#no one has ever been 'peaceful' after attaining a sense of power

[sillverstreets]

i soo wanna say i told you so

[wisdomrays]

TALIB, MURID, SALIK, WASIL (The Seeker, The One Who Wills, The Initiate, The One Who Has Attained or Reached): Part 5

The traveler should never think that they are worthy of any such attributes, and in order not to be ungrateful to God for them, they should feel gratitude in their heart and then utterly forget about them, without ever recollecting them. Otherwise, that which could lead to triumph may end in a pit of loss and that which appears to be a gift may become the cause of frustration.

It cannot be thought that a willing one whose mind and heart are expectant of gifts and blessings, and whose feelings pursue unusual occurrences can have a sound relationship with God Almighty. How can it be thought that while they should actually be purifying their heart, the house of God, of anything other than God and always being concerned with God in their inner world, they are wasting their time on things that are outside the sphere of their duties and responsibilities, and thus constantly deviating towards disagreeable expectations?

One who wills has unshakable belief and confidence in the sufficiency of the Qur’an and the Sunna as the way of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings. Even though they are not at a level where they can use these two basic sources themselves, they should be deeply devoted to them with perfect regard, always preserving their conviction that they will be able to attain anything they seek via the Qur’an and Sunna, and realizing what a great blessing living a life in a continuous relationship with the Qur’an is; in this way they are able to remain distant from trivialities and fantasies that are an illusion of knowledge, but which are of no use for the mental or intellectual and spiritual life.

Every traveler toward the Ultimate Truth who has turned to God under the care of a guide and who is a hero of will-power and discipline must be careful in all matters, from their personal life to their relationships with their Lord, not allowing any contradiction to occur between their heart and their actions, but rather always acting in self-possession, and eating, drinking, sleeping, and talking little, restricting these activities to only what is necessary, regarding anything superfluous as waste. One who truly wills is steadfast in their opposition to their carnal soul and regards this opposition as a means of approaching nearer to God; at the same time such a person will consider following the carnal soul as a means of failure and loss. One who lives at peace with their carnal desires and fancies is not regarded as one who wills. For after having set out to attain God, if one replaces guidance with the pursuit of the realization of carnal desires, this means turning back upon the path on which they have embarked. This is considered to be desertion. One who wills should always be steadfast, waiting at the door to which they have turned and continuing on the road on which they have embarked, always displaying a spirit of deep loyalty. One who has been defeated in the test of willpower at the very outset can never be considered to be one of loyalty, faithfulness, trustworthiness, or straightforwardness. Nor is it possible for such a person to be able to read Divine Acts correctly, or to understand anything of the Divine Names, or to make sense of or comprehend the Divine Attributes. Every thought will be no more than a guess or a conjecture, and their every attitude and act will be deviant.

For the one who wills, for all travelers toward the Ultimate Truth, the following points are of the greatest importance:

A traveler should see themselves as nothing in the sense of positive values. They should use the initial gifts of God that arrive during the journey to attain the goal; this is the reason that they have been sent. Such a traveler should have no desire for anything worldly, rather they should be content with whatever they have and they should have utter confidence in God; they should be oblivious of themselves when it is time to distribute rewards in return for services rendered and try to find causes and agents other than themselves for the good results of their endeavors. Such a traveler should feel responsible for any failure or negative consequences without trying to blame others.

Other points which have almost the same importance are as follows:

Piety and righteousness are provisions for the afterlife of the traveler. A person who intends to follow a spiritual path should always seek refuge in the “greenhouse” of piety, as decreed in the verse, Take your provisions for the Hajj (for any long travel). In truth, the best provision is righteousness and piety, so be provided with righteousness and piety (2:197).

A traveler should be utterly sincere in whatever they do and say, as if they were presenting themselves for the inspection of God Almighty, the holy Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, and other pure spiritual beings.

As decreed in Always be in the company of the truthful and loyal (9:119), the traveler should choose their friends and comrades from among the people of loyalty and trustworthiness. This is extraordinarily important for a safe journey. Being near to those who are near to God and keeping aloof from selfish, arrogant ones—provided that one refrains from causing the formation of conflicting groups in society— is important, particularly for the principle of preventing harm and evil.

Respect for the elderly, pity, care and concern for children, and compassion for all human beings are requirements for all Muslims and therefore are required when following a spiritual path.

A traveler should try to remain pure in the face of God, preserving their primordial nature that was bestowed on them in its purest form; if they should happen to lapse, they should turn to God in their heart, criticize themselves, and be purified with repentance; they should then ask for forgiveness, cutting off at the root the tendencies to evil in their soul, and always be alert to any further possible evil acts or lapses.

Ostentation, hypocrisy, affectation, and love of fame are regarded as being among the most lethal viruses from which a traveler must protect themselves. If a heart cannot remain distant from these, its balance is disturbed. One cannot search for any Divine manifestation with such a heart, and the bosom in which it nestles cannot be a pavilion for any Divine manifestations that might come.

The heart is a house of God. It must be kept pure for its Owner’s sake so that a traveler does not darken the most vital dimension of their being or cause any eclipses in their spiritual life while possessing such a source of light.

[oasistheplanet]

Life as a tankboyOne great thing about the decline of the British Empire has been the steady trickle of old war toys that wash up on English shores. I bought my Daimler Ferret Mark 3 tank in a deal that was a bit shady really, kind of an exchange. I paid some money and swapped some, um, "things" with this guy I knew in Cornwall. He gave me his tank (well, technically it's an armored scout car). He'd gotten it from some guy who used to rent it out to movies. Before that the Ferret was, I am told, used on missions in faraway places like India, Indonesia, Northern Ireland, and South Africa. "Crowd control."

My tank was made for the British army right after World War II. It's a big toy—larger than an ice cream truck, heavier than 9,500 pounds when combat-ready, with big fat wheels. And a gun. I like the Ferret not for its place in history, but for the place it occupies in my parents' backyard. (I moved from Cornwall to London and haven't sent for it yet.) When I lived in Cornwall, I'd drive it around town. It's easy to get carried away when you're raving down the thoroughfare in a steel-hulled tank. You become the colossus of roads. You don't even have to signal—people simply get right out of your way.

I've fooled around in it, but I haven't actually had sex in it. For one thing, it would probably be pretty painful. Every time I get into the tank I bang my fingers on something. But without any question there's a sexual quality to being in there. Maybe controlling all that heavy metal—being able to force your way through most any hedgerow or barricade with very little effort—is some kind of subconscious sexual compensation. For the record, my gun is at least thirty inches long, and, not to brag, but it's pretty powerful. You have to be careful not to hold your finger too long on the trigger. If you fire too many shots at once and the barrel gets too hot, it melts.

The vehicle pisses over virtual reality or any computer game I've ever played. It's an all-encompassing environment. You can't listen to any music inside—the engine's too loud. You have to listen to the tank's own sounds, which I've really come to like and have used on lots of records. The engine generates quite a nice noise when it's turning over, but when you're revving the Ferret, you get sort of scared.

Usually when you're in a car you learn to be concerned about damaging the vehicle you're driving, but in the tank you only worry about the mayhem you are about to inflict on others. All you have to do is touch another car as you drive and you've totally demolished it. Once, I sort of took the front end off a sedan that was parked unattended near my house. One of the good things about the Ferret is that it can attain speeds of up to forty-five miles per hour, forward and backward. I got out of there pretty quick.

If you move just a fraction of an inch too far with the Ferret, you're going right through somebody's wall. Steering a tank is a lot harder than working a mixing board in the studio—I never knew turning a sharp corner could be such a sweaty job. But once you get over your fear of losing control, being in the tank gives you a feeling of great security. There's a nice sense of inner peace, because you know that nothing is ever going to hurt you. It's like a womb...with a gun.

Written by: Richard D James, July 1995, Details Magazine

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE,BLOOD Vol.10 Sakamaki Reiji [Track 1+2]

Original title: 教会 & 自惚れないように

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Vol. 10: Sakamaki Reiji [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Katsuyuki Konishi

Translator’s note: So far, this CD is definitely the most...toned down of all of the MB CDs. Reiji seems to be more composed than his other brothers and while he has been imprisoned as well, he isn’t chained or drugged by the looks of it. I’m sure he won’t have an easy time the whole time through, of course.

Track 1+2 ll Track 3+4 ll Track 5+6 ll Track 7+8 ll Track 9+10

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TRACK 1: THE CHURCH

*DINGー DONGー ・ DINGー DONGー*

*Rustle rustle*

[00:12] “Uu...Aah...W...Where am I…!?”

He looks around.

“T-The church…!? I must be plagued by a nightmare. Why am I here…?”

You call his name.

“...!? And...you’re here as well!? You’ve been awake? Haah...To think you woke up before me, how careless of me.”

You seem confused. 

“Eh? You want to know where we are? Can you not tell by looking around? This should be a very familiar place to you.”

You make a guess.

[01:04] “Yes, exactly. The church. This is a place where the figures you humans worship are said to reside. I cannot say I hold any interest in it. That being said, what brings us here? If I recall correctly, we were both on our way home from school. On the way…Ugh...How odd. I cannot seem to remember anything past that point. ...Do you know what happened to me? Tell me the full story. Hurry.”

You shake your head. 

[01:52] “Excuse me? You do not know? Hah! You good-for-nothing. Time after time, you fail to be useful to me, only ever causing me trouble. Even if you may not be the brightest, if you do not start using your brain a little, soon, you really will be nothing but an airhead. Well, I know am merely wasting my energy by expecting anything from you. 

[02:22] ...However, this is rather unsettling. My memory is vague, but I am certain I spotted multiple human figures. While I am not sure who those people were, I have a fairly good guess.”

*Rustle*

“Still, if this is nothing but a malicious prank, I wish they would have come up with a more clever idea.”

You raise a brow. 

[02:49] “Eh? You want to know who is pulling this prank on us? ...There is no point in telling you. You would never be able to understand after all. Either way, it may be some sort of trap. Let us proceed with caution. Listen closely. You shall not move from that spot. Stay put until I give you permission to move.”

You nod. 

[03:20] “After all, a foolish human who fails to heed my command, would only be digging their own grave. Be careful. ...And I am well aware that you are the ultimate fool. I am warning you to ensure you will not bring harm upon yourself. ーー Personally, I do not care if you were to take your final breath here, but I simply do not want to bother with the clean-up afterwards. However, I must say, this is a very fitting place for a foolish human such as yourself to meet their end. Fufufu…”

TRACK 2: TO PREVENT CONCEIT

Reiji walks around the church.

*CLATTER CLATTER*

“Hm...So it is a special door after all. I doubt it will be easy to open it. I do not see myself being able to break it either.”

*CLATTER*

He continues pacing around.

[00:24] “That being said, to think they would imprison a Vampire inside a Church...What a childish prank. Even though we do not bat an eye at holy water, let alone crosses.”

*Rustle*

“If I were to be the one who set up this situation, I would have definitely included a trap somewhere. If our opponent...is somewhat slow-witted like you over there, it would be an entirely different story, of course.”

He finishes his observation.

[00:58] “As of now, I have yet to spot anything suspicious or out of place. If there is a trap to speak of…”

He turns around.

“It could be either this place itself…”

*Rustle*

“Or you, pathetically laying there on the floor.”

Reiji walks over to you.

