#i ove the snark

[juxtafruition]

i was playing half-life and got the snark for the first time and i just had 2 draw this

[hannieehaee]

EUPHORIA (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: you've been inseparable with jungkook from the moment you landed in korea. from the initial language barrier to your group's immense success, you've remained dubbed as an iconic duo. but what will you do when a single moment changes everything between you?

content: idol!jungkook x idol!reader, f2l!jungkook, 8thfemalemember!reader, afab reader, reader is implied to be a foreign member of bts but you can assume all dialogue is supposed to be in korean, pretend this takes place during 2018/19 while they promoted fake love in the u.s, appearances from the other members, pining, miscommunication, dumb insecurities, smut, dry humping, body worship, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.6k (teaser); 12.5k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: december 22nd

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: this was not fully proofread cuz it took me veryyy long to finish, so pls excuse any small mistakes<3

masterlist | patreon

"That's not how you're supposed to do it."

You sighed, movements halting and your eyes closing in annoyance.

Turning to face the culprit of the comment, you reopen your eyes, ready to snark at the exact person you were expecting.

"Do you have to be the bane of my existence?"

He chucked at that, nodding at you to turn and face the mirror located behind you once more. It was foggy due to the inhuman amount of heavy breathing exchanged in the practice room, but you could still easily make yourself on it. And Jungkook too, of course.

Standing behind you, — with an offensive lack of distance between your bodies — he grabbed onto your arms from behind, helping you position yourself to perfection, even to the exact inch, of the move you were trying to perform. His eyes found yours on the mirror, giving you a short smile before beginning to guide you through the small transition you'd been struggling with.

"See? Like that," he said once finally letting go of you after walking you through it a few times. By the end, you had gotten it as perfectly as your choreographer had described to you a few hours ago.

"Thanks, Kook."

"Thought I was the bane of your existence?", he chuckled as he bent down to collect a water bottle, taking a sip before handing it to you.

You were usually more worried by boy germs than this, but Jungkook proved to be an exception through the past few years.

You swallowed your sip, "Yeah, but I still have manners."

"C'mon, we should head back to the dorms. You've been at this all day. You beat Jimin at hours logged into the practice room this week," it was meant lightheartedly, but it was true. You'd practically been living here for the past few days.

"Where are the guys?", you wondered out loud as you followed him out.

The dorms, as Kook had called them, were really just a small living space located within the building. There were talks of moving onto a larger building within the next couple of years, but for now you were content with your living arrangements. Despite all of you either owning property or having family outside of the company building, you and a few other members usually opted to stay there due to convenience. You and Jungkook were the main ones to do so.

"Well, we technically have the next few days off, so I'm pretty sure they went visit family while they can. We probably won't be back in Korea for a while after promotions start."

It was true. You were soon due to head to America to promote your newest comeback. This was the first time you'd be taking promotions out of Asia and into the west, which made all of you incredibly anxious. As the most fluent English speaker in the group, the task of being the group's representative should've fallen on you, but luckily Joon had decided he'd be taking the brunt of it for you.

Still, you were terrified to open yourselves up for a way bigger audience.

"You good?" Kook interrupted your thoughts.

"Yeah, Kook. Don't worry about it."

The two of you headed over to the elevators, pressing the button leading you to the floor where your rooms were located. It was likely no one else was in the building at this time — holy shit, was it really 3am? — meaning that you and Kook would likely get some well-deserved rest in the privacy of the dorms.

That was one of the few nice parts of belonging to what once was a very small company. You had no sibling groups as of yet, which kind of made you own the place (or at least that's how Taehyung would put it sometimes). Late at night, it was just you and your group mates with the occasional presence of staff. Though more commonly, it was just you and Kook opting to stay together into the depths of the night.

"Nervous about flying to the U.S?", he voiced when the metal doors closed in front of you, caging you in with your friend.

"Maybe. You're not?"

He shrugged, "It's just like any other performance. You should be the least nervous. You speak English. You already know what America's like."

"Me? I'm the only girl in the group. I'm gonna stand out like a sore thumb," you whined, earning a chuckle from him.

It was a rare situation, being a girl in a group full of men. Other co-ed groups existed within Kpop, but they usually held a better boy-to-girl ratio.

But this wasn't really the reason you were nervous.

Opening yourselves up to an entire new audience within a mere five years since debut was an entire new battle you'd have to face. Worst of all was that no other Kpop group had ever truly promoted in the west before now. You were given accolades as trailblazers, but at what cost?

"Hey," Jungkook called your attention again, gesturing you to follow him into the hallway that would lead you to your room, "C'mon, let's find something to take your mind off of this."

Leading you into his room rather than yours, he sat you on his couch as he went back out to peruse the kitchen of any food he could get for the two of you for an impromptu night indulging yourselves. You relaxed as you waited, appreciative of Jungkook immediately noticing your lack of ease and working towards getting you cooled down again.

He always did have a way of being in tune with your emotions that no one else did.

His room was spacious and tidier than the average for a man in his early 20's. It was common for you to spend time here rather than in your own room. You had always been one to wander in search of your bandmates, and Jungkook just so happened to be the most receptive to it of them all.

The click clank of bottles bumping into each other was your first indicator of his return, making you look up from the couch, unable to withhold a smile when you saw him balancing various bottles of soju in his arms while also attempting to carry a few packets of spicy ramen.

Getting up to help him, you aided him in setting down all his snacks on the coffee table, moving aside any remote and controller that was in the way. Your usual set up was established then, as it had countless times before. It consisted of you and Kook on his old couch (that he refused to replace from the old days in which you could barely afford any luxuries) with a variety of alcohol and snacks accompanying you through the night.

He took a seat on the floor while you remained on the couch. It was common for him. Something about being at optimal proximity to the food on the table.

"We've got two more nights left in Korea. What do you wanna do to spend the time? And no, practicing isn't allowed," he interrupted you before you could respond.

You huffed, shoulders slacking before going back to their usual posture, "Well, then I guess just this."

"Just this? My dorm and some soju?"

"Yep. We're going to be overwhelmed by people and schedules as soon as we leave Korea. Might as well enjoy the quiet alone time," you reasoned.

Jungkook hummed in pensiveness, "Does it really count as alone time if it's together?"

"I like my alone time better when I'm with you," was your response.

And you meant it too. The quiet sometimes became too quiet if Jungkook wasn't around. You'd known him since you were 15 and had been unable to imagine an existence without him since.

It was joked around by members and fans alike, that the two of you were attached to the hip. Some people would even call you a dynamic duo due to how often you were together with no distance between you. Of course, you were shipped and speculated as a couple, but that did nothing to deter your friendship.

Had you been a smarter person, you would've noticed Jungkook's bashful smile at your response. But you'd grown so used to his constant company that the idea of anything further than platonic did not compute in your brain. You weren't even sure if you were opposed to it; it was just nonexistent to you. It was as if he'd spawned as your friend one day and you never once stopped to question it.

"Well, let's enjoy it while we can," he finally responded as he handed you a now-opened bottle of soju.

Clanking bottles, you each took a small swing, settling in for a night that you'd likely not spend sleeping. You settled closer to Jungkook after that, letting yourself slide off the couch snd knocking shoulders with him as you took a seat on the softness of the rug under you.

"What do you wanna do to spend your last few nights of freedom?" you asked after some silence.

"I'll do whatever you want," his head fell to your shoulder, "We can just camp in here til they come get us for our flight on Monday."

You hummed in absentminded agreement, sipping at your drink a little more.

Jungkook turned to look at you then, slight bunny smile showing through.

"So, is tonight a blackout drunk night or do you wanna stay up and watch some movies?"

"Hmm. Maybe a mixture?", you suggested.

With a grin, he raised his bottle for yet another clink before taking a drink from it in tandem with you.

...

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[transformers-spike]

Hello ummm can I order a uhh wholesome Starscream x human!SO with the SO being into praising him and caring for him? And he of course is drinking it all up because he needs love and reassurance more than he could ever admit

Yet again my brain decided to go for a full length novel, so I had to pull back and came up with this. Think of this as them before they got together:

“Are you alright?” “Of course I am! Why would you think otherwise?” he snarks, puffing up like a disgruntled cockatiel. You squint and look him up and down with the most “dude, just admit it” expression you can muster. He glares at you for what feels like ages, ridiculous brow plates knitted into a “fucking try me” V. You sigh, take off the welding mask and put down the torch. “I’m worried about you.” Those very same brow plates shoot up to the sky. “Pah! I don’t need your worry!” he scoffs like he isn’t bleeding out in the middle of the woods. “Sure you don’t, but I’ll have you know there’s only so much I can do! We should call Ratchet.” His fist slams to the ground, you stumble but manage to catch yourself before falling face first into the deadly spikes adorning his stiletto. Death by high heel isn’t on your “appropriately ironic deaths” list, but you should add it. If your brain didn’t slosh inside your skull like a snowglobe in the hands of a petulant two year old, you could have sworn the mighty ex-commander of the Decepticons looked apologetic for a split second. “I would rather not deal with the likes of the Autobot medic,” he declares in a slightly softer voice, although not without his usual amount of scorn. “After all, you’re doing just fine,” he croons in a sly, buttering tone. Maybe you could have believed him if he hadn’t been constantly berating you for fucking up the impromptu surgery. You are not a medic, goddammit! Much less well-versed in the art of welding shut a metal alien from a planet light years away! You’re just some car junky with pyromaniac inclinations! But seeing him this way… covered in grime and energon, wings hanging low and servos shaking. You’re glad you didn’t send him to voicemail.

You pat his leg. “Thanks, but if this happens again I’m calling Bulkhead to haul your ass back to base whether you like it or not.” Putting on your welding mask, you keep working. Starscream stays oddly quiet, not even bothering to beep at you indignantly when your torch falls out of line. It’s no Picasso, but the bleeding has stopped. After you step back to give him some space, he tests out his leg, standing up and shifting his weight from side to side. The injured leg strains but does not collapse. “Good?” you ask. “Manageable,” he mumbles in his typical “it kinda sucks but I have to be grateful” way.

Pride fills you up like a single mom downing martinis during happy hour. Although not the best compliment, it’s a Ritz-Carlton coming from him.

“Do you want to go back to base? Or just… hang out here? In the middle of the woods?” He wrinkles his optical ridge at you but doesn’t answer.

“Okay,” you drawl out, taking a seat on possibly the most comfortable rock in Nevada. Years pass by – or so it feels like – waiting for the usually extremely bitchy (thus chatty) bot to break the silence. He does not. “I think I should go,” you sit up and thumb at your car, parked all the way across the woods on the main road, a good hike from where you’re currently at. “Don’t,” he hisses. His expression is almost… forlorn if not for his angry brows. Oh fuck off, the emotionally constipated airplane war criminal can’t ask you to hang out without hurting his pride. Which makes you the responsible adult of the situation compared to the billion year old metal chicken. And by God, you are the least responsible person you know (excluding Starscream).

So you sit your ass back down and lock eyes with said chicken. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened?” you ask, fully expecting him to shut you down by calling you fleshling and waving your humanity over your head like a shitty “begone” charm.

Instead, he thinks about it, averting his gaze from you and turning it to the vast wilderness beyond the trees. “Vehicons,” he states bitterly. “Either it was a purely coincidental dogfight or… Megatron is after me.” His whole frame shudders, wings sinking as low as they can go.

“I see.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Do you want to tell the Autobots?”

He shakes his helm and loosens a self-deprecating chuckle from his vocalizer. “Like they would listen to me.” You scrunch up your nose. “How about I tell them? Would that be easier for you?” His optics widen for a brief moment before returning to their perpetually conniving state. “I’m not delighted with the option, but it’s preferable considering their propensity for gathering unsolicited information.” The silence returns. “Hey, I know it’s not the best time to bring this up. But you don’t even have to answer, just please hear me out.” He peers at you wordlessly. “You’ve been through-” you gesture at dry neon blue energon adorning his frame “-a lot lately. I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings or anything like that, but if you ever need someone to just… be around, I’m here.” His expression hasn’t shifted one bit. It’s completely unreadable. You continue on with gritted teeth. “Personally, I’ve never defected from an extremely violent faction and been hunted down through the sky, but I find it’s easier to suffer around friends and family. They help shoulder the pain.”

He arches a metal brow. “Are you implying we’re friends?” “I mean-” you stammer, “I definitely consider you a friend. If you don’t, that’s fine, I’m not forcing you or anything. To each their own. But that’s beside the point-” A lengthy chuckle cuts you off. “Does a friend answer their comm in the middle of the night cycle and perform surgery with sub-optimal tools?” You’re not sure if he’s insulting you or trying to make a meaningful point. Maybe both. “If so,” he continues, lips quirking into an intimidating but somehow genuine smile, “we are friends.” Your brain flatlines. “Oh,” you whisper. “OH,” it hits you like an F-15 Fighting Falcon at full speed. “I… okay. So, um, if you want to hang out and stuff, I can stick around until five o’clock. Then I’ll have to leave and get ready for work.”

“Good enough,” he scoffs good-naturedly, having returned to his bitchy old self with slightly less bitchiness. But the smile he doesn’t bother hiding betrays something deeper. Starscream is your friend. Starscream called himself your friend. Holy shit, you think you’re going to have an aneurysm.

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

Happy Holidays to @idlenight, who was kind enough to let me steal his Sidestep, River Becker, for an absolutely unhinged fic for a gift exchange. I had a lot of fun playing with your delightful bastard, Idle. Sorry I was mean to him!

Undertow

Warnings for graphic violence, grief, betrayal, and questions of identity.

Read on Ao3 or

Red waves spill out of the fractured face plate, bursting from the technicolor star that crackles out wild like lightning across the shards of screen. Julia's resolve falters, her fist slowing as she draws it back. She swallows hard as glass pieces fall away without her knuckles to hold them in place. More strands of red escape the bounds of the helmet, pouring out unruly as the sea in a storm.

She used to tug on those waves, watching them bounce back into place. They're softer, silkier than her own hair. "No," she scoffed, shoving his shoulder gently. He rocked away with the motion, but always came back to her, like a moon in orbit. "You're not gonna convince me that's your natural color."

River rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide his smirk. "Yeah, well, guess you'll have to keep calling me a liar 'cause I'm not going to show you the carpet to prove you wrong."

"Mierda, Rio, ew!" The mock offense had been no match for her mirth, melting beneath her inability to stop laughing.

When she pressed her palm to his face, pushing him away fully, he let her. His laugh mingled with hers, green eyes alight with the joy she'd thought would always be there.

The green eye that peers out between shattered plasteel and glass isn't laughing now. Something else swirls in its depths as his brow pulls down towards his nose. "Don't fucking stop now, Charge." The voice modulator only partially cloaks his voice, the real River escaping the widening seams in Maelstrom.

He slams his head forward, forehead cracking against hers, and Julia swears as she reels back off and away from him. He scrambles even further in her distraction. Getting to his feet is not a graceful thing. It's a desperate scrabbling across ruined concrete to put space between them. More bits of his helmet crumble from his face, revealing scarred pale skin and a spattering of freckles.

"Oh, my god, you didn't tell me you have freckles!" The sentence broke on the giggle that Julia couldn't hold back.

River paused in pulling the Sidestep mask up, his nose anchoring the shifting nanoweave. He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressing into something close to a pout. "I can pull it back down if you're just going to make fun of me, Marshal." The words were sharp, but his tone cracked on the snark. He knew she wouldn't call his bluff.

"No,no," she'd protested, because curiosity always kicked her self discipline into gear. "Come on. Let's see it."

She wishes she could roll the mask back down now, piece the helmet back into place, go back to pretending anyone could be Maelstrom. She doesn't want to see his familiar face being revealed piecemeal as his most recent alter ego falls away. It hurts more with every shard that shatters on the concrete. The pieces scatter further as he goes on the offensive, fragments falling like rain, and he rushes forward once more.

Julia only has a second to collect herself before he's on her, trading blows as fast as a viper. He didn't used to be this fast. A function of the armor? Or maybe they just never sparred with the intent to hurt each other. Maybe he'd always been holding back. Or maybe they'd just made this impostor better than River.

