless or you just like to toe the line of danger. Or you have no idea what he’s like.

He’s carefree about the entire selection, even though it’s supposed to be this really important thing, his thumbs hooked in his pockets when you point at him and say that he’s the one you want. “‘Kay,” he’ll agree without much hesitation, shrugging nonchalantly. Azul has told him that he ought to be a little more conscious about selections and what they mean, but Floyd doesn’t care. So what if the population’s on the decline? What’s that got to do with him?

The walk through the compound back to his lodging is when Floyd begins his curious, unfiltered questionnaire. He may be disinterested in the process, but that doesn’t mean he’s disinterested in you. No one ever picks him—not that he’s saddened by that. He could care less, but you’re interesting and he wants to know more.

“What do ya get out of pickin’ me, shrimpy? Can’t just be because it’s me.”

You blink at him. Wasn’t he the one who should already be well aware of that? You broach the subject as simply as you can, not because you’re awkward about it but because you genuinely have no idea how to tell him that the entire purpose of selections is to pair two individuals together for the sake of breeding. He’s nodding as you speak, looking you over more closely while he walks, mismatched eyes searching for something.

“So ya wanna be fucked full, yeah?”

Well, at least he catches on quick. Floyd’s rather vulgar about the entire thing, but that’s always been his normal. He doesn’t blush or get flustered by things like sex or nudity. Why should he? That’s just a part of life. You think he might be easier to deal with, blunt honesty and all, and that you might be able to get this over with sooner than expected. But to your surprise he tells you that he’s not really feeling it and that he’d rather just go back to sleep instead. You have no idea what’s up with the sudden shift in tone. He was disinterested before, but now he’s gone apathetic, yawning not-so-subtly and going on about how it’s so lame Jade woke him up early for this.

You follow him all the way back to his bedroom because you have nowhere else to go, and when you tell him that you’re meant to stay with him he just shrugs and opens his door for you. His room is a mess, dirty clothes lying discarded in piles, snacks both opened and unopened scattered throughout, and his bed is an entanglement of sheets and blankets. Maybe you really should go back to the bride dormitory; you suspect anything would be better than this. But Floyd’s already flopped onto his bed, slipping into slumber rather quickly, and now you’re left alone in an unfamiliar, filthy space. For a while you just pace to and fro, reviewing the pros and cons of this arrangement. But then pacing becomes boring and so you busy yourself with looking around at your messy surroundings. You’re not sure what compels you to start gathering dirty laundry, but once you’ve set yourself into cleaning mode you can’t stop.

Floyd wakes to watch you do this, lying propped on his elbow as his eyes follow you. “Shrimpy likes clean stuff, huh?”

“Well, I don’t like unclean stuff,” you reply, a basket already filled with clothes that need washing.

Floyd giggles like it’s a funny retort, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Guess not.”

And that’s how your bond starts, with you acting as Floyd’s little maid and he acting as…Floyd. He never complains about it. He never objects when you ask him to get up so you can strip the bed, but he does make it very difficult for you, sometimes intent on remaining in bed just to see what you’ll do. He’s always smiling, whether in amusement or something else you can’t quite say. He seems to enjoy teasing you, sometimes knocking something onto the floor so that you can pick it up or clean. He’ll stare at the way you’re bent down and, weeks into a very strange relationship, he finally realizes he could just make you his personal stress relief. Teasing you was relief enough, but it’s always boring relieving himself in other ways, where he just has his hand to rely on.

Floyd doesn’t tiptoe around what he wants. He’ll look at you with lidded eyes, a smirk sprawling across his lips, while he tells you there’s another spot you’ve yet to clean. Obviously he means his dick; you’ll have no choice but to agree to get on your knees for him. That’s basically what you’re meant to do, right? You’re just a hole for him to use whenever he wants. And though it’s demeaning to hear such things, it’s the unfortunate truth.

What’s strange about Floyd is that he knows what’s meant to come out of this partnership, but he never really considers much about your futures. Instead, he’ll use you for his own enjoyment. You essentially become his sex toy. For a while that’s all he treats you as. He’s always feeling you up, always wanting to bite and mark you. He has lots of fun with this newfound relationship. Between lots of sex (he’s oddly good at pulling out right before he cums), there are a few moments where he’s tender. He cooks most of his meals himself, using the kitchen that he and Jade share in their lodging, and he’s brought you a tray of breakfast one morning when you were too exhausted and sore to get up. He even feeds you; how sweet. Floyd’s hard to read sometimes. When he isn’t muttering filth while he fucks you into the mattress or against the wall or in the bath, he’s fawning over his shrimpy. He’s getting attached in more ways than one, and now it’s getting harder for him to really look at you as he has before.

Floyd is possessive. He’ll mark you in bruises and bites so that everyone will know you have a husband who fucks you better than anyone else in this compound possibly can. If anyone stares too long at you, he’ll grip your chin and yank you into a heated kiss of teeth and tongue to show the poor soul that you’re off the market. And if anyone thinks to touch you… Floyd’s beaten people bloody for saying vulgar things about you, for trying to touch you, for looking at you wrongfully. He can’t explain it, but it really frustrates him when people do this. You’re his shrimpy. You’re his bride. You’re all his and no one else’s, so everyone who tries to get between the two of you can get lost.

Floyd tends to fidget when you aren’t with him. He’s bored easily and very restless. He hates when you have those usual health check-ups and he’s not permitted to accompany you, and he hates when the doctors imply that it’s surprising you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. He’ll fuck a baby into you when he wants; everyone needs to lay off. Can’t he just fuck you for the fun of it? Apparently not because you’re one of the rare instances where you’re not immediately knocked up after a selection. Somehow that makes Floyd smug. Those doctors can keep hounding him all they want. It’ll just make him not want to do it even more.

But then he truly thinks about it in the days following that check-up. You’d look so soft and cute if your belly was all stuffed and rounded, and he’d get to cook so much for you. Floyd considers it when he’s doing his usual rounds for Azul and you’re not there to entertain him. Even thinking about it has him hard and aching. He wonders if you’d let him fuck you while you were a few months along. Maybe you’d let him do anything if you were needy enough. And if you were pregnant, you’d really become his.

The next time you’re under Floyd he looks at you differently. It’s difficult to place an emotion to his stare because he looks so focused when his eyes rove over your chest and he leans down to bite along your collarbone and shoulder. “I’m gonna breed ya good,” he’s mumbling into your skin as though it’s a prayer. “Gonna make ya a mommy.”

You don’t have much of a say in that matter, but when you’re too sex-brained to think of anything else pregnancy seems like less of an obligation and more like a dream come true.

[tennfan2]

So I shared this “this or that” hypnosis ask, and @soundshypnotic replied, saying they wanted to know all of them. All I will say is that I feel like that’s a very compelling ask, so… here you go, friend:

Slow or quick induction?

Slow, but not droning on - I do love an induction that takes its time, but has a little surprise happening too.

Text or voice hypnosis?

Voice. Not even close. But to be clear: In person > Video > Voice > getting hit by a bus > Text.

Relaxation or confusion?

Confusion, no brainer here. (Hehe)

Dumbification or mindlessness?

Mindlessness.

A bratty sub or an eager sub?

Eager sub. I don’t do bratty. I know some people think that’s fun, but if I’m hypnotizing you, I want you engaged and interested and ready to collaborate.

Fractionation or fingersnaps?

Why not both? But if I have to choose… fingersnaps.

Hypnotic bondage or memory play?

This is evil. Bondage is *so fucking fun* but gotta go memory play. I want so much to get better at doing it on purpose and craaaaaaave that.

Magical enchantment or brain hacking technology?

Enchantment! I’m not into tech stuff.

Hypnotic eyes or hypnotic voice?

Previously answered, but eyes.

Vampire or succubus/incubus?

Succubus, I guess? Vampires freak me out.

Touching instructions or hands free pleasure?

I’m assuming this question is about television remote controls vs changing channels by talking to a Siri-like thing. Touching, by far. 😇😇😇

Staircase or elevator induction?

Elevator because of the possibility the elevator either drops suddenly or goes full Wonkavator.

Conversational or overload induction?

Why not both? But probably overload if it really is overloading. Add some kinesthetic for fun.

Gentle or demanding tone of voice?

So context dependent! All demanding all the time isn’t my fave, but I find lately that I respond pretty well to that sort of shift in tone.

Drooling or eyes fluttering?

Eyes fluttering, all the way. Drool is okay, I guess, but it gets so into all the weird “trance face” stuff that’s icky.

Spirals or pendulums?

Pendulums! My recent video/file not withstanding, I love a good pendulum.

Frozen in place or loose and limp?

While I love flopping, a lot, being frozen in place is really fun to me - it’s created a really fascinating mindset in the past that I’ve enjoyed. Also, being frozen in place and then talked about? Yeah.

Moans or mantras?

Mantras. Love a mantra.

Giggly and silly or blank and empty?

This is entirely context dependent. (But starting giggly and silly and then ending up blank and empty? Love that journey.)

Being controlled or being in control?

Being controlled. Period.

[showtoonzfan]

Ganna be honest the only reason I’m sticking around Helluva right now is because I’m waiting for the Fizz and Ozzie episode, as well as seeing Fizz’s backstory. I don’t give a shit about Barbie’s episode, (REALLY hope that’s not the next one, if it is I’m not watching it, I can’t stand another fucking poor pity me Blitz episode) nor the episodes that come after since we already know by the leaks how this shit is ganna end, so I really think I’m going to drop the Stolitz show after the Fizz and Ozzie one.

Season 1 was bad but season 2 is just worse. It’s retconning fucking everything, flip flopping it’s character motivations and can’t stay fucking consistent for the life of it, the female characters are still pushed to the back and have no thought or care written into them compared to the males, the humor is absolute dogshit because the creator only sticks to one fucking form of comedy every single time and can’t focus on the serious aspects without an unfunny shitty gag or distraction, the constant push of everyone wanting you to ship Stolitz and care about them despite them still having no chemistry or reason why they should end up together, (and being horrible people themselves) the constant dangling of future plot threads only for it to have an underwhelming “conclusion”, and introducing new threats when we STILL haven’t gotten to know our main fucking characters well and their dynamics/relationships, the show tries so hard to be deep and compelling but fails every time because in reality the writers have no idea how to write trauma and abuse and it’s just a fetish show for people who sexualize gay men to the maxes and get off to sex, the obvious fact that Viv has NO idea where this story will end or what her end goal is for the show, so she keeps pulling ideas at the top of her head without planning what will come after, causing everything we watch to not have any build up, proper time and dedication, or feel earned.

The show CONSTANTLY goes back to the status quo every episode and barley acknowledges the previous one that happened or existed, the characters stay the same and are never going through actual fucking development, learn from their mistakes or past, and when the writers aren’t retconning things, the characters are exactly the same as they were in the beginning of the show. The only characters I slightly care about at this point are Via, Striker, Fizz, and maybe Ozzie, but Striker clearly is a tool that Viv seems to have no sympathy for, and Octavia? Well…fuck Octavia, who cares about her feelings, lol, she’s a meanie for being upset with her father and needs to suck up to him just because he’s nicer, and when I say I “like” Fizz and Ozzie, that’s not saying much. We barley know them and I hate that Fizz is tied to Blitz in the first place, because you know Viv is going to end up sucking Blitz’s dick for every shitty action he did and have the end work in his favor. It’s so predictable, Fizz and Blitz are going to make amends, even if it’s not this season, I know it’ll happen, cause every fucking episode that focuses on Blitz wants you to feel bad for him and side with him, even when he’s being called out for being a dick, especially if you’ve seen the leaks. Speaking of those, with Viv mentioning that this season has 12 episodes and episode 12 was ALSO leaked, it gives me no hope or interest for the show. This show wants you to hate anyone and anything who doesn’t side with Stolas and I don’t give a shit about him and Blitz, since this is literally confirmed to be the Stolitz show, and these are two awful unfunny characters who should have never been main characters in the first place.

There are tons of better shows out there right now, as well as old shows I haven’t watched yet, and I need to stop wasting my breath repeating the same thing over and over. Tearing the show apart IS fun, but at the same time, it’s the same case with every episode. Fast pacing, unfunny humor, tonal problems, filler, favoritism in writing, lack of buildup, retconning, and the main point that certain characters suck and others deserve better. It’s legit the same issue every time so that’s why it’s starting to get so tiring critiquing the show and watching it, especially since I don’t give a shit about the characters or story, cause the characters I actually care about get thrown in the dust while the characters that fucking suck get focus constantly and idolized, and whenever an upcoming plot for an episode SEEMS like it’ll intrigue me, the potential is swept out the window because no one on this writing team is a good writer, not Adam, not Brandon, and especially not Viv, who hasn’t learned anything or improved, and doesn’t realize that she just doesn’t have the writing chops for what she’s TRYING to accomplish, and the show will never improve because the creator is a stuck up brat who can’t take criticism and treats it like acid rain.

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 81 Murder in the People's City

Murdle advent day 2

Vice President Mauve advertises the TekTopia ParaCube Q, which is certainly going to become the hottest holiday gift this year!