[01:23] “Did you remain still as I told you to? ...Aah, just as I thought. Honestly, you are unbelievable. Did I not tell you that you had to stay put?”

You insist that you did so.

“So why has the hem of your skirt moved up? This shows that you moved around.”

*Rustle*

“Come on, you should not move just yet. Even if it tickles, you should not flinch. Do as I say.”

*Rustle rustle*

“Even if I were to caress your cheek like this, or kiss you…”

*Rustle*

[02:14] “I am sure it would be child’s play to lay a trap on someone as careless as yourself. I can tell. ーー By your scent, that is. ...Hah. Because it seems like the people who locked us in here are of my kind. They are Vampires. There are plenty of those who hold some sort of grudge against the Sakamaki family, so I can only assume they fall under that category. Good grief...It is rather troublesome. Our bloodline rules above the Demonic creatures. In the struggle for power and authority, there are quite a few clans who have met a horrible end at our hands. 

[03:09] I wonder why. Why do us creatures who attach very little meaning to being alive, feel the need to band together in groups to attain status and authority as a way to survive? I think it is utterly ridiculous.”

You frown.

[03:28] “Nevertheless, I am still a member of the Sakamaki household. I will not stand and watch as peace is being destroyed. Haah...Your cheeks resembles a ripened peach right now. I doubt you have noticed yourself, but did you perhaps allow someone else to have their way with your body?”

You protest.

[04:01] “You do not know, you say? I see. You might have just been able to deceive my dumb brothers, but you cannot fool my eyes.”

*Rustle rustle*

He takes in your scent.

[04:19] “Through smell and...Yes, my senses are telling me that is the case. Well, intuition aside, I doubt another Vampire would be able to withhold from sucking your blood when you are within their reach. After all, the blood pumping through your veins is as sweet as fruit juice. I am sure you would also be tempted to dig in when such a feast is laid out in front of your eyes, no?”

You hesitate. 

[04:59] “In other words, the reason you are so eagerly sought after by Vampires is all part of an instinctive reaction. So please do not assume that any of us hold any sort of personal preference towards you. Do not get ahead of yourself now.

You frown.

[05:18] “With people like you, they need a reminder every now andor then or they let things get to their head. You are quite the handful after all. I am warning you beforehand for your own sake. After all, you are not at risk of having your dreams shattered, if you simply do not dream to begin with. (1) You should be grateful to me. Either way, I have to investigate. Your body, that is. There should be a mark left behind somewhere. To make your own existence known to me.”

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) Literally he says that one cannot fall down, if you never go up.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Blessings Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 祝福之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

In this desert, there are two legendary figures.

One is a young girl blessed by God, and the other is a bandit who strikes terror in people.

God will bestow the most valuable riches in the world to the young girl in the future, which makes everyone want to own her for themselves.

There is only one person who has absolutely no interest in her -

The bandit who has already seized all the gold, silver and jewels.

-

On this gloomy night, scorching heat seems to cover every inch of land.

A crowd is packed into the cage of a horse-drawn carriage. Lowering my head, I tighten the scarf on my neck.

All of a sudden, the carriage halts outside a large gate.

Bodyguard: We want to make a transaction with your chief, and we guarantee that you'd be satisfied. 

Along with the gradual opening of the gate, what enters my vision is a high wall made of clay, and what looks to be a heavy guarded campground.

The carriage passes through a long sheltered corridor, halting in front of a large bonfire. After that, the slave owner pulls us down from the carriage roughly.

The slave owner before me is someone who commands great respect, and relies on human trafficking to earn huge amounts of money.

Slave owner: Gavin, I’ll go straight to the point.

Hearing the rumoured name, I lift my head towards the man seated on a chair.

Amber eyes reflect the flickering flames, shrouding a strong, dangerous aura.

He leans against the back of the chair, his taut clothes drawing the outline of his figure, revealing faintly discernible muscles.

He gives me a cold glance, then shifts his somewhat arrogant gaze away.

...this person is Gavin.

In this land, there’s nobody who doesn’t know him -

It’s been said that he has a magic carpet that can go up to heaven and down to Hades. It’s also been said that it’s simply a guise for his extraordinary power of wind control.

Not only that. For many years, he’s been stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, and is a thorn that can’t be pulled out from the hearts of the powerful.

Just as I’m thinking about this, the slave owner tears down my scarf, gripping my neck forcefully.

Slave owner: See this mark? She’s MC, the young girl blessed by God.

Young girl blessed by God?

Watching the desperate slave owner and Gavin in front of him, I force out a laugh.

Ten years ago, this inborn mark was bestowed meaning by a well-known wizard -

Wizard (in a flashback): Ten years later, our God will give her the most valuable riches.

Since then, I became the “treasure map” that everyone wanted, leading a life of being continuously captured and escaping.

Slave owner: Gavin, as long as you leave me alone in the future, she belongs to you.

Only the quiet sound of the burning bonfire is in the air, filled with a great sense of oppression.

Supporting his head with his right hand, he appears to turn a deaf ear to what the slave owner said.

Slave owner: Ten days later, the blessings will manifest! Riches might appear in an unending stream, and by then, you can do whatever you want!

Gavin: You travelled all the way here... to make me let you go?

A chilly wind suddenly disperses the sultriness of the surroundings. His slightly narrowed eyes are a contrast to the flames behind him, not at all masking his annoyance and derision.

The powerful aura assaults the senses, and the tips of my toes subconsciously shift backwards.

The reason why I allowed myself to be captured by the slave owner was to beat him at his own game, and get close to Gavin. But would I really be able to obtain information from such a powerful man?

A sense of unease surfaces, but I quickly suppress it.

The king said that as long as I helped him get rid of Gavin, I could obtain eternal freedom -

I have to give it a try.

Moonlight and flames intertwine and are reflected on Gavin’s face. Alarm surfaces on the slave owner’s face.

With forced hearty laughter, he tosses me aside. Respectfully, he fills Gavin’s cup to the brim with wine.

Slave owner: I’m sincerely here to do business with you.

Gavin glances at the wine glass by the side. With a curl of his lips, he picks up the glass, swaying it slowly.

He lowers his head and lifts his eyes slightly, the light in his pupils distinct.

But in the next second, he turns his wrist. The strong scent of alcohol diffuses in an instant.

Gavin: This wine is a little dirty. When you walked through this gate, you should have known what would happen.

The moment Gavin speaks, his men immediately surround the slave owner and his group. 

Slave owner: ...you! Doing this just means both sides lose!

The corners of Gavin’s lips arch upwards, and there are hints of arrogance in his eyes.

Gavin: You seem to have forgotten one fact. I won’t lose.

After the final drop of wine slides off the glass, he releases his hand, and the wine glass strikes the table.

Along with a muffled sound, Gavin brandishes a scimitar and waves it at the feudal lord.

[Note] A scimitar is a short sword with a curved blade that broadens towards the point :>

The sharp blade reflects cold light as it brushes the nape of the slave owner’s neck. Gavin keeps his eyes fixed steadily behind the slave owner.

Gavin: Remember this. I never have to get the things I want through transactions. Get out of my campground.

The feudal lord doesn’t care about anything else, tumbling and stumbling out of the gate along with the bodyguard.

Peace is restored to the campground. A row of us are unshackled one after the other.

After attaining freedom, continuous sounds of appreciation can be heard from the crowd. However, I secretly glance at Gavin, who is afar off.

When everyone else has left, I brisk walk over to him.

MC: My name is MC. Gavin, I want to join you all!

The clamour suddenly stills. Only Gavin lifts his head unaffectedly.

Gavin: Why?

MC: Once I leave this place, I’d just get captured again. Everyone says that you’re the most powerful and most incredible person in the world, so this would be the safest place...

Gavin: This place isn’t a shelter. And I have no need to guarantee your safety.

Gavin interrupts me, his gaze focused on the rag used to wipe the blood off the blade’s tip.

MC: I won’t freeload. If my blessings manifest, I can give it all to you!

Gavin shoots a sharp gaze at me, lingering on my neck briefly before shifting it away.

Gavin: The root of your “so-called” blessings is merely empty talk.

MC: But that wizard said...

Gavin: So what if he’s a wizard? I’ve never pursued such illusory things. Such blessings might simply be a joke for the greedy. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem useful to my campground. So, MC, I don’t need you.

Gavin’s words nail me in place. He looks at me directly, and I can tell from his eyes that he has absolutely no regard for the blessings, as well as my presence.

For so many years, I’ve been a treasure map in the hearts of people, and a glittering treasure.

But in his eyes, it’s as though I’m not a young girl who was blessed by God. I’m simply MC.

Even if the prophecy said that the riches would manifest ten years later, those who are greedy would think that might just be the beginning, which is why everyone has been coveting this fantastic wealth.

But nobody has ever been like Gavin, telling me that it could be false.

My heart involuntarily quivers, as though something that I’ve always firmly believed in is beginning to stir. 

I take a deep breath, brushing away the restlessness in my heart.

Whether or not I’m taking action according to plan, staying here is still the best choice.

I definitely have to stay.

MC: I’m not useless. Since young, I often get hurt while running away, so I’m very good at tending to wounds! Please give me a chance. I can prove myself!

He doesn’t speak, and simply looks at me quietly. Those amber eyes are deep with flittering light, as though he can see through me in an instant.

I clench my fists secretly, trying my best to look natural.

After an oppressive silence, he lifts his chin slightly. One of his men walks to me.

-

After I’ve finished bandaging all the injured people in the campground, I look at Gavin sincerely.

Gavin: Since you want to stay here so badly, I won’t stop you.

MC: Thank you. I just want to stay alive.

Those amber eyes narrow slightly when he hears this. Only the spluttering sounds of the burning wood remain in the air.

Gavin: In order to stay alive, you don’t care about anything else?

MC: ...yes.

All of a sudden, rapid footsteps can be heard from the gate. One of Gavin’s men leans over to him, and says something that I can’t hear.

Gavin glances at me, an unreadable smile flashing across his eyes. I stand in place, my heart feeling prickly.

Gavin: Go ahead. There aren’t any “outsiders” here.

The man nods respectfully. Straightening up, he faces the crowd.

Man: The Oasis Flower Garden that the new king ordered to be constructed has been completed ahead of schedule. The location of the coronation ceremony has been changed to the flower garden. Various neighbouring countries have also prepared countless treasures, and will be presenting them during the coronation ceremony.

After a moment of silence, a ray of sharp light flashes in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: Let’s go to the flower garden.

MC: Hang on, you’re going to steal the king’s objects?

Hearing information regarding the king, I can’t help but exclaim softly.

Gavin doesn’t seem to care about important information being disclosed, which makes me feel even more uneasy.

Is he very assured about his own plan, or is he suspicious of me, and deliberately wants to see my reaction?

Gavin: Is there a problem?

MC: ...n-no.

Gavin: Since the plan has been changed, we need to check out the flower garden beforehand. Those who know how to draw maps, step out.

His men look around at each other, none of them volunteering to step out. Looking at the silent surroundings, a risky idea formulates in my mind.

If I’m able to check out the area with them, I could find an opportune moment to tip the king off.

With this thought in mind, I take a step forward.

MC: ...I can. I’m very attuned to directions. As long as I walk through it once, I can remember everything.

In order to prove my point, I pick up a twig and draw the path I took earlier in the sand.

When I’ve finished drawing the details of the campground, the men reveal shocked expressions.