"Keeping up okay, old lady?" River didn't even strain to speak as he dodged and wove between her blows. Despite his height, he was always a slippery opponent. "You haven't landed a single hit."

"So impatient." She'd laughed back then, though it had sounded more like a wheeze. "Ever heard of sounding someone out?"

"Ever heard of being too slow?" He shot back. "Too-

-slow, old lady." Cold metal knuckles crash into Julia's gut, knocking the wind out of her with a pained gasp. She doubles over with the blow and Maelstrom's other hand grabs her hair, dragging her back upright. Her eyes meet his, zeroing in one the new feature since she last saw him: an eye prosthesis in black and silver, its iris the same blue and purple starburst as Maelstrom's helm.

The sight makes her grit her teeth. Not even trying to hide now. And why should he? The jig is up. She knows he's an impostor - just a lookalike of the real River. It still stings like antiseptic on a fresh wound. River had been her best friend, her confidante, her other half in ways she struggles to explain even to herself. Was it not enough that he had died and she had mourned? Bled out for years while his name was carved in stone over an empty plot? And then this River - this terrible, blood-stained facsimile of her friend - had dug his claws into that old wound and ripped it open anew.

Julia clenches her jaw, eyes tracking each shift in the jacket that covers the grey and white armor, and dodges back away from the oncoming blow. He may be faster than her now, but he doesn't fight all that different than the real River used to. As she weaves between his fists, letting herself slip into old reflexes she hasn't used in years, River's lips curl up in a snarl. The expression looks alien on his face.

There was always a wry edge to his smile. He threw them around so carelessly. Always laughing at something, always preceding a sharp joke and scathing comment. They could verbally spar for hours, playing off each other with a subtle escalation with each return.

River isn't talking so much now. He must have finally realized she's not fucking around this time. What gave it away, she wonders. Was it the fact that he's only landing glancing blows now or that she flexed her fingers in the array almost as familiar as her own heartbeat? The humming of the generator echoes up her spine in answer. A more deadly call and response for him to rebuff. His armor may be insulated, but it's a broken shell now.

No, he hadn't seen her boot up her mods. That much is clear as her fist flies just past his face and his eyes widen at the sight of electricity crackling so close to his nose. He must be able to taste it. The fight goes from enraged to frantic, the stakes heightened, and Julia gives him no quarter. Her nerves scream every time she makes contact with the armor. It's clearly not reinforced, but it still jolts her nerves down to the very bone.

He falls for her feint and Julia lunges forward, dodging under his arm. It doesn't take a lot of force to the back of the knee to bring a man to the ground and River is no exception. Even in the armor, the joints buckle against the weight from Julia's reinforced skeleton. River turns, eyes wide as he tries to glance over his shoulder.

He tossed a smile over his shoulder, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he turned to face her. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it?"

Julia picked herself up off the ground and rolled her shoulders. "I don't know that I can pull it off. I'm not as scrawny as you."

She smirked to soften the blow a touch, but she could still see the mild offense as he scoffed, "Scrawny! It's called 'lean'." He bounced on his feet like a jack rabbit. "Or spry."

"Alright, then," she mimicked his bounce, bringing up her fists. "Let's try it again, then."

He rushed her, ducking beneath her swing, leaving himself purposefully open to the blow to the back of the knees. She had this now. If River could pull it off, so could Julia. Shift weight, turn, shift momentum, and-

Julia's heel makes contact with River's jaw and she can feel the rattle of his teeth as it snaps shut. He collapses forward onto his hands, spitting blood and what might well be a tooth onto the pavement. He wouldn't hesitate and neither does she as she drives her boot into his armored ribs. River gasps as he rolls onto his back and, for a moment, he lies there, grimacing with bloodstained lips. She's on him in the next breath, pinning one arm beneath her knee, the other above his head. She clenches her jaw so hard that her teeth ache as she hits him, once, twice, again, and again. His expression twists with panic and pain and something altogether unfamiliar to her. With the front of the helmet near fully gone, Julia's stomach twists at hurting this man with her best friend's face.

River, his face pinched even beneath the mask as he breathed shallow through his teeth. Julia pressed her hands hard against his side, but it didn't stop the blood seeping between her fingers. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay. I've got you." She didn't tell him she'd always have him. She didn't need to. He knew. She'd always have his back.

Until she didn't anymore. Her fist shakes where it's drawn back above her head, her breath as ragged as her heart. When had she started crying? Was it when River's nose had started gushing blood or when his scarred cheek had turned purple beneath her knuckles?

He looks up at her with an almost blank expression. No, not blank. Is it remorse? With great effort, his lips curl up in a smile, no room for mirth with all the jagged and broken edges. "Go on," he growls, though she feels none of the previous bite he'd spoken with. "If it's gotta be someone, it's better if it's you."

Julia chokes on a retort, her tongue leaden in her mouth. She clenches her fist hard enough to draw her own blood. Beneath her, Maelstrom, not-River, River closes his eyes. It only makes him look closer to dead. A scream tears itself from her throat as she drives her fist down once more.

[pianocat939]

I need the rise!turtles who is like a slasher?? Like Tiffany Valentine and or Michael Myers!! You can also just ask me for more information or something

DISCLAIMER: I have only watched one Michael Myers movie so I will 100% get some things wrong.

Additionally, this is gonna be a little gift for my aros- this can be read both romantically and platonically.

Alright so I originally planned to do all 4 bros into a post, then 2 into two separate posts, to now all individual ones- my brain just can't handle it anymore- my attention span is just killing me.

Tw: murder, blood, details of the corpse, anxiety, degradation

Words: 1.3K

Phone Call of Stupidity

(Leo is Ghostface)

You stare out the window, observing the sky right after the sunset. It was dim, but still enough light for you to see well. You were achingly bored. Not knowing what to do to satiate your boredom.

You then hear your phone ring, the ringtone repeating like a merry-go-round. The caller's address is labelled your friend's name, so you quickly answer.

"Hello?" You inquire, wondering what they would want to chat about. You then hear some heavy breathing from the other line, almost sounding delighted. A deep chuckle comes from the caller, a voice seemingly masculine.

"Hey, Y/n~ Expected someone else to call, hm?" The person's voice is smooth yet venomous, like a poison one drinks, only to go dormant hours later. But that doesn't matter, the bewilderment and consternation of this enigmatic person spiked despair in your heart. How does he know your name? How come he acted like something bad happened to your friend?

You summon the courage to question, "What? What do you mean?" You stare outside, waiting for someone to jump in front of your window.

"What do I mean? Oh, well, maybe the fact I'm threatening you right this very moment." His tone suddenly grows harsh, a hint of irritation swimming through his words. You hear a small bang of metal, loud and clear in the background "Now if you disobey my commands or try to hang up, I will kill your friend."

You freeze, eyes widening. Surely this is a prank, right? He wouldn't possibly dare to kill your friend. But...What if he's serious? Maybe you shouldn't risk it. "W-What do you need me to do?" Your breaths turned shaky, terror clawing your body.

"Hm~ You're not so stupid after all. Now, I want you to delete all your contacts, and that includes deleting any social media." Your fingers quiver as you delete the applications and names of your phone. Just focus on completing tasks. Nothing else matters.

"Ok, I'm done." Your eyes dart around the room anxiously, the shadows seeming to grow closer every second. The room seems to be darker, and more petrifying as the moon rises; your feelings overwhelm your ability to think rationally. How much longer of this torture?

He coos before snarking a laugh, "Aww, is poor little you desperate to save their friend? How humiliating. Exposing your vulnerabilities right in front of a killer." He's a true psychopath, devoid of any empathy. You're a pitiful mouse trying to nibble on some food during the bitter winter, yet he, the cat, hunts you every moment of the day.

"What else?" You tried to mask what little dignity you have left, tone more assertive.

"I want you to grab either a blanket or a few large towels; lay them on the floor of your bedroom." You carefully step amongst the floor, fearful of producing even a single whisper. You pull a blanket down onto the floor, spreading it out evenly.

After hesitating for a small while, you timorously question, "Why do you need me to do this?"

There's a momentary pause before he seethes, "Don't ask stupid questions."

Then within mere seconds, you hear the front door being banged repeatedly, the pounding growing more aggressive with each hit. You freeze, standing still in terror. Did you enrage him? Will you cease to see out the window again? But as soon as it started, the slamming halts in a blink of an eye.

Disoriented, you agonizingly inch over to the door, poking your head out the sliver of space. You flip your head around in multiple directions, observing the area for intruders or threats. No one. You walk out of your room, daring to risk being killed.

You cautiously peer through rooms, feeling at ease when no one seems to have intruded on your abode. But of course, that doesn’t mean they can’t be outside. So you head back towards your bedroom, eager to hide in your safe space.

“Hey, I’ve finally arrived.” An arm is wrapped around your neck, a hand weighing down on your shoulder. A blade points to your mid-back, and the pressure of the sharpened metal feels through your clothing. No, no, why was he here? Why is this psychopath inside your home? What happened to your friend?

You’re unable to form any words, lips quivering in dread. He laughs, clearly awfully amused by your horror. “So scared, poor little you, trembling, wondering if you’ll survive my knife.” His comment flashes a hot boil within your body, irking you. As much as you're frozen with fear, he is in no place to be making fun of you. Despite knowing your situation, you can't help but want to take a chance and try to escape.

Since you can't move your upper body, you fling your leg backwards, kicking him in the shin with your heel. But to your dismay, it only causes him to bend his knee; his arms are still strong. "Wow, you're bold: trying to save yourself at the hands of a killer who inevitably has you doomed." He chuckles a little, before hissing in pain, signalling your attack did some damage.

"I can't let myself die so easily, that would be disgraceful."

It's true. You can't be killed now, not without knowing where your friend is and how they are. You can't be a weakling, even if you're about to collapse from anxiety. You have to fight back, you never know the small chance of a miracle.

"Disgraceful? Let me guess, you want to know what happened to your friend." His tone is playful, yet your intuition tells you that there's a dark double meaning under it. No matter, you need to dig out the information.

"Yeah. Are you willing to tell me?"

"Tell you? Why, I'll show you." He lifts the knife slightly; still a threat, but enough to give you some room. He drags you with him, stepping into the bedroom with his back turned to the doorway as he opens it. As you enter the space, you're hit with a strikingly strong scent: the odour of iron, metallic perhaps unpleasant to many. Blood. The smell of blood is near.

"When I turn us around, don't try to escape alright? I have the knife, along with the experience of the killing of tens, if not hundreds, before you." He rotates your bodies, revealing a sight you wish to never witness.

A body lays on the blanket you put out on the floor earlier: multiple stab wounds lace throughout the back, a ruby liquid soaking the person's clothing. There are tears all over where the knife pierced their skin. Their fingernails and hands are caked in a similar vermillion liquid, an effect of holding the wound when they died. The corpse lays in a position where you can't identify the face. But you know. You know exactly who the victim is. It's your beloved friend.

In shock, a single tear rolls down your cheek, uncomfortably running down your chin. "No...I- I- you said if I helped you, you wouldn't kill them!" You can't bring yourself to do anything but stand there and stare at the body, you can't face death in an aware fashion.

"No, I was threatening to kill your friend if you didn't follow my orders. I never said I wouldn't kill them; you just managed to stall time before I did." What wrong did you do to receive such terrible, terrible fortunes? No one should ever see their friend's murdered corpse right in front of them, especially if the killer is in the same room.

"Little mouse, little mouse, can't you see what wrong you've done to yourself? Spending time with that vermin when you should have been with me." He steps beside you, turning his masked face. The mask is similar to that of a famous painting of a young man screaming in terror. Do you know this man? Surely not, but you can't tell, not with that masked face of his.

"What do you mean?" Why is he speaking as if he knows you? That the reason he killed was out of envy?

He laughs manically, sounds resonating off the walls. "I mean that, if I were a human, you would spend time with me more. I would be your best friend, not them." He clutches his knife, expressing his fury and jealousy. At first, you assumed he killed for comical reasons, but now that you hear him speak, he's for sure doing it out of rage. Not human...It possibly couldn't be him, right?

"Leo...?"

"As of now I am Ghostface, but yes, I am Leo." He lifts his mask, and your eyes widen at the sight of red crescents.

What a stupid little mouse you were, deciding to scout for some food, only to be lured right into the cat's claws.

——————————————————

I can't even explain the struggle of trying to write this. I literally don't know shit about Slashers except for a select few-

Anyway, as I said, this went from being all 4 into a post to 2 for two separate posts, to now individual ones. I apologize for this inconvenience but I don't want to stagger a request any longer.

Next is Mikey btw-

- Celina

[twdobsessive]

I’m trying to dive back into writing. I’ve been a fairly prolific Rickyl writer for years and am now wading into Destiel fics. Trying to decide what to work on next and scribbled this down. Would anyone read this if I finished it? It’s a Rickyl and Destiel combo.

Destiel and Rickyl in:

Stand By Me

“Want to see a dead body?” Daryl asked as he skipped a smooth river rock across the lake.

“Why on earth would we want to see a dead body?” Rick asked at the same time Dean said. “Fuck you, Dixon. You don’t know where a dead body is.”

“Fuck I don’t,” Daryl said with his chest puffed up. “Heard Merle talking to a friend of his last night.”

“Merle kill him?” Dean asked.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Merle didn’t kill anyone.”

Rick tossed a rock into the water without even trying to skip it.

“I know right where it’s at,” Daryl insisted. “Ten miles down the tracks. It’s probably already got maggots. It’s probably too gross for you pussies anyway. Probably throw up.”

“Winchester’s don’t puke,” Dean said as he half-heartedly tossed a rock in Daryl’s direction.

“What do you want to do with a dead body anyway?” Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged. “Poke it with a stick,” he said at the same time Cas said “I guess we can poke it with a stick.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “Make sure he’s really dead, duh.”

“You dumbass,” Daryl snapped. “Course he’s dead. He’s been laying out in the summer sun for three days. You know why there ain’t been no flies out? Cause the’re all down the road!?”

“Dixon, why you gotta always yell everything you say? I’ve never once heard you talk in a normal tone of voice.”

“You wanna hear yelling? You shoulda heard all the yelling when I was railing your mom last night.

Before Dean could stand all the way up, Cas put a hand on his chest. “He’s just trying to bait you and you fall for it every time.”

“So’s your face,” Dean grumbled as he sat back against the fallen log behind them. Cas was right. Every black eye Dean ever had was from Daryl Dixon. The four of them had been best friends since elementary school but with Dean and Daryl both being hotheads, there were more than their share of fights.

“My dad would kill us if we poke a dead guy with a stick,” Rick said, his hair so far past a much needed haircut that Curls had started forming.

“But if we find him, we can tell ole’ Shariff Dad what we found and we can split the reward money,” Daryl said.

“How do you know there’s a reward?” Cas asked. “That sounds made up.”

“You sound made up,” Daryl snarked back.

Finally Dean stood up, tossed a rock in the lake and turned around. “School starts in less than a week. We haven’t done a damn thing all summer. What are we gonna write on our “what did you do this summer” essays.”

“You really wanna write that you poked a dead guy with a stick?”

“No!” Dean shouted. “I want to write that four brave boys from across the tracks solved a murder and were heros.”

“10 miles is a long way,” Cas said as he squinted up at the train tracks that went ove the nearby bridge.”

Rick stood up. He knew why Daryl wanted to go. It would take them overnight and he wouldn’t have to go home to his abusive old man for at least two day.

“I’m going,” Rick said and put his fishing gear in his backpack.”

“Fine I’ll go but only to prove Dixon’s wrong, “ Dean said.

“Great! We’re all going!”

“I didn’t say I was going,” Cas protested.

Rick and Daryl rolled their eyes. “Please, Novak. You go anywhere Dean goes.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Cas asked scowling.

————-

What do you think? Is this a worth working on? Is there a market for it? lol

[theravenkin]

i am sitting in bed in the dark on my phone and i wrote an angsty twinyards one shot on my phone. don't know what is wrong with me but it's something. here.