This episode is poorly written because it was 12:30 AM and I was miserable :'3 The next one will be better I think

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Logico is sitting in a bag.

LOGICO: I hate this. WHITE: [not looking up from her book] I know, pumpkin, but trust me, this is for the better.

Logico moves, and the bag falls over. This is so lame! But then he gets an incredible idea. 

LOGICO: Just saw the paper. You got a LOT of good press for saving me from the Reds. WHITE: Yep, I know. We did a good thing. LOGICO: Imagine how beloved you’d be if you saved me from yourselves.

White growls, and her teeth sink into her book. That IS a good idea! The whole world would be on the Royals’ side… but is it worth losing their pet detective?

WHITE: FINE!! Fine. GO. But first I need a picture that makes me look like a hero.

Logico obliges, then runs away. 

Entering the People’s City, Logico has one goal in mind - rescue Irratino! But his plans are postponed obviously when he trips over a Newsie. (A dead one).

LOGICO: Oh fuck, not a dead Newsie.

Champagne is there, which is pretty normal, but Logico’s heart stops when he’s face-to-face with Major Red and Governor Lead! And President White reappeared AGAIN! She’s just arguing with the others - so much for ‘killing Red where he stands’.

WHITE: Fuck the Reds. Fuck you all!

Perhaps she isn’t as tough as she says she is. Regardless, Logico doesn’t want to be near the deadly Lead Red Duo, and tucks behind a crate to observe. Champagne squats alongside him.

LOGICO: Um, hello. CHAMPAGNE: I’m sorry, man, but I don’t want to be anywhere near them either! 

Upon looking closer, Logico notices something strange. Lead seems to be biting and scratching at himself, while Red is trying to settle him down. 

RED: [holds Lead’s mouth shut] Breathe. LEAD: [snarling]

Red shoves his head into Lead’s, staring him in the eye, and the animal’s giant paws slide around on the ground as he tries to escape. But eventually, he submits, and flops on the ground. Red takes another look to ensure no one is around, and must tie a rope to the governor and lead him back to the prison. 

Meanwhile, inside, President White is fawning over her crush, Silverton the Legend.

LOGICO: What the fuck? WHITE: [scream] I FREED YOU! YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE!  LOGICO: Now that I’m free, I can be wherever I want. Are you fangirling over Silverton the Legend? WHITE: NO!

She breaks a picture on his head. Concussed, Logico bumps into another Newsie. 

NEWSIE: Have you seen Major Red? He’s been acting so strange! Do you have an opinion? LOGICO: I’m SO busy!

He runs back to Champagne.

CHAMPAGNE: Did you solve it?  LOGICO: No… Wait, yes! It was you the whole time! CHAMPAGNE: That’s a good thing, isn’t it?? At least you didn’t have to confront them! The traitorous rebel Newsies will never let us govern! Look at that one - he was shouting about all the mistakes us Reds have made. What else was I supposed to do? LOGICO: Fix the mistakes?

Champagne gives a pouty glare. Logico quickly forgets this Newsie fiasco, but Lead going nuts is giving him flashbacks. And he needs to find an answer. And Irratino. 

The end!

ok ok in the next episode shit hits the fan I promise

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[peanutbutterex]

🗡️ (jim)

Oooh Jim. I love Jim. Jim is a nonbinary icon who is also so badass and so hot I am sorry. They have a tough exterior but a heart of gold as can be seen when they are with Olu and the fact that they choose to save Izzy despite Izzy being a dick.

However they are also an agent of chaos. I was as frustrated as Olu in s1e3 when they were messing around in Spanish Jackie’s because Jim!!! That is so dumb!!! Do you want to die??? But everything was alright in the end so what do I know.

I also think that their connection to Christianity is fascinating. If I was able to write my undergrad thesis on ofmd (i did not take a film class so i was unable to), this is a topic that would feature heavily in it. They were raised by a nun to deliver divine judgement, a divine servant of God, and in a way they definitely do. The image of them taking off their hood in front of a stained glass window framing their face like a halo as they corner Geraldo at confession lives rent free in my mind. I could delve more into this but that requires more brainpower and its own post.

In season 2 I was disappointed with their character a bit, especially because season 1 made them out to be a more important character to the story than they ended up being. I mean, the only two other characters to get a backstory were the leads of the show, but in season two they were pushed more to the sidelines. Now i know that this is because of season 2’s massive budget cuts, but i am allowed to be a bit disappointed. I am also annoyed that if the show wasn’t going to make garlic soup canon that they split Jim and Olu up. Like don’t get me wrong, I love Archie, but Jim and Olu is a love story of the ages and I do think season 2 flopped on exploring such a compelling romance. Like Jim gave up a life of revenge and dishing out divine judgement because they loved Olu, and before that almost kissed him on their family’s land??? Olu helped Jim get revenge on their father’s murderer and ran away with them??? I am sorry that is SUCH a compelling romance that makes their separation at the end of season 1 so tragic. And then they don’t explore it further in season 2??? That is honestly one of my biggest gripes with season 2.

Tbh their quiet, cool, and deadly persona made me think that they would be my favorite character when I first started watching the show. And I still really like their character!!! I just wish their character was utilized better in the story, especially in season 2. But man, I still would LOVE to be stabbed by Jim.

[batsplat]

feel free to completely ignore this ask but i’ve been reading through your tennis posts and. god!! thank you!! so many great takes. i love this sport and will probably die watching it but the atp is really so dire at the moment and the wta is… well, it’s a lot better (mainly bc it actually has a competitive top ten with fun personalities), but i still think the rivalries could be more compelling

but if we’re talking about narrative atrocities then the atp is clearly mostly at fault. i find it crazy how so many people on tennisblr love sincaraz? just. nothing there to grab onto. way worse than fedal. i don’t really enjoy their match up stylistically (peaked with uso 2022 but these days it feels like all there is to say is “wow these guys really can hit the ball hard”. the most compelling angle i can find on them plotwise is that brief period of time around the china swing where it seemed like sinner was finally leaning into the bromance with alcaraz but only as a pr tactic to distract from the doping thing. bc at least that’s kinda messy

and i also like meddy but that’s been. um. a bit excruciating lately. truthfully my real fav is dan evans so this is possibly my own fault for not picking someone who looked even vaguely like a slam contender to back

i do have to say i find alcaraz’s flopping kinda compelling though. there’s clearly a mental struggle/adhd lack of focus there that a lot of people attribute to him being 21 but idk if he’ll ever iron out. i think there’s a realistic world in which he keeps peaking for a couple of tournaments a year but otherwise falls off & is dramatically overtaken by sinner/maybe fonseca/some other people & is kind of a precursor to their era… on the other hand maybe he’ll pull it together and i’ll just sit here with dan evans

oh please, my average ask response time is about 4-6 months but for tennis hater asks that dives down to under 24 hours. (pretend like I actually answered this in 24 hours. I would have if it hadn't been NYE.) I too obviously do not get why sinner/alcaraz are so popular, I mean I didn't get why federer/nadal are so popular so this is just a continuation of a theme for me. it's all been downhill since sampras/agassi, I keep saying. I don't even WANT to be annoying about this, I try not to be that picky, it's just that I thought we were getting a chaos era post big 3 for at least like,, a couple years. this is my issue right, I'm not even saying sinner/alcaraz and federer/nadal are ontologically evil (maybe), I'm just saying that if you win THAT much, you'd better have some insane narrative juice to keep it interesting. and quite frankly, the number of athletes in the history of sports who could make me enjoy that level of domination is probably in like,, the low double digits at best. but these guys aren't even trying!! for shame

as for popularity, idk, I guess people will just like any blokes who are good at sport. I don't really know what goes on in tennis tumblr, I never sought out that community (though I think some of my posts kinda accidentally breached containment, which is!! fine!! you guys are welcome! but also don't take any of my mouthing off seriously pretty please) BUT my general sense is that it's a lot of love for two tennis rivalries that I personally find... well. eh! well. now look, I do have to admit that I prefer my sports rivalries with a bit more antagonism and bitterness and resentment, I love a good feud. but it's not a non-negotiable requirement! I think the most important thing for me is having... well, stakes. I kind of need to feel like some of these losses are making a part of the loser's soul die with it. like they want and need it so badly and it'll also hurt if they lose. the most infamous encounters aren't just great because they're great in sporting terms, but they're great because they meant something to the athletes involved. you don't get a do-over, it's not just one of many encounters, it's something a bit sadder and uglier and broken... that's where the narrative juice comes from, the stakes. if you don't care then why should I, right

and this is broadly my issue with sinner/alcaraz. like,, if they lose, they'll be fine, right. obviously they really want to win, but it's also recoverable. they don't get sick at the thought of losing to each other. it's not a low point for them, it's not something they struggle to put behind them, it's not something that eats away at them. idk, sue me, I want the angst! I also think the rivalry peaked at uso 2022 - and it's not just because the tennis was so excellent, it's because it genuinely felt like sinner might have lost an opportunity and wouldn't be able to make up for it and it looked like it hurt. (I mean, I knew he'd make up for it because I have always had faith sinner would eventually be a multiple slam winner, but y'know for the non-enlightened people.) that was actually the most compelling stretch of the rivalry for me! where sinner was still kinda frail (bodily weakness as a substitute for a personality but we move) and was an okay player who only peaked when he played alcaraz. so there it was kind of... alcaraz really invested in a rivalry with this guy who isn't quite good enough to keep up until he's playing alcaraz. fine, it's not 'symbols of unity in a divided nation until one accused the other of cheating and the other said they'd never been friends at all' levels of narrative juice, but you can work with that. whatever. except obviously even that has been ruined because sinner doesn't even have the graciousness to still suck. I'm sick of these people!! sick to my stomach

and yeah I mean the drug thing is what counts as narrative tension these days... I did enjoy how sinner/alcaraz stonks briefly plummeted with alcaraz's extremely lukewarm response to sinner's little clostebol situation. similar to my schadenfreude when federer didn't show up to nadal's retirement, it's the little things in life. I honestly sort of stopped paying attention to men's tennis after uso so I didn't really know about the *gestures* asian swing sinner/alcaraz situation, though I suppose that would be theoretically interesting. it's not even that I think cold-blooded guys like sinner are inherently boring, it's just him specifically that's boring because he never DOES anything. henin was cold-blooded!! she would do anything to win, including some pretty blatant cheating! we used to be a proper sport! and while I broadly agree that I think the wta isn't like,,, at its PEAK potential - beyond the protagonists just being way more interesting as people than the atp lot, I do also think there's a couple very key differences between something like the sinner/alcaraz rivalry and, say, the swiatek/sabalenka rivalry

first off, I've stress tested this and know for a fact that iga does become less palpable for me if she isn't fallible - we tried this out in 2022, I got bored of her, I didn't hate her like I would an atp player but it did feel pretty tedious to me. NOW I am extremely hooked and cannot WAIT to see what year she'll have. I'm rooting for her!! I know I've said this before but igatha and sublanko really do benefit from how much they're visibly fighting demons. angst is good, struggle is good, they both look desperate to beat each other. I don't support broadcasters showing backstage video of them after their defeats as a matter of principle, but we've had one us open where we've seen aryna demolish a racquet after a defeat followed by another us open where we've seen iga cry and... it's humanising. I care because they're fallible and quite frankly a lot of the time they seem like they're barely holding it together. introverted vs extroverted, both intense but in completely different ways, massive contrast in everything about them including how they express their emotions - but they both frequently look like they might die if they don't win the next point. if I were on either of their teams, I would be working very hard on their ability to regulate their emotions (and tbf sublanko has gotten better at this). objectively, you do want to be a sinner-type on the court. but I am not being employed by any professional tennis player (open to requests though) and As A Fan, on-court disasters is what I want

secondly. I saw this going around a few days ago --

-- and my immediate response was 'aww'. which, idk, I obviously wouldn't have that reaction with sinner/alcaraz, or indeed any current men's rivalry. I did some self-examination to check whether this was just the misandry talking, but I think the crucial difference to me is that... well, they did dislike each other for a while! it wasn't a FEUD but it was definite tension. and now they've played a bunch and now they're getting warmer towards each other, and it feels more meaningful since there's actually an arc. and they're two interesting characters with an interesting relationship and I want to see where it'll go. it's not noughties wta but crucially the tennis is fun AND and and I don't go into every single tournament thinking one of two players will win it. now, if that were the case on the wta tour, then I probably would need iga and aryna to step up their narrative juice game. but as it currently stands, we're good

and on the alcaraz point.... I mean, maybe. ideologically, I am a big believer that people pay too much attention to slams. but idk, men's tennis kinda kills me on this because I've watched djokovic faff about at various tour-level events for years before locking in the second it gets to slams. if we're being honest in men's tennis it kinda is all about the slams because that's the tier that has been so completely and violently gatekept for so long. so I know that alcaraz fans do have to deal with some ups and downs but also like... I can't lie! at this point I would quite literally sacrifice at least a toe, possibly even two, for someone I like to have a bad year where they win two slams! my sympathy is limited! and then if anything it's even MORE annoying for me because I don't LIKE following the sport week in week out if I don't feel like I'm being emotionally rewarded for that commitment because none of that shit matters anyway. I think ideally you have a bunch of storylines on tour level that culminate in the slams. but in men's tennis, it feels like there's always only one show in town. you can fool yourself for a while that there isn't, but reality always inevitably comes calling