A sense of inquisitiveness even appears in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: When the time comes, I’ll send someone to the flower garden with you. But this place has never limited anyone’s freedom. You can leave whenever you want.

Gavin’s words seem indicate something. After speaking, he turns around and leaves. Meanwhile, my heart, which had been hanging in the air, is finally set down.

-

I’m officially responsible for the logistics work in the campground.

Based on my observations over the past two days, Gavin would head out with his men, then return from a rewarding journey.

He distributes the money strictly, ensuring that they are given out fairly to those who are in need and poverty-stricken.

Today, the night has just set in. As usual, Gavin returns with his troop.

He stands among the crowd calmly, but his brows furrow at certain times. Realising something, I carry the medical kit and walk towards him.

MC: Gavin, did you get hurt?

Gavin: I'm fine. Go help the others.

MC: In that case, pull open your clothes and let me have a look.

Gavin: ...

MC: Many people who need assistance are waiting for you. If you’re really injured, I could help to heal your wound much more quickly.

After giving me a deep look, he finally sits down, pulling open his clothes.

Underneath his clothes, aside from wounds oozing with blood, I can also see various scars.

MC: Some wounds wouldn’t leave scars if tended to properly.

Gavin: I don’t have the time to tend to every single wound.

He speaks casually, as though these scars are unrelated to him.

Seeing him like this, the guilt deep in my heart seems to tear me apart indistinctly.

Perhaps these mottled wounds have given hope and direction to countless people.

With no idea how to face such emotions, I simply tend to his wounds carefully.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Gavin: It isn’t hard work. Life is meant to be difficult.

His voice is calm. I can sense that his somewhat scrutinising gaze is focused on me.

But I don’t have the courage to lift my head.

-

Eventually, the people in the campground start to get used to me tending to their wounds, including Gavin.

We’re much more familiar with each other as compared to a few days ago. Occasionally, we’d even engage in conversation.

MC: ...don’t you have a magic carpet or something? Why are your injuries so serious this time?

Gavin: There was a trap.

MC: They obviously did bad things, but not only did they not feel guilty, but also schemed against you?

Gavin: My life is worth a lot of money to many people.

Gavin speaks lightly, and a disdainful smile appears on his lips.

Gavin: It doesn’t matter. They won’t succeed.

I purse my lips, subconsciously exerting less force.

MC: Please be more careful next time, and don’t add on to my workload.

Being directly glared at by me, Gavin feels a little uneasy, his eyes subconsciously averting to the side.

Gavin: ...I’ll do my best.

Over the next few days, he truly doesn’t get injured again. But because of this, I have fewer opportunities to meet him.

For some inexplicable reason, I start finding all sorts of reasons to meet Gavin -

Making sweet snacks, handing over supplies... I use everything that can create a connection between us.

Maybe it’s just a misperception, but I can always capture a subtle emotion in his eyes.

Those nice-looking eyes affect my heart involuntarily.

Until one day, when he returns and walks past me, straight towards his room. I hurriedly follow behind him, burrowing sideways through the doors that are about to close.

MC: Why did you start avoiding me once you returned? Did you get hurt!

Gavin: ...no.

Without a word, I hurriedly sweep my eyes over Gavin. When I catch sight of the traces of blood on his waist, I lift my head to glare at him.

Gavin: ...

Under my gaze, he averts his eyes a little awkwardly. 

Gavin: [totally not lying] Cough. Oh, turns out I got injured. I just realised. I’ll have to trouble you to tend to it.

Before I even open my mouth, he hurriedly stifles the words I’m about to say.

I release a sigh, reaching out to open the medical kit. I suddenly think of something.

MC: I heard that a child hit you with a stone yesterday?

Gavin: It’s just a trivial matter.

MC: That’s not what I’m referring to... you probably don’t feel good, do you. You’re obviously helping them, but you’re treated as a bad person.

Gavin: It’s very normal for me to be treated as a bad person.

MC: But you aren’t one!

After blurting this out, I lower my eyes unnaturally.

I suddenly feel warm breaths. Lifting my head, my vision is overtaken by him.

Gavin: Then what am I?

MC: I... just think that you’ve done so many good things, and shouldn’t be misunderstood.

[Note] If I were the writer, I'd make MC say: “You’re my boyfriend from another universe where you’re a sexy special agent from STF and we go through lots of angst together like the time you left me alone in the Ferris wheel during that one date.” And then I’d get fired.

A peculiar emotion flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t continue, and he stares out the window.

Gavin: Pack up your things later. You’re heading out tonight.

Realising that he’s referring to checking out the flower garden, I’m stunned for a moment.

It seems that these relaxed and comfortable days have made me forget my goal from the beginning.

-

When I return to the central area of the campground, I discover that Gavin is standing there.

MC: Didn't you say that you’d be sending someone to the flower garden with me?

Gavin: I changed my mind.

A flying carpet hovers in front of me, leaving me dumbfounded on the spot.

Gavin: Scared?

MC: I-it’s fine. It’s just that I’ve never seen a magic carpet, and I don't know...

Before I finish speaking, my feet are off the ground as Gavin takes me into his arms.

It’s as though the scorching heat of his fingertips are able to melt me. Only the sounds of the wind and my heartbeat remain in the entire world.

Gavin: There’s no need to overthink. Just be careful not to fall off.

Gavin leaps up, sitting steadily on the carpet.

With my face red, I prepare to shift away from him. The carpet soars towards the sky, and the frightening sense of weightlessness makes me involuntarily grab onto his waist.

MC: Hang on! Could you let me sit properly before flying!

What I get in response is a soft chuckle, carrying with it some mischievousness.

Gavin: If you don’t want to fall off, hold tight.

After the wind rustles at my ear for a long time, we finally descend at the destination. Without even taking a few steps, I suddenly hear the sound of disciplined footsteps in the vicinity.

At the same time when I turn to Gavin in a panic, he pulls me behind a stone pillar nearby.

The stone pillar isn’t large, and we’re forced to stick together.

Because we’re pressed so closely together, his breath is akin to a gentle feather, brushing my face.

The itch causes me to tremble involuntarily. Gavin hurriedly reaches out to wrap me in his arms.

Gavin: Don’t move.

A soft command drifts to my ear, and I can only nod stiffly.

When the nearby footsteps disappear, I release a breath and prepare to leave. However, he turns around, pressing me against the stone pillar.

Gavin: Are you deliberately trying to get discovered?

MC: Of course... not! It’s because what you did was very ticklish!

I retort softly. In order to prove my point, I stick close to him, vigorously inhaling and exhaling through my nose.

MC: You find it ticklish too, don’t you!

In an instant, our breaths seem to intertwine, and an inexplicable heat secretly climbs up the back of my ears.

Gavin averts his eyes unnaturally, and he releases the hands propped on the wall.

Gavin: Let’s go. There isn’t much time left.

Beneath the clear and tender moonlight, the gentle night breeze and his reddened ears are especially obvious.

Fortunately, the second half goes smoothly. We walk around the flower garden meticulously before returning to the campground. 

The moment my feet stand steadily on the ground, I use the excuse of drawing the map to run swiftly back into my room.

Staring at the blank sheet of paper, the pen in my hand doesn’t descend for a very long time.

...am I really going to continue with this?

[Note] Imagine if Gavin actually just wanted to go on a date with MC but didn’t know how to broach the topic because he’s Awkward™ so he decided to take her on a romantic stroll by “chEcKinG out tHE FlOwEr GarDEn”

-

Ever since returning from the flower garden, I especially cherish the few days I have left of this peaceful life.

While chatting with the men, I unintentionally learnt that all of them used to be bodyguards in the palace. And Gavin was their leader.

As for why they became bandits... looking at their solemn expressions, I didn’t continue probing.

I decide to focus all my energy on the map, treating it as a small “atonement”.

But my progress is even slower than imagined, and I only manage to complete it the day before the operation.

Stepping outside with the map, I see a familiar figure on the roof.

Struck with an idea, I shift a ladder over and prepare to climb up. However, because it isn’t tall enough, I end up pausing awkwardly mid-air.

MC: ...

Just when I’m wondering if I should call out to Gavin, the flying carpet suddenly appears near my feet.

After a moment of hesitation, I climb onto it in a sorry state. Gavin’s figure gradually appears in my vision.

Illuminated by the moonlight, he props himself up indolently, indistinct arches appearing at the corners of his lips.

MC: The map has been drawn.

Gavin: You’ve worked hard.

Just as I’m about to turn around to leave, the sky filled with stars enters my eyes. The stars sparkle in succession.

MC: ...could I stay here for a little longer?

Gavin: Here, nobody can meddle with you. You're free to do whatever you want.

Free... Hearing this term subconsciously makes me feel startled. In my peripheral vision, a shooting star soars past the sky.

MC: Ah, a star is falling!

I’m pleasantly surprised by the sight I’ve never seen before, but realise that Gavin’s brows are tightly knit.

MC: You don’t seem to want to see this sight?

He looks at me, his shining golden eyes turning a little dim.

MC: ...it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. After all, everyone has secrets they aren’t willing to share.

Gavin: Secrets?

MC: Mm. That’s why life is so tough. It’s because secrets are difficult to talk about, yet they refuse to release their grip.

Gavin: I don’t have any secrets.

Gavin says this bluntly, looking at me.

Gavin: That shooting star earlier has a lot of meaning behind it.

The lights and shadows in Gavin’s eyes stir, leaving me unable to identify the emotions within them.

After a moment of silence, his voice drifts to my ear again.

Gavin: An elder once told me that no matter what one does, the stars are able to see it. But if a shooting star were to appear in the sky, it meant that it faded away because it saw too much evil.

Even though his tone doesn’t change much, I can vaguely sense something.

Gavin: Which is why I changed from leader of the bodyguards to a bandit.

I’m stunned for a moment. Gavin turns his head, looking at me.

Gavin: What? You thought I’d hide it?

MC: I...

Gavin: This isn’t a secret. The people here have never avoided the past.

MC: Why?

Gavin: There isn't a special reason. I once thought that as a leader, I’d have more power to uphold justice. Afterwards, a choice to sacrifice a few hundred lives to save a nobleman appeared before me.

MC: Which side did you pick?

Gavin: No matter the side, I wanted to save them all.

He stares afar off, a scorching colour flashing in his eyes. The wind seems to respond to him, causing leaves to rustle.

Gavin: I won't let a single life vanish in front of me. But many people threatened me using my capacity as a leader. Which is why I no longer wanted that title. I just want to be Gavin, and do the things I genuinely want to do.

In the night breeze, the corners of his lips turn upwards. Pride and resoluteness are transparent in his eyes.

My heart quivers. Fragments of the past few days involuntarily surface before my eyes -

How he returned triumphantly with loot, along with wounds of varying sizes.

How he often places somewhat simple and crude “thank you gifts” in front of the gate of the campground.

At first, I thought these rumours of Gavin were just false compliments. But after seeing them for myself, I am fully convinced -

Gavin is worthy of all the praise.

Thinking about this, my heart seems to be tugged roughly by something.

MC: If only I had met you earlier. That way, I wouldn’t just be the young girl who was blessed by God, and...

I suddenly pause, my honest thoughts stuck in my throat.

Gavin: Wouldn’t what?

Those amber eyes watch me quietly, as though waiting for what’s weighing on my mind to pour out in torrents.