*TW: panic attack, vomiting, drugs, vague reference to abuse, general AFTG-typical bullshit*

"stop," andrew repeats. "stop it." he rubs aaron's back as he heaves again. andrew itches all over with the memories picking at the edges of his mind. he pushes them away, focusing on his brother. "you're fine. just breathe."

as aaron goes blessedly, dangerously quiet for a moment, trying to calm his gasping breaths, andrew can hear the others lingering near the doorway.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," says a soft, gravely voice. it is katelyn. andrew doesn't turn around.

"hey, i talked to abby, and--" matt isn't talking to him, but andrew cuts him off.

"i don't care," he says. he holds up the plastic solo cup beside him. "get him more water. some crackers or something, too. he's almost done."

matt, thankfully, does as he's told and gets out. andrew finally turns to look at the others. katelyn leans in the doorway, viciously chewing on her nails. neil stands beside her, watching her, standing guard to make sure she doesn't interfere with andrew's operation. neil's his second in this fight, he thinks.

aaron coughs and sits up from the toilet. he sways a little, eyes unfocused.

"i'm sorry," he croaks. andrew cuffs him lightly. "ow," he says without much conviction.

"shut up. are you done freaking out?"

"you just told me to shut up. how am i supposed to answer--"

the return of the snark means he is, in fact, done freaking out, returned to baseline. andrew punches him in the arm lightly as katelyn snorts in the background. andrew ignores her.

aaron takes a deep, shuddering breath. he deflates as the tension that'd been holding him together evaporates. he wipes his face on his sleeve and tries to stand up. andrew pulls him back down. he stays.

matt comes back with water and crackers. "hey matt," katelyn says roughly, "do you guys have any gatorade?" matt turns back around to get some. andrew swallows down a wave of irritation.

aaron drinks the water, eats the crackers, and drinks the gatorade, and only then does andrew let him stand. he leads him to the couch, but aaron shakes his head. "nah, i'm...i think i'm gonna go lay down." andrew holds a steadying hand on aaron's shoulder for a couple steps, but aaron isn't stumbling as much as he was before. andrew lets go and lets him walk on his own.

"do you want me to..." katelyn asks softly.

aaron turns around to look at her, but doesn't quite meet her eyes. "no," he chokes. he clears his throat. "um...no, i'm good. just need...some time." he continues to look at the ground before her.

she smiles and nods easily. "alright, sounds good. i'll stick around for awhile, if that's alright?"

aaron nods.

"alright. i'll just chill on the couch for a bit, then."

andrew wants to slap the pitiful look off aaron's face, but he doesnt. he just watches aaron disappear into the bedroom without another word.

the others stand there for a beat, quiet and unsure how to process among themselves what just happened. matt is the first to break the silence.

"uh," he sighs, "i'm...gonna go. to the store. yeah, i'm gonna go to the store. get some more gatorade, and stuff. i'll be back in a while."

neil catches andrew's gaze and andrew reads the minute change in his expression as inquisitive. he looks at matt, then back at neil, and nods, gesturing with his chin to the door. go. neil nods, gives him one more firm look--it's okay, you're okay, i'm okay, he's okay, be careful, don't fuck anything up, i love you-- and follows matt out of the dorm.

when he looks back, katelyn is sat on the couch. she stares ahead, silent. she doesn't seem scared of him, like she used to, or even resentful of him, like she has more recently. she doesn't show any sign that she's even aware of him. she's lost in her head, eyes blazing. andrew watches her grind her teeth; otherwise, she is still.

he casually strolls over and sits on the opposite end of the couch. still, she gives no indication that she gives a fuck.

he stares at the same wall that she does and lets the silence stew for a few moments, dreading when he inevitably has to puncture it.

"so," he begins, keeping his voice carefully neutral and breezy, "are you going to tell me what triggered that little episode?"

she remains catatonic for a moment in which andrew feels anger coming off of her in waves. he wants to throw her out the window by her hair. but he can't, unfortunately--not when she was the one who'd been keeping aaron from choking on his own panic until andrew got there. not when she'd called andrew first, the minute she knew something was wrong.

no one else. him. she called him.

she sighs through her nose. "the episode--do you mean the panic attack? or the substance binge?" he feels her turn her head to look at the side of his. though it makes his skin prickle in discomfort, he turns to meet her.

she is like andrew has not seen her before--tightly-coiled, like she is ready to fight. he didn't know she fought. maybe she doesn't. maybe the instinct is separate from the skill.

andrew doesn't reply, nor does he show surprise, so she keeps going. "he apparently thought it was a good idea to mix liquor with 25 grams on an empty stomach."

andrew gives her a bored look. "oh no, how shocking and bad." he checks his nails, performing dismissiveness. "he--"

"shut up," she says. he whips his gaze back to hers. she looks quietly, coldly furious. "i know he's done worse. i know. but, god--he'd been doing so good. and, fuck--pills, coke, weed, whatever--it doesn't matter what he chooses to hurt himself with, does it?"

andrew sucks his teeth, but she doesn't let him get a word in.

"he hasn't been doing shit like that at all, lately, it's just--" she sighs, and it snags on the way out. she works her jaw for a moment, looking at the ceiling.

"he..." she tries at last. "he mentioned something about having a dream about his mom last night. and i knew he was having a bad day, all day, i could tell. he said he was gonna take half a dose just to settle his nerves, but..." she shakes her head. "i keep thinking, you know, 'i should've known better, i shouldn't have left, i should've stayed with him all day', but i know that's not." she clenches her fists; her knuckles go white. andrew is silent.

"he's not exactly stable, but he's an adult, and he doesn't need a babysitter. i'm not his..." she purses her lips as though she's tasted something sour.

"he greened out," she says simply, short and clipped. she picks at a loose thread in the sofa. "hard. plus the alcohol, plus the general anxiety all day. that's all. he made a stupid decision."

andrew is still for a while, then finally, finally nods. "and then he spiraled," he says, matter of fact.

she nods in return, looking dejectedly at the floor. "mhm."

she worries the thread looser. "he, um..." she clears her throat. "he was babbling, while he was panicking, before he started throwing up. he...god, he was so fucked up." she shakes her head, the coil tightening. "he was just rambling, and at some point, he...he said something about 'her'. he was just like, 'fuck, when is she getting home? what time is it? what time is it?' he was terrified, kept saying 'she' was coming home early."

andrew's chest tightens. he grinds his teeth once, twice, three times, to feel the sharp pain stab through his jaw.

"cant fool a junkie into believing you're not high," he manages, but his throat is dry and the words come out cracked. he resists the urge to cough.

katelyn releases a shuddering breath. he looks up, but she's staring at the wall again, the intensity reeled back inside of her. it bubbles under the surface.

"i'm glad that you killed her," she says lightly. andrew's heart thumps hard, making his chest shake. he swallows.

"he told me," she adds. her tone is coldly nonchalant. "he told me what you did. or, what he thinks you did. i don't disbelieve it."

she finally looks at him. "either way, i'm glad she's dead." in her eyes is that intensity, simmering under the lid, about to boil over. "my only regret is that i wasn't there to do it myself."

she holds his gaze for a half-second longer before she turns back to face the wall. her legs are crossed at the knee, her manicured hands folded neatly, properly in her lap. she sits perfectly still.

andrew watches her. he watches, because when he doesn't know what to do, he steps back and observes while he figures it out. he's trying to figure katelyn out--something he hadnt bothered to do before, out of bitterness, the resentment of the rebuked. but now, he watches, watches, trying to put a name to the thing she is.

a year ago, she'd been a threat to his brother's health, a threat to his own place in his brothers life. a threat to whatever value he had to aaron.

now, all he sees is a threat, plain and simple.

for a while they sit in silence, andrew sometimes watching her, sometimes not. sometimes he thinks, sometimes he listens to the hum of electricity in the walls. sometimes he wonders if he can hear aaron breathing or snoring or weeping through the wall, but he can't.

matt and neil return soon enough, and they look at the scene the two of them make like it's a fallout. matt moves slowly and quietly, so as not to spook. neil shuffles to the perimeter of the sitting area, hovering within a safe distance. not trying to interject; just reminding them, /we are here, and this is weird, and i want to know what is going on/. andrew flicks him a glance, annoyed, but tired enough that he could fall into neil's arms. he looks away again.

after a few minutes of neil hovering and matt pretending to still be putting groceries away and the other two stewing in their own silence, the bedroom door creaks open. aaron takes half a step out, looking every bit the beaten and broken fifteen year old andrew loathed. aaron's hunched frame makes him sick.

"hey, kate," he croaks, sounding as pathetic as he looks. "um, if you wanna...come in. we could talk, or." he looks around at the others, shame resting in the bags under his eyes. "whatever."

katelyn watches him. evaluates him. he's the only person in the room to her, in this moment. andrew reads that plain on her face, as clear to see as her anger had been seconds ago. she gives aaron the shittiest, dullest half-smile. "how about you take another few minutes, and then i'll be right in. is that okay?"

aaron's shoulders sink down further, like his guilt is gravity. "yeah," he rasps. he closes the door.

the boys are frozen. katelyn is still. she sighs, runs her nails against her scalp, smooths her hair back. then she turns to andrew. she waits.

he sighs. "i tried to get rid of her," he says at last.

katelyn gives him that same shitty not-smile. "yeah," she says. "we keep trying, keep trying to get rid of her, don't we?"

andrew sniffs. she shrugs. she stands, but doesn't go anywhere for a moment; he looks up at her.

"we're doing our best, i think," she says. she leaves that between them; they hold it between them. they don't look each other in the eyes anymore, but they hold that thing between them. then, at the same time, they let go, and she walks to the bedroom door, slipping inside.

andrew slumps back against the cushions, the coiled tension that'd been holding him upright finally unfurling.

[jotunvali02]

Watched John Wick again, this time in OV.

Caaaaine... ^///^

His scenes with John are a lot gayer than in my memory.🕶️🏳️‍🌈

Spoilers below

Caine used to ride John. Noted.

Watching them fighting is like watching gay sex. No debate.🏳️‍🌈🔞

Skarsgård's French accent is rather good without sounding like a caricature. I still wanted to punch his richass face. I like how everyone disrespects him more and more as the movie moves forward.👍

Did anyone notice that Caine is careful enough NOT to kill Koji's men?? Even when he literally has his gun against their forehead? No, he just smugly smiles and knocks them out. He was sincere about not killing inside the house of a friend. 😭

The end credits with Sawayama's voice explode your earsdrums and you LOVE it! The songs sound 200% better in a movie theater btw.

People loved Winston and his swag very much. And loved the puppy and the puppy eyes too of course. The peeing part is the best obviously. It's the LEAST abusers of animals deserve.🐶

While John always keeps a stern and brooding face when he's fighting, Caine snarks and smiles and enjoys his fucking self when he's doing it. HE loves his job! (when it doesn't involve killing his husband and friends of course)

I love how the main difference with John is that Caine is more expressive. He cries when sad, smiles when happy, swears when angry... not things you expect from pro assassins, let alone from John Wick.

"But I can hit you. Motherfucker."🤬

"Lights out, assholes."😎

Harkan reminded me of a mix of Jack Horner from the Puss in Boots feature and Ridge Taylor from the French-Canadian parodic TV show Le Coeur a ses raisons. So I call him Ridge Horner now.

"He's mine." Caine talking about his husband. He also likes to remind everyone how John is HIS business and no one else's.

John supporting his husband in his mother-tongue (the level of complicity!) in front of a cheating bastard.💕

YOU DON'T KILL DOGS, YOU CRAP OF A MOTHERFUCKER !!

I don't know about Berlin, but the whole shit on the Place de l'Etoile could totally happen in real life. Maybe not for that long, but it could happen.

About Paris: THERE IS A FUCKING FUNICULAR TO GO TO THE SACRE-COEUR! Why the fuck didn't you take it, John?? We even SEE the station! We actually can SEE the lights of the fucking station like three or four times while he climbs the stairs like a fucking idiot! I swear I craved to cry in despair and scream out "The station! The fucking funicular station is right behind you!! Take it, stupid!"

Finally,

A church. Really? A church? Where they both coincidentally end up at the same time?

"I missed you, John."💔

IN. A. CHURCH.

A duel that strongly looks like a wedding. Like the most beautiful and most romantic wedding, with the Harbinger who look like a priest in his fancy clothes, the two witnesses (like in a wedding) and the mushy clichéd sunrise.

I swear when the Harbinger puts on his ceremony attire, I expected him to go "we are all gathered here today to witness the union of Mister Wick and Mister Caine" and so on.

GASP! I understand the stairs trip now! It's a fucking metaphor for walking your beloved to the altar! Of course!!

"I want you to take these stairs, John." Course you do. How could your wedding be carried on otherwise?

Btw, Caine should have kissed John after the duel.

To keep the wedding metaphor until the end and most of all: If I had been forced to kill the man I love or else my daughter would be killed, and that man managed against all odds to set the both of us and my daughter free and safe while my sole idea had been to kill him, I would have crashed on my knees, sobbed my eyes out and most importantly KISSED him with all my heart! And told him I fucking LOVE him!💗💗💗

Like, Caine is the happiest, the most joyful man at this right moment, he's visibly trying not to cry out of joy and endless love and gratefulness for John and... just a "my brother" and a pat on his back? Like... everything written above + the fact John is maybe dying right now and that's all you do??

THAT'S the most unrealistic part of this movie! Not the Berlin club, not the Place de l'Etoile, not the outrageous number of assassins, not John's apparent immortality, it's Caine NOT kissing John on the mouth after all the bullshit they've just lived!

Shut the fuck up with your "my brother". Call him "my love", "my beloved", "my cherished one", there are so many possibilities!

[smootbrainchicken]

Without Me

Part 2

September 2, 2024

School was mid. I expected it but I had hoped maybe I could just pass by and let the world spin around me. Nope, the first problem came after 2nd period.

2nd period honors English with Mr. Wilson, one of my favorite teachers but least favorite classes. I like English to a point, and we crossed that point 5 years ago in 6th grade. Now it’s just a class I tolerate. Unfortunately for me I am actually good at English so they keep putting me in higher education English classes and that’s how I ended up in class with mr. and ms. know-it-all, Violet Davison and Barry Saloman. They have been dating for 2 years and honestly they deserve each other, she can never shut up and he is first in line to correct someone over anything. That’s also how I ended up in the same class as Reece Tallon, a totally hot senior. The seating chart for class had me in the front of the class far left row, right in front of Reece and beside Violet. Violet seems to think that because Ii’m not part of the popular clique anymore that we are friends because she keeps talking to me about her summer and how great her schedule is this year.

“Look I know it’s the first day and all but I really don’t care” I snapped at her.

“Oh, I had just thought that since you had fallen from the top of the high school social hierarchy, you would be my friend” she replies.

I rolled my eyes, “I didn’t fall from the hierarchy.”

“You kinda did. I mean you were basically the second in command to Allison, queen bee status, now you're a nobody.” she remarked.

“First of all she didn’t rule the school at 15, she was popular but she wasn’t a sophomore superhero. Second, I didn’t fall off the face of the earth, I left a toxic group of people, and plenty of them are following suit.” I argued.

“She’s right you know,” Reece chimes in.

I turned to him, “excuse me?”

“I just mean that you were on top of the world hun, even i know who you are” he explains.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I snarked.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, “Alright honey no need to get snappy. I get that it’s a sensitive topic, why don’t you sit with me at lunch today?”

“I can’t leave Danni,” I told him quickly.

“Then she can come too, we have room” he answered.

“Are you sure that it’s okay?” I am skeptical about his invitation.

“I’ll see you at lunch today” he says, shutting me down.

“Y-yeah, we will be there.” I stutter out.

“Perfect see you then,” he winks at me then walks out of the class.

“Violet! Let’s go, "Barry yells across the room.

“Goodluck with Allison, you’re gonna need it” Violet walks away from me to go to 3rd period.