to actually engage with the substance of the alcaraz point and take my own emotion out of this, I do think it's true that alcaraz is 'underperforming' to some extent and a lot of it's psychological. my nuclear hot take about the jcf relationship is that I'm happy for everyone who thinks the dynamic has lovely vibes, but it's a lot of credit being given to someone who came in when the most important work had already essentially been done and still hasn't exactly fixed alcaraz's shot selection. alcaraz's floor is still too low, when he plays badly he plays really bad - and maybe it is partly a concentration thing, but I really don't think it's an unfixable problem. if it were completely a concentration/motivation thing, an ability to peak for big finals that falls away elsewhere, then maybe yes, but it's way more concrete and basic things where I feel like he rarely gets the balance quite right. a lot of the times it doesn't matter because he's so obscenely talented he really doesn't have to be playing the percentages, and I do agree on principle with the idea you don't want to overly regulate him to avoid taking his love for the game. but... you do need some patterns, you do need to make your plan a and plan b not so violently different, you need to come up with some ways of modulating your levels of offence that aren't 100% attacking absolutely everything or just using your athleticism to chase after balls. there's room in between! galaxies of space in between! and look, I'm old-fashioned, I also don't like how much ferrero coaches alcaraz because I don't think that's how tennis should work. but I'm not one of those people who thinks alcaraz is some hack fraud who would be 'exposed' without ferrero - I do however think it's a crutch and one that alcaraz should probably rethink for his own sake. because fundamentally, coaching can only do so much in the moment. talent and instinct are great, and maybe alcaraz just doesn't need more than that to make his choices for him. but if I were working on that team, I would be taking a long hard look at his decision making within points, and I wouldn't wait until he's in the middle of the point to do it

(but also I think he'll be fine because he's just that good lol, like if he's physically okay I really struggle to see all these other players overtaking him. maybe this is big three brain talking but idk just feels deeply unlikely)

as for the actual alcaraz/sinner match-up, I do think it's Fine but also we have to be honest with ourselves here and say that they've played one great match and played a lot of great... moments. that miami (?) 2023 point everyone remembers, it's great, but also the match it was in wasn't exactly a classic - and that's been one of the better ones. the roland garros match last year was actively terrible and nobody will convince me otherwise. it is vaguely interesting in that it's two very offence-inclined players who express that inclination in very different ways, and alcaraz is constantly dancing on the line of attempting to overhit against sinner. but also... idk, linear bashing isn't exactly my favourite style anyway in men's tennis and it's... you're not really allowed to say this as a tennis fan, but I don't really emotionally connect with alcaraz's tennis. my brain knows how brilliant it is, my heart doesn't feel it. I've tried, I really have. idk... maybe it's because he's just too talented, something in me almost feels like it devalues it, like it's making the impossible mundane. I just need more tension, even though he's been a loose cannon this past year I never really believe he's going to lose until he's lost. I get why his tennis makes everyone go crazy, but idk. I think I need to feel the possibility of failure to enjoy success. I can appreciate alcaraz's shots, I do very often, there's a backhand slice on the run passing shot he hit on some clay court a couple years ago I still regularly think about. but alas, my heart remains cold. what can you do

anyway. that's my first tennis hater post of the new year. people seem to keep coming back for more. extremely unenthused about men's ao (djokovic playing monfils later on in the year of our lord 2k25, they need to take this sport out back and shoot it), extremely hype for the girlies. I'm actually FINE with not being a MASSIVE fan of any of the top players, passionately rooting for scrubs and just enjoying the drama at the top as a mostly neutral bystander - which is ideally what you'd get from a dan evans stan-type gig, but unfortunately that doesn't really work if you actively despise most of the top players. I have no real opinions on fonseca as yet, I'm not really a huge wunderkind person in general unless they're so juiced up on the narrative they're on the verge of overdosing, but also where I'm at with sinner it might end up being some type of enemy of my enemy arrangement. or maybe I'll find him even more annoying!! lord knows I was rooting for sinner in that uso 2022 match. I had this moment in like 2017 where federer was making his comeback and I realised I'd had enough - and then eventually I got lured back in with the promise of the nextgen. the less said about how that's going the better. this situation isn't getting better I reckon... the time has come once again. it is what it is

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M

Cressida Thames sat with her legs crossed in the velvet chair, looking rather dressed down in a white blouse and chinos. “So, what should we call each other?” she tested, eying her host, gold chain bracelets dazzling off her wrists. “Cousins, I suppose.”

“We don’t have to call each other anything.”

The Thames heiress tried a different tactic. “Alright then, what about married life? How have you been treating our dear Hannah these last few months?”

“A hell of a lot better than your family ever did. Thanks for asking.”

The acidic bite in Satoru’s tone made it evident he wanted no part of Cressida’s company, despite inviting her into his home, prompting the Thames heiress demeanor to sour more at his slight.

“Splendid. I’m so glad to hear it,” Cressida strained. The heiress was not used to being un-welcomed by strangers. By now, she’d usually have them gobbling out of her well-manicured hands, but knowing she was treading on very thin ice, the English woman averted her focus away from the Six Eyes wielder and back to Nanami and Hannah, who were sitting side by side on the opposite couch. “Sorry, why have I been summoned here again?”

Nanami's patience was rapidly depleting. He wasn’t fluent in English like Satoru and Hannah, but even he knew when someone wasn’t getting the memo. The three of them - mostly Hannah - had spent the last hour and a half informing the Western sorceress of the Sukuna finger in the Gojo’s living room, or at least, they tried to. The proceedings had been less than stellar.

“And you’d like me to help?” Cressida asked after Hannah repeated their predicament for the millionth time.

“Will you?” Hannah piped squeakily.

Cressida glanced at Nanami and then Satoru. “I don’t know, Duch. This seems like a tall order. Even for me.”

Hannah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Yes, what do you mean?” Satoru rudely butted in. “Enlighten us.”

Cressida rolled her famous ocean blue eyes. “Do you really expect me to sit here and pretend jujutsu and Western sorcerers have always gotten along?”

“But hasn’t that changed already?” Hannah insisted. “The Association and the jujutsu higher-ups are cooperating with each other now. It’s a new age.”

Cressida shook her head. “That may be so, but I’m not part of the Association. Despite what people say, diplomats and aristocrats don’t mix, Duch. If word got around that I was helping and abating ‘jujutsu scum,’ I’d be the talk of the county. My image would be tarnished.”

Satoru shrugged. “Not that we’d care.”

“Satoru, please.” Hannah issued her husband a begging look. He was making things difficult, but her plea went ignored.

“No, this is bullshit.” Still leaning on the doorframe, Satoru crossed his arms and eyed the Thames heiress like a judge issuing a jail sentence. “There’s a Sukuna finger hiding somewhere in the underwater trenches of Itsukushima Shrine. Hannah says you have a curse technique that’ll help fish it out.”

Cressida did not respond and casually flopped her black and gold Chanel bag onto her lap. She opened the lambskin clasps and pulled out a silver cigarette case and lighter. “So what if I do?” she stipulated, slotting a clove cigarette between her teeth, flicking the lighter.

“Then you’ll go fishing.”

She lit the end, pressed her lips to inhale, and blew out the first tobacco puff. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t,” Satoru snorted. “A lot of people are gonna die if this thing isn’t apprehended in time and someone will have to take the blame. I don’t know about you, but being the ‘talk of the county’ for helping and abating ‘jujutsu scum’ sounds a lot better than being the ‘rich, whiny twat’ who couldn’t do the right thing if her life depended on it,” he shrugged, “but that’s just my opinion. I’ll let you make the call.”

He watched the Thames heiress’ lip curl. “My, such a compelling argument,” she groused, exhaling another breath of smoke. “Tell me, are all you jujutsu sorcerers this irritating, or is it just you?”

Satoru satisfied into a smirk, hands stuffed in his pockets. He said nothing.

The burning white hatred on Cressida’s face could’ve melted diamonds. She eased herself back into the velvet armchair, crossing her legs, cigarette in hand, and stared challengingly at the Six Eyes wielder, looking more like her father than she’d dare admit. “You know, if it wasn’t for that Infinity of yours, I’d have you kneeling at my feet.”

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Is that a proposition? Cause I’ll have you know I’m happily married.”

“Are you? Thank heavens. I was beginning to wonder.” The heiress took a long drag, and uncrossed her legs, slinking from her chair to coily saunter up to the Six Eyes wielder like an alley cat. Fearing a fight, Hannah made to get between them, but Satoru silently waved her off - it’s okay - and so she remained seated where she was on the couch. The two sorcerers, West and East, now stood nose to nose, Cressida’s height shorter than Satoru’s by no more than an inch thanks to her high stilettos (which she still hadn’t taken off). The heiress blew a puff of tobacco right in his face, voice dropping to a low whisper. “I have it you like to get around, Mr. Gojo. Can’t say I’m surprised. After all, plucking the blooms off the rose tends to be your demographic’s idée fixe.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it,” he warned.

Cressida didn’t hide the immense satisfaction from smiling up her lips. “But don’t be too discouraged, love,” she quipped. “I’d never betray Hannah like that and fortunately for us both,” she gave him a once over, “you're not exactly my type.”

The two sorcerers kept eyeing each other down like MMA fighters at a press conference, while Hannah and Nanami observed on the couch. Neither were able to catch what the other had said, only that it wasn’t friendly or polite. Hannah felt the knife in her heart twist. She was hoping the two of them would get along and might’ve voiced this wish had Nanami’s impatient Japanese not broken through the silence first.

“So is she helping us or not?”

The island of Itsukushima, or simply “Miyajima” (Shrine Island), was about an eleven hour drive from Tokyo, rooted in the prefecture of Hiroshima. Only accessible by ferry, visitors would depart from the Hatsukaichi harbor and arrive at the island where the famous 12th century shrine resided within an inlet. The sacred buildings encompassing the shrine were connected through a series of boardwalks, granting people safe passage without them needing to take a dip in the Seto Inland Sea. The shrine’s main attraction of course was the red “floating gate” facing the ocean. Visitors could walk up to the grand o-torii at low tide when the water drained out of the bay, which fluctuated day to day.

It smelled strongly of fresh fish, ocean, and salt. A colony of wailing seagulls ringed the cloudless blue sky. Fishing boats put-puttered down the island coastline and nosed their way into shipless wharfs, men yelling at each other to grab the nets under the eternal surveillance of Mt. Misen. Hannah, Cressida, and Nanami had departed Tokyo by plane and arrived in Hatsukaichi two hours later, 12:05PM on the dot. They took a taxi to board the quickest ferry, which then sailed them safely across to Mijajima, exactly as planned. There was just one problem, and Nanami wasn’t happy about it.

“I should’ve expected as much,” he lamented, glowering at all the people. “They were supposed to clear this place an hour ago.”

Hannah checked the time on her phone. “We are a tad early,” she pointed out and began searching for a familiar head of white hair and a moxie Indian woman. “Satoru and Kumari said to meet us at the entrance.”

The two sorcerers in question had already left for Miyajima before sunrise to secure the area, but there were surprisingly more tourists than anticipated; old ladies holding their umbrellas to shield from the sun; gobs of cheesy couples snapping selfies; a child throwing a major temper tantrum over his toppled ice-cream cone, now a melted chocolate puddle on the stoney hot ground. Tour guides hooked to microphones lead processions of people up and down the stone-blocked path bordering the sea, next to streets of gift shops, townhouses, and traditional ryokanwhere visitors could rest their heads for the night, as families of sika deer dozed peacefully under the pine trees, unperturbed by the throngs of camera-wielding humans passing them by. A small number of Fly Heads were buzzing around the vicinity, but all in all, the atmosphere was calm.

Nanami and Hannah kept a slower pace behind Cressida who was already four leagues ahead. It wasn’t lost on them how seemingly every grown male’s concentration would pivot away from their nagging wives and high-maintenance girlfriends towards the sensual foreign woman strutting up the boardwalk in a bright red sundress and floppy hat. Wearing impractical sandal-wedges and big rimmed Prada glasses, Cressida oozed sex appeal wherever she went. Anyone would’ve mistaken her for a supermodel. Except Nanami. His agitation was thick enough to spread on toast.

“She’s doing this on purpose,” he grumbled to Hannah under his breath. “We’re supposed to be blending in.”

Hannah looked over her shoulder at all the star-struck (male) tourists fawning behind them. She was also wearing a sun hat and shades, but sported a more mauve colored dress instead with white trainers. “Actually, I don’t think she means to,” she said in her cousin’s defense. “It sorta just happens.”

Nanami huffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course.”