MC: You’ll be heading out tomorrow, so rest early. If possible, I hope the stars can see everything I do, and that they wouldn't fall.

I control the stinging sensation in my eyes, showing my sincerest smile.

He seems to be stirred. The brilliant starlight reflects in his eyes, and my figure seems to become clearer.

But my vision gradually turns blurry, as though something is about to fall.

-

A faint light appears from afar. Holding the letter that I spent a night writing, I walk to Gavin’s door.

MC: Sorry. I think some words can’t be said in person. If there’s another chance, perhaps we could... get to know each other afresh.

Watching as the letter disappears at the other end, I feel a weight being lifted off me as I walk out of the gate.

-

Tonight is the king’s coronation ceremony.

There aren’t any celebratory gifts from the neighbouring countries. There aren’t any flatteries from imperial concubines or ministers. There are only soldiers hiding in the flowering shrubs...

And me, who is pressed onto the floor.

King: Did you think that I didn’t plant other spies aside from you?

The king eats grapes indolently, strong distaste flashing in his eyes.

MC: ...

King: As my slave for so many years, you should know the consequences of betrayal.

I couldn’t care less about the king’s threats. All that’s in my heart is worry.

Worry that Gavin didn’t see my letter. Worry that he’d follow the plan and come to the flower garden, and into the king’s ambush.

Just a while ago, I admitted everything in the letter -

According to my understanding of the king, he would definitely deploy forces in the flower garden to guarantee his safety during the ceremony.

It also explains why the palace is akin to an empty city, and can be easily infiltrated.

A sizeable amount of wealth fleeced from the common folk is in the treasury. If they could be returned to their original owners, it should lighten much of their burden.

This is the only thing I can do as compensation.

With this thought in mind, I look up at the brilliant sky-filled sky. My mind doesn’t hold back, and specks of time spent together with Gavin courses through it.

I take a deep breath, doing my best to remember this starry sky forever, leaving behind no regrets.

All of a sudden, a cold wind rolls up beside me. At the edge of my vision, a figure appears along with the wind.

The faraway figure gradually becomes clearer. Gavin is standing on the flying carpet, his expression so gloomy that it’s terrifying.

MC: Gavin, what are you doing here?! Leave quickly, there’s an ambush here!

Right after I finish speaking, arrows fly towards Gavin in succession, but they’re all rolled together by the gale in an instant.

Gavin looks down, his eyes filled with a fury which has reached its limits.

Gavin: Did you think about the consequences of touching one of my people?

King: Men, take him down!

Realising that arrows are ineffective, the bodyguards brandish long swords, closing in on me.

A gentle wind protects me. At the same time, a familiar voice drifts from behind.

Gavin: Hold tight.

He kicks away the person who was restraining me, then carries me on his shoulder.

I subconsciously struggle, but realise that I’m gripped tightly by him, as though he’s telling me -

That he’s angry.

Twisting my head to peer at his expression, I can only see the distinct outline of the side of his face from my periphery.

After the flying carpet leaves the ground, a fierce wind suddenly springs out of the flower garden.

In an instant, the magnificent flower garden turns into a mess. The king dangles upside down from a sculpture, and looks to be in a huge predicament.

With a cold “hmph”, Gavin soars faraway, the flower garden behind him turning smaller and smaller.

MC: Gavin, could you put me down... I’m already safe.

He ignores me, and the rustling wind is the only thing left in the surroundings.

MC: Sorry... I lied to you.

Gavin: I already knew from the start.

He continues staring out, responding coldly.

MC: In that case, why did you still come here?! I already told you in the letter not to...

Gavin: Because I want to bring you back.

MC: Why...?

Gavin: Since you joined us, you can’t leave that easily.

I release a resigned sigh, muttering softly.

MC: You clearly said that I could leave whenever I wanted to.

Gavin: You believe a bandit’s promise?

MC: You...!

Not knowing what to say, a soft chuckle drifts from behind me.

He exerts slight pressure, as though verifying something. Then, he sets me down, drawing me into his arms. 

MC: I even thought you’d keep carrying me on your shoulder and not let go.

Gavin: I actually wouldn’t mind. But I still prefer this.

While saying this, he tightens both arms around my waist.

A sense of security instantly charges into my heart, but it also accidentally tears open the guilt that I've buried in the depths of my heart...

MC: Gavin, you had your suspicions about me from very early on, didn’t you.

Gavin: I had my suspicions at the start. But afterwards, I realised it was unnecessary. Because I knew that you wouldn’t harm me.

His gaze is brilliant as he looks at me, mixed with an unquestionable emotion.

MC: [blushing] Why do you keep looking at me like that?

Gavin: I can’t do that?

MC: [blushing] Of course you can’t. You can’t get used to being a bandit and do whatever you want...

I retort indignantly, my face red as I avert my eyes.

Suddenly, a scorching hand covers my face, turning my face back forcefully.

Gavin: You’re right. I’m used to being a bandit and doing whatever I want to. So, MC, let me take a good look at you.

He carefully sweeps his eyes over me. As I gradually come to my senses, I realise that he’s checking to see if I’m injured.

MC: Gavin, I’m not hurt.

Seeing the concern in his eyes, my heart feels a stinging sensation. No one has ever cared about me like this before.

Even though he knew that I didn’t have good intentions from the beginning, he didn’t blame me at all.

-

The familiar campground once again enters my vision. From afar, I see that everyone’s tidying up boxes filled with treasures.

MC: Did they go to the palace?

Gavin: Mm. I had to bring you back, so I let them go there by themselves. After sorting out the inventory, they will return the items to their original owners.

MC: In that case... could we head to the roof for a while? Today’s also the day my blessings are manifested. Whether it’s real or not, it’d be revealed very soon.

In a moment, we land on the roof. My heart uncontrollably turns anxious.

Gavin: The most valuable riches in the world?

Gavin stands beside me quietly, stretching out his hand.

The full moon hangs overhead, and the night breeze blows gently.

In an instant, the pearls and jewels in the boxes on the ground suddenly fill the night sky, glistening underneath the moonlight.

Countless silver coins and jewels soak in the moonlight, setting a contrast to the flickering stars, as though they are newborn stars.

Gavin: Are these your blessings?

Gavin turns around to face me. All the light in the world seem to be stored in those amber eyes.

Gavin: If you’re wondering about the meaning behind these blessings, let me shoulder it with you. Your fate will not be directed by anyone. MC, you can just be MC. I don’t care if you’ve been blessed by God. What I want is you.

The starry sky casts a faint halo over Gavin, becoming the most dazzling colour in my eyes.

My world seems to be shining into a ray of light, and the interlaced paths of what lies ahead in the future turn clear and bright.

All of a sudden, I realise something with certainty -

This is just the beginning. He will bring me along to be acquainted anew with this beautiful world.

A gentle gust breezes past, and the lower hem of Gavin’s clothes flutters.

His lips move slightly, and his voice burrows into my ears along with the wind.

Gavin: All of the blessings for you - I’ll fulfil them myself.

-

🍷 MOMENTS 🍷

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving in the open country.

MC: Because most of this trip will be in the open country, we have to do our homework in advance!

Gavin: When it comes to safety, there’s nothing to worry about with me around.

-

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: Are you surprised? The first phase of the trip is starting!

Gavin: Great. In that case, leave the rest of the arrangements to me.

-

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: I felt that you’ve been working really hard lately, so I wanted to take you to a faraway place to relax~

Gavin: Actually, it’s enough that you’re around.

🍷 Phone calls: First l Second

🍷 More translated dates: here

🍷 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[wolvesandpetals]

Loki x Sylvie Fanfic for Sylki week Day 4: Romance Tropes @sylkiweek

Tropes used: Marriage of convenience, Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy, Rated: strong T for language and content.

Asgardian AU, in which Thor and Loki are children of Odin while Sylvie is the daughter of Laufey, engaged to the prince of Asgard.

---

Asgard and Jotunheim had achieved peace wish a promise- the promise of an alliance by marriage of Laufey's only born daughter Sylvie with Odin's first born son Thor.

[[MORE]]

Princess Sylvie had been deemed too small, too weak for Jotunheim, and sent to Midgard, to be brought up by several families over the years, till she attained adulthood and was capable of fending for herself.

That had backfired gigantically. Sylvie had grown up into a strong, independent woman, with powers of enchantment that she used for hedonistic purposes, and no loyalty or attachment to Jotunheim. Her skin was pale and her hair was blonde, far from the blue and rugged appearance of a frost giant, and she wanted nothing to do with her father, or his alliance.

Naturally, Laufey took her by force and imprisoned her, threating to tear her apart limb by limb if she did not agree to the marriage. He was old, and growing weaker, and he would need someone to ensure the survival of Jotunheim, even if that someone was the offspring he detested.

A message was relayed to the alfather, requesting the betrothal.

Thor, Prince of Asgard, simply refused. He was reminded of his obligation to the kingdom, as Prince and future King, but his heart lay with a human in Midgard, and he vowed to take no other as a wife. Odin offered him a chance to live out the rest of her limited lifespan with her, before returning to Asgard and marrying Laufeydottir, but Thor did not relent, choosing instead to step out of his role as heir, relegating it to his younger brother.

Loki Odinson had always wanted to be king, yet never found himself in a position where it was in the realm of possibility. His father clearly preferred his older brother, and he would never do anything to actually harm his brother and get him out of his way, no matter how many times he made his brother the victim of his cruelest practical jokes.

Now the role was his, in a way that assured the happiness for both of the brothers, and he was ready to step up, make his father proud and earn the approval he desperately longed for.

And if it meant marrying Laufey's daughter? So be it. He did not care for love, had never found it anyway, and he could always take mistresses and concubines to satisfy his other needs. Any wife would do as Queen, Laufey's daughter included.

---

"What is the meaning of this?" Laufey roared from his throne when Odin informed him about the change of plans, that Loki was to wed Sylvie instead of Thor. "The Princess was promised to the future King."

"Loki is the future King", Odin assured. "He is my son, and my heir, and your daughter shall be his Queen."

"The hell I'll be!" Sylvie screamed from her place at the corner of the cold, barren, throne room, pulling at her enchanted shackles that prevented her from accessing her magic.

"Silence!" Laufey warned her. "You'll have to excuse my silly daughter." He told his Asgardian guests. "Midgard has softened her."

Loki followed the voice, and was greated by the sight of a woman dressed in typical twenty first century Midgardian garments- skinny jeans, ankle boots, and ruffle-sleeved top. Her hair was short and blonde and unkempt, her eyes burning with rage. He smiled at her. She sneered.

"Your daughter is your prisoner?" Odin asked, surprised.

"Until she agrees to the marriage." Laufey said simply.

Loki's heart stopped. If this woman did not go through with the marriage, then peace between Asgard and Jotunheim would be broken. More importantly, if the marriage didn't happen, then there was no reason for him to ascend the throne instead of Thor.

Loki decided he was not going to let this woman screw up his plans. He was Loki Silvertongue, and he would talk her into doing his bidding. "Father, King Laufey, may I please be allowed to have a word with my future wife in private?"

Odin stared at him. It was improper for a Prince to formally request a meeting with his future bride without proper chaperone.

Laufey didn't care. "Have at it. See if you can beat some sense into her."

Loki nodded, ignoring the blatant misogyny, before making his way to the princess.