That was the first time I was specifically sought out by people today, the next was lunch. Danni and I used to sit at the center table with the popular clique and the jocks sat one table over but now they have combined the two and the popular boys and girls sit together to judge everyone else who are obviously so far below them. Theo is sat by his best friend and he seems comfortable enough with that crew I don’t even try to say hello. There's no need to try to rescue him because he doesn’t need rescuing, those are his people, and they used to be mine too. Reece is waiting for us by the door to the lunch room with a small grin on his face. He greets us kindly and kisses both of our hands.

“Hello ladies, right this way,” he points his hand towards the door.

“We are going outside?” Danni asks him before I can.

He walks backwards so he can look at us, “Yes we are, my friends and I eat in the courtyard not the cafeteria.”

“So we won’t be judged immaculately?” I asked sarcastically.

“I can’t promise you that, but I can promise you the vibes will be good. You will be judged in a ‘we think you rock and want to ask you to come back’ type of way” he says it almost like it’s been rehearsed.

He swings the door open revealing the lush green courtyard and 5 other people. They look up as we walk forward and Reece goes over to one of the other guys and hugs him roughly.

“Guys this is Danni and Lydia. Lydia, Danni, this is my crew. The red head laying down is Eve.” he introduces

“Sup kid” she nodded to me, she looked familiar, I think I had math with her last year.

“You're a junior like us aren’t you?” Danni asks for me.

“Yeah, I had math 3 with you last year” she responds.

“The guy laying on her stomach is Mack” Reece points.

“What’s good?” he says with his eyes closed.

“Then we have Olivia and Charles Mason, cousins.” Reece continues.

“Hey girls, call me Liv” she says, holding her hand out for me to shake then turning to Danni.

“Yeah and call me Chuck, Charles is too pretentious” he says while wrestling with Reece.

Reece gets out of a head lock, “and last but not least T.J.”

“Taylor Jackson nice to finally meet you,” she commented.

“Like Reece said my name is Lydia, and this is my friend Danni.” I say trying to keep all the names straight in my head.

Chuck puts his arms around Danni and I, “How did you meet our little Reecey poo here?”

“Actually Lydia is the one who met him, I am just here because she is my only real friend anymore.” Danni responds before I can.

“Yeah, so Reece and I met in English class today. I was arguing with Violet Davison and he interjected into our argument. We talked for a little while and he invited us to sit with you all at lunch today.” I explain.

The whole group of them seem to share a knowing look, leaving Danni, Reece and i in the dark on the context. Eve and Liv smile at each other having a silent conversation before they speak.

Eve is the one who says, “So you're the girl who made a big deal and left that Allison chick’s friend group last year?”

“Yeah that’s me, the ‘fallen’” I say.

Reece laughs at it, like I thought he would because he was in the class with me and was clearly listening to my conversation with Violet.

Danni looks at us confused with the rest of the group, “wait why is that funny?”

“It was just something Violet kept saying during second period,” I told her.

[dassandre-00qpidsarrow]

I posted 368 times in 2022

That's 16 more posts than 2021!

64 posts created (17%)

304 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@boffin1710

@foxsoulcourt

@teamqbranch

@thestalwartheart

@bluebellofbakerstreet

I tagged 151 of my posts in 2022

#007 fest 2022 - 123 posts

#team q-branch - 90 posts

#dassandre - 71 posts

#qb-v4 - 61 posts

#qb-q10 - 57 posts

#mi6cafe - 53 posts

#boffin1710 - 42 posts

#teamqbranch - 31 posts

#00qfic - 26 posts

#no time to die fix-it - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 72 characters

#bruh i literally had to stop drafting my plate just to gif that new clip

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

00Q00 - Polyamory Day

Each year, James Bond, Alec Trevelyan, and The Quartermaster are posed questions about their polyamorous relationship that they respond to (albeit reluctantly at times) to help celebrate 007 Fest -- they’re big fans of the month, after all. This year the questions start out with “What is one of your best memories with your partner?” Below is James response to that question about Q and Alec, but be sure to check out the blogs of @boffin1710 and @notwhatyouthoughtiwas to get Q’s and Alec’s answers to that question, too.

See the full post

24 notes - Posted July 19, 2022

#4

Scavenger Hunt Item #65

Draw a Bond character as an anime character.

Seeing as how I cannot draw my way out of a wet paper bag with a machete and a guide, I had to rely on an anime generator to do this, but I did choose the photo!

Just look at those lips and those ‘come hither, 007’ eyes!  Is it any wonder that our ‘ship set sail that day?

Though I know only one counts for points, I did this one, too.  Rather liked how it turned out.

See the full post

31 notes - Posted July 25, 2022

#3

Bond Movie Crossword

This is a 007 Fest Scavenger Hunt Item::  Create a Bond-Themed Crossword.  It’s not terribly challenging, but enjoy!

31 notes - Posted July 5, 2022

#2

Ready to Fest - 2022

35 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Q Head Canon

James Bond isn’t the only casualty of war in No Time to Die, but whilst 007’s death in a hail of missiles leaves little opportunity for him to suffer, the same cannot be said of our dear Quartermaster, for his living death is slow and lingering and has left him a shadow of his former self.  Though he’s as brilliant and inventive as he ever was, his youthful energy and pointed snark have been eaten away by the dark cancer of bureaucracy. 

In Skyfall and Spectre Q gives as good as he gets and meets James’ sass with equal, if not robust, measure with lines like: “Put your back into it,” “Welcome to rush hour on the tube.  Not something you’d know much about,” “So much for my promising career in espionage,” “Now you may feel a small … prick,” “It tells the time.  Might help with your punctuality issues,” and “I believe I said, ‘Bring it back in one piece,’ not, ‘Bring back one piece.’” 

He doesn’t back down with Bond at the Hoffler Klinik, starting their chat with “Well, not to worry, 007. It was only a £3,000,000 prototype,” and ending with, “I really, really hate you right now,” to say nothing about the conversation that started at all in front of The Fighting Temeraire.  After all, Q set a whole ‘ship afloat with the bold retort, “Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pyjamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.”

But by the time Bond returns to London five years after he walked away from everything on Westminster Bridge, Q’s cheeky banter is dead.  Q’s best line in the whole of No Time to Die is his first one with the fittingly ironic,  “So you’re not dead?”  Bond insults Q’s cats and ruins his dinner plans, yet the best retorts he can devise are, “Well, it’s never 9:00 to 5:00, is it?” and “Can I just have one nice evening, please, before the world explodes?”  Even when Q’s supposedly seeing his colleague for the first time in years in M’s office, he fumbles, “Oh, Bond. My God, I haven’t seen you in, in, uh… How is your retirement?”  When have we ever seen Q stumble over his words in a surprising situation?  Never.  Even Mallory doesn’t buy it.

Q’s decline started with the long, tedious dismantling of Nine Eyes and has continued over the years under the pressure of Mallory’s slide into autocratic insanity where an abomination like Herakles was allowed to be conceived and flourish.

James Bond may have foolishly sacrificed himself on the altar of unrequited love, but his death is quick and painless.  Q’s death is slow, debilitating, and, unless he leaves MI6, it will be never-ending.  He will become a modern Prometheus whose liver is devoured daily by the eagle of MI6 bureaucracy.  

52 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[dorimena]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚜 ₍₍٩( ᐛ )۶₎₎♪

𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚞𝚙 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚖 ( ·∀·)

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖

-🧸

I love this? I’m living for this saga, bless you 🧸 anon (//ω//) bless you and your emoticons

It came out of nowhere, the moment he decided not to let you easily take control.

It came without any warning, and you weren’t prepared to deal with bratty Todoroki.

He had his own ways of being a little shit, and they tend to be full of pettiness or sweet, saccharine sarcasm that you’re sure he’s learned from Bakugou or possibly Shinsou.

So the moment you come home to find he hasn’t done his share of the chores because ‘he felt lazy’ and ‘mommy should clean up after her baby’, maybe some snark you were too shocked to hear coming from him, you knew you just had to do something to put him in his place again.

“Tell mommy how much you love her.”

“L-love yo-you! ‘ove you s-s’much! Mmmmmuch!”

“Aww, you’re so nice. Tell mommy how sorry you are.”

“N-no! Nnngh~ Clo-close! Close, m-mommy!”

You slow down your hand, making sure to avoid the head as you keep stroking him towards the edge again, letting go of his red dick and making him sob loudly.

This is the 5th time you’ve brought him so close to cumming but never let him actually be satisfied. And even though he deserves it, he still thinks you're being unfair.

When you see his breathing even out, even just a bit, you bring your hand back on him and stroke, being sure to go slow but this time putting lots of attention to his sensitive head, hearing the squelch of the wetness provided by lube and his precum.

He’s shaking, shaking so violently that you’re not sure if it’s because of how close he is to cumming or the way his usual control of his body temperature is going crazy.

You coo as his right eye ignites a bit before it simmers while his left hand gripping on the couch is stabbing the poor cushions with ice.

“Please! Pl-please mo-ommy! ‘ll be good! For y-you! Pl-please let me cum!”

He’s pitifully whining, rolling his hips to speed things up, to persuade you to go faster, he doesn’t need much. Please, just please go a bit faster.

“But baby, you haven’t apologized.”

And you take your hand away again, raising an eyebrow as he thrashes on the couch, head shaking from side to side as his hands go to his sweater, looking like he’ll rip the fabric to shreds in frustration. His dick pushes out another few drops of precum, the poor member twitching constantly as it holds back it’s release.

Todoroki cries about how unfair you are, how mean you’re being, how you don’t deserve his respect or attention.

Until you rapidly move your palm against his head, and his squeak of surprise has him enter a state of shock, mouth opened as his eyes are just as wide, looking between you and your hand as his eyes question whether you’ll let him cum.

And as his moans reach a certain pitch and his eyes begin shutting, you pull away.

He can’t take it anymore!.

“SORRY!” He cries out, hunching over as the sensation of finally cumming begins leaving his system, instead desperation and eagerness pumping his heart. A hand is placed on yours, squeezing it as he whines out his apology, explaining why he was being a brat, what he did wrong, why he shouldn’t have done it.

You really couldn’t understand much, not with how he somehow slurred his words and jumped a few important connectors to make shit coherent.

“F-fuck me! Fu-huh-uck! Me!”

And your pretty boy pulls away from your hand, lying down on the couch and bringing his legs to his chest, fingers in his mouth as he begs in such a hushed, soft tone how he needs your cock to fill him up, to please fill him up, he needs it.

And you filled him up indeed, right there on the couch where he cums embarrassingly fast with a mewl of your naming fucked out of him.

You fuck him on the coffee table, thankful for how sturdy it was as you have his leg over your shoulder, making him cross-eyed as he feels himself being hit in places he’s never felt you touch before.

You fuck him on the floor, lying flat as you force him to ride you, aiming your thrusts upwards in time with his weak performance.

And when he cums with little spurts of cum littering your chest, you flip him over and fuck him doggy style in the carpet, pace unforgiving as he muffles his screams in the fluffiness below him, not caring if he drips onto the expensive carpet, not caring if you’ll have to hire someone to clean it for you, not caring if he wets it as he’s overstimulated beyond what he’s felt from being fucked.

[captainkurosolaire]

22. Does your character have a mean streak?

Captain Kuro Solaire : No I am the stable epitome ov' rainbows. I'm always composed, calculated, and sweet. I don't see why you wouldn't want yer parents t' meet me despite they said otherwise, or your older sister... especially mother. I'm a good-role model, a paragon ov' light, hell's b' bells! I might as well friggin' b' Ser. Aymeric th' second. (OOC: Sarcasm obviously, he's a loose demented cannon. Takes just the right scenario and opposition for him to unleash his mean-streak, it varies, he's pretty tamed and suppressed often with snark or projecting. Cause his compassion is what brings death often in his line, better not to show thing's that give you 'value' just mean's it'll get taken or targeted first for exploitation, also a stigma that it's a weak flaw of his that's been brandished his bane. With a lot of vices, though you can suppress and be quite tame though. But eventually with the right harrowing trials, he'll continue showcasing just how sadistic and mean he can get again, probably cause it'll be required again for survival, he's a trained chameleon in all fields. Also, though compassion is the furthermost thing from something that isn't strong. Just stigma's and sterotype's are vile when comparing successes, and he's still learning. Appreciate all your wonders, @lukawarrioroflight

[j0elmill3r]

Trust Fund Babies

Jacob Thrombey x Twin!Sister!Reader

Knives Out Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: The Thrombeys being horrible, swearing, forced vomiting, sibling fights

A/N: Alright! I've been wanting to do stuff for Jacob T for a while and just never had the inspiration to do so, but I really wanted to do this! I've written this in 3rd person for a change, let me all know if you like this pov! I hope you all like this!

-

The Thrombey twins were incarnations of devils. Y/N and Jacob Thrombey were a lot of things, opinionated, brutal, horrible, spoiled, and in some way narcissistic. Most of their extended family couldn't stand them, even their parents, Donna and Walt didn't understand what they were talking about most of the time.  While Jacob preferred causing the internet trouble, Y/N would be more likely to cause a fight in school simply by making up a tactical rumour and watching people hurt themselves.  If one twin was pissed, the other would be 10x worse. The fighting and playful insults that came from them didn't mean a single thing, it was just regular sibling jokes. Y/N and Jacob were compared to the twins from 'The Shining', they often spoke at the same time and had the same actions, and most times it freaked out whoever was around them, and by God, they used it to their advantage. Family parties and functions were the highlights of their years, it was when they would be able to make fun of people and not get into trouble for it because their parents would be too drunk to care.

-

Y/N stared up at the colossal manor in front of her, a scowel etched onto her face. She could think of a million other places she would rather be than there, she would have to socialize and talk to people, since their aunt only turns 60 once and Walt and Donna won't let Y/N and Jacob stay home alone anymore. Walt and Donna had gone inside, leaving their son and daughter to their own devices outside, at least they wouldn't be able to upset anyone inside if they were outside.

"I don't think I'm emotionally prepared to go in here," Y/N said, watching as her brother came and stood beside her. Jacob laughed and nodded, turning to his sister.

"I heard Ransom's bringing his latest toy," He told her. Y/N grinned and chuckled, knowing she would be able to poke fun at Ransom and the predictable bimbo he would bring with him as a date. "Her name's like Veronica or something."

"Of course it is," Y/N said, only to be interrupted by the roar of her elder cousin's beloved Beamer. She hated that thing, if she had the chance, she would scratch the car up to holy hell, just to see the look of pure rage on Ransom's face. Y/N and Jacob stepped up onto the porch, knowing that if Ransom had the chance he would most definitely hit the two twins. The way that Ransom parked matched his personality, meaning he parked like an asshole. Ransom got out of his car and stared down the twins standing at the porch, their uniforms almost matching and their stares judging him. The blonde stepped out of the car, and Y/N couldn't help but snigger. Her predictions hadn't failed her, they were right.

"Oh my God, shut up," Jacob said, nudging his younger twin's side. She stopped and composed herself, watching as Ransom thudded up the stairs and took his shades off and put them in the pocket of his tan coat.

"Wow, I didn't know that the runts of the litter were coming," He snarked, standing in front of the two. His girlfriend came and stood beside him, stumbling on her stiletto heels. Y/N grimaced and looked her up and down, taking in the dress that barely covered her.

"Ransom, who's this? Bimbo number 38?" She asked him, tilting her head innocently. The blonde crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the 15-year-old that stood in front of her.

"My name is Veronica," She introduced herself to the two. Y/N and Jacob thought that their ears were bleeding. Her voice was comparable to nails on a chalk board, it was quite simply unbearable.

"Funny you should say that, I don't remember asking, sandbags," Y/N commented, narrowing her eyes at the woman she would now be able to identify as 'Sandbags'. Ransom rolled his eyes and took Veronica away before she was getting driven to the police station for assualting a minor.  "Of course her name was Veronica." Y/N turned to Jacob, who burst out laughing, putting his hands on his sister's shoulders.