Hannah smiled at the quasi-businessman, himself donning a well-tailored grey suit, which wasn’t too eye-catching as many other men were wearing similar suits, though surely the sun and humidity made it uncomfortable. “You’re not much for excitement, are you Nanami-san?” she chimed.

The quarter Dane released a vexed sigh, dabbing his neck with a handkerchief and balancing the unique sunglasses on his nose, cleaver knife concealed in its holster. “I’m not much for spectacles, I’ll give you that.”

“Are you sure you need me here?” Hannah added. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Any clues to the finger’s whereabouts would be appreciated,” Nanami answered, coiffing back his wheat-blonde hair. His cleaver knife was in its sheath. “Being present might spruce up your memory, and as long as Satoru’s around you should be fine.” He spoke under his breath. “Might even keep that overpowered nitwit from doing something abnormally stupid.”

Cressida ushered them to get a move on. “Come along, you two. We’re almost there.”

They soon spotted Satoru and Kumari waiting for them at the entrance in front of the floating red gate. Sunglasses over his eyes, Satoru waved them over, and without thinking, Hannah raced for her husband’s open arms as fast as her legs could run like nothing else mattered. She could hear him chuckling the closer she got. She must’ve looked ridiculous. Satoru didn’t mind. There was no greater feeling in the world than her running to him.

“What’s cookin, good lookin’?” he teased cheesily in English, stretching his arms real wide. His little wife barreled into him and Satoru responded by lifting her up off the ground and swaying her side to side, legs swinging, prompting Hannah to laugh. Satoru grinned like a total sap, but soon frowned upon realizing the dress she had on. “Where’s the flowery one?”

Hannah peered up, face apologetic. In want of some late night entertainment, Satoru indulged himself yesterday evening by selecting her outfit, though apparently the plain mauve substitute wasn’t cutting it. Hannah tried reassuring him. “The flowery one was too bright and Nanami said we needed to blend in.”

Her husband couldn’t omit the whine from his voice. “No fair, I liked the flowery one.” He propped his chin on her soft auburn crown to hide his disappointment. “It was cute.” His turquoise blue eyes flicked over to Nanami fiddling with his phone while Cressida picked the dirt off her fingernails, both ignoring the other. He sighed. “So how was it flying with Miss Sassafras and the Danish curmudgeon?”

“Good,” Hannah replied, nuzzling into his navy colored shirt, glad to be reunited. She loved the smell of his morning coffee and his comforting solidness. “But I missed you.”

But I missed you.

Satoru felt his heart and soul quadruple in size. Could she repeat that? Someone actually missed him? The flowery dress forgotten, he squeezed her tighter. “Aw, I missed you too, Prin — ”

Kumari barged in. “Yes, yes, we all bloody missed each other - hugs and kisses - now can we please get this over with? I have a sick toddler who needs me.”

Quite so. Out of the five of them, Kumari’s reasoning to leave was the most justified. Abandoning her apron, the native Delhite opted for breathable palazzo’s and a peasant blouse, rapunzel raven hair braided down her back, but the makeup and glasses hid her exhaustion. Suffice it to say, the young mother was not happy to be woken in the middle by her toddler son burning a 39°C fever and a cough. Ichiro kept sending her texts throughout the morning, sharing status updates, but little Kichiro’s condition showed no signs of worsening or improving. Her separation anxiety was through the roof. Kumari simply wanted to find this accursed finger, box it up, and take the quickest flight straight home to her baby. She didn’t care for much else, especially the English airhead standing beside them dressed in an offensive red frock that was reminiscent of a wannabe Flamenco dancer. (It was worth mentioning that the Indian arms-dealer also had a 98 cm, double-edged khanda strapped to her back, and was not afraid to use it if provoked).

Nanami exhaled tiredly through his nose and placed his phone in his pocket. “Satoru, what was the hold up? I thought you’d have this place cleared by the time we arrived.”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” Satoru moped, holding his wife. “It's not my fault the police are slow. We notified them two hours ago.” He buried his nose in Hannah’s hair, muttering to himself, “and I better be reimbursed for those plane tickets.” He heard his wife giggle, her small, dainty fingers massaging the taut muscles on his back. He felt sleepy all of a sudden.

“It was your idea we should fly,” she soothed.

“Yeah, I know,” he yawned, closing his eyes and relaxing to her touch. “My own damn fault.”

They didn’t wait too long for the police to arrive. The alibi was that the shrine was closing for religious purposes; a special ritual was to be performed and no tourists could be present. Within twenty minutes they had the area cleared of civilians. Satoru made a quick scan with his Six Eyes to check the place was deserted (police included). He gave a nod to Kumari and the arms dealer rolled up her sleeves and in a quick chant activated a curtain over the entire shrine and beach so the townspeople couldn’t see. The sorcerers were obstructed from view. Cressida stepped up to the plate.

“Right then,” she said, seeing no reason for delay, Latin flowing off her tongue like a river. “Mare benedicta, da mihi instrumentum tuum…”

In a twirl of magic, a bronzed lyre materialized in her hand, though it bore closer semblance to a miniature harp. The memory came quickly to Satoru like a light switch; him sitting in Wasserton House, waiting for Lord Thames and the elders to strike up a deal, surrounded by glittering jewels and hoarded treasures. One of which was a lyre mounted on a wall next to an old grandfather clock. Shiny black strings, too thin in diameter to be copper wires or horsehair. So his hunch had been correct. That lyre or harp, or whatever it was called, was no decorative instrument, but a cursed tool. A cursed tool with Cressida’s matching black hair tithed as strings.

Satoru was holding onto Hannah’s hand. She felt his arm tense and looked up, moss-brown eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

Satoru assuaged her with a quick smile. “I’m fine.”

The four of them watched Cressida strum the first glissando, all twenty twined threads of ebony black provoked by their mistress, switching her thumb and forefinger in circles to create a continuous scale up and down the harp. Up and down. Back and forth. Give and take. Twenty. Forty. Sixty strings it sounded like, their musical notes steadily layering on top of each other, ringing all at once.

The waves along the dock seemed to sway around them, rising to ten-feet swells and then falling, responding to the harp’s melodic enchantment. When Cressida’s hand strummed back, the waves went back. When she strummed forwards, they beckoned closer, edging the shore, amassing to great height with each finished glissando. Cressida thus removed her fingers and soon the harp began playing alone. She soon broke into song, not with words, but with the musicianless harp, her aria accompanying the dancing sea like she were a snake charmer, a moon goddess controlling the tide. And it was something; Perhaps one of the most ethereal sounds they had ever heard, if “sound” was the definition for such a thing.

Satoru and the others watched the sloping waves, climbing higher and higher, though they did not crash into the shore like expected, but rather gently ebbed. Like the water had a mind of its own, choosing to forgo the laws of physics, building without spilling over. Waves only got that big when sailing miles out at sea amidst a powerful storm with no land to stop them from growing bigger. Satoru hadn’t witnessed a curse technique quite like this, or perhaps he had? Music was not new to jujutsu - Utahime and Gramps were proof of that - and yet despite its alieness, something about the sound was familiar. He could hardly feel his own two feet on the ground, song traversing through his ears and into his bones. His brain felt numb to the harp’s playing and Cressida’s hypnosis, drowning out his other senses. Strange. He only ever felt this way when Hannah —

Cressida stopped singing. Everything became calm. She splayed out her hand towards the sea. Water, music, humans, frozen in time.

“Recedo,” she commanded in a voice not solely hers.

Pleased by her song, the water showed its obeisance and began rolling back the direction it had come, back, back, back to the sea, more so than it did at low tide. Given how far the water receded, Satoru feared the locals would think a tsunami was underfoot, but the water only drained from a specific area in the bay, not the entire Miyajima coast, and there was no earthquake. With any luck, Kumari’s curtain would prevent people from thinking anything was amiss.

Nanami glanced over to Hannah to translate. “How long will the water hold?”

Hannah relayed the question in English for Cressida. “I’d say about an hour. An hour and a half. Not very long,” the heiress said with a shrug.

Hannah repeated her answer in Japanese. Nanami grunted. With a curt nod, he turned to face his other comrades. “Technically it rests on Satoru to retrieve the finger, but for the time being we’ll divide and conquer. If anyone finds something, text it in the group chat and wait for Satoru to give the ‘all clear.’ Once he has the finger, it’ll be handed over to Kumari for proper sealing. We’re following protocol. No exceptions. Is that understood?”

Nanami kept his tone neutral like he were reading percentages during a business meeting. Hannah paraphrased his speech as best she could to her cousin.

Done listening, Cressida offered her hand. “Shall we go together?”

“Sure,” Hannah obliged, but felt a gentle tug on her arm.

“Nope, I don’t think so.” Satoru snatched his wife and twirled her around, wiggling his snow-white eyebrows flirtatiously. “You’re comin’ with me.”

“O-Okay.” Hannah's face grew warm, letting him weave their fingers together and pull her in the opposite direction. She didn’t see the triumphant smirk he shot Cressida’s way as they passed by. Nor the heiress’ blatant disgust. He had won this round.

The group split. Nanami to the east, Kumari to the west, and Cressida taking a route in between. Satoru continued walking north with Hannah along the bay, looking back over his shoulder every five seconds till the others were out of sight.

“Finally. Thought we’d never ditch ‘em.”

“Ditch ‘em?” Hannah tilted her head, not sure what he was getting at. “Why would we — ”

At once Satoru’s mouth was on hers, capturing it in an all-too-happy kiss. Hannah was startled by the impromptu lip-lock but soon found her eyes closing, kissing him back, body melting as his arm looped protectively around her waist to draw her inwards. He had left for Miyajima that morning before she’d woken up. They hadn't been separated for five hours, yet it felt much longer.

“Mmm, no reason,” he answered, as he broke from the kiss, lips smacking, and wove his fingers in hers again. Couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face even if he tried. “Okay, now we can go.”

Hannah's profuse blush spread more to her neck and ears, all while not relinquishing his hand.

The underwater trenches of Itsukushima Shrine were deep. Not Mariana Trench-level deep, but deep. On the surface, their depth seemed to exceed no more than three meters before gradually marrying with the ocean; enough for an average person to plunge head first into the burnished saltwater and dive to the bottom. But the island shrine, with its rocky bluffs and pine covered shoals, actually stood atop a valley of gash marks embedded within the reef-beds like troughs, measured at about four fathoms. Once swimmers reached the very end of the bay, they were met with a steep twenty-four feet drop and risked being swept away by the heavy current, the Inland Sea punishing them for their hubris. A more experienced swimmer wouldn’t make it.

Hannah and Satoru stopped where the bay ended and the chasm began. Curious, the Six Eyes wielder lackadaisically kicked a pebble in the hollow trench and watched it disappear. Didn’t make a plop.

Drip, drip, drip.

The jagged rock was slick and slimy from being drained of its watery enclosure. They were high above the seabed. Satoru thought of helping his wife climb down the slippery rock on foot till they reached the bottom, but then hatched an idea. Without warning, he got behind Hannah and bent his knees. “Alley-oop,” he hollered and hoisted his little wife in his arms, bridal-style. She let out a gasp. Much like the kiss, the auburnette wasn’t given time to prepare and nearly had a mini-heart attack when Satoru spun on his heels, grinned real wide, and jumped off the edge like he was at the local pool and not a thirty-foot long chasm.

So they fell.

Hannah managed to eek out a yelp, burying her face in his shirt, clinging onto him like a frazzled squirrel. In seconds they were floating to the ground for a soft landing, Satoru’s Blue and Red manipulating gravity to slow their descent. Falling no more, he set Hannah back on the ground.

“That wasn't funny,” she chided, freckled cheeks glowing red, this time for an entirely different reason. The reprimand hid the fact her knees were buckling.

“To you, maybe.” Amusement twinkled in Satoru’s turquoise blue eyes. “I thought it was hilarious.”

His wife pouted adorably at being laughed at and the Six Eyes wielder couldn’t resist leaning his tall, masculine frame over to plant an “I’m sorry” smooch on her blushing cheek. All forgiven, they webbed their hands together again and continued on.

The carpet of dark green seaweed spurted beneath their shoes, shells and fish bones crunching and cracking. Located in the epipelagic zone, the trench was deep, but not nearly so deep as to prevent sunlight from shining below. This particular kelp forest had thrived under Itsukushima for millennia, nourished by the warm sun and years of “marine snow,” teeming with an ecosystem of diverse wildlife, but Satoru found it weird that there were no flopping fish on the sediment-covered ground, frantically puffing their gills for breath, or other aquatic animals, or cursed spirits for that matter. Had they been swept away with the water?

Those that could exist on oxygen remained. A cast of Chinese mitten crabs skittered across the exposed mudflat, pinching their claws at the trespassing humans, ambling to get away. Hannah thought they were cute and gave them a wide berth, sidestepping the exposed coral, the anemones, the seaweed, the shards of glass and plastic that had drifted because humanity didn’t care. Thank goodness she’d worn trainers, who knew how well Cressida was fairing in those awful sandal wedges?

Hannah wasn’t aware she had voiced this aloud for her husband to hear, receiving an earful about what he thought of the Thames heiress.