Sylvie pulled at the shackles again, wanting to get as far away from his as possible. He looked around, to see his father and Laufey exit, leaving them alone.

"Alright, cards on the table. Tell me why you object to this marriage."

"Marriage?" She mouthed the word with extreme distaste. "Please! This is not marriage. I am being sold like cattle, in exchange for favors from Asgard."

Loki smiled. "Ah, I see. You were raised in Midgard. You share their belief that marriage should be for love. Perhaps..." he studied her carefully. "If you get to know me, maybe you can-"

"Stop!0" She snarled. "I am not going to fall in love with some stranger I meet through a fucking arranged marriage!"

"Fair enough." He shrugged. trying a different approach now. "What if I tell you, that even as my wife, you'll be free to pursue love elsewhere, so long as it doesn't bring my kingdom and my family disgrace?"

"Oh, you're giving me permission to cheat? How sweet of you!" Her smile was venomous. "I suppose you'd be cheating too?"

"I believe the earthlings call it an open relationship", he replied cooly.

"I don't want an open relationship!" She screamed. "All I want is to return to Oklahoma and just live my damn life."

Loki pretended to think for a moment. "And where do you think refusing to marry me will lead you? Not to Oklahoma, that's for sure. Maybe if the Fortunes favor you, your death will be quick. Or maybe Laufey will draw it out for centuries."

She let out a bitter laugh. "As if marrying you will be any better!"

Loki grinned. He had her where he wanted her. "It will be. I assure you. You will not be shackled, for one. You will enjoy all the luxuries of the palace and all the power that comes with being Queen. And", he paused, forever a fan of theatrics. "You will have the liberty to visit Midgard any time you wish."

She looked up at him sharply, and his grin widened. He knew he had her. "The bifrost will be at your service. I assure you, I will grant you everything in my power."

"What's in it for you?" She asked.

"I will be king." He told her honestly. "You are only useful to me for the marriage. What you do afterwards is none of my concern. Do we have an understanding?"

Sylvie eyed the cuffs around her wrists, trying to use her magic one last time and failing. Reluctantly, she nodded.

---

The marriage took place within a month. She felt physically repulsed as her hand was joined with his. And then she was his wife.

His mother, Frigga, gently brushed her hair back. "I am your mother now. You can come to me with any of your troubles." The kindness in her voice made her refrain from offering her a rude reply.

She was taken to his bed-chamber by the ladies of the court that night. It was grand, like the palaces of the kings back in period dramas on earth, the gold accentuated by sporadic green. She sat down on the bed, trying to steady her breathe, trying to decide what to do if he tried to force himself on her.

She had her magic again. She could just kill him and run away. But she could only go so far before Laufey found her again, and this time, her fate would be worse than bedding a stranger. Her best option, was sadly, Loki.

The door opened, revealing the familiar dark-haired man. He eyed her for a moment, sitting uncomfortably on his bed, dressed in the finest Asgardian gown, one fit for a princess. His fingers danced in the air, and she found in the bed beside her a change of clothes- light green pajamas.

She touched the soft fabric, before turning to face him.

"I keep my promises", he said in a serious tone, before his face broke into a mischievous grin. "Generally."

He disappeared behind a partition, and she saw his Cape being discarded on the floor. She decided it was the perfect time for her to change as well.

"Don't princes have servants to undress them?" She asked curiously.

He laughed. "I do. But I do not make use of their services for something so trivial."

He emerged from the barrier, bare-chested and dressed only in silk pajamas. Sylvie remembered, once again, that she was alone in his room. She took a step back instinctively, until her back hit the wall.

He waved his hand in the air again, and the gigantic bed now split into two small ones. "You should sleep here, lest you rouse their suspicions." He suggested.

She nodded, grateful and relieved. Maybe Loki wasn't all bad, after all. "No one good is truly good, and no one bad is truly bad", her earth-mother used to say. "Have you ever been to Earth?" She asked.

"Oh, many times." He reminisced with a smile. "I am the God of Mischief. And humans are the perfect victims for mischief."

She rolled her eyes, tucking herself under the covers. "Why have I never heard of you then?"

Loki grinned. "Surely you've heard of D.B. Cooper."

Sylvie gasped. "No. Way! That was you?"

Loki took an exaggerated bow, before settling into bed himself.

"And have their been any earthy... affairs?"

"Plenty", he said with a shrug. "But nothing that mattered. What about you? Do you have someone back at home?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that mattered."

"What is it then?" He asked with genuine interest. "What is it about Midgard that appeals to you so much?"

She stared at the ceiling, trying to will the colours to change into the simple faded paint of her bedroom. "It's my home. I have a life there. My whole life was stolen from me." The tiniest hint of rage was back in her voice again.

"I will help you return", he promised. "Perhaps one day we may conquer Midgard and rule it together." He said semi-seriously.

She shook her head again. "I don't want to rule. I want to live."

He nodded. "I know ways out of Asgard. I will show you."

"Thank you." She said, gratefully, before she felt the first touch of sleep.

---

Frigga gave her a tour of the palace, telling her stories about her children along the way, asking her questions about her own family back on earth.

She found herself warming up to the matriarch, despite her role as the silent spectator in this arrangement.

Before they parted ways, Frigga gave her an embrace. "I know how difficult this is for you. You are a strong woman, and you shall emerge out of this stronger."

---

Loki took her to Midgard the next week.

"So you're following me now? Making sure I don't run away?" She accused when she learnt he would be joining her.

He turned serious suddenly. "I talked father into letting us enjoy our post-nuptial vacation at Midgard. Honeymoon, as you lot call it. Whether you spend it with me or not is up to you."

He turned then, and started walking. She felt her heart ache unexpectedly as she watched him go.

"Wait!" She called after him.

He stopped, turning around to face her again. She jogged till she closed the distance between them. Crossing her arms in front of her, she put on her most confident tone. "You can stay with me. But we follow my rules. We go where I want to go. We do what I want to do."

"Fine by me."

---

He beat her at both laser-tag and paintball, she cursed him, and he grinned triumphantly. She drank him under the table, and it was her turn to grin.

The smile faded when she saw him up on stage, ready to sing at karaoke. "And this is for my lovely wife, Sylvie!" He pointed at her as the crowd cheered, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarassment.

She took him back to her apartment, and it almost felt like a normal date.

She set up the couch for him, while she slept in her bed once again after what felt like an eternity.

---

The knock on the door was too early, and he groaned his protest. It was Sylvie's landlord, threatening to evict her if she did not pay rent.

She had been gone for two months now, without a job for just as long, and without the means to keep her apartment.

Loki paid the rent for the full year.

"I don't need your help!" She declared once her landlord left, satisfied. "I will pay you back."

"No need", he said gently. "Consider this my way of showing my gratitude for letting me be king."

She pursed her lips, fighting back the disappointment. Of course he did not actually care for her. And that was fine. She did not care for him as well.

---

Days two, three, four and five were all spent catching up with her friends, trying to explain her sudden disappearance as a family emergency for which she had to relocate. He spent the time catching up with Thor and his girlfriend, remembering to properly thank the woman for the role she played in his ascent to the throne.

Day six was when she asked him what he wanted to do. That was how they discovered their shared love for theatre.

Day eleven was spent at a shooting range, and Loki vowed to never anger this woman, after watching her shoot guns like they were an extension of her body itself.

On day fifteen, Sylvie hugged him after they beat another couple in bowling.

He had never indulged in so much meaningless domestics, had never understood the human need for the same, but having Sylvie's arms wrapped around him for ten brief seconds helped him realize the appeal.

They returned to Asgard after twenty-five days. Sylvie gifted Frigga a pendant from earth that matched the colour of her eyes.

---

The royal family always dined together, with Odin at the head of the table, Frigga and Loki on his two sides, and Sylvie next to Frigga.

She found herself instinctively sitting next to Loki one day.

Sylvie froze, staring at Frigga to see if she had caused offense. Frigga gave her a reassuring smile.

Loki was surprised as well, but did not comment.

Five days later, she found herself stealing berries off his plate. And he let her.

---

She found him talking to a lady of his court one afternoon, their bodies close, her hand playfully brushing his arm.

She felt the ground beneath her shake.

Of course he had taken a lover.

And why shouldn't he? They weren't actually man and wife.

They were friends. Yes, that's all they were. And that was perfectly alright.

---

He retired to his chamber that night with a huge smile on his face, and it made her blood boil. "Are you sure you want to sleep here?"

He looked at her in confusion. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged, her shoulders tense. "I don't know. Maybe you'd like better company."

He studied her, trying to understand what had brought about this sudden change in her demeanor. "And what company would that be?"

She shrugged again. "You're a prince. Surely you have a long line of ladies throwing themselves at your arms."

Loki laughed. He sat down on the bed, next to Sylvie, and brought a hand up to her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Are you jealous, wife?"

"Of course not." She said quickly, though her glare betrayed her true emotions.

"Good." He smiled. "Because you have nothing to be jealous about." He planted a kiss on her cheek, rendering it red with the blush that followed.

---

She caught him flirting with the woman again the next day, and this time, she decided to flirt with a man from the court, consequences of the scandal be damned.

His jaw tensed when he saw her laughing at the man's joke, and he excused himself from the company of others for the day.

She found his bed empty that night, and she wondered if her action had finally drove him into another's bed.

---

"Where were you last night?" She asked when she saw him the next day, alone with Odin.

Odin's features masked his feelings, as always

Loki looked at her with irritation. "Perhaps we can discuss this some other time."

"The hell we can", she hissed, digging her heels in. "I asked you a question."

He smiled at her sweetly yet menacingly. "I was with a woman." He lied. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The hurt was written all over her face, and he realized too late what a great mistake he had made. "Sylvie, I-"

She didn't let him finish. She bowed her head at the Alfather, and made a hasty exit. Loki chose to stay and deal with the matters of the kingdom first, like a future king should.

---

She took the bifrost to Midgard. Those were the terms of their deal, after all. They get married, he gets the throne, she gets her freedom- that was how it was supposed to work.

It was her own damn fault she had started catching feeling for the man. Stockholm syndrome, that was all it was, she told herself.

She found him at her door within the hour. She tried to slam it closed on his face, but he held it open with his feet. "I'm sorry." He said, before either of them had a chance to say anything else. "I hated seeing you with Merlin. And I reacted poorly. I spent the night with the warriors three, drinking away my annoyance. And I lied to you about it because I was-"

She cut him off with a kiss. He was startled, and almost lost his balance, before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.

"If I ever find you with another woman, again", she said when they parted for air, "I will cut your heart out."

"What about a man?" He asked.

"Same threat", she clarified, before capturing his lips again. She pulled him inside the apartment and locked the door.

---

Lying on the bed, naked under the covers, he looked at her seriously that night. "If you think you're happier here in Midgard, I would gladly speak to Father and release you of your bond. You shall never have to return to Asgard again." He laced their fingers together, his eyes shining with untamed emotions. "I don't want a throne. I just want you to be okay."

"I-" she paused, sitting up.

She had just been granted the freedom she craved. If she chose to leave, Asgard and Jotunheim would be at war, but Laufey would not chass her, nor if Loki was the one to release her. She would be safe, and she would be home.

Or what once was her home, anyway. In the one hour that she found herself alone in her apartment, all she kept thinking of was the view from the balcony at Asgard, the cheer of the children, the Greecian hairstyles of women, and the golden drapes in her room.

And him.