"Where did you pull sandbags from?"  He asked Y/N through his laughs. Y/N took his hands off of her school sweater and dropped them, letting him pull himself back together before heading into the house in front of them. "Jesus, that was great." He said.

"We should probably go in, Ransom's probably bitching to mom and dad," Y/N said, walking ahead of her brother and waiting for him to follow her. The twins walked into the house and immediately hated the atmosphere, well, not necessarily the atomosphere, more the people. "This is devasting, it's like The Walking Dead became a reality." Y/N mumbled. Y/N and Jacob sat by the stairs until thy were called for dinner. They sat beside each other, looking through their phones and ignoring the harsh stares of their parents.

"Y/N, Jacob, put your phones down, please," Walt said. Y/N and Jacob put their phones down simulataneously, glaring at their father. "There, was that hard?" He asked the twins rhetorically.

"How is school going?" Joni asked them both. They despised Joni and her daughter Meg, why were they still in the family when Neill died years ago? Y/N and Jacob looked across the table at Joni.

"Fine," They answered at the same time, just further convincing people that they were the twins from The Shining.

"All we hear from you is 'Fine', does nothing else happen other than you guys being literal trolls?" Meg said. Y/N smiled sweetly at her and Donna and Walt hid their faces in their hands, not wanting to see what their daughter was about to cause.

"Meg, in the politest way possible, I hope you die a slow horrible death," Y/N said, an innocent smile on her features. Ransom chuckled as she stood up and walked away from the table, Jacob's eyes following her as she left. Meg rolled her eyes and then looked back to Jacob, then making Jacob realize that everyone else was staring at him expectantly.

"What?" He said, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.

"Jacob, go and get your sister, please," Donna said to her son. Jacob groaned quietly and left the table, grabbing his phone and then walking around to look for his sister. He wandered around for a few minutes before finding her sitting in one of the guest rooms, an agitated look on her face.

"What's your problem?" Jacob asked her, going to sit beside his sister. Y/N put her head on Jacob's shoulder, making him look down at her as she rested against her brother comfortably.

"I fucking hate this family. Except you, obviously," She said. "I just wanna go home, I don't wanna be around here for much longer." Jacob nodded and nudged Y/N's head up, making her groan and look at Jacob with a scowl on her face.

"Alright, let's go and tell mom and dad you wanna go," Jacob said. Y/N grimaced and raised her eyebrows.

"Like they'll actually take us home," She commented, laughing sarcastically. Jacob laughed and pulled her up to her feet. "I can just imagine what they'll say."

"We'll tell them that you're sick or something," Jacob said as he and his sister left the room and went into the bathroom across the hall.

"What are we doing here?" She asked him, looking at him with a look of confusion on her face.

"If you want them to believe you, it has to look believable. You ate, you can make yourself vomit," He said, acting as though he was stating the obvious. Y/N groaned as she got down on her knees and put on of her hands on the side of the toilet, Jacob stepping over his sister and pulling her hair back. She looked back up at him and glared at him hatefully.

"Are you seriously about to make me vomit?" She asked him. Jacob nodded and she rolled her eyes, turning back to face the toilet as she put two fingers down her throat to trigger her gag reflex. Y/N coughed and then felt an acidic feeling rising in her throat. Her head went forward as her stomach lurched, then coughing again and falling back onto the floor. "I fucking hate you sometimes."

"I know, but you wanna go home and you look like actual death, so if they don't believe you, you might be going down the stairs head first," Jacob said, moving away from Y/N to flush her vomit away. "Wash your hands and have some water, I'll wait outside for you." Jacob told her. She stood up and washed her hands in the sink, then gargling some water in her mouth to rinse the acidic taste from her mouth.  She came out of the bathroom and Jacob had shed his blazer and handed it to her.

"What's this for?" She asked him, draping it over her shoulders.

"Authenticity, Y/N. Remember, you're freezing and feel like you're dying," He whispered to his sister as they walked down the stairs and into where everyone had moved to. Jacob had his arm around his sister as he led her to their parents. "We need to go home." Jacob deadpanned to Donna and Walt.

"Why? What's wrong?" Walt asked, looking at both of his kids.

"Y/N doesn't feel well," Jacob said, he had to give it to her, Y/N was a great actress. She was excellent at making herself look miserable, but maybe she wasn't acting that. "She brought up dinner upstairs when I went to go find her." He explained further. Donna stepped forward and looked at her daughter, an unsure look on her face.

"We probably shouldn't chance it, we should get her home," Donna said, turning back to Walt who was looking at Y/N and Jacob skeptically. He nodded anyway.

-

"Jesus, get off me you fat bitch!" Y/N yelled as she pushed Jacob off of her as she felt him sit down on her bed, sitting on her legs. Donna came into her room and stood in front of Y/N's bed, her arms crossed over her chest angrily. The twins looked up at their mom and tried their hardest to hide the grins that were slowly coming over their faces. Donna was never the one to discipline Y/N or Jacob, neither parents were very intimidating, but Walt had some form of authority and power over them. Donna, on the other hand, had no authority or control over either children, she could barely yell at them without having them burst out laughing in her face.

"Don't talk to your brother like that, Y/N," Donna warned the youngest. Y/N rolled her eyes and pulled Jacob's hair, making him groan. "Hey!" Donna yelled, pointing at Y/N.

"Yeah, Y/N. What the fuck?" Jacob rubbed his head as he glared at his sister. Donna glared at Jacob, warning him about his language as she left Y/N's room, leaving the twins on their own. Jacob waited until he was sure his mom was down the stairs before pulling his sister's hair, getting her into a headlock.

"Let me go you dick! Jacob!" Y/N yelled, thrashing around and trying her hardest to get out of Jacob's grip. She pulled on his, making him groan in pain as they ended up on the floor of Y/N's room. Y/N ended up on top of her brother, holding him down by his shoulders. It was just as well the Thrombey's had no neighbours, especially when Y/N and Jacob decided to act like this at midnight.

"Okay! I'll stop," Jacob said, pushing Y/N off of him. She landed on the floor beside him with a grunt, both of them laying on their backs. "I forgot how strong you were." He mumbled, making his sister laugh. Y/N laughed and punched her brother's shoulder.

"Don't forget it, consider it payback for making me vomit at Grandpa's house," Y/N said, standing back onto her feet and sitting back on her bed, Jacob following her actions and sitting beside her.

"Well at least I got you out of there!" Jacob defended himself.  Y/N turned her head to face her brother, her face reading an unimpressed expression.  "Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked her.

"Because I felt like shit for like 3 days after I put my fingers down my throat! That hurts," Y/N said, rubbing the sides of her neck. Jacob grimaced, did he actually hurt his sister?

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked her, sitting up on his knees to sit facing her side. Y/N looked at him in concern and she nodded. "You should have said something, Y/N." Jacob said, moving your hands away from your neck in case you hurt them anymore. Jacob Thrombey might have been an asshole, but not when his little sister was hurt. Little sister might have been an overstatement, Y/N was only 22 minutes younger than him.

"Why are you playing mother hen?" Y/N asked him. "You're like 22 minutes older, calm the fuck down." She said, nudging him. Jacob laughed and then noticed Y/N yawning and rubbing her eyes tiredly, turning off her TV that was playing silently.

"I'll leave you to go to bed," He said, getting off of his sisters bed and pushing her down.

"You are such a dick," Y/N said, getting under her duvet and glaring at her brother as he left her room, turning the light off on the way out.

-

Permanent Taglist; Open!

@an-adventureland @demons-hunt @eviemarvel @avenging-natasha @bonkybarnes107 @this-kitten-is-smitten@justrandom02@lozzypoz321@herecomesthewriterwitch@tomms-h @40srogcrs@kashoot-me-now-please​ @ellehooo​ @rororo06 @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @bval-1 @marvel-ous-hobbit

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG186!

- First episode not starring Jon this season! It had been precisely 30 episodes since the last time – Martin recording Adelard’s statement in MAG156.

… It’s the first episode only starring Martin, if I’m not wrong? In seasons 3 and 4, when he had recorded statements, there had always been a character at the periphery, pre or post-recording. Martin, you’re reaching protagonist status…

- I love that one of Martin’s first reflexes was still to call for Jon, in case!

(MAG185) MARTIN: Yeah, “my domain”, yes, right, I get it. Dream logic, and timing, heh, apparently! [STATIC FADES] [FAINT EERIE WIND SOUNDS] … Jon? Jon? [BAG JOSTLING] Oh… Shit.

(MAG186) [FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL OR DIRT, AS A LIGHT RAIN FALLS] [BAG JOSTLING] [FOOTSTEPS STOP] MARTIN: [SIGH] … So this is it, then. [SIGH] … How dreary… [FOOTSTEPS RESUME] [CALLING] Hello? Anybody? Jo–on? Hello! [FOOTSTEPS STOP] … Big surprise.

… And the small Martin commentaries make me fall in love with him even more, every time.

- Martin impacted by the Lonely house, uh.

(MAG186) MARTIN: Well, at least I can still remember everything this time – and no more of those bloody chairs… It’s weird, though. Never actually been anywhere like this. That said, it is kind of… Huh… […] ALSO MARTIN: Well… if you don’t count “memory manor”, when was the last time you were even on your own? […] “They sat around, on old chairs, comfortable chairs in the warm.”

I love that Martin remembered that place as: a loss of memory, a place he was truly on his own, and…

(MAG170) MARTIN: [CHAIR SCRAPES] Not a comfortable chair, of course…! No–none of them are, here, I’ve, I’ve been all over this house looking for a nice place to sit! I… think. … Is that what I was looking for? […] This… [CREAKING] This chair, oh! [CHAIR SCRAPES] Really isn’t comfortable. I had a look around for better places to sit. Did I… tell you that? [CREAKING] But it’s, it’s a big house. My house, I… think, eh! And nowhere comfortable. […] I just… [CHAIR SCRAPES] I wish I had comfortable chairs…! [INHALE] Would be nice to have somewhere relaxing to sit down…! […] All the cool poets love a bit of tape hiss, right? … Maybe find somewhere different to sit, though. [CHAIR SCRAPES] I hate these chairs…! I don’t even know where I got them. […] What was I saying? Ah, s–sorry. [CREAKING] [CHAIR SCRAPES] [GROAN] It’s just this chair, it’s so hard to concentrate when you’re uncomfortable, isn’t it? [SIGH] […] I, I had to go and have a sit-down, okay? I just… [SHUFFLING] [CHAIR SCRAPES] I just wish I had thought to buy some nicer chairs…!

… THIS DAMN UNCOMFORTABLE CHAIR.

(I’m pretty sure that Martin and Also Martin sat down a bit later, sound-wise, so it means that a random rock or a trunk or the plain ground still was most comfortable than those, given that Martin… didn’t complain.)

- Cries about the fact that Martin had never seen this place, yet it felt familiar:

(MAG186) MARTIN: It’s weird, though. Never actually been anywhere like this. That said, it is kind of… Huh… [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] [THERE IS A SLIGHT REVERB ON ALSO MARTIN’S FIRST WORDS AS HE APPROACHES] ALSO MARTIN: Wuthering Heights. MARTIN: Yeah…! God, I hated studying that. It was all just so… ALSO MARTIN: Overblown? MARTIN: Yeah…! [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION FADE] ALSO MARTIN: But that cover… those wide, empty spaces. It felt right, didn’t it? MARTIN: … So, what? That’s where we are? ALSO MARTIN: Right down to the monochrome. MARTIN: Hm! … D’you have an umbrella? ALSO MARTIN: No. But… you don’t want one. We like the rain. MARTIN: True. ALSO MARTIN: Because it makes the sadness feel at home. It turns it from a burden into… MARTIN: [SIGH] … an indulgence. ALSO MARTIN: That’s right.

* It was his feelings from Wuthering Heights.

* CRIES about the fact that Martin mentioned it as “studying”: it was back when he was in middle or high school, then… and it made him sound so young? (It wasn’t a book he had picked and read for himself; it was something imposed when he was still studying… I mean, it’s absolutely normal to have memories of stuff you hated studying fifteen years later? But in Martin’s case, given that his studies were cut short, it felt like a forbidden peek at his forbidden, ephemeral past from before the Institute, and his reaction was so raw, so genuine…!)

* I’m noting that the Scotland safehouse honeymoon didn’t feel like this, if this place didn’t remind Martin of it! It wasn’t “monochrome” at all~

* Not surprised at all that Martin Kerosene Blackwood likes the rain. (Whispers in Patreon: there is a Martin poem about it!)

- The use of the “you”/“I” and “we” were delicious! Technically, it’s Martin who used “we” first (as a collective), but Also Martin used it to refer to a personality trait (“We like the rain”). I like how they finished each other’s sentences, how it was a back-and-forth between them while being slightly different through how they dealt with Martin’s overall situation (same things happening… but conflicting emotions about them), until they seemed to reach a consensus at the end, being more peaceful with each other? Martin ultimately taking a decision, and Also Martin being satisfied with it.

- Loving that the presence of Also Martin was partially due to Martin’s resistance to The Lonely:

(MAG186) MARTIN: So… what is this? You’re a part of me so you… know everything about me, is that it? ALSO MARTIN: … Yes. MARTIN: Because you’re part of my domain? ALSO MARTIN: Also yes. MARTIN: [SIGH] Some sort of… cosmic joke about “being alone with my thoughts”, I assume? ALSO MARTIN: I’m here because you’re trying very hard not to be alone. To resist the comfort. MARTIN: … So, instead I get to talk to myself. ALSO MARTIN: Apparently.

* I… love… Martin’s snark… (even if it tends to be a bit self-deprecative, and that part breaks my heart.)

* Martin had agreed with Jon that he wasn’t “lonely” anymore!

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] … Okay. Okay, good. I, I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew what this place was. MARTIN: It’s The Lonely, Jon. It’s me. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Not anymore. MARTIN: Hm! No. [LONG INHALE, EXHALE] No…! Not anymore.

- Aaaah, I love how Martin was cautious about what the heck was this Also Martin, and why Jon was absent from this place!

(MAG186) MARTIN: [SIGH] … Okay, so, if I’m so desperate not to be alone… ALSO MARTIN: [EXHALE] MARTIN: Why isn’t Jon here? Hmm? He can find me anywhere. ALSO MARTIN: … I don’t know. MARTIN: [DUBIOUS] Oh, yeah? ALSO MARTIN: Look. I know what you know. Maybe I’m just a bit more… open about it. MARTIN: And what do you mean by that? ALSO MARTIN: Like how you don’t actually want him here? Maybe that has something to do with it? MARTIN: You’ve no idea what you’re talking about…! ALSO MARTIN: I mean, you can argue with me if you like. Seems like a bit of a waste, though. MARTIN: I… No, a– [STRAINED CHUCKLE] ALSO MARTIN: It’s all right. It’s hard to be vulnerable. MARTIN: [RESIGNED] No, it’s, it’s not that… ALSO MARTIN: No? MARTIN: No, I just… I’m ashamed to let him see this place, all right? To see what… I don’t know, what feeds me? ALSO MARTIN: Sure. That’s part of it, but… it’s not the whole thing, is it? Not really. MARTIN: What do you mean? ALSO MARTIN: Well… if you don’t count “memory manor”, when was the last time you were even on your own? MARTIN: W–well, I… Hmm. ALSO MARTIN: It has been a very long time since the Institute. MARTIN: That’s… a good point…! ALSO MARTIN: It’s okay to want a bit of space now and then. New romance is hard, and Armageddon makes it even harder! Never mind the fact that you’re metaphorically joined at the hip thanks to the whole “Eye-lord” thing. It’s okay to want some space. MARTIN: … Oooh, I see. ALSO MARTIN: See what? MARTIN: I get it. So that’s your deal: you tell me what I want to hear to try and get me to stay.