“I don’t understand why you feel the need to be nice to her,” he groaned bitterly. “After how her family treated you.”

Hannah squeezed his hand as she narrowly avoided crushing another mitten crab. “She’s your family too.”

“Yuck, no thanks. Tell ‘em family is overrated.”

“People can change, Satoru.”

“Which I’m not disputing, but you said you hadn’t seen her in years and then suddenly she shows up on our doorstep to hand you tiaras? As wedding presents?”

“Cressida’s going through a rough phase right now,” Hannah disputed. “She’s suffered a terrible loss.”

Satoru’s snort conveyed his doubt. “Whatever. I still don’t buy it.” He scanned the ground for clues. “Anything look familiar?”

Hannah sighed and shook her head. They were luckier than when they’d been stuck inside the curse’s Domain at the opera. Here, they could see where they were going courtesy of it being in the middle of the day, making the excursion less foreboding, less unpredictable.

Thames.

Hannah became alert. “What’d you say?”

Satoru turned to face her. His brow framed into an arch. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, sorry. Nevermind then.”

But it called out again. Raspy and ominous. A whisper.

Thames.

Hannah looked to her right. At the base of an inner wall was a postern, slim and narrow, chiseled out of the rock.

Satoru felt a pull on his arm, his little wife leading him towards the wall. “Princess? You okay?” She kept mum, not saying a peep as she walked him down the narrow path, assuming the lead. Her grasp was firm for someone so small. He didn’t fight and allowed himself to be conducted by her guiding hand. The chasm split in two like a cleft palate. She chose the left fork and pressed onward, past the small seamounts amassed from centuries of seismic activity and magma, past the forests of teeming seaweed and coral. Another left turn. Made a right. Walked through the mouth of a cave, dark and sinister, stalagmite-like protrusion jutting downwards like rows of carnivorous fangs. They became swallowed by the dimness where sunlight couldn’t penetrate.

And there it was.

You could’ve read it straight from the page of a movie script; the third Sukuna finger, shriveled and spindly, lying flat atop a sediment slab like a tribute, a film of skeletal-white sealing wax gauzed around it, perfectly intact. Staying submerged in the saline water seemed not to have altered its appearance whatsoever.

That was all there was inside. No cursed womb. No eighteen missing bodies, their flesh splitting open from being under thirty feet of saltwater like soft-boiled eggs. No hoard of hungry ghouls or freakish beings lurking behind, waiting to pounce. Just the cursed object. Just an index belonging to the strongest sorcerer-turned-curse who ever lived.

Satoru huffed out a laugh. “Well, that was easy.”

Way too easy. Gojo paused a minute for something to jump out at them, block their exit, or both, but neither happened. The finger stayed put on the slab. He leaned over to pick it up.

THAMES.

Hannah also reached out, and Satoru, half spooked, immediately seized her hand.

“Woah there, Hoss, leave that to me.” Hannah wasn't listening and reached out again. With more force, Satoru pulled her back from the undisturbed finger. “Oi, what’s gotten into you?” She looked out of it almost, hazel eyes listless and vacant, reaching for the cursed object the more he tried pulling her away. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Hannah?” Started shaking. “I said enough.” He could see perfectly in the dark. Her pupils were fully dilated, indicating the lights were on, but nobody was home. She wasn’t paying attention and hadn’t spoken a word the whole time, hand grappling for the finger. “Hannah!”

“Huh? Wha?” Hannah came to, snapping out of whatever stupor befell her. She rattled her head and blinked confusedly. “Oh, um, sorry. I'm not sure…I thought I heard…” She swung around.

Perplexed, Satoru also spun himself around, but saw only the cave. “Heard what?”

“Nothing,” Hannah said, hand on her forehead, perhaps feeling a tad dizzy. “I can’t remember.”

Satoru cupped a palm over her cheek and took a moment to study his young wife. Her pupils were back to normal and she appeared unharmed, but her recent behavior left a bad taste in his mouth. A constrict of worry tightened around his chest. He couldn’t relay what just happened, but he knew the sooner he got Hannah out of there, the better.

“C’mon, let’s leave. This place gives me the creeps.”

Hurriedly, Satoru took the finger and stuffed it in his jean pocket, and encouraged Hannah to grasp his hand.

She did.

Kumari painstakingly examined the newly found Sukuna finger, flipping it over at every angle, searching for any indication it wasn’t the real thing or a fluke; decoys weren’t outside the realm of possibility. However, the sealing wax encased around it would’ve been near impossible for non-humans to replicate. No signs of crackage. No tearing. Oh yes, this finger belonged to Sukuna alright. She could practically smell the evil on it like raw sewage.

The cursed object specialist showed her displeasure, glaring daggers at the infernal thing. Kumari didn’t want a repeat episode the last time she brought a Sukuna finger inside her house, and had raised hell in getting the higher-ups to approve her research at Jujutsu High. “This isn’t your grandpa’s grade-4 level sorcery. What’s wrong with you people?” Good news was she didn’t have to take them home with her anymore. Bad news was she’d have to drive down to Jujutsu High to study the damn object at the risk of bumping into her in-laws. Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Her family’s safety was most important. All there was left to do now was box the finger up and pray no surprises trickled in.

Kumari placed the digit inside and closed the lid of her sealing box, clasping the latches, utilizing her cursed technique to “lock” the compartment, only for Satoru to intervene.

“Actually, give it to me.”

She blinked, holding the box. “You sure? This doesn’t exactly make a good table centerpiece.”

“There’s a room in my house meant for keeping cursed objects like this under wraps. The sealing wax hasn’t peeled off yet, so it shouldn’t cause issues. I’ll give it to the higher-ups first thing in the morning.”

The arms-dealer eyed him coolly but nodded. Satoru showed no signs of concern. He was right, of course, the Gojo estate was imbued with powerful protective charms and spells, capabilities far exceeding those in her modern, three bedroom townhouse. It was designed for housing dangerous artifacts. Plus, he was the strongest. Though that didn’t explain what Satoru planned on doing with it.

“Why not give it to them as soon as we land?” she inquired.

The strongest took the box from her hands. “I want to check something,” he answered, tucking it under his arm like it wasn’t a problem.

Kumari didn’t question further. When Satoru had an agenda, there was no sense in arguing. His eyes were fixated on Hannah standing beside her cousin, both their backs to them, staring out into the wide, endless sea, chatting as Nanami maintained distance. Hannah’s long auburn hair shone like shimmering waves of amber silk in the pretty sun.

“It'll be fine,” Kumari heard the Six Eyes wielder whisper.

He’d regret those words for the rest of his life.

Chapter Contents

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 102: February 2018

The chill vanished. Gerry’s hair settled back around his shoulders, black flowing back in like ink. He let out a long, slow breath.

Tim, well used to Gerry’s post-flashback collapses by now, shifted his grip and weight so that when Gerry went slack and boneless a second later, the sudden shift didn’t send them both tumbling to the ground. Instead, he took a careful step backwards to press against the door to the Archivist’s office, which thankfully didn’t budge, and then slid slowly down it so that he was sat on the floor with Gerry passed out in his lap, flopped against his chest. He was still cold, but he knew from experience he would gradually warm up over the next few hours.

He was going to hate himself when he woke up.

Tim didn’t have to look up to know what his friends’ faces were probably doing, but he did anyway. Sasha looked shocked, and also like she was about to be sick; Melanie’s face was ashen, even as her eyes glinted with anger; Martin simply looked quietly devastated.

“He didn’t want you to see that,” Tim murmured.

“Is that what they’re always like?” Martin’s voice was soft and barely audible.

Tim recognized that he was both trying not to throw a fit and trying to keep from compelling the answers. He nodded. “He usually gets a bit more warning that one’s coming on, but for the most part, yeah. Never seen him have two so close together, though, so he’ll either be around in a few hours or a couple minutes. I don’t know how that part works.”

“And does he usually…” Sasha flapped a hand helplessly.

“Narrate?” Tim supplied. “Yeah. They’re, I mean, actual memories, so I can’t change anything—at least I don’t think I can change anything. But I can sort of…interact with him a bit, you know? Get clarification, air theories with him…and I had more than a few choice words for your mother when he was in her past. If it doesn’t affect the actual events, he might, um, respond a little. But, yeah, usually he just…goes through the memory and then passes out.” He sighed and ran a careful hand through Gerry’s thick, glossy hair, tugging out the remains of the hair tie.

Sasha turned to Martin and Melanie. “And…I have to ask. Was he, um…accurate?”

“Yeah.” Martin rubbed his arm reflexively, as if he could still feel the weight of the earth on it. “That’s exactly how I remember it happening.”

“He did ask me if they were noisy,” Melanie said. “The ghosts. I remember thinking that was a weird question out of the blue…wait, is he actually experiencing these memories now and changing them?”

“No. He’s able to respond when the interaction is all in his head, and sometimes he can fit what’s being said to what was experienced at the time, but they’re as unchangeable as the statements or the dreams—all he can do is walk through them and witness them and go on.” Martin made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, that has got to stop. I can’t—I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

Tim had been noticing for a while that the soft, gentle crackle of static that used to accompany any instance of Martin calling on the Beholding, deliberately or inadvertently, had started to appear less and less frequently since he’d come back from America until it only seemed to be audible when he was actively trying. Seemingly little things like that just appeared in his head without warning, and he didn’t always catch himself before blurting them out. Tim knew, better than probably anyone except Jon and maybe Gerry, how much it bothered him, but coming on top of everything else that had happened today, it had to be worse. He felt himself shift, on instinct, to give Martin a brotherly hug, but Gerry’s weight reasserted itself and he realized he couldn’t. Instead, he shot an imploring look at Sasha.

Thank God, she understood. She threw an arm around Martin’s shoulders and squeezed. “I think you need a break. Take a walk or something.”

Martin side-eyed her. “Considering the last time you suggested I step out of the room in that sensible tone of voice was three hours ago and Jon immediately climbed into the Buried, you’ll forgive me for being suspicious of why you’re suggesting that.”

Sasha ducked her head guiltily. “You know what, that’s fair, but I really mean it this time. It’s not a ploy to get you out of the way while we do something stupid behind your back. I think we’ve kind of done all the stupid for the day.”

“Not helping, Sash,” Tim muttered, scanning Martin’s face. He glanced at Melanie—in particular at her leg, which looked like it was oozing a bit—then cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Tell you what, why don’t you and Sasha both get Melanie to the clinic? Get that leg stitched up proper. Take your phone, and if Jon comes back up before you get back, I’ll have him call and talk to you, okay? Even better, keys are in my coat pocket—take the car so you don’t have to carry Melanie four blocks.”

The pain and longing on Martin’s face was palpable, but he nodded reluctantly. “We, um, we should probably…run and get you a new set of trousers, too.”

“You need a different shirt, too,” Sasha said, gesturing at Martin’s torn and bloodstained shirt. “Honestly, it wouldn’t hurt for all of us to have the supplies to stay here for a few days. You know, just in case.”

In case of what went unspoken, but Tim could guess. Martin had just done a fairly big display of power on one of the few surviving remnants of the Stranger. Nothing had really attacked them since Jared Hopworth, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t, just that they were overdue. He nodded. “I’ve got an overnight bag at Gerry’s still packed, and I think he has one by the door ready to go just in case.”

“I know where he keeps that. Same place he always has.” Martin swallowed. “Promise you’ll call if anything happens.”

“Swear on my nonna’s cannoli,” Tim said solemnly, which did at least make Martin smile. “And that goes for you too, by the way.”

“Will do.” Sasha fished Tim’s keys out of his jacket and jangled them in the others’ direction. “Allons-y.”

They left, Melanie once again using Martin as a makeshift crutch. Tim watched them leave, then waited a few minutes after he heard the door to the Archives shut before moving. He carefully shifted, then got to his feet, hefting Gerry in his arms. He’d gained a bit of weight in the months they’d been more or less living together, between regular meals and not being constantly on the run, but he was still wiry, and it was easy enough for Tim to carry him, bridal style, to Document Storage.

The cot was still largely made—Tim didn’t think Melanie had actually been under the blankets—so he got Gerry settled on it and tucked him in. There was a pen lying abandoned next to a statement scrawled in Martin’s familiar handwriting and a mostly empty cup of tea; he picked it up, grabbed a piece of paper that didn’t look important, and scribbled a note to Gerry, then tucked it under his hand so he’d be sure to notice it when he awoke. He crept out, closed the door quietly, and went to the break room to make a cup of tea. On second thought, he made a cup of coffee; tea was soothing, and right about then, he wanted to be tense.

Then he went back into the Archives, grabbed his chair and his laptop, and dragged it over to the door to the Archivist’s office. Might as well get some work done, such as it was, while he kept his vigil.

A lot of their research was perfunctory these days. It took absolutely no effort for Martin to know (or Know) which statements were real and which were false, so they didn’t need to look into them to determine veracity. Mostly it was about doing damage control on the real statements—making sure things hadn’t got too out of hand, finding out how bad things were now, that sort of thing. But the false ones still needed to be recorded, in theory, and with Martin handling the real ones—Jon didn’t need them anymore, a development they all pretended didn’t worry them in the slightest to varying degrees of success—the rest of them took care of the stuff that would end up in what they were still calling the Discredited section. So Tim pulled over the small stack of files, clicked on the recording app on his laptop, and got to work.