She was not with him because their fathers dictated so, but because she wanted to be. "I want to stay with you. At Asgard." She confessed.

Loki beamed at her, proceeding to kiss her forehead. "We can still visit Midgard sometimes, like we do now." He assured.

She nodded, a small smile forming on her face. "You were right. This is indeed better than being shackled at Jotunheim."

He grinned mischievously. "Well, shackles are not all bad."

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

🌼 any of them

Whoops, wrote a fic

Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

An optimist would look at the world of divination with wonder. The universe is a but a magnificent hall of tapestries, beautiful pieces of art woven into anything you could imagine. Tapestries where you are a hero, tapestries where you are royalty, tapestries where your people live with riches, tapestries depicting your eternal victory over your enemies. The universe is endless and bountiful, for in the future, all futures are possible.

This is how Astor usually can depict the good fortune tellers from the worse.

If they’re an optimist, they’re most likely a faker.

The only true divinator that he had met that was even a bit of an optimist was his mother, and even then, he had always had the sinking feeling that she hid a deeper sorrow behind her simple shoes of colorful flames and shining moon and starlight. No, it was quite hard to stick to true, unfiltered optimism in this field, as while it was true that all futures and choices were possible, that freewill ran its course through all who walked the vast possibilities of the universe, the issue came in the fact that you could not travel it to and fro.

There are futures where you live, there are futures where you achieve your wildest dreams, timelines where your childhood is happier, and timelines where you find true love and satisfaction.

But you aren’t in those timelines. The future you have is this one, and it is set in stone.

Walk all the roads you want, say all the words, read all the stories, but when a seer analyzed exactly what world we live in, exactly what end is destined for this string of the universe, there will be no holding back. There is only the unfiltered, raw, typically pessimistic truth of the end. Savor it.

“In truth, Elane, I hate my job. Fear it, even,” Astor set his teacup down, looking out the balcony towards the inky, midnight view. “I fear one day I will find the prediction—the true, ultimate glimpse into the night, that seals in the fact that we’re doomed.”

The Queen only cocked her head with a smile. “Well, I’m flattered that there’s still a ‘we’ in this scenario. Good to know I’ll be joining you in the lockup when my mother find our contraband cucco nuggets—“

“I’m serious, Elane.”

She only laughed quietly, before leaning back in her chair, and gazing out into the pleasant evening. “I know...”

There was a quiet between them, not quite awkward or stiffening, but quiet in the way that you might hold your breath after someone embraces you warmly. Quiet in acceptance, quiet to make room for the sounds of something rare and fickle.

“I swear, I might retire early,” Astor finally said. “Quit while I’m ahead. Head off to Hateno or Mabe and bury my head in the sand.”

“You might want to try Gerudo then, if sand is what you’re searching for. I’m sure Urbosa would be thrilled.”

“Tsk. I am inclined to disagree.”

Elane chuckled again, and she let the quiet embrace her for a moment.

“Eternal doom aside, for a moment, I would posit that there’s hardly anything to fear. You’ve foreseen my daughter’s growth, analyzed the future livelihood of the kingdom, and predicted our victory over Ganon. I’d say it’s hard to bargain with that.”

“Maybe, but I could be wrong.” Astor circled his finger on the lip of his cup. “It happens, people make a prediction, but miss one star, or slip up one word...or perhaps one cow suddenly dies, or one ember quickly fades, and suddenly we’re actually in an entirely different timeline than predicted.”

“Didymos Astor? Wrong about something? Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day...” Elane smiled to herself again as she lifted her cup for another sip.

Astor clicked his tongue. “Well. You should hope I’m not wrong about anything. If someone of my skill makes an incorrect prediction, it would probably be disastrous for everyone.”

Elane winked as she set down her cup. “Well, good thing you’re a prodigy, then.”

“Good thing, indeed.”

Quiet keep their third company once again. Astor still had not sipped from his cup, but Elane was already heading for her fourth refill, no doubt begging for any energy after tucking her daughter to bed. A young toddler with enough energy to power a Guardian army, Elane has always found it quite odd that she used up a lot of her energy to annoy the Royal Seer. It was charming to see him get put off by a Mallory’s boundless curious aura, but mostly relieving in the sense that the Queen could get a moments rest and trust little Zelda would be alright.

Elane looked back inside through the half open door, and smiled at a bundled sleeping figure, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals. She then turned back and finally noticed Astor’s continued silence on the next refill.

She sighed. “Although I would be saddened to see you leave,” she began, “If a retirement would make you happy, Astor, I would loathe to do anything to stand in your way.”

He looked up at her, analyzing her body language and expression. She was genuine, of course, as she always was in these sorts of talks. Astor finally let himself exhale in peace, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Unfortunately I don’t think it would do me much good, anyways. Location won’t let me escape my own thoughts and visions.” He took a sip of his tea—a bit citrusy this evening, a hint of apple—and relaxed. “I’d imagine His Majesty would miss me dearly, and I simply wouldn’t want to leave him in distress.”

“Ha! Oh yes of course, Rhoam would be crying tears if you left us...” she replied, sarcastically. “Tears of deep, deep sorrow.”

Astor looked out into the night in silence again, not touching his cup.

“But I’ll tell you what Astor,” Elane began again. “If you ever receive that world dooming prediction, whatever may happen that may instigate your view of the deepest hells,” she raised her cup. “You come find me, and we’ll have a drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drink? What sort of drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like. Tea, wine, beer, water or juice if it’s your fancy. Whatever will keep your spirits high.”

Astor smirked, solemnly. “I don’t think you understand just how severe and dreadful certain predictions can be. When we say ‘all futures are possible,’ we do mean all possibilities.”

“And I understand, dear seer. I truly do.” She tilted her head as she kept her cup in the air. “But the way I see it, is that with divination or not, doom and hell come into people’s lives one way or the other. But it hasn’t really stopped the majority from loving their lives now, has it?” Her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Dearest Astor, if our destined doom is predicted one day, I command you to at least smile through our tea party.”

Quiet.

He finally sighed, the corners of his lips perking. His protests drowning in her expression.

“I suppose if you’re the one pouring, it’d be difficult to refuse.” He raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

She was dead eight days later.

With her death came the final factor. The final star.

“Your daughter is destined to fail us,” he said again. “The Calamity shall rise and consume us all, and she won’t stop it in time.”

Rhoam slammed his fists on the desk, but the seer did not flinch. “We’ll train her hard, we’ll start now, even! I’ll get those clerics from the temple to teach her the starting prayers!” he yelled.

“It won’t work.” Astor replied, simply. “Perhaps she might attain them down the line, but she most certainly won’t awaken her powers by Ganon’s rise. It’s over.”

“You told me we could do this!” Rhoam pointed a finger, accusingly. “You saw our prosperity, our victory!”

“That was what I initially saw, yes. But unfortunately we live in world where the Queen of Hyrule is dead, and thus the threads of our future weave accordingly.”

“You’re a liar!” Rhoam bellowed again. “You saw her death, saw our end and lied to us since the beginning, haven’t you?!!”

“Don’t you think that if I knew Elane would die, I would say something?! That I would give ample time for her to say goodbye to you and her daughter??” Astor finally raised his voice, met with equal silence. “I failed to correctly analyze our timeline the first time around, and for that I am sorry. But I can not control what pieces of the future fate allows me to see. It’s not an open novel for you to give me a bad book report grade on. It’s a museum of endless tapestries, of which I am task with analyzing one stroke at a time to identify which is woven to a singular man, and the fact that I have given you a complete enough answer now is a gift within itself, so don’t even try to accuse me forgery and lies.”

The two men clenched their jaws, staring angrily at each other.

Astor finally whispered. “Overtime I might gather more specifics, but overall—this is over.”

Rhoam balles his hand into a fist. “We’ll start a new schedule for Zelda first thing in the morning—“

“It won’t work, it’s futile—“

“We’ll make it work—“

“This is set in stone, this is the world you live in—“

“Well what if you’re wrong again?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if you are?”

“I’m. Not. I’ve read the signs again and again and again, in fact I’ve been reaching the same conclusions repeatedly for the last four weeks. It. Is set. In stone.” He tapped his finger on the wood with each syllable to emphasize. “Perhaps the futures of prosperity are accurate for the Rhoams and Mallorys that live in a different time, but unfortunately for us, we live in one where Elane is dead. This is our reality and you’re doing no good denying as such.”

Silence.

Rhoam made his way towards the door. “You’re a liar.” The seer scoffed. “You’re a liar and you don’t know what you’re saying! Borderline treason if I’m being honest! You’re pathetic, and a rotten fake—“

“If it pleases His Majesty to confirm the integrity of his humble subject,” Astor cut in, sarcastically, “It might be good to know that also I’ve predicted you won’t imprison me, or exile me, or execute me, given you’re still ever reliant on my uncontested skills for more personal matters. That, and you wish to try and keep me around to hopefully prove me wrong, in which you can then tell yourself you’d be in the right to truly punish me.” He stared the regent dead in the eyes. “But don’t worry, you won’t.”

Rhoam slammed the door shut as he stomped off.

That night, Astor has another dream. Or perhaps it was a vision, he wasn’t sure, as the details were so surreal and horrific and captivating that it would have surely been a blessing to chalk it up entirely to vivid imagination.

There were screams and the sound of rocks crumbling. Bones were cracking and monsters were squealing and shrieking. And be felt his arms burn, and he felt his soul drain, and he looked down to see his skin peeling into dark flakes, his muscles, sludge. And in the distance, a young woman with golden hair laughed at him, but her eyes were hollow and gold. And she laughed and laughed as his body was slowly broken to pieces, bones torn asunder, skin burned to smoldering malice, senses vivid until the final moment when he woke.

But the good thing about nightmares, was that...that was it. There was no where else to go. There was nothing left to offer. No more pain to fear.

It made sense of course. Of course, of course. He never went to the funeral, he never offered his sympathies. There was no longer anything to mourn, as he allowed himself to view the world in its true, disgusting form. The people were doomed, and the dead, well...perhaps they might have deserved it. Yes, that was the only way this all made sense, of course. He even stopped trying to warn other folk after a few too many dozen harsh rejections to his character. No, now in complete isolation and resignation of his path, there was nothing else that could possibly drag him back to—

“How do I die?” Zelda Mallory Hyrule asked, one day.

At first, he was confused, and he turned in his chair. “What?”

She was seven at the time, and it was truly an odd and concerning thing to be coming from a seven year old girl’s mouth. Or perhaps it wasn’t, given the circumstances.

“How do I die?” she said again. She was laying down on his worn carpet, fiddling with the frilled edge.

Was she truly that bored? Already out of other questions? Hmph, he had always warned her to stay away, as a seer’s office wasn’t really meant for childish entertainment. Yet still she always came and asked to hide away from her father, and, well...anything to spite that man...

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied. Had someone said something to her? A threat? He clenched his jaw. I swear, if that fool tried to force her powers by—

“You’re always going on about how I’m wasting my time with praying and stuff...but father says I still gotta to stop the Calamity or else we could all die.” She didn’t look up from the bits of carpet string she was playing with (and contemplating on popping in her mouth), “So I figured if you tell me how I die we can settle the debate for good!”

Astor just sighed. “Well, of course you d—“

He stopped himself, but not for the reasons a more put together person, might. Not because of the generally frowned upon action of telling a child how she dies, no, that was not exactly beyond him. No, Astor cut off his sentence simply because it had crossed his mind that—

“...I’m not entirely sure...” he whispered.