* Last times Martin had been isolated from Jon in a Lonely place, it had been because the Lonely was preying on him. Peter had thrown him into it in MAG158-MAG159, and the Lonely house had tried to make him stay in MAG170. It was very logical of Martin to be suspicious of Jon’s absence, and of what Also Martin’s intent was, when he knew from experience that The Lonely had tried to appeal to his desire for self-isolation:

(MAG159) ARCHIVIST: Yes! Yes, I–I am, c–come on, we’ve got to get out of here. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] N–No. No, I don’t think so. ARCHIVIST: … Why? MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] This is where I should be. It feels right. ARCHIVIST: Martin, don’t say that. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] Nothing hurts here. It’s just quiet. Even the fear is gentle here. […] Oh, hello, Jon. ARCHIVIST: Listen – I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer and w– … well, maybe it is… But we need you. I need you. MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] No, you don’t. Not really…! Everyone’s alone, but we all survive. ARCHIVIST: I don’t just want to survive! MARTIN: [DISTANT, VOICE ECHOING] I’m sorry.

(MAG170) MARTIN: Sometimes, I… wonder if I forget things on purpose….! Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just… let them slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them…! They can’t shout at you or call you names. […] I… I’m scared…! I think this fog is doing something to me, I can’t… [SHUFFLING] I’m losing myself, and I… and I don’t know if I mind? … Maybe I deserve it. So much of what’s behind the fog hurts. So much of it just makes me wanna curl up with pain and embarrassment and… Maybe the fog’s here because I want it here. Is that why I opened the windows…? Maybe I asked the fog to come.

* I love how Martin and Jon are similar on some aspects… Jon mentioned his own shame of being Beholding’s favourite in this new world:

(MAG166) MARTIN: Sure! Okay, that’s… I mean, that’s really not that complicated, Jon – I don’t see why you were being so coy about it! ARCHIVIST: [OVERLAPPING] Because I’m ashamed, Martin. MARTIN: … “Ashamed”? ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]

… Just like Martin himself is ashamed of feeding on people’s suffering (and how Jon, himself, had felt guilty and ashamed of hurting people in season 4).

* I love that the episode highlighted all the complex and intertwined feelings inside of Martin? He was both stopping Jon from being there because of his shame, and because despite it all, it was a safe space, somewhere that Jon could access. Martin had already expressed his desire for privacy (asking Jon to not know about his thoughts), and I like how there was also this part of him wishing to be alone from time to time – especially since he went from roughly one year of isolation (season 4) and dealing with The Lonely to being around Jon almost all the time. Wanting a bit of space usually would be healthy, when reasonable! But the apocalypse is indeed not ideal for a new relationship, doesn’t leave them with an ideal option anymore; Jon&Martin have been together almost all the time, and they’ve done what they could given the circumstances… (And as a new couple, given said circumstances, they’ve objectively been doing amazing: sometimes conflicting, but able to talk things through.)

- I Worry about the few mentions of time this episode:

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: It has been a very long time since the Institute. […] “And it is this that she is so deeply afraid of. Not the ache of her flesh from the bitter cold, not the cloying dampness of the rain, or the crushing fatigue from uncounted days, or weeks, or years without sleep.”

Were these hyperboles? Time feeling long, and thus being long? Or has that much time “objectively” passed since The Change…? We’ve seen in Salesa’s bubble that there could still be an objective time with the light changing due to the sun, I wonder if it’s still possible to count the days in there…

- Forget the “You don’t have to fear The Hunt to be trapped here… but it helps!” mug, I want a “New romance is hard, and Armageddon makes it even harder!” shirt.

- I love how the statement did such a good job at showing the conflicting things forming Martin? Not liking Wuthering Heights, but feeling like the scenery resonated with him; feeling disgust when discovering the Oolong tea and associating it to bad memories, but still sipping and asking for refills; having conflicted emotions about his mother…

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: … It wasn’t your fault. MARTIN: Yes it was. ALSO MARTIN: That’s just the guilt talking. MARTIN: Oh! You think? ALSO MARTIN: She was awful. MARTIN: She wasn’t well! ALSO MARTIN: Both things can be true…! MARTIN: She was still my mum! Or, “our” mum… Whatever! ALSO MARTIN: [EMPHATICALLY] And we’re glad she’s dead. MARTIN: Jesus…! ALSO MARTIN: Too much? Like I said, I’m a bit more open.

… And having one Big Certainty still, something both Martin immediately agreed on – that he loved Jon.

(MAG183) MARTIN: … I’m sure I love you. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I love you too. [FABRIC RUSTLES] Let’s go.

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: Between us, that guy’s got some real issues. MARTIN: Hey! Pretty sure we love “that guy”…! ALSO MARTIN: [EXHALE] Yeah. And all his many, many problems.

Martin(s)!!!

- I’m SO glad about the “She was awful.” “She wasn’t well!” “Both things can be true…!” exchange because… yes!! She was sick and got abandoned by her husband! She still forked her child over! (And the biggest problem, as far as the system goes, the fundamentally messed up thing… is that Martin had to care for her as a teenager, and find a job to help them survive when he was 17.)

I love that Martin was aware of both things – that she didn’t treat him well, that she deeply hurt him… and also, well. That she was sick. And that despite her sickness he doesn’t have to forgive her for any of that, that he can be vindictive and relieved of her death because it removed a weight from him. He had vaaaaguely mentioned it to Jon back in season 4:

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I, er… I heard about your mother. MARTIN: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: I am… so sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Thank you. [INHALE] It’s… [SHAKY EXHALE] It’s better, this way. ARCHIVIST: If–if you do need to talk, I– MARTIN: I can’t.

(Still: “Jeeeesus.” indeed because Also Martin was ABSOLUTELY savage.)

- Sobbing that Martin’s tea was… also such an ambivalent thing:

(MAG186) MARTIN: There’s nothing wrong with comforting people. ALSO MARTIN: A cup of tea isn’t a resolution. At best it’s a… a plaster; at worst… a muzzle. MARTIN: Yeah. Yeah. … Even so, I could murder a cuppa. I doubt you’ve got a kettle out here though. ALSO MARTIN: As a matter of fact, I do have a thermos. [A BAG IS UNZIPPED] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: You’re joking! ALSO MARTIN: This is our domain. You’re not supposed to suffer here. Well. Not like the others. [A METAL FLASK IS UNSCREWED] You know what I mean. [ELONGATED SOUND OF TEA POURING] Here. [FLASK IS RESEALED] MARTIN: [SIPS] [DEEP SIGH] Wait, that’s… Wait, is that…? ALSO MARTIN: Yeah. Sorry about that. There’s only so much we can do, what with the “new world” and everything. Even the good things get tinged with memory. MARTIN: [SIPS] Urgh! Oolong. Oh, of course, of course! Whenever I asked a question she didn’t like, or she wanted to stop the conversation… ALSO MARTIN: … off you’d go to put the kettle on. MARTIN: And it always had to be that bloody oolong. Urgh! [ANOTHER SIP] Bleurgh. [SILENCE BUT FOR THE RAIN]

Back in season 3, Basira had accused Martin of trying to keep the status quo through his offers of tea… and welp, Martin was already aware, from personal experience, uh. Sobbing a bit that tea was associated with silencing, deflection and trying to avoid unpleasant situations in Martin’s mind – while for Jon, in season 4, it was associated with Martin, meaning comfort.

(I wonder if we’ll hear about Martin’s teabags at some point? He had mentioned packing some in MAG162…)

- Aaaaaah, it felt SO GOOD to finally hear what Martin had been bottling up ;_;

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: Don’t lie. You don’t need to, not here. It’s just us! MARTIN: [HEAVY SIGH] If we’re glad, why do I feel so… ALSO MARTIN: Guilty? Because you feel guilty about everything. MARTIN: That’s… That’s not– ALSO MARTIN: Your mother. MARTIN: Stress is a proper factor in a stroke– ALSO MARTIN: Everything that’s happened to Jon. MARTIN: I brought Jane Prentiss to the Institute! ALSO MARTIN: The end of the entire world? MARTIN: If I’d done what Peter had asked… If, if I’d not chickened out, and just killed Elias when I had the chance…! ALSO MARTIN: Really? Really, that’s how you’re choosing to remember it? “Chickening out”? MARTIN: I remember it was the wrong choice…! ALSO MARTIN: You choose to remember it that way, and so the guilt– MARTIN: [SIGH] I–I get it, all right? But I need it, I, I choose the guilt, because… ALSO MARTIN: [LEADING] “Because”? MARTIN: Because it motivates me to do better! ALSO MARTIN: … Does it though? Or… does it just keep paralysing us, make us shrink back and wait, hoping things work out? Like with Jon when we thought the worms had got him. MARTIN: Hey, to be fair, he still kind of hated me back then. I’m really not sure it would have been the best time to take my shot.

* We now know that Martin’s mom died from a stroke… shortly after Elias had told/made Martin known how much his mother hated him and why, so of course Martin would connect the dots and link it to the stress of… Martin’s existence reminding her of the man who had abandoned her.

* ;_; Jane/The Hive had explicitly mentioned Jon as her/their target once Martin had left his flat:

(MAG022) ARCHIVIST: [PHONE BUZZES] Hang on. MARTIN: What? ARCHIVIST: I just received another text message. From you. “Keep him. We have had our fun. He will want to see it when the Archivist’s crimson fate arrives.”

And it had been Jon’s first mark at the Institute, Jane had deeply traumatised him for most of the series (Jon was still mentioning her in season 4!), and Martin had felt like he had abandoned Jon when he had lost Tim&Jon behind during the attack…

* !! Confirmation that Martin’s obsession with killing Elias… is likely due to the fact that he felt like he picked the “wrong” choice back in the Panopticon, and that it directly led to the end of the world – it caused Jon’s last mark, thus making him ready for Elias’s ritual, while if they had killed Elias back then, no more Elias, and no big apocalypse unless someone else figured out how to achieve that. I’m so glad that we finally got a look at Martin’s thoughts regarding those events? That Martin feels like he made a mistake back then?

(* I’m noting that Martin keeps going with “Elias”, never “Jonah”, these days.)

* I love that, same with Jon in season 4 regarding his victims, “guilt” appears in two ways: motivation for improvement (thanks to the acknowledgement that there was a wrongdoing), but also… restraining action (with the fear of doing wrong again). They’re not mutually exclusive!

- SOB IN MARTIN’S FANTASIES:

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: But also, you know that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s this… this fantasy that you have, that, that whatever you find at the top of the Panopticon is just going to solve everything. MARTIN: I don’t– ALSO MARTIN: You do though – you daydream about it! The big climactic showdown with Elias, and then the two of you kiss, and push a button that just magically saves the world and makes everything better. MARTIN: … It’s actually not a button, so… ALSO MARTIN: Stop. Deflecting.

So: Martin is aware that it’s probably not going to be this easy! That they have no certainty of succeeding! That it’s just a “fantasy”! And yet, he chose to appear optimistic in front of Jon, making them focus on the Panopticon as a solution.

(Also, Martin has kissing fantasies involving Jon, Martin please.)

- I! Love! Martin’s snark!

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: [WEARILY] Seriously? [INHALE] Fine. If you don’t want to engage, if–if you want to pretend I’m just some… “temptation ghost”, you go ahead. Knock yourself out. Like I said, I’m not your enemy. MARTIN: [ARCHLY] Oh really? I thought you said you were me? ALSO MARTIN: Right, yes. Very clever. MARTIN: We have our moments. I guess. […] MARTIN: … I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that? ALSO MARTIN: Oh yeah. […] MARTIN: Thanks for the tea. ALSO MARTIN: Hm! We’re welcome. MARTIN: Ha!

But also: aouch for the first one, MARTIN…

- I’m so glad about Martin confronting potential scenarios, and how likely it is to be unpleasant…

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: I’m saying there aren’t any easy solutions. We have no idea what’s going to happen. Even if we make it to the tower, we don’t know there’ll be a fix. And if by some miracle there is, we both know the price will be awful. Just look at Melanie. MARTIN: I… [RESIGNED SIGH] ALSO MARTIN: We are completely out of our depth. We’re responsible for everyone everywhere, and we have no idea what we’re doing. The last thing we need is self-indulgent guilt on top of that. […] MARTIN: So. This price. What do you think? Are we going to have to kill Jon? ALSO MARTIN: … I don’t know, because you don’t know. But… it seems like something we should at least consider. MARTIN: … I… have thought about it, and… I won’t. I, I don’t think I could…! ALSO MARTIN: Mmhmm. MARTIN: But anything else? Any other price? I’ll pay it. ALSO MARTIN: Even dying? MARTIN: Yeah! ALSO MARTIN: Jon’s as bad as we are. He wouldn’t let it happen. MARTIN: It’s not his decision. ALSO MARTIN: Fine. So flip that round, then. What are you going to do when he tries to sacrifice himself, because you know he’s going to try? MARTIN: I don’t know all right? [SIGH] I don’t know. ALSO MARTIN: And that’s okay for now, but I just want us to have thought about this stuff properly before it comes up. Because even if that’s not it, chances are it’ll be something else you don’t want to do, and we need to make a proper choice. We can’t just react out of shame or fear or whatever.

* I wonder how Martin lived Melanie gouging her eyes out? She had mentioned leaving a resignation letter on Peter’s desk, it’s likely that Martin actually was the one to find and read it. Jon initially had offered Martin the possibility to run away with him through cutting their connection to The Eye, and Martin had refused, arguing that Jon didn’t want to do it; I wonder if Melanie carrying that action… made Martin realise that he wasn’t ready to do this to himself?

* Mmmm, with that Melanie mention and Martin making a choice of his own at the end of the episode… I wonder if it’s installing Melanie’s return very soon…?

* SOB over the fact that Martin is absolutely ready to self-sacrifice, no hesitation.

* … And that his personal limit is that he can’t kill Jon.

* … Meanwhile: it’s likely the same for Jon; would agree to die if it can turn the world back, and absolutely refuse to kill Martin. Aouch.

- I loved how overall, the episode was about the fact that Martin was aware that he had choices and options, and trying to establish which things he would absolutely refuse, and what he would prefer? And given that Martin had to acknowledge (with himself) these things, say them out loud, and that Annabelle was clearly waiting for something from him… Was she waiting for this? For Martin to be clear that his limit would be to have to kill Jon, but that he would be ready to grab any other option? It sounds like it would be the best moment for her to come back with another option requiring Martin’s sacrifice, then… (And they’re heading towards the Panopstitute, and Peter had explained to Martin how to take Elias’s seat in there – killing him, and then Martin, as double Eye&Lonely, would be able to become the new centre. I wonder if we’re heading towards that…)

- Jon had already warned Martin that he wouldn’t be able to see his victims:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH] [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely. Inhabited by a few lost souls whose fear is not of their isolation or their agonies, but that no-one… will ever know of them. That they shall suffer in silence, and be mourned by nobody. That’s why you can’t really see it. It’s why even if we do travel through it, you won’t be able to see… any of the people trapped there.

(MAG186) MARTIN: … What about the people here? ALSO MARTIN: What people? MARTIN: I don’t know. My… “prisoners”, I guess? ALSO MARTIN: What about them? MARTIN: Why haven’t we talked about them? ALSO MARTIN: Because you didn’t want to think about them. So, we didn’t. MARTIN: Yeah? Well… I want to now. Consider it a “proper choice” if you like. ALSO MARTIN: Okay. MARTIN: Can I see them? ALSO MARTIN: No. This place is about hidden, unnoticed suffering. MARTIN: I can feel them though. ALSO MARTIN: Sure, you’re aware of it, dimly. A sort of far-off, lonely terror. But there’s no way for us to actually see or hear them. MARTIN: … Hmm.

I like how Also Martin was more straightforward when summarising the domain (“hidden, unnoticed suffering”). It… immediately felt like, ah. Yes. This is Martin’s domain indeed. Martin, who lied on his CV and felt like he couldn’t confide to many (he had only told Tim), who couldn’t really talk about his mother, nor about her death, and who got more and more isolated when Jon was in his coma, who continued isolating in order to manage Peter during season 4. That’s indeed a place tailored for him…

I was wondering how Martin’s domain worked as a “swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely” (MAG183) given how Jon’s description made it sound like a very Lonely domain, so I was wondering about The Eye part. I get it now – it’s because the domain relies on the victims being crushed by the knowledge of what is happening. Jon himself had highlighted how The Eye and The Lonely could be working closely in that regard:

(MAG159) ARCHIVIST: The Lonely and The Eye aren’t too far apart, are they? Not really. What good’s being alone if you don’t know how alone you truly are.