“Statement of Jonny D’Ville—seriously? Okay—regarding a series of creepy notes.”

He’d powered through about six recordings, including one that was clearly an entry from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark with the serial numbers filed off, and was most of the way through a seventh when the door to Document Storage opened and Gerry came out, looking haggard. Tim gave him a quick wink and held up a finger as he said, “Mr. Newall informed us that he was going to, quote, ‘stand on the rooftop, shake his fist at the sky, and curse existence itself’, which I guess means the statistics convinced him. But, and I know we’re not supposed to put personal stuff on these recordings, but I have to say that if he runs his games anything like he talks, I might have to give that podcast of his a listen. End recording.” He shut off the app and smiled up at Gerry. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“About like usual.” Gerry bent down to give Tim a much gentler kiss than normal, then sank to the ground next to him, resting his head against his hip. “How long was I out?”

Tim glanced at the clock on his laptop before closing it. “Three hours, give or take. A new record.”

“Didn’t need the sleep as much as usual, I guess. And it’s not because I slept last night. Just a refreshing flashback overall.” Gerry sighed. “Where is everybody?”

“Clinic. I think,” Tim added, reaching for his phone. There were no messages from anybody, which he supposed was good. “Martin and Sasha took Melanie to get her leg stitched up properly, and then they’re going to go round and get stuff for everyone to stay at the Archives overnight for a few days. We’re overdue for an attack.”

“And even if we weren’t, Martin won’t leave until Jon comes up from the coffin, and if we leave him alone here he’ll probably do something stupid like climb down after him and get trapped forever, which I assume is why you’re parked in front of the door like something out of a heist movie.” Now that the laptop was out of the way, Gerry shifted to lay his head in Tim’s lap. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “How bad was it?”

“Define ‘it.’” Tim wrapped a lock of hair from the white streak around his finger idly.

“How did Martin take it?” Gerry’s voice was soft.

Tim definitely should have known that would be Gerry’s first concern, actually. Especially given the nature of the situation. “He’s…not having a great time of it. Melanie stabbing him, and then Breekon delivering the coffin, and apparently he managed to extract a statement from him…then finding out Jon went in there after Daisy, and then the flashback? It’s a lot to handle. And then he sort of Knew you could only talk back to us when it fit in with the narration, I guess, and that frustrated him a bit. But I don’t think he’s mad at you.” He paused. “Yet.”

“Oh, he’s going to be, once he has the time to be,” Gerry assured him. “When he’s in crisis mode, he puts off his own needs and emotions in favor of taking care of everyone else’s. You can usually tell when he’s decided the situation is safe when he explodes on you about something. Record is six months. I think Melanie had even forgotten what it was he was mad about. He’ll probably rip my head off as soon as Jon comes back.”

“Is it weird to say I’d like him to do it sooner?”

“No. It’s not good for him to bottle up like that, but especially if Melanie went all…Slaughter on him, he’s going to fight his anger for a bit out of fear that it’ll manifest.” Gerry stole Tim’s coffee cup and took a sip. “God, that was bad. I don’t remember the Buried trying to sweet-talk me into giving up like that the first time. Must’ve blocked that out.”

“Not the Buried, babe. That was me.” Tim rubbed his thumb over Gerry’s cheek. “I know you can’t usually respond or anything, but, Jesus, you sounded so distressed, I just—I thought maybe if I reminded you that you were having a flashback you might calm down a bit. Guess it backfired.”

Gerry looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. “You’re not exactly beating the ‘sweet’ allegations there, Stoker.”

“Shut your whore mouth.” Tim bent down to kiss Gerry, then gave a muffled yelp as Gerry, with surprising strength, grabbed him around the neck and pulled him down into his own lap for a more intense kiss.

“Should we come back later?” Sasha’s voice said from nearby, sounding amused.

Tim held up his middle finger, and from the shift in Gerry’s grip and the choked-off laugh from someone nearby, he guessed Gerry had done the same. Then he heard a plaintive mew and pulled away from the kiss enough to ask, “Is that a fucking cat?”

“If I’m going to be here for a few days, I’m not leaving the cats alone,” Melanie said, sounding annoyed.

Gerry let go of Tim, who got to his feet and pulled Gerry up easily. Martin, Melanie, and Sasha were laden down with several bags each; Martin also had a cat carrier, while Sasha had another. Melanie had changed into a pair of loose, silky-looking trousers, probably so they wouldn’t rub her stitches, and a fluffy jumper the color of sea foam. Martin, too, had changed his torn shirt for a black turtleneck that made him look both slightly slimmer and significantly more intimidating. It also made Tim suspect he was planning to jump straight into the Buried after Jon.

“Are you okay?” Melanie asked Gerry.

“No, not really, but I’m feeling all right, at least.” Gerry looked between Melanie and Martin, his expression guilty. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t want you to know it was like that.”

Martin stared at Gerry, his lips pressed into a tight line. Tim could see the tension building, and could also see Martin visibly swallowing it down. He took half a step away from Gerry and sat back in his chair, picking up his coffee and leaning back as best he could. Thankfully, the door kept him upright. “Nope, you deserve this, Ger. Don’t hold anything back, Marto.”

Martin took a deep breath—and let Gerry have it, with absolutely none of the Archivist and every ounce the little brother. “What the fuck, Gerard.”

“Ooh, full first name, he’s in trouble,” Sasha murmured to one of the cats, all of whom had been freed from the carriers now. The extremely fluffy grey tuxedo cat mrrped in agreement.

Martin ignored them both. “You keep doing this. You didn’t tell us what Mum and Aunt Mary were using me for, you didn’t tell us you were working with Gertrude Robinson, you didn’t tell us about the rituals, you didn’t tell us you had fucking cancer, and it was ages before you told us about the flashbacks at all. And now it turns out that you’ve been…possessed by the past, forced to narrate it into the void even while you’re reliving it, and you just…weren’t going to tell us?”

“It—it didn’t seem that bad,” Gerry said, a bit lamely. Tim could see, from his expression, that while he’d expected Martin to be mad, he hadn’t quite expected this, and it honestly seemed to be scaring him a bit. “I didn’t—”

“It’s feeding you,” Martin cut in sharply. “You know that, right? Not to the same degree as reaping the dying, but every flashback that isn’t something mundane, every time you relive an encounter with one of the Fourteen where someone should have died but didn’t, it’s feeding you, and it’s taking you further along the path you’re fighting, and you didn’t think it was that bad?”

The legs of Tim’s chair thumped back to the ground. “Wait, it’s what?”

The guilt in Gerry’s eyes was instant, and Tim swallowed down on no small amount of his own anger at the realization that Gerry had known that. “It’s not…as bad. Like you reading the written statements rather than taking live statements. Look, I know that usually someone is…I don’t know, dreaming about the moment when the flashbacks come, but it’s not like I’m standing there watching—” He broke off abruptly and clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening.

If Jon had been there, Tim thought distantly, he’d be shouting on Martin’s behalf right about now. For just a moment, in the shocked silence that followed Gerry’s words, it looked like Melanie was going to fill in that role. But Martin held out a hand to stop her—and for once, he didn’t look like he was going to back down.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, steel in his voice. “The flashbacks. The aftermath. Whatever. Do you feel it?”

“Yes,” Gerry answered immediately, hand coming away from his mouth. “It’s not the same as the seizure-inducing agony that happens when I refuse to take someone who’s on the cusp of dying, it’s more like the kind of headache you get when you’re low on oxygen, but it still hurts.” He winced and closed his eyes. “I deserved that.”

Martin screwed up his face and dropped his head for a moment, which was when Tim realized he had compelled Gerry. “No, you didn’t. I didn’t actually do that on purpose. I’m sorry.”

“I know better than to push you when you’re upset.” Gerry took a deep breath and looked up at Martin. “You’re right. I should have told you a long time ago. Both of you. I just…didn’t want you to think I was less than human.”

“You just didn’t want me to rip out your spine and flatten your ribs like spatchcocking a chicken,” Melanie muttered. She limped over to Gerry and hugged him tightly. “You’re still human, you asshole. Even if you do have creepier dreams than Martin.”

Martin huffed at her, but came over to hug both her and Gerry, too. Gerry clung to both of them, and for a long moment none of them moved.

Finally, Gerry stepped back and looked around. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way…what do we do now?”

Tim shrugged. “Sit vigil until Jon comes up, I guess.”

Martin shook his head, his worry rushing back in an instant. “I—I can’t do that. I need to—”

“You need to stay out of there, Martin,” Melanie said sharply. “It only just let you go once. You really think it’ll stick at swallowing the Archivist?”

“I can’t just leave him in there,” Martin shot back. He turned to Tim and Sasha. “Did he have a plan? A way to get out? Hell, a way to find Daisy? Anything?”

“He thinks the fact that she Marked him might give him a lead,” Tim answered. “And to get out…” He hesitated and looked up at Sasha.

“It’s you,” Sasha supplied. “We thought—you know, you two have each other’s hearts, so that should be enough to get him out, right?”

“I—” Martin hesitated. “I-I don’t know. I can’t—that’s too close to another Fear, I can’t Know anything about it in that detail. I—I can still sense him—just—but I can’t—i-it’s too far away.”

That…was less than optimal. Tim swallowed the sudden surge of nerves. If Jon had got so deep that Martin was having trouble finding him…what chance did Jon have? It was tempting, for just a second, to let Martin into the office—maybe if they all stood with him, they could—

“Tapes,” Gerry blurted suddenly, his face lighting up.

“What?” Martin, Melanie, and Tim all said in unison, looking up at him in confusion.

“Tapes, the tapes. You’ve got a bunch with Martin’s voice on them, right?” Gerry gestured at the door. “How many recorders do you have? Play a bunch of the tapes on top of the coffin, it should—I mean, today notwithstanding, when I’m having the flashbacks, I hear you, Tim. I heard Martin and Melanie too—didn’t hear you, Sasha, but I don’t know if that’s because you didn’t say anything or—”

“Oh, I had a lot to say, you just didn’t answer me.” Sasha set down the cat and ignored his plaintive cries to be picked up again. “I’ve seen about a dozen recorders in various places. They just keep…turning up, and we keep putting them in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet there. It could work.”

Melanie pushed herself to a standing position. “I’ll get the tapes. Martin, come on, you can help me get them.”

Martin hurried to Document Storage, where they still kept all the tapes, Melanie trailing along in his wake and fussing at him to slow down. Tim stood up and kissed Gerry’s cheek. “Brilliant.”

“Wait and be sure it works before you say that,” Gerry cautioned in a low voice, but he smiled as he said it.

He joined Tim and Sasha at the file cabinet. Sasha pulled open the bottom drawer, and Tim stared at the motley collection of shoebox recorders, handheld recorders, and one candy-colored miniature boom box with a microphone attached by a curly cable. “I don’t remember us having so many.”

“They’re like wire hangers. They breed when you’re not looking.” Sasha bent down to grab a handful.

“Better than breeding when you are looking, I guess. The reproductive habits of Machina kasetophono is not something I’ve ever wanted to observe,” Gerry said dryly, snagging the boom box.

“Did you just invent a scientific taxonomy for ‘tape recorder’?” Tim demanded.

“I’m impressed that you picked up on that.”

“First in Anthropology, remember?” Tim scooped up what was left in the drawer. “Come on. Hopefully this will be enough.”

They dropped the recorders onto the desk just as Martin and Melanie emerged from Document Storage, arms full of tapes. Tim didn’t think he’d done a task with this kind of urgency since his student days as they all grabbed tapes, checked they were properly rewound, and snapped them into place. Gerry dashed off and returned with a box that he began piling the loaded recorders into. Once they were done, he hesitated, then handed it to Tim. “Be careful in there.”

“I will.” Tim gave Gerry one more quick kiss, then hugged Martin with one arm. “We’ll get him out. We will. C’mon, Sash.”

Sasha followed him without question. Tim glanced over his shoulder briefly to see Gerry and Melanie wrap their arms around Martin from either side, all of them watching with worried expressions, then opened the door to the Archivist’s office and went in.

Just like in the statement, the coffin was of pale, unvarnished wood, with the words DO NOT OPEN scratched deep into the surface. The chain lay on the floor, padlock still open with the key inserted, but the lid was closed. Sasha stared at it for a long moment, open curiosity on her face. Tim locked the door to the office—just as a precaution—and nudged her. “Don’t get any ideas, Miss James. Come on, let’s get these queued up.”

“How long has he been down there?” Sasha checked the clock on the wall. “A few hours? Should we just play one at a time or—”

“No. All of them,” Tim said positively. “Take ‘em out, set ‘em up, let ‘em go. We can stay here to monitor and rewind them if we need to, but the more he can hear Martin’s voice, the better.”