He suddenly stood. Walking towards the other end of his office, carefully stepping over the child. “E-Excuse me a moment.”

Why had he never considered this? Of course, he had seen the signs clearly enough, the visions, the stars. A girl cries over a corpse, a light vanishes in the night. Malice plagued the sky and dooms the day. But did the Calamity actually kill her? Does she drown in rubble and malice like the others? Slain by a demon or monster perhaps? Or if not, then, would that mean...?

The princess soon forgot about the question by the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.

Astor spent nearly eight sleepless nights into finding an answer.

But he never truly did.

These things happened more times than one may think, when it came to predictions. Vagueness was commonplace, but specificities and straightforward answers were about as rare as a green sunset. Of course, he knew she would die, goddess blood or not, she lived the life of a mortal. But how? When? While it certainly wasn’t impossible to predict a person’s death, but whatever the circumstances of Mallory’s was made the process was infuriatingly impossible.

It was possible she would die of malice or suffocation under rubble, even circumstances where she dies at the Ganon’s hand himself. But then there were clear visions of her living, walking through a grassy field, ruins in the distance covered in leaves and moss, her turning and calling to a friend to keep up with her pace.

But no, nonono. She would die during the Calamity’s rise, that was the majority of what the futures offered to her were. That was the probable outcome.

But the factors and visions and signs and alignments were so fine and minuscule in difference, that Astor truly couldn’t a true statement, a true prediction, a true answer to the question. What timeline did we live in?

It taunted him.

Maybe it was better if the question was put to rest, did it even matter?

“Mallory?” he asked. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What?! No it’s not!” Elane laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Please, YOU’RE not one to talk.”

“Well as a victim of stupid first names, I think I’m qualified to speak accurately on the subject.”

“Aha! But it’s not technically a first name.” Elane tapped his head. “It’s a middle name, her first name would be ‘Zelda,’ of course.”

“Yes, and that is also a s—“

The queen shoved his shoulder into the wall before he even finished the sentence. “Oh would you shut up...”

He laughed, unconventionally carefree. Her Majesty’s happiness these days truly was contagious. Or perhaps that was a side effect of pregnancy? Did all expecting mother’s give off this aura?

“I think it’s a wonderful name.” Elane said. “Reminds me of a cute little duck, like a mallard!” She tucked her arms and flapped her elbows to imitate as such. “Quack, quack!”

“This is further adding to my argument actually”

“Hmph! Ok then Mr. Overseer of all names” She tapped a finger to his chest. “If it’s such a stupid name, then when she starts getting bullied for it around the castle, I shall expect you to take care of her in full.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do so. She’ll definitely need it.”

Elane pecked his head with a kiss.

“Good! I grant you my blessing lovingly tease her, as well. And I expect the best from you, Astor!”

His face suddenly warmed for some reason, and he couldn’t form words.

“What?”

“.....W...”

He was suddenly whack in the head with a rolled up piece of paper. Astor sprang awake from his desk. “...W...What...?”

“Morning, Mr. Astor!!” Princess Zelda-Mallory beamed. “And happy birthday!!! Sorry I woke you up early, but I needed to give this to you before the winter solstice festival later and—“

She continued to ramble on and on, but Astor simply opened the rolled up paper she had handed to him. It was simply filled with dozens and dozens, arguably hundreds, of hand drawn stars. In the corner was written, “You always look at the same stars so here’s some new ones!” in crude purple crayon. At the time, he failed to notice the accompanying note on the back that read “One for each year of how old you are!” Thankfully he was too busy looking through the different stars, with varying degrees of sparkles and smiley faces.

He finally looked back at the princess, who was still rambling on and on about her day, and her father’s day, and her newest stuffy dress, and her latest adventures with her stuffed toys, and—

“Why are you always here, Zelda?” Astor finally said. She stopped talking, looking at him, quizzically. “I mean...” he grumbled, “You know I don’t really like you, right?

“Eh, I don’t care. I think you’re neat!!” She held out her arms as she zoomed around his circular office. “Your room is so cool! And you got fun books!”

“Necromancy isn’t necessarily what I would consider ‘fun’ reading material—“

“Plus your outfits are cool, and you’re super smart, like my mom.”

He blinked.

“Plus, you’re the only one that’s not mean to me about my dumb powers. But really that’s just a chair on the top!”

“Do you mean cherry on top?”

“No! I meant chair! Watch me!! I’m gonna do a backflip off of this—“

“NO.” Astor immediately stood up, and snatched the girl off of the wooden chair. “NO. No backflips.” He set her down on the rug and pointed to a side of the room which held a broken table, stool, and a few old chairs—the victims of the princess’ previous acrobatic attempts.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m running out of furniture, is what I am.”

“But I’ll let this slide since it’s your birthday! Hmph.”

She started pulling at the loose threads of the carpet. “Don’t know why you had to stop my birthday backflip! Who cares if I get a little scratch?”

“I do—“

“YOU DO?!” Mallory was immediately up and clinging to his robes.

Astor sputtered, instinctively waving his arms to free himself from the child’s grip. But then he finally processed her question, and...

“I...” He looked at her starlight eyes. She had that stupid, naive grin that he always remembered from her mother. A stupid, pathetic, horrible, terrible, optimistic smile.

He finally scoffed. “I just can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, as otherwise, I’d probably be a dead man. That’s all.”

The princess lifted her hands in a “hooray!” fashion, and yelled the exclamation, accordingly. She then resumed her zipping and zooming around the room, much to Astor’s unexpected relief.

That night, he visited the question again.

Why? He didn’t really know.

The question wouldn’t offer him anything, it wouldn’t relieve him of anything—in fact it really did just the opposite. If he found that died miserably, it would be another scream in the nightmare, another nail in the comforting coffin of despair. But if he someone found that she lived, that there was a day after the Calamity, where even a child such as her could possibly prosper...

Having hope and seeing it fail anyway would probably be the most torturous of all.

Again, he had a dream, of a world tainted by blood and malice. But this time he was floating. He was floating and watching the end of it all.

Castle Town was nothing but ruins and ash, and no colors existed but red, black, and grey.

He couldn’t hear anything but a shrill hum in his ears, but he knew there was screaming. He looked to his hand, expecting to see malice or blackened skin, but instead found a strange floating device in his palm. It spin slowly, pink constellations drifting across its surface.

The hum in his ears turned into a groan, and then a whisper. It said something familiar, but he was sure he had never heard it before.

It is time.

The next night he had a dream of a girl standing in a green field, calling out to her friends somewhere behind her. She rested under the ruins of a collapsed pillar, and ate a homemade sandwich with a memorable smile.

Astor reached a conclusion.

In most futures, the girl dies horribly. He wrote in his journal. To be expected, I would assume the rise of the Calamity isn’t exactly easy to survive from.

But what I have discovered is a very specific set of circumstances that lead to a more favorable outcome, at least for her.

I have no way of knowing if it accurately depicts the comings of our time, or another. There are too many variables and specifics. Too long I have spent trying to discern our fate, but the probabilities and possibilities for doom are so interchangeable that it really go either way. The only truth I know is that she lives if—

He paused, tapping the dry quill to the desk again in thought. He dipped it once more.

I’ve decided that if I ever find myself in the scenario where I can solidify her a more favorable destiny, I will take it. I can only hope dare to alter my existing nightmare into something different, there’s really nothing left to lose, is there?

Astor leaned in his chair for a moment, savoring the silence of his office. He looked out the window and took in the night. The stars were gorgeous this evening.

Although if it fails I hope it kills me.

Call it arrogance, but I don’t think I can handle being wrong again.

The seer sighed, then suddenly flipped to the next blank page, angrily.

If I had never met her it would have been fine. If I had just minded my own damn business and continued to work in being resigned to our fate, at least then I could have—

There was a soft knock at his door.

He knew who it was.

Astor pinched the bridge of his nose as he opened it. “It’s past 2am, Princess, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “I had a nightmare...”

“Yes, people do have those sometimes.” He immediately closed the door.

Another knock.

After a moment, Astor opened it again. “Don’t you have guards outside your room, how did you sneak up here?”

“Secret tunnel!” She grinned, proudly, as she replied with a sort of sing-song tone.

“That’s nice.”

The door slammed shut again.

She knocked once more. There was the longest pause.

“FFFFFFine!” The world was out of his lips before he even fully swung open the door, and Mallory happily scrambled inside. “But no touching anything, I’m working.”

“It’s ok, I just wanna stay up all night and read your books!” She was already scrambling for the necromancy section, again.

Astor sighed, and went to slump back into his desk. The princess was already sprawled across the floor, distracting herself with another stack of wondrous, ill-recommended book. He didn’t really care.

I don’t really care. He wrote once again. I know there are futures where I dedicate myself to the Calamity, and she dies anyway. I know it doesn’t really matter, I know it’s hopeless to care, and that’s why I don’t.

He looked back at Zelda, he saw her slowly blink back her tiredness. He knew in a few hours or so, he’d have to drop her sleepy figure back off to those useless guards, and berate then for letting her wander off again, as it always was.

If I do this and it’s all for nothing, he began, I fear it will be worse than if I had just stood to the side and perished. It’s already doomed, and this pathetic, foolish optimism might cause me to turn this nightmare into something even worse.

He sighed, and the hours passed as he just sat with his thoughts.

Zelda was using and open book as a pillow.

Astor opened the door, and went to pick her up.

I’m not living through another nightmare. He thought, as he descended the stairs from the observatory. The girl’s breathing was steady as she wrapped an arm by his shoulder.

If it fails I hope it kills me before I see it. He repeated again.

I can’t handle being wrong again.

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Mahatma Gandhi

A 'No' uttered from the deepest conviction is better than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble.

A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.

A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes.

A man, whilst he is dreaming, believes in his dream; he is undeceived only when he is awakened from his slumber.

A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.

A thousand candles can be lighted from the flame of one candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness can be spread without diminishing that of yourself.

Always aim at complete harmony of thought and word and deed. Always aim at purifying your thoughts and everything will be well.

An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does the truth become error because nobody will see it.

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.

An ounce of practice is worth more than tons of preaching.

As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world - that is the myth of the atomic age - as in being able to remake ourselves.

Be the change that you wish to see in the world.

Compassion is a muscle that gets stronger with use.

Distinguish between real needs and artificial wants and control the latter.

Don't talk about it. The rose doesn't have to propagate its perfume. It just gives it forth, and people are drawn to it. Live it, and people will come to see the source of your power.

Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.

Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's needs, but not every man's greed.

Everyone holds a piece of the truth.

Fearlessness is the first requisite of spirituality. Cowards can never be moral.

Friendship that insists upon agreement on all things isn't worth the name.

God has no religion.

Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.

Hate the sin, love the sinner.

Honest differences are often a healthy sign of progress.

I call him religious who understands the suffering of others.

I cannot conceive of a greater loss than the loss of one's self-respect.

I may be a despicable person, but when Truth speaks through me I am

I want freedom for the full expression of my personality.

I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.

If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide.

If we are to reach real peace in the world, we shall have to begin with the children.

In a gentle way, you can shake the world.

In doing something, do it with love or never do it at all.

In matters of conscience, the law of the majority has no place.

In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth.

invincible.