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: “The rain pricks his skin though there is no comfort in it. Because he knows he can never be warm and dry again. The wall is too high. […] She could reach out her hand, touch his arm, his face, his heart… and would feel nothing. Neither would ever know. Because at their core, they are alone, and nothing can release them from that absolute knowledge. […] And it is this that she is so deeply afraid of. Not the ache of her flesh from the bitter cold, not the cloying dampness of the rain, or the crushing fatigue from uncounted days, or weeks, or years without sleep. It is the sure knowledge that nobody remembers her existence enough to even wonder idly where she might be, or ponder at her suffering.

… And usually, it would feel like it’s The Lonely deceiving the victims, making them think that their situation is hopeless? But in the new world, it’s also… a reality, since nothing can be changed as of now.

- Jon has kept hammering in that there is no “better” in this new world and we got another reminder, when it comes to the relationship between rulers and victims:

(MAG173) ARCHIVIST: I don’t know what you want me to do! MARTIN: I want you to use your power, I want you to help them, I want you to make things better! ARCHIVIST: There – is – no – “better” anymore. MARTIN: You keep saying that, and I hate it!

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.

(MAG184) ARCHIVIST: I’m still not sure what to do about Jordan. MARTIN: I mean… What can we do, really? You’ve been pretty clear there’s no way for us to help the people who are trapped here as victims so… so we leave him here like all the others, and eventually we save everyone! […] ARCHIVIST: I helped you. JORDAN: “Helped me”? I don’t feel right, I, I just– [HISSING SOUND] [GASP] No, I don’t– [HISSING SOUND] I don’t want this!

(MAG186) MARTIN: … Hmm. But… if this is my domain… can I fix that? Like, can I change things? ALSO MARTIN: [EXHALE] If you wanted to start actively tormenting them… I’m sure this place would oblige. But “fixing” things? Making it easier on them, or freeing them… probably not. MARTIN: Fine. […] I can’t live on the misery of others. ALSO MARTIN: … They’ll suffer either way. MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it?

Glad that Martin still asked whether he could change something for the better, even if the answer was negative. Back when the Spider had referred to Jon (MAG172: “Oh, Francis… It’s such a shame, but I couldn’t do such a thing even if I wanted to! The man in the audience saw to that! [CHUCKLES] I am no more free than you are, little puppet.”), it had felt like absolute cruel gaslighting, but there was still a bit of truth to that in the sense that Watchers… are playing a role, “performing” for The Eye (MAG166: “But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object.”). Once again, the core of the problem in that apocalypse is not even the localised rulers; it’s the whole system, the domains and the Fears themselves.

- I love that Martin still wanted to ask about his victims, to know what was happening.

(MAG186) MARTIN: Why haven’t we talked about them? ALSO MARTIN: Because you didn’t want to think about them. So, we didn’t. […] MARTIN: … Can you tell me about them? ALSO MARTIN: I can. Deep down we do know what’s happening to them. MARTIN: … Do we know who they are? ALSO MARTIN: We never met them in the old world. […] MARTIN: … Tell me. Please. Like Jon would. ALSO MARTIN: Why? Just so you can torture yourself? MARTIN: I want to know the exact limits of my guilt. ALSO MARTIN: … Fair enough.

He had accepted his journey (MAG183: “What, what? We could, we could dodge around it? Take the path of denial? I guess, but… what is it you keep harping on about? ‘The journey will be the journey’? [SIGH] I mean… It’s pretty obvious that this one is my journey.”), so he accepted this unpleasant part of it, too. And I like how it’s a part of himself who explained what was happening to them, not Jon? Because fundamentally, it was Martin’s domain, with victims who were partially his responsibility (he didn’t want them, but it’s a fact that they’ve been sustaining him and their suffering has been protecting him from all the other horrors). I like the use of “we” from Also Martin, to point out that deep down, Martin knew about it already, that it was just about putting into words, that Martin wanted to understand what he already felt guilty of?

And Martin not only stayed for a statement, he asked for it! Last time had been in the Dark domain (MAG173: “Tell me about this place. … I need to know.” “I thought you hated listen– … [INHALE] Are you… sure that’s what you want?” “Of course it’s not…! But I need to hear it.”): this time again, it felt like Martin was agreeing to stop running away or trying to ignore what was happening around him… and at the same time, it’s true that it’s a difficult balance to establish. Where are the limits between voyeuristic tendencies (seeing pains and sufferings exposed, while aware that you won’t do anything to make it stop because you can’t do anything in this world anyway) and accepting to face the horribleness of the world (needing to listen and see, to know what is truly happening in order to make an informed judgement, or get the motivation to try to change things)?

- OOFT, the victims mentioned sounded like a very Martin’s-subconscious thing indeed? Also Martin highlighted that for a “Tim”:

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: We never met them in the old world. Although… one of them is named Tim. [BAG JOSTLING] Just a coincidence, I think. Unless it was a subconscious thing on our part.

… but seriously, all of them. We had:

* A “Tim”. Given Martin’s complicated relationship with him in season 3, the fact that Tim had ultimately established he couldn’t trust Martin to be Martin because he didn’t “know Martin as well as [he] knew [Sasha]” (MAG114) even though Martin had been comfortable enough with Tim to share with him that he had faked his CV (MAG162: “Okay, but seriously, you cannot let Martin know. He’ll think I told you, and I swore to keep schtum.”), the way Martin had interrupted himself when thinking about him in (MAG138: “Tim said the tunnels under the Institute were all that was left of it, but… Jon said he’d checked them pretty thoroughly. [SILENCE] [SIGH] I’m not the one who knows all about this stuff…! I wish– … No. No, it’s fine, I’m… fine, I… [EXHALE] I can do this.”) and had stopped Peter when he mentioned him in (MAG158: “I’m sure– … what was his name? … Tim! Tim would–” “I’d really– … rather not talk about it, Peter.”)… everything about Tim had hurt.

* The woman in the statement was someone who was forgotten by everyone else (“And it is this that she is so deeply afraid of. Not the ache of her flesh from the bitter cold, not the cloying dampness of the rain, or the crushing fatigue from uncounted days, or weeks, or years without sleep. It is the sure knowledge that nobody remembers her existence enough to even wonder idly where she might be, or ponder at her suffering.”)… which sounds like what happened to Sasha when she got killed and replaced by the Not!Them. Dead, and nobody to notice that she was dead, nobody to remember her.

* The man in the statement had a “cold” family, liked to walk the streets at night (“He would walk the streets of the city at night and wish the world away”) just like Peter in his youth (MAG159: “By the time I arrived at whatever destination I had arbitrarily picked, it would usually be night. I would walk around the darkened streets, drinking in the sodium orange, looking at the lit windows of the tower blocks that surrounded me, each one a small cosy den of warmth and humanity, and revelling in my distance from them.”). Even the mention of “taking” someone as a partner (“Sometimes, when the emptiness inside began to bite, he reached out for people and took a friend or a lover. But when he did, it was only to watch them beat themselves again, and again against that wall, until they finally relented, and he was alone once more.”) reminded me a bit of Peter “taking” victims to sacrifice them to The Lonely? And Martin’s victim used to self-convince himself that it was better this way (“He told himself it was for the best. He told himself he liked it like that.”), just like Peter was groomed into becoming a Lonely avatar by the rest of the family.

Martin has Types of people, uh.

- It was a terribly beautiful statement, imagery-wise, with feelings and sensations becoming real under nightmare-logic: the man’s own voice not being answered and instead increasing his pain and isolation, the woman’s memories rewriting fond moments into proof of her lack of connection (“The carefree chatter of her friends surrounded her, and soothed her. Or did it…? She wasn’t talking, wasn’t engaged with any of the bright and happy people. Her smile was fixed and deliberate, and it didn’t quite match her eyes. She was among this joy, yes, these sparkling friends, but she was not a part of it, not really. She tried to be, wanted so desperately to be a part of their easy warmth, and maybe they thought she was…! But they hadn’t known her, not really.”)… I was in this domain, too :<

And once again, it really felt like Martin: desperate for connection, usually not taken into account, not heard, misunderstood, just like he had hid parts of himself at the Institute…

- Martin still pointing out that he didn’t “deserve” this didn’t feel anymore like he was clinging to a form of innocence like last episode:

(MAG186) MARTIN: … Thank you. ALSO MARTIN: I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. MARTIN: … Yeah. [SILENCE BUT FOR THE RAIN] ALSO MARTIN: So. What are we thinking? MARTIN: [EXHALE] I’m thinking that I didn’t ask for this. It’s not my fault they’re here…! ALSO MARTIN: True. MARTIN: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense! It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, wi–, with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others. ALSO MARTIN: … They’ll suffer either way. MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it? ALSO MARTIN: [SIGH] MARTIN: … I’ll get Jon to destroy me like the others.

I like that it was both treated as a valid feeling… and also not the endgame: this time around, Martin fully accepted the situation and reached a conclusion regarding it. He could have chosen to accept it, but no, he chose to reject it and to make his own choice, what he felt was his best option.

I love the various decisions we’ve seen, and how it doesn’t feel like there is a Right One to make? Jordan chose that he preferred to be a ruler rather than being turned back into a victim – and we can’t blame him! And Martin chose that, if there is no solution to this world, he would rather stop being there than living with the knowledge that he’s fine-ish thanks to other people’s pain in this special case in which they can do nothing about it. Once again, I’m reminded of what Martin had told Simon (MAG151: “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.”), of the impression that… tiny choices, tiny decisions, still have their importance even if they don’t change anything on the cosmic scale.

- I love how we could indeed hear Martin’s resolve in the evolution of how he was mentioning his status, from reject, disgust, laments and sadness, to… his choice and decision:

(MAG183) HELEN: I can’t believe you would deny him the choice to see his own domain. MARTIN: My… my wha– Jon, my what? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I was going to bring it up at the crossroads. Inside. I only just realised we would be going this way. MARTIN: I have a domain? ARCHIVIST: Yes. […] MARTIN: Are there people, Jon? ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: Are there people in my domain? ARCHIVIST: Not many. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you need to do your… your thing? Make a statement about whatever’s going on in there? … I could use a moment to think. […] How do I have a domain? That doesn’t make any sense. ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means… MARTIN: [QUIETLY] That one of them belongs to me. But that’s… Ho–how can I be a “Watcher”? I, I didn’t even know it existed! ARCHIVIST: But you’ve suspected for a while now, haven’t you? MARTIN: Maybe? But that’s not “watching”! ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH] […] But I’m not an avatar!

(MAG185) MARTIN: [INHALE] And this is all because I’ve been given a domain? Because, apparently, I somehow have people’s fear feeding me? ARCHIVIST: Well… feeding The Eye through you, but yes. MARTIN: Even though I didn’t ask for it? Did nothing to deserve it? ARCHIVIST: “Deserve”, huh! Now there’s a word that always causes trouble. MARTIN: [HUFF] Don’t be patronising. ARCHIVIST: I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they’ve found themselves in, not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sought it out even, but far more didn’t. They just made the wrong choices for the… right reasons, or even the right choices. But ones that still led them here in the end. MARTIN: … I hate it. ARCHIVIST: On balance, that’s… probably a good thing. […] MARTIN: … I guess we should get used to it. Knowing that all these awful things are happening for our benefit…! ARCHIVIST: Maybe it’s better if it never gets comfortable. MARTIN: Maybe.

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: So. What are we thinking? MARTIN: [EXHALE] I’m thinking that I didn’t ask for this. It’s not my fault they’re here…! ALSO MARTIN: True. MARTIN: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense! It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, wi–, with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others. ALSO MARTIN: … They’ll suffer either way. MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it? ALSO MARTIN: [SIGH] MARTIN: … I’ll get Jon to destroy me like the others. ALSO MARTIN: You don’t really believe he’d do it? MARTIN: I don’t know. Maybe? ALSO MARTIN: … This took a dark turn. MARTIN: Yeah, but… this time it doesn’t feel like despair. [BAG JOSTLING] It feels like resolve. ALSO MARTIN: Well… hopefully it won’t come to that. MARTIN: Hopefully.

Martin tried to manoeuvre around the concept first, wondering whether he could alleviate the suffering for his victims, and being told no because the world doesn’t work like that (“But… if this is my domain… can I fix that? Like, can I change things?” “If you wanted to start actively tormenting them… I’m sure this place would oblige. But ‘fixing’ things? Making it easier on them, or freeing them… probably not.”). I’m glad he did wonder about it first – but since it’s not a possibility… he reached his other conclusion, that he would rather ask Jon to annihilate him if there is no option to save the world, rather than living on their pains.

It’s interesting that Martin didn’t consider another option: to be turned from Watcher into Watched. That process was what killed Not!Sasha, Jude, Jared and Breekon (MAG166, Helen: “And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.”) but Jon had mentioned the option to Jordan (MAG184: “I can put you back if you want. You could become a victim again? Rather than complicit.”), so… is Martin too deep in as an avatar to survive that process, or did he just not mention that option because he didn’t think about it or didn’t want it anyway? I would understand Martin refusing to be turned into a victim for eternity because he deems it the worst possible option, I’m just a bit curious that he didn’t even mention it at all, even to immediately reject it.

- … Martin making that choice and accepting to die rather than being complicit… reminds me a lot of Melanie and her decision to stop feeding The Eye, and then to sacrifice her eyes to free herself from the Institute and Beholding.

(MAG150) MELANIE: Look. [INHALE] I’m not going to do my job anymore. ARCHIVIST: … I am not sure I follow, you–you know we… we can’t… quit, we’ve all tried. MELANIE: I didn’t say I was going to quit. I said: I’m not going to do my job. No researching; no filing; no… field trips. Nothing that is going to help the Institute in any way. I’ll still be around, I just… ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MELANIE: I can’t be a part of this anymore. If, if I get sick, I get sick. And, and if I die… […] Well. If I’m… just another cog, er… Maybe I can’t leave the machine, but from this moment? I–I–I’m not turning. I’m… jammed. [SIGH]

(MAG155) MELANIE: I’m… good, actually. [INHALE] Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. ARCHIVIST: You… sound like you’ve made a decision. MELANIE: I have. Yes. ARCHIVIST: [HUFF] Right. MELANIE: [INHALE] Thanks for… telling me, by the way. [INHALE] I–it didn’t look like it was easy for you. […] I’m going to do it. [BREATH] I’m quitting. ARCHIVIST: Oh… [PAUSE] You’re… sure you’ve thought it through? I–I don’t know if we can look after you, you know? MELANIE: [BREATH] ARCHIVIST: A–afterwards. MELANIE: You don’t need to. I’ve…  I’ve made a few arrangements, and… [SHAKY INHALE] It’s going to be okay. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MELANIE: Ho–honestly. I–I think it is. I, I can’t… be a part of this anymore, and if this is the price, then, I think I’m okay to pay it. […] I’ve left a proper resignation letter, on Lukas’s desk. It was quite satisfying to write, actually. Almost made me wish it was Elias! ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLING] MELANIE: He would have hated me not serving out my two weeks-notice, huh! Not sure… Lukas even knows who I am…! … Probably for the best.

(MAG186) MARTIN: I get it, okay? I, I can’t decide what happens to them, but… I just might be able to decide what happens to me, and… and if it comes down to it? ALSO MARTIN: [SIGH] MARTIN: … I’ll get Jon to destroy me like the others. ALSO MARTIN: You don’t really believe he’d do it? MARTIN: I don’t know. Maybe? ALSO MARTIN: … This took a dark turn. MARTIN: Yeah, but… this time it doesn’t feel like despair. [BAG JOSTLING] It feels like resolve.

Both of them aware that it wouldn’t change the system they were trapped in, but that they could still assert that tiny bit of willpower and choice, and both preferring the extreme way out (dying) rather than remaining complicit.