He pulled out the first recorder, one of the shoebox ones, and twiddled the volume dial so it was all the way up. He set it on the coffin and pressed PLAY. After the customary split second of spooling, Martin’s voice flowed out. “Martin Blackwood, Archivist at the Magnus Institute, recording statement DA-12, statement of Adelard Dekker…”

Getting the hint, Sasha grabbed the next one and put it at the other end of the coffin. A second later, Martin’s voice overlapped with the statement that was beginning to roll out. “You’re sure this is all right?”

It probably took them about ten minutes to get all the tapes they’d found going. Martin had, at this point, recorded almost more of the statements than the rest of them put together, so there was a veritable cacophony of recordings, to the point that Tim couldn’t even distinguish what they were saying. They were all Martin’s voice, though, so hopefully that would be enough.

Sasha evidently had the same thought as she stepped back. Over the babble of statements, she said, “I feel like there ought to be more we can do.”

Tim bit his lip. Suddenly, the memory of Gerry’s echoing voice floated into his head: Desperate, defeated, and oh so afraid, I begin singing “Let the Bulgine Run”—it may not work, but it will at least let it know that we are fighting.

“Shit, how does that song go…” he muttered. Gerry had taught him most of their standards, but it took him a second to match words to tune. Raising his voice, he sang out as loud as he could, “Oh, the smartest packet you could find…”

Thankfully, Sasha apparently knew it as well and joined in. He could hear the others, faintly, singing through the door behind him and knew they were joining in, and he hoped that the shanty, combined with the tapes, would be enough.

They had just reached the end of the words Tim knew, and he was scrambling to improvise an additional verse, when the lid of the coffin rattled. Tim grabbed Sasha and pulled her back against the wall as the recorders began sliding away, some silenced as they reached the ends of their tapes, others still yelling to the ceiling about forests and ghosts and monster movies. After a moment, the lid flew open and—thank Christ—Jon emerged, gasping, covered in dirt head to toe, with haunted eyes, but still alive. Tim could see a narrow flight of stone steps that he was scrambling his way up, one hand clutching a recorder and the other behind him. He got a little further and…

And there was Daisy.

Jon all but fell over the side of the coffin, dragging Daisy with him. Sasha didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward and grabbed the coffin lid, then stopped, staring into it.

“Sasha, no, don’t!” Tim, panicking slightly, darted forward, intent on dragging her back, slamming the lid shut, and locking it tight. Possibly welding it in place.

Sasha shook her head and looked up, but there was no fear in her eyes—only wonder, and a bit of respect. “It’s empty.”

“What?” Tim and Jon said in unison.

“Look.” Sasha pointed into the depths. “It’s—it’s gone. It’s just a coffin. Jon, you defeated the Buried.”

Jon seemed understandably reluctant to look, but Tim peered over Sasha’s shoulder and blinked. The steps he’d seen were—as Sasha said—gone. There was nothing in the coffin but a thin sprinkling of dirt scattered over a pale yellow bottom.

“Holy shit.” Tim blinked, then shook his head. “I’ll be damned. Still, uh, let’s not tempt fate, yeah? C’mon, let’s lock this sucker up, just in case. Now we can send it to Artifact Storage.”

Jon shook some of the dirt out of his hair and looked around the room. “What…tape recorders?”

“Gerry’s idea. He thought Martin’s voice would help.” Tim wrapped the chain back around the coffin and locked it securely. “He’s outside waiting for you. Come on.”

Sasha unlocked the door to the office and yanked it open. “It worked!”

She had to dodge out of the way as Jon practically charged out the door and into Martin’s waiting arms, coming together in a cloud of dirt. It was only when he let go to throw his arms around Martin’s neck that Tim realized Jon had still been holding Daisy’s hand.

Tim studied her. She looked…different. Her hair had grown out during the months she’d been trapped underground, from what he could see under the dirt and dust, and there were dark hollows under both eyes. She seemed almost to have shrunk into herself, and the look in her eyes actually stirred a little bit of sympathy in him—she looked lost. Broken.

“Are you okay?” Martin’s voice cracked and shook even on those four syllables. “Christ, Jon, I—when they said you went in there—”

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Jon didn’t sound totally convinced of that, and the way he clung told Tim he was definitely not okay, but it also told him he was getting there. “It…wasn’t fun, but—I, I found her.”

Martin tucked his chin over Jon’s head and looked over at Daisy, then offered her a weak but genuine smile. “Hey.”

Daisy’s mouth twitched slightly, like she was considering smiling but wasn’t sure she was allowed to. Tim hesitated, then held out his arms hesitantly. “Uh…welcome back?”

To his surprise, she actually accepted—as hesitantly as he’d offered, but she did step closer and tentatively put her arms around his shoulders. He responded in kind, not wanting to squeeze her too tightly if…but after a second, she seemed to release a lot of tension, all at once.

“It was lonely down there,” she said, her voice low and shaky, almost fragile somehow. “Quiet, but…I didn’t think I needed…people.”

Melanie’s expression looked conflicted, but then she shifted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well. You’ve got us, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah.” Daisy let go of Tim and looked around the room, like she was marking everyone. “Where’s Basira?”

And, really, Tim thought with a sinking feeling, he should have expected that, too. He looked around at the others, who all bore expressions he thought were probably pretty similar to his own—guilt, sympathy, pain, worry. Maybe a little bit of fear, but strangely, he wasn’t as afraid of Daisy as he had been. She didn’t seem as dangerous as she had.

Yet, an evil little voice in the back of his brain said. Give her time to recover.

Sasha was the one to finally break the silence. “She’s working for Peter Lukas.”

Daisy blinked and tilted her head to one side, sending another shower of dirt to the floor. They were going to have to do some serious cleanup. “Do I…know him?”

“No reason why you should. The Lukases are Institute donors, and they’re also very tightly bound up in the Lonely,” Martin said, gently and carefully. He’d let go of Jon, probably so as not to rub it in to Daisy, but they were still standing incredibly close to one another. “The plan worked, Tim and Sasha got Elias arrested, but Peter Lukas took over pretty much right away. Basira’s been working directly for him since just after Halloween.”

Daisy stared at Martin. Tim had always found her expressions rather difficult to read, unless she was trying to be intimidating. He didn’t now. “Why?”

“She made some kind of deal with him. There were a lot of attacks against the Archives, and the last one…i-it was bad. We all realized we couldn’t keep fighting them off like that.” Martin swallowed visibly. “Basira left mid-conversation—we thought at first she’d just gone out for a walk or something, but the next thing we knew, her desk was empty and I got a memo from Peter Lukas that she had been reassigned. She’s his personal assistant now.”

Sasha nodded. “We don’t…see her too much these days. She’s still around, and we see her more often than we do Peter Lukas—I actually don’t know if anybody has seen him other than Basira and maybe Manal—but it’s still a rare thing.”

Martin hesitated. “I’ll go let her know you’re back. She’ll want to know.”

“Ask if we need permission to send the coffin to Artifact Storage or if we can just drop it off while you’re at it,” Tim suggested. “I don’t think we need that thing sitting down here any more, even if it’s empty.”

“Wait, what?” Martin said incredulously. “Did you say empty?”

“Tell you what, you explain,” Tim said to Sasha. “I’ll go talk to Basira myself. And maybe see about finding the extra brooms. Be back in a jiffy.” Before anyone could argue with him, he headed out of the Archives and into the Institute proper.

Manal being away from her desk was, surprisingly, a good sign; Tim had learned that if he bumped into anyone else outside the Archives, he was that much less likely to find Basira. Her office door was firmly shut, but he knocked on it three times and then opened without waiting for permission.

“Daisy’s back,” he said without preamble, and then stopped. There was a coldness in the room, and a faint smell of salt and damp permeated the air. The computer was on, humming low in the background, and a set of half-filled forms sat next to it, a fat-barreled pen resting on top of it, cap stuck firmly to the back and exposing the nib to the open air.

Other than that, the room seemed empty.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

ask game:

tsc (i’m sorry i always ask about them, my brainrot is strong and i love hearing your thoughts)

and community

don’t apologize pls lol I also am brain rotting hard and have few people to talk about it with so it’s appreciated :)

The Shadowhunter Chronicles

M/F OTP: there are others I really like or love in a more normal way, but Emma/Julian Will/Tessa and Jem/Tessa are the ones that hit on another level for me emotionally, I’m clinically insane about them. Also it’s a bit hilarious to think about, since this was formative media for me (I first read TID in late elementary/middle school and TDA as they were coming out in high school) how my taste in ships generally speaking was shaped… like if you look at pairings I gravitate towards in other fandoms since there are def patterns xd. The impact!

Other M/F ships I have love for (including this category because ik i don’t talk about them as much and in another fandom where I had less dynamics I’m super fond of to choose from I could have placed them in that first category think of them as like second tier Otp’s for me ): Mark/Cristina, James/Cordelia, Simon/Isabelle (last one also was formative they were thee hot girl/soft boy nerd ship to me in middle school. But it has been a while so unsure if they’d hit the same on reread, they are the tmi couple I would most like to see in the better in black collection though!)

M/M OTP: Jem/Will! And then follow up Kit/Ty Surefire ways to get me invested in a ship: they do necromancy together, meet cute with a knife to the throat, they break up without ever dating. Triple check.

F/F OTP: along those lines it’s Lucie x Grace literally the main reason I want to reread TLH (well I do also just want to see how it reads back to back and not broken up and I have other reasons but like. Those are less important) is to be able to properly write fic about them, like it genuinely pisses me off this fandom is so boring and tasteless I can’t believe I actually miss the legacies fandom they were annoying as hell but at least they understood that when women do dark magic together it’s polite to write detailed analysis of how gay they are 😭. The way I know cc has seen Buffy too like flop. Also it just fits archetypes of antagonistic femslash I tend to love in general see: Julia/Marina Aria/Alison Elena/Rebekah and more

OT3: Herongraystairs and then Kierarktina

Friendship OTP: Tessa & Magnus + Will & Magnus! And for familial relationships I adore all The Blackthorn siblings in TDA and their dynamics but especially Julian and Mark’s relationship is v compelling to me and I also love Cordelia and Alastair’s relationship v much it was my favorite overall development in TLH. And then for psuedo familial dynamics I Love Charlotte’s relationships with Tessa Jem Will and Jessamine. her relationship with Jem might be my softest spot overall especially because they have moments in CP2 that make me go 🥺 but as a documented Tessa lover I adore how having Charlotte as a mentor figure effects her arc. So those are my favorites Ik I failed at picking just one. Oh I also adore Emma and Cristina’s friendship although I also sometimes ship them romantically

Canon OTP: Blackstairs Wessa Jessa like I said

Crackship OTP: what even counts as crackship? I will admit that during my CP reread I did look up how many Will/Magnus fics there are on ao3 although I did not read them (there are 12 for inquiring minds).

Anti-OTP: The worst ship to me is Jordan/Maia but it’s been a long time so the vitriol has worn off and I don’t have another solid notp besides them but the other canon pairings I’m #unimpressed with are Clace Ghostwriter and Gracetopher … Lucie/Jesse probably irks me the most these days because I actually want to like them because the concept is so good but the execution falls flat for me and I really like Lucie and want someone more interesting for her (like Grace lol.)

Community

M/F OTP: ultimately when I’m actually watching the show it’s Jeff/Britta love their emmaxknightleycore vibes. But I did get really into Abed x Annie at one point and even wrote some fic about it over quarantine (when I first got into Comm) so I have a soft spot for that concept too

M/M OTP: Troy/Abed. They of course are The otp of the show.

F/F OTP: not really otp status but well I did write this Annie x Britta Carmilla Au: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728689?view_adult=true

(I orphaned that account post quarantine)

OT3: Troy/Abed/Annie

Friendship OTP: I mean all the study group dynamics but I especially have soft spots for Annie and Troy + Abed and Britta moments

Canon OTP: Jeff/Britta

Crackship OTP: what even counts as crack …

Anti-OTP: I just don’t like Jeff/Annie I used to viscerally hate it these days I’m just like. It’s not for me lol.

[domain-of-revelation]

Herrscher of Origin 2.0: The Purposeless of Mei’s Growth

Spoilers for 6.3 and 6.4. Talks of Anti-Elysium Everlasting & (anti) Elymei.

Well, here we are I guess. Welcome to the culmination of the disappointment and decline of the Honkai universe’s writing and execution.

Mei’s Growth Pre-Flamechaser - Was the most “grown” and self-sustaining in terms of maturity and power (because of HoT persona and their bond). However, she put restraints on herself, thereby making her weaker as time went by. She was unable to do anything because of the shackles she tied to herself. Eventually, this led to a break in her character (Lament of the Fallen) where she in turn sacrificed herself to save the light of her life. She became the concept she hated, and she full fucking sent that shit! That’s our girl! When it became too much, she had to make that decision, and she took it by the throat and made it her personality. It was even better because it made sense for her to finally, finally let go of her own conviction because the ends justified the means to her, for Kiana.