But given that parallel… Well: back in MAG155, it was noticed that Melanie’s decision already had an effect on her status – she had been able to say “I quit” (while Tim was unable to say the words in MAG065) and to write her resignation letter (while Martin had been unable to do it even if he had considered it when he was living in the Archives, as he explained in MAG039). It was absolutely owned up in the Season 4 Q&A that Melanie’s choice, her resolve, had an effect on her situation: because she was absolutely sure and certain she would do it and that she would gouge her eyes out, that she would take that measure to reject The Eye, then she was partially free already. (There was a bit more in that discussion, but if I remember that additional bit is Patreon-only… and potentially spoilery, but I’ve kept it in mind, mostly when it comes to the tape recorders popping up for relevant moments…)

So: we have Martin going through the same process of deciding he would agree to a drastic measure in order to not be complicit anymore. Could that then already be having an effect on him as a Watcher/ruler? Jon had pointed out that he was protected from the overall apocalypse thanks to his domain – is it possible that, once Martin comes out of it, that protection would waver a bit because Martin has made the absolute decision to reject it…?

- ;; The biggest question, and Also Martin was right to ask it, is whether or not Jon would accept to carry through the action… and at the same time, if Martin asked, I think Jon would? But at the last moment, would Martin accept to leave Jon alone? In their cases, and with that previous discussion of mutual self-sacrifice (that Martin would be really to sacrifice himself if it meant saving the world, but that his only limit would be for Jon to have to die, and Also Martin pointing out that it’s probably the exact same thing for Jon), the less enviable fate would be for one of them to stay alive and alone.

………… Which means that Jon could accept it, knowing that it will hurt him the most, but would Martin agree to die (whether through sacrifice or as a smiting, to stop feeding from his victims) while knowing what that would mean for Jon…?

- I’m so glad about this episode and these discussions! They were heavy and sad, indeed, but I love that we took a peek into Martin’s head, the thoughts he hadn’t been voicing aloud and the hypothetical scenarios he was aware of but didn’t want to fully face either. It’s questions I had, so it’s pleasing to hear Martin having thought about them too! And I love how both Martins… well, were parts of Martin. Also Martin had less filters, was blunter, sounded like he was Martin’s desire to confront what is happening and the potential darker outcomes; it was also Martin’s desire for “self-care” in a broad sense, the actions that can be comforting or poisonous: he provided tea, he pointed out that Martin wanted a bit of rest and isolation, that a new romantic relationship would have been hard to handle for Martin anyway, apocalypse aside, because of his own traumas (his mother’s neglect and death, the Entities-related business, the deaths around them, Peter’s grooming, The Lonely’s clutch). But the filters are also part of Martin – the things he thinks but doesn’t voice, the person he wants to appear to be, etc.

We’re used to Jon confessing his thoughts to the tape recorders; he’s been doing less of that this season, sharing his thoughts with Martin instead (and we don’t know whether he’s still hiding things right now!), but I like this reminder that what we hear of Jon and Martin is only an aspect of them and their thoughts-process – that they’re considering and noticing way more things than just what we hear, just because they don’t want to share these thoughts. (I usually don’t like unreliable narrators much when it’s supposed to be a twist, but this? I love it, it makes me so soft for characters!)

- I love how the “we” felt… less confrontational at the end, as if Martin had fully reconciliated with his own thoughts and contradictions?

(MAG186) ALSO MARTIN: Well… hopefully it won’t come to that. MARTIN: Hopefully. [SIPS REFLECTIVELY] Thanks for the tea. ALSO MARTIN: Hm! We’re welcome. MARTIN: Ha! [FLASK IS RESEALED WITH THE LID] So. [BAG JOSTLING] How do I leave? [SHUFFLING] [FOOTSTEPS] ALSO MARTIN: I think we just keep walking. MARTIN: And Jon? [BAG IS ZIPPED UP] ALSO MARTIN: I kind of expected him to have interrupted already…! MARTIN: I���m sure he’ll find us eventually. [FOOTSTEPS HEAD OFF]

* The little joke of “We’re welcome” because it’s Martin thanking himself, because they “both” contributed to this! It also contrasted with the previous thanks when Also Martin had apologised for the pain (“Thank you.” “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”): that “we’re welcome” was, this time around, making the act a shared action instead of separate ones.

* It was Martin back to being himself and thinking of himself in term of “I” (“How do I leave?”), and being reminded that Also Martin and him were part of a whole (“I think we just keep walking.”): Martin entered the domain alone but, now that he’s faced the things that he wanted to conceal or ignore, the two Martin are reunited and acting as one (“I’m sure he’ll find us eventually.”). And likewise, there was only Martin’s footsteps when he arrived; at the end of the episode, there were two sets.

* I love how the episode highlighted so much the different thoughts forming Martin? The last two sentences aren’t contradictory: (Also) Martin had considered that Jon would interrupt them, and Martin also knows for certain that Jon would still be able to find them if/when necessary. The two are not mutually exclusive! (And I love that it also shed a light on how Martin has a better grasp on how people work than what he shows on a surface level; indeed, it made sense to notice that Jon hadn’t interrupted, that he could have done it… and at the same time, it’s way more difficult to point out an absence of something unless you’re reaaally on the lookout for it.)

* I overall love how Martin’s domain made sense as a demonstration of Lonely/Eye, as itself… and for the exchange we witnessed with the two Martins. It was Martin proving that he’s actually pretty self-aware, that he’s suspecting that things will go down badly, that it’s weighing on him, and only agreeing to show that part of himself when alone in his own bubble, even separated from Jon…

- Regarding Jon, it is true that he could have interrupted… and it does make sense that he didn’t. We’ll see, but I’m guessing that Jon did his damn hardest to precisely not infringe on Martin’s safe space, because Martin didn’t want him there because of shame (“I’m ashamed to let him see this place, all right? To see what… I don’t know, what feeds me?”) and desire to be alone for a bit (“Because you want to stay. Because you want to have a real rest, to just breathe and… be quietly sad I guess…!”), and Jon desperately wanted to respect his privacy. Same thing as when he swore he would refrain from taking a look into Martin’s mind this season, and only tried when Martin was absolutely lost to him – and Jon still felt bad about it and apologised right after even though it had been to save Martin (MAG170: “I, I didn’t want to… look too ha–, I–I–I promised I wouldn’t… know you, and, and with the fog in all–all the rooms, I’ll, I just, I lost y–, I… I–I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” “… No, I… I tried to use the… to know where you were, but… it was… You–you were faint. It was so strange, i–it took me so long just to find you…!”)

If it was season 3, I would have definitely thought that Jon had been kidnapped in the meantime, but I think he probably is safe. Annabelle seemed to be mostly waiting for Martin to be in better dispositions, so I don’t think she would pester Jon himself. Helen, however…? She could have been visiting Jon in the meantime while he was alone, just to twist the knife and try to confuse him…?

I wonder how MAG187 will begin: will Jon and Martin be together already, having reunited off-screen? Will Jon see the two Martins for a very brief instant? If they’re separated, which POV will we follow as they’re reuniting? The tape recorders can and have spawned everywhere but it’s still interesting that MAG185 ended with Martin on his own with Jon’s (it had been a continuous recording all episode long, Jon had done his statement alone with hat one, but it was with Martin at the end) – will Jon be hidden from us for a little while or will a new one pop up as usual, and will Jon comment on it? Will Jon see Martin emerge from the Lonely? Will Jon give a new statement in another domain before Martin reunites with him again? Did Jon go on ahead after Martin’s disappearance, where will they reunite if not inside of the prison? How much time has passed for Jon? I know it’s not quantifiable anymore in the new world, but if waiting feels like an eternity, maybe time would stretch through dream-logic, too…?

I don’t expect them to be on their own for long but it would still be interesting if, say, they happen to be separated for a few episodes! Martin knew that the destination was the tower, it’s been stated that they can see it from anywhere (MAG163: “You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between.”); he would be able to get there like Basira is doing (MAG179: “You said follow the Tower, right?”), and Jon confirmed to Martin that he was protected by his domain, not by Jon (MAG185: “Either way, even if I wasn’t here, I don’t think you’d be in any danger. Not anymore. I wasn’t sure when we first started out, I hadn’t properly, uh… looked into it, as it were. But now I’m certain.”). Unless, as mentioned previously… Martin might have lost a bit of that protection since his decision that he refuses to be a ruler.

MAG187’s title makes me things of various things, all for different reasons: Helen, Tessa, Rosie… but given how Jon had announced that Helen’s domain would be coming soon-ish (MAG183: “It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen.” “I thought Helen was her domain, wi–with all the doors and that?” “She is, but she has a… position within this pseudo-landscape, like any other.”) and the overall thematic of avatars being bound to their domains that we’ve seen lately (Jordan unable to leave the tunnels and the ants, Martin inquiring about whether he could transform his domain and getting the confirmation that it would only be possible to make it worse), I’m strongly suspecting that it will be Helen’s? With either Helen dying, either someone entering/leaving her corridors…?

[florenceandthemachine]

ALSO, i’m still in my feelings about how much i miss danny mahealani 2020 so tell me your thoughts about the three of them together 🥰

DANNY MAHEALANI 2020. 

Danny, sweetie, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that an ugly ass bitch like Teen Wolf only gave you character development when it was convenient for all the stupid straight white boys.

Usually I have issues with thee part relationships in fanfic because you see so often “this person is the GLUE that keeps us together!!” and like... no? Like any healthy two person relationship, you should not be completely dépendant on your partner, and it always bothers me to see that play through in a throuple. 

I think ultimately, it would start with Stiles and Danny. Jackson wouldn’t be able to start out with them, I think, because he would need time to realize that Stiles wasn’t completely incompetent, or that Danny was more than just his friend. Danny would snark about Stiles’ virginity, Stiles would take him up on his offer to cuddle, and boom. 

Stiles and Danny (...Stanny?) would be the ultimate cute power couple, though, and it would take Jackson less time than anyone would have thought to go from smacking Stiles in the back of the head in the hall to threatening to beat someone down for smacking Stiles in the back of the head in the hall. 

After all, Danny and Jackson had a friendship that could give Scott and Stiles a run for their money, and Jackson wasn’t about to let anyone hurt Stiles if it made Danny sad.

That would be how he came to terms with Stiles so quickly, I think—the logic of “well, Danny likes you, and Danny has never been wrong about anything ever, so you must be good and worth protecting” is nearly infallible in Jackson’s mind. He wouldn’t apologize for any of his past transgressions, of course, but once in a while he would give Stiles this little nod in the hall and Stiles would beam back at him while squeezing Danny’s hand and Jackson would know he was forgiven anyway.

That would be another thing he would adjust to really quickly, too—Stiles and Danny turning into StilesAndDanny. Weirdly enough, he wouldn’t have a problem with that either. When he invited Danny out to eat, it was instinctive for him to book a table for three, because of course Stiles was coming. And when Danny invited him over for pizza and video games, Jackson knew Stiles would be there too—usually tending to his island on the Switch while Jackson and Danny went head to head in some sports game—and oddly enough it didn’t bother him.

(Shortly after they had gotten together, Stiles offered to make himself scarce during one of Danny and Jackson’s night long, caffeine fueled, video game marathons. Before Danny could even insist he stay, Jackson had rolled his eyes and chucked a pillow at his head. “Don’t be an idiot, idiot. Grab some pizza and sit your ass down.” Stiles had rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the pleased [and possibly relieved?] smile on his face, and Danny was fucking beaming.)

Senior year would happen... differently. With Danny in the know from the get go, they would have better odds, better chances, better skills thanks to the literal army of geniuses that the pack seemed to hang out with. They were getting steps ahead, they were building their own bestiary, they were actually on top of their things for once.

And then Donovan wound up with a pole through his chest. 

Danny and Jackson would probably be at Jackson’s house, college essays and applications spread out ove rather dining room table, and Danny would only look up when Jackson went on high alert—about half a second before Stiles came through the door, and suddenly Stiles would be between them, completely distraught, sobbing about murder and Scott and mouths (which, what?). 

They would spend probably a half hour calming Stiles down, at which point they moved to the couch, and if the situation wasn’t so dire Jackson would have been confused sa to why he was still there, frankly. This seemed like a moment that should have been between Stiles and Danny—but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind to leave them alone did Danny’s hand snap out and grab his wrist, anchoring him to the moment.

They would put on a movie or something for background noise and Stiles would probably fall asleep before too long, emotionally wrecked, head in Jackson’s lap and legs over Danny’s, and it would take one look at the expression on Jackson’s face—a unique blend of murderous and sympathetic—for things to click into place in Danny’s head. 

Danny would have had every intention, of course, to keep these things to himself for the time being. But after about half an hour, Stiles would have woken up, apologized profusely to the both of them for interrupting their studies, and insisted on going home and going to bed. And then he would kiss Danny goodnight, a quick peck on the lips as he made his way to the front door.

And then he would kiss Jackson goodnight, a quick peck on the lips as he made his way to the front door.

And then he and Jackson would just stare at one another, slack jawed, while Danny almost chokes on his tongue trying not to laugh. He would immediately surge forward to kiss Stiles too, knowing that he was on the verge of flipping out, and then he would take Jackson’s hand in his own and kiss Jackson’s knuckles, and just murmur “it’s okay.” and suddenly any panic bubbling up would have disappeared.

They would have wound up in Jackson’s bed that night, only because it was the closest, and to be frank Stiles barely had the energy to pull his shoes off before collapsing. Jackson would hardly sleep, honestly—Stiles would be sandwiched between he and Danny, and they’d both be sound asleep, but Jackson would be reeling, both savoring the warmth in his arms and... fearing it, a little bit.

Stiles would wake first (is it “waking first” if Jackson didn’t sleep at all?) the next morning, and he’d make that tired kind of chirping noise a cat usually makes as he opens his eyes, blinking wearily until he made eye contact with Jackson. They would just kind of stare at one another, until Stiles moved, wiggling a little closer, and closer, until their lips were an inch away from one another—and naturally, Stiles would still make the first move.

Their first kiss—their first proper kiss—would be slow, and soft, and Stiles would sigh into it as Jackson deepened it, just a little. They’d break apart and Stiles would blush bright red, letting out a low groan and burying his head in Jackson’s shoulder, and poor Jackson would be lost for a moment.

“It’s cute, right? He reacted the same way after our first kiss.” 

And then Jackson would be straining his neck to look up at Danny, who was beaming, and wow, did he really never notice how cute Danny’s dimples were? Or what a nice smile he had? Or how adorable his bedhead was? Or—

His brain would probably have gone on forever, but then Danny was leaning up and kissing him too. The difference was remarkable, though—Danny wasted no time in tasting Jackson’s lips, and then his mouth, easily asserting the same casual dominance he had clearly done with Stiles, sighing happily as his tongue slipped back between his own lips. 

When the kiss broke, he would let his body mold back into place along Stiles’ spine, grinning as Jackson did the same, their hands meeting at Stiles hip. Stiles was the first to talk, his face still red, eyes still closed tight, but even if his heartbeat wasn’t beating like a traitor in his chest, his voice would have betrayed his hope when he spoke.

“This is going to be something amazing, isn’t it?”

Jackson found himself smiling, a rarity in and of itself. Danny just quirked a brow at him. 

“Yeah, it is.”

(Spoiler alert—it really was.)

[datingdonovan]

Other difference between Stan and Eddie Richie: *gets hurt* Eddie: *keep walking* Stan: *go check that Richie is okay*

this is a take i feel like it honestly depends where you're sourcing from (fic/book/movie/etc) bc a lot of the time eddie is presented as super soft (which if i remember correctly this is a thing in the book? like he a soft boi but also a fighter? n he can be both n go him? ive never read the book and only heard this from ~discourse~ tho so i forget lol) and stan often seems like the tough snark boi (at least on the outside) who would be like ah richie suck it up. but i could also see that being eddie’s reaction. but my initial response with this ask was to just say THeY bOTH Go bAck fOR hiM anD tHAts LOVE PPL