The Flamechaser Arc - Mei: *angry about girlfriend dying to terminal radiation and her sacrificing herself* Flamechasers: Okay but have you heard about our lord and savior Elysia? Elysia (EE version): 🌸 👼🏻 ✨ 🌈 “by the way, I’m god” - Elymei. Uhhhh-

Moon Arc - Can we all just agree that this arc so far has been a complete flop (besides Seele, because I’m biased)? Seriously. Why do I need to become a PhD in astrophysics and electromagnetism to understand this chapter. Why dump exposition sentence after sentence that amounts to nothing but “I know you are but what am I?” It takes so much momentum out of this chapter that I scratch my head and think, “maybe I should just wait for all the chapter to be done”. It feels so padded out with philosophical nonsense pushed into a package already ready to burst. All we (at least here on Tumblr) wanted to see we’re our trio back together and kick Kevin’s ass. We’re simple people, I think. We don’t need our brains melted out with these lectures to enjoy a good, compelling story.

- Also, thanks for the retcon of Bronya no longer being a child soldier/assassin. No reason for that, so thanks for making the lore even more complicated for no reason.

- A shoutout to the translation team making me want to work for them instead because why do they not do quality assurance anymore.

- Open World is getting old. My phone shrieks in binary every time I have to load in to that stupid fucking god damn dog shit ass moon map. :)

Herrscher of Origin 2.0 - I said in an earlier post that this is a rare battlesuit that I highly dislike. Where do I even begin with this development for Mei? While I do love that Mei is the new HoO, as HI3 started with her, that’s really the only thing I actively enjoy with this development.

- Anything else about the battlesuit? I dislike. The “heavenly” theme of her suit, the lighter colors, the emphasis on Elysia, I actually hate it.

- And I hate to say I hate it, but I do. Elysia is supposed to be ka-put, gone, her and her comrades stories are O V E R. Let them rest for once.

- It feels like they’re trying to override Mei with Elysia, and it just doesn’t work. This entire shift in her personality, especially with the leaks of Mei saying she basically does not care if Kiana sacrifices herself, goes against the entire reason for her growth in the first fucking place!

- Why does Mei now have flower themes when it was never entirely relevant to her character? Bronya has technology and “coldness”, with a focus on blues, whites, and grays. This continues in her HoTr battlesuit. Kiana has her outgoing, tempered liveliness and hope, symbolized by whites, oranges, and blacks. Her symbol being the stars and fire actively fits her suits in at least some capacity through all of them. This has been her theme up to Flamescion. Now why I’m sitting here wondering why the hell Mei got this “heavenly angel” looking schtick that makes no sense. Her themes were red, black, purple, and white. And of course, lightning. This about-face turn around of punting these themes into the stratosphere isn’t growth, it’s a complete erasure of her journey and efforts to become stronger. What’s with the light blues and golds? The pinks of her eyes? Why flowers. Again? Also, the parallel between HoO Mei and Raiden Ei… how similar their battlesuits are. 🫠 end me. Mihoyo stop introducing Genshin to Honkai pleASE.

- Mei isn’t Elysia and she never will be. I need everyone to read this again. And another time. Mei might be the inheritor of the title, but Mei will not and can never be Elysia. To make Mei seem closer to Elysia is to erase everything Mei is and has done. Removing Mei’s autonomy in exchange for an Elysia cameo is downright ridiculous. Why can’t her bond with Kiana and Bronya be the trigger? Why does it have to lie in people long gone? Why can’t it be love? Love for humanity was the inspiration for Elysia, so why can’t it be love for her friends (and girlfriend)? Why, why, why does it have to always be Elysia?

- Mei’s growth has and will always be focused around learning from others. From Kiana saving her life at the very beginning of HI3, to learning the beauty and importance of life and sacrificing it with the FCs, Mei is always the mirror of another’s actions. To make Mei this… almost lassiez-faire to Kiana sacrificing herself is actually infuriating. They just got back together after half a year apart, where their parting almost meant killing each other, to now Kiana waving sacrificial-offering flags like a Naval officer, and Mei suddenly not caring anymore?! Just because you grow doesn’t mean you suddenly don’t care about things anymore! The beauty and anguish from Lament of the Fallen is due to the circumstance that Mei had no other choice but to leave to find a way to help Kiana. If she had to be the bad guy, she would be. So where the fuck does this “yeah I might’ve just reunited with my girlfriend after she tried to shoulder everything by herself, but now I couldn’t care less what she does” attitude come from.

A Little Ending Blurb I’m just, I’m so tired. After the Everlasting Flames Arc, I feel that the writing team is just blasting us to the end of this saga and not caring unless it’s a cool animation or battle scene. As someone who has been playing since global launch in 2018, it is more than just disappointing to see the quality nosedive to the level it’s at now. It’s, in my opinion, heartbreaking (as cringey/cheesy as it might sound). I’ve loved this game with so much passion and intrigue, it’s become a large point in my life. “Protect all that is beautiful in this world.” It’s served as a way to reflect on myself and my growth, especially compared to the girls who all have their threads of relatability and genuineness. I cherish these characters. I’ve laughed and I’ve most certainly cried at the art Mihoyo has created in the past that ripped out my heartstrings and played them like a harp. Honkai has really, truly touched my heart. It’s not something that a lot of media is able to do, but this one has, and it’s magical. It’s beautiful in its anguish and its sacrifices. It’s maddening in the way that it crawls underneath your skin with how human these characters are. But I hate how much it seems like this past year, that feeling has been pushed behind a curtain. Nothing seems earned or deserved or meaningful. Characters just do because they do, particularly in Mei’s case. She’s constantly ham-fisting her recollections of the Flamechasers, telling her memories to characters who’ve never heard, let alone cared, of simulations of a bygone era. Everyone’s just like, “Oh? Yeah? Mhm, sure.” And move about their next dialogue. There’s no real significance to her exposition, there’s no drive to explain what’s been happening on her end. And it sucks to see.

Sorry I’m ending it like this, but I’m frustrated. I’ll try and make another addition to this in a more eloquent way, but I just needed to get these thoughts out there.

[blorbocedes]

maxiel (i am prepared for you to hurt me)

Why don’t you ship it?

I mean I have written maxiel 😅 but it's a very specific, rancid dynamic that only eye enjoy. I always avoid royal pairings whenever I get into a fandom, which means the biggest/most popular ship cause it's more interesting to me to have to figure a dynamic out than already have it be pre-established and fandom having made their mind on how they want it to be. Nothing wrong with that ofc, if it hits it hits, and maxiel is popular for a reason. I can't be too mean, at least half my mutuals are maxiellers of the world. It's just how fandom sees max in maxiel is very different from how I see him and it's not my cup of ☕️🫖

What would have made you like it?

Uhh if it was less popular 😅 if I got into f1 during 2018 I'm sure I would be a diehard maxieller. Unfort as I got in, my first impression had been Daniel as just Max's flop ex-teammate while Max had moved on to better and bigger things of the world.

Honestly, I would've been super into a reconciliation maxiel angle --they lose touch, max has to get over being betrayed by daniel leaving leaving him, daniel has to deal with Coming Home (rb 3rd driver) and swallow the resentment of everything max has is something that was promised to him etc, and they both have grown up and changed but at the same time are so fond of each other.

in some ways I feel like their characterization is stuck in 2018 and that just doesn't really appeal to me. let them grow up, move on, and come back together!!! i think that's far more compelling.

there's really only so many times I can read established relationship fluff mpreg. or max sobbing cause his dad is mean and being stuffed of the Ric Dick Turbo 3000 will fix him.

i do appreciate your bottom daniel agenda tho!

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

yeah! I think understanding maxiel is fundamental to understanding/writing max. daniel's impact, friendship, support was foundational for max. i think a sense of humour is v important when writing max, and he def took that from Daniel/wanting to impress him. I adore baby maxiel gifs from when they're teammates. also they have a 😳 age gap and it's never properly utilised!!!! Ahhhhh.

[leejungchans]

prove it, you won’t : h.js [teaser]

word count | 0.7k (estimation: 14-15k total)

pairing | joshua hong (svt) x female reader

warning(s) / includes | food mentions (in this teaser only; more will be included in the full fic)

note | part 3 of the fallin’ flowers series

a/n: i pulled through!!!! :’)))) idk what compelled me to do a teaser for this part, maybe it’s bc it’s been over half a year since i last posted for the series so i was worried people might have forgotten about it </3 but i just wanted to thank you all for the support you’ve been showing and for being so patient with updates!! i hope you’ll enjoy this teaser and that the full fic will be somewhat worth the extremely long wait 💗

RELEASE DATE: APRIL 30-MAY 1

FULL FIC HERE

The first time you brought him to the café, your heart was pounding from the ambiguity, unsure why Joshua Hong of all people would want to ask you out for coffee. Today, you’re back with the same jittery feeling that quakes every cell in your body and makes your stomach do flip-flops.

Sweat collects in your palms as you wrap a hand around the door handle and push it open, already spying Joshua sitting in the far corner of the quaint café. You sneak a glance at the table by the window you and Joshua occupied all those months ago, finding a young couple seemingly in their early twenties settled into the cushioned chairs.

You squeeze past a server on your way to the table, a mumbled ‘excuse me’ falling from your lips, hardly audible from how your throat seems to have closed up from nerves.

Joshua looks up from his plate as you draw closer, offering a weak smile as you slide into the empty chair across from him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back awkwardly, busying yourself with taking off your crossbody purse. It sits in your lap, your arms coming around to hug it against your torso for some semblance of comfort.

“I, um… I just ordered the same things we did last time. I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Of course.” Frankly, you don’t remember what you ordered that day; it’s the least of your worries with everything that has happened since. You do, however, remember his plate of strawberry waffles that was topped with more powdered sugar than days’ worth of the recommended daily sugar intake.

You cease your fidgeting in favour of scanning your surroundings. While you like to think of yourself as a regular of the café, you don’t think you’ve ever sat in the far corner before. Why would you when there are far better seats, like the aforementioned window seats that get plenty of sunlight, or the sofa seats with the fluffy pillows? But for the dreaded conversation you’ll be having, this little corner where no one else other than the staff passes by allows for the most privacy.

Your eyes finally land on Joshua, a jolt of lightning shooting down your spine when you find him already looking back at you, simply observing. You both chuckle uncomfortably.

“Thanks for seeing me, by the way,” he’s the first to make conversation again, something you’re deeply grateful for, “I really appreciate it.”

You shake your head. The guilt that’s been haunting you for months rears its ugly head again, creeping up your throat like bile. Admittedly, you’ve been extremely stubborn, he has every right to be annoyed with you and yet he’s treating you with the same kindness as he’d always shown.

“No, thank you for… actually trying to amend things,” you admit. Nerves sink their fangs into your skin, and you begin playing with your fork for a distraction as you continue, “I’m sorry for ignoring you for ages.”

“It’s okay, you needed space and time to think. I understand.”

The server approaches your table with a smile and places your orders before you. Strawberry waffles and Iced Americano for Joshua, iced oat milk latte and—oh yeah, you did get the chocolate-banana crepes last time.

“Enjoy,” the server chirps before turning on her heel and striding off to another table.

The air around you is still heavy, discomfort still emanating from both of you in strong waves as you pick up your forks. It feels wrong to be in such a happy, cosy place just to eat in silence, avoiding meeting Joshua’s eyes like your life depended on it while he did the same as if you’re strangers who were forced to share a table. You begin doubting the success rate of this meeting; judging by how things are looking at the moment, the air wouldn’t be cleared until one of you spoke.

You desperately rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to get the ball rolling so you don’t throw up from the silence that tightens the knots in your stomach. It hits you out of nowhere as you peer up at him through your lashes when he’s not paying attention—his hair isn’t blonde anymore!

You decide to start there.

“So…” you begin slowly, eyes still trained on the ashy brown colour Joshua now sports, “you dyed your hair again.”

The harsh clang of cutlery against porcelain reaches your ears as Joshua drops his fork and knife on his plate of half-eaten waffles.

“I’m sorry!” he says, “I—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop!”

a/n: forgive the wall of text here but i wanted to include this here bc i’m sure more people will see it here rather than in a separate post—a few days ago i hit 1k here, so i’d really just like to take the time again to thank you all for your support and love ❤️ i can’t always respond to every comment and that’s something i’m working on, but trust me when i say that i read all your feedback, no matter how long or short, with the biggest smile on my face :’))) i really don’t think i deserve it or that my blog’s anything special but regardless i’m beyond flattered that so many of you decided to stick around and for that i’m more grateful that i’m capable of expressing ❤️ i promise once i have more time i will do a lil event to celebrate

on that note, do go and send your favourite writers/creators some love bc they deserve it and who doesn’t like hearing feedback for something they devoted so much time and effort into? :’))) and to my fellow ccs (whether you write or make gifs/graphics etc.) i just wanna say that you’re doing amazing and i’m proud of you <33

okay this is getting long but ily a lot and i hope you’re taking care of yourselves!!! i also hope you’ll continue to stick around so don’t be scared to chat w me hehe bc i’d love to interact more on here and make new friends 💗💗

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