It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honored by the humiliation of their fellow beings.

It is easier to build a boy than to mend a man.

It is wrong and immoral to seek to escape the consequences of one's acts.

It seems to me as clear as daylight that abortion would be a crime.

it's easy to stand in the crowd but it takes courage to stand alone

Liberty and democracy become unholy when their hands are dyed red with innocent blood.

Love is the strongest force the world possesses and yet it is the humblest imaginable.

Manliness consists not in bluff, bravado or loneliness. It consists in daring to do the right thing and facing consequences whether it is in matters social, political or other. It consists in deeds not words.

Many people, especially ignorant people, want to punish you for speaking the truth, for being correct, for being you. Never apologize for being correct, or for being years ahead of your time. If you’re right and you know it, speak your mind. Speak your mind. Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is still the truth.

My Life is My Message

No one can ride on the back of a man unless it is bent.

Nonviolence is a weapon of the strong.

Nothing has saddened me so much in life as the hardness of heart of educated people.

Nothing is so aggravating as calmness.

Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear of punishment.

Prayer is the key of the morning and the bolt of the evening.

Satisfaction lies in the effort, not in the attainment.

Seek not greater wealth, but simpler pleasure; not higher fortune, but deeper felicity.

Service which is rendered without joy helps neither the servant nor the served. But all other pleasures and possessions pale into nothingness before service which is rendered in a spirit of joy.

Silence becomes cowardice when occasion demands speaking out the whole truth and acting accordingly.

Speak only if it improves upon the silence.

The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.

The day the power of love overrules the love of power, the world will know peace.

The future depends on what you do today.

The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.

The more efficient a force is, the more silent and the more subtle it is.

The path is the goal.

The seeker after truth should be humbler than the dust. The world crushes the dust under its feet, but the seeker after truth should so humble himself that even the dust could crush him. Only then, and not till then, will he have a glimpse of truth.

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.

There are many causes I would die for. There is not a single cause I would kill for.

There are no good-byes, where ever you'll be, you'll be in my heart.

There are only two ways to live your life: as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is a miracle.

There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.

There are two days in the year that we can not do anything, yesterday and tomorrow

There is force in the universe, which, if we permit it, will flow through us and produce miraculous results.

There is no 'way to peace,' there is only 'peace.

There is no school equal to a decent home and no teacher equal to a virtuous parent.

There is no such thing as ‘too insane’ unless others turn up dead due to your actions.

There's no God higher than truth.

To forgive is not to forget. The merit lies in loving in spite of the vivid knowledge that one that must be loved is not a friend. There is not merit in loving an enemy when you forget him for a friend.

To give pleasure to a single heart by a single act is better than a thousand heads bowing in prayer.

True beauty lies in purity of the heart.

True love is boundless like the ocean and, swelling within one, spreads itself out and, crossing all boundaries and frontiers, envelops the whole world.

True morality consists not in following the beaten track, but in finding the true path for ourselves, and fearlessly following it.

Truth never damages a cause that is just.

We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.

What barrier is there that love cannot break?

When asked what he thought of Western civilization): 'I think it would be a good idea.

Whenever you are confronted with an opponent. Conquer him with love.

Where love is, there God is also.

Where there is fear there is no religion.

Where there is love there is life.

You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.

You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist.

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is like an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.

You yourself as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve love and affection.

[southeastasianists]

A lot has been written about Myanmar since the military takeover in the hours before dawn on Feb. 1. Much of it has been about the violence on the streets, which after a weekend when at least 114 people were shot dead is understandable. But more needs to be said about the reasons for the coup, the historical context for what we see today, and how both affect what is happening in full public view before an increasingly critical global audience.

It is time to tick a few boxes.

The past

The first time an elected government was removed in Myanmar was in 1962 when the Tatmadaw (armed forces) commander, General Ne Win, overthrew Prime Minister U Nu and abolished the 1947 independence constitution. It was an almost bloodless event that at the time many people saw as a logical and not unreasonable reaction to fears of the imminent disintegration of the then Union of Burma.

It was only later that Ne Win’s Revolutionary Council made up entirely of Tatmadaw officers launched what was known as the “Burmese Way to Socialism” and ultimately the end of Burma as a prosperous nation. Socialism was, however, used by Ne Win as the ideological glue binding the Tatmadaw and the civilian bureaucracies.

The evolution of Tatmadaw rule into the “Socialist Republic” in 1974 saw the institution of a one-party state with all significant offices held by the men of the Tatmadaw, who retired from their military command posts to take up parliamentary or other civilian positions.

The second, in 1988, was in part a takeover from itself. The collapse of the Ne Win system that year was accompanied by the promise of constitutional amendments allowing free-and-fair, multi-party elections. This promise was maintained by the new Tatmadaw regime, which styled itself with Orwellian flair as the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC). Headed at first by General Saw Maung, and after 1992 by his deputy General Than Shwe, SLORC abolished the 1974 constitution.

SLORC decided it had restored law and order in 1997 and changed its title and defined purpose to become—with an inspiration that rivals Orwell’s “Ministry of Truth”—the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC). It is tempting to believe that Orwell, who wrote “Burmese Days” in 1934, saw this coming.

The SPDC remained a body formed by, and largely constituted of, Tatmadaw officers. It remained in office until March 2011, when it handed over power to the parliament elected under the 2008 Constitution, a document put to a national referendum by the SPDC and approved through a process widely described as rigged. The SPDC announced 94 percent of voters were in favor.

The 2008 Constitution included provisions that guaranteed Tatmadaw control of all essential state security functions, a quarter of the membership of all elected bodies, and a requirement that any proposal for constitutional amendment obtain three-quarters support in the national parliament—an effective veto over change.

The present

The National League for Democracy (NLD) was founded by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi in September 1988, 10 days after the SLORC seized power but pursuant to the promise of multi-party elections first mooted by Ne Win. Many tribulations befell her in the years that followed, but the NLD remained a registered political party despite persistent harassment of its leadership. The party was ordered to cease political activities in 2004. Daw Aung San Suu Kyi was seen by the Tatmadaw, and the population alike, as the only person with the stature and personality to deprive the military of its control, generating both fear and hope in both camps.

There was, however, a general appreciation of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi as the person most likely to make a difference, and also of her as a person who could achieve change with the support of large sections of the Tatmadaw because of her place in the country’s history—the daughter of independence hero General Aung San. It was because of this strength that she was kept under various forms of house arrest between 1989 and 2010 (with some breaks during which she was able to build the image of the NLD and herself throughout the country).

When she attained power after elections held in 2015, it was clear one of her priorities would be to remove the Tatmadaw’s control of parliaments by virtue of its 25 percent guarantee of the share of seats. Whenever this issue was raised, it was immediately clear the Tatmadaw leaders, especially commander-in-chief Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, would not entertain such a change. However, many others in Myanmar had believed that Snr-Gen Than Shwe’s Constitution was part of a planned transition from military to civilian rule.

The Myanmar general elections in 2015 were the first contested countrywide by the NLD. The result gave the NLD 86 percent of the seats in the national Parliament. This was more than enough for the election, by the Parliament, of the president. As Daw Aung San Suu Kyi had been rendered ineligible to be president by qualifications placed in the Than Shwe Constitution, the Parliament elected the nominee of the NLD at the time, U Htin Kyaw. He retired on health grounds in 2018 and was replaced by NLD nominee U Win Myint.

Approaching tomorrow

Tatmadaw commander-in-chief Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing has been in this office since March 2011 and so was present during the three presidencies since the retirement from public life of Snr-Gen Than Shwe. Many Myanmar people, including Tatmadaw officers, were surprised when he was elevated to this position by Snr-Gen Than Shwe, for he had not had a particularly distinguished army career and was promoted above many more senior colleagues.

In that sense, Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing was seen as a parallel to an earlier president, U Thein Sein, who was elevated by Snr-Gen Than Shwe and served between 2011 and 2016, despite there being others seen as more senior and deserving.

U Thein Sein quickly became a president who seemed to have the public’s interests at heart and was known for his instruction in 2011 to parliamentarians to go to their constituencies, meet the people, understand their problems, and bring them to the capital for solution. Nobody had ever done that before.

Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing, on the other hand, was widely rumored to have engaged in corrupt activities through ownership of shares in companies run by the military. Despite some efforts to meet a wider range of people than is normal for Tatmadaw commanders, he never won public admiration or trust.

The NLD won a stunning victory in the elections on Nov. 8 last year, when it improved on its 2015 numbers. There was a widespread expectation the NLD would lose some seats in ethnic regions, but would hold its numbers in the Bamar (ethnic Burmese) heartland. The elections were observed by respected international observers (such as the Asian Network for Free Elections and the Carter Center) as well as 13 accredited domestic groups. All found the procedures on election day stood the test of fairness.

When results started coming in, the first murmurings of dissatisfaction emerged from the Tatmadaw, matching protests lodged with the Election Commission by the pro-military Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP). Nobody took the complaints seriously, and the country began to prepare for a peaceful transfer of power.

It was striking at the time to see how similar some of the protests were to those lodged in the US by people alleging voter fraud and other irregularities, and perhaps that dulled the impression that the protests should have generated. When challenged about the Tatmadaw’s intentions, and whether it would allow a peaceful transfer of power, the Tatmadaw spokesman played down the questions. It was not until a couple of days before the newly elected parliament was to meet for its swearing-in ceremony that anyone started to think that the ceremony might not take place.

Why Feb. 1?

At this point it’s necessary to note that the elections took place under Snr-Gen Than Shwe’s 2008 Constitution, held up by the Tatmadaw as the way forward. Had the new Parliament been sworn in as scheduled at 10 a.m. on Feb. 1, it would have had a five-year term ahead of it, under the Constitution.

It would have had the authority to choose the president and it would have been responsible for choosing the next Tatmadaw commander-in-chief when Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing compulsorily retired on July 3—his 65th birthday.

As banal as this sounds, Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing’s personal expectations stand out as the core element in the takeover and its date. It is widely believed he aspired to the national presidency himself, but the size of the NLD victory dashed that hope, and also introduced the real possibility that antipathy to the Tatmadaw everywhere in the country would permit Daw Aung San Suu Kyi to mobilize the people for constitutional change aimed at reducing Tatmadaw influence.

There are plenty of signs that most of the people were looking forward to the swearing-in of the new Parliament, and few signs that the Tatmadaw or the police were preparing for anything else. When the army and police struck, there were no signs of much preparation. People detained were at home or asleep, and they were not taken off to detention sites for some time, sometimes for days or longer. There were no measures in place to lock down communications or take any action for public control. There was no immediate release of legal language to justify what was being done.

In other words, although some close observers did say they had picked up noises that the Tatmadaw might move before the Parliament was sworn in, very few of those in power, including in the NLD, saw it coming. Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing would have anticipated no serious resistance.

Afterwards

The situation which confronted Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing and his self-appointed State Administrative Council was the appearance on the streets, day and night, of millions—yes, millions—of Myanmar citizens demanding respect for the Nov. 8 elections and the resumption of democratic government.

Now, almost two months later, the demonstrations continue, undeterred by extreme violence. They are everywhere in the country, from the big cities to the villages and involve people of all ethnicities, religions, cultures, genders and age groups. Age is a special consideration, for the demonstrators include the bulk of the country’s youth, most born and raised after Gen. Saw Maung’s takeover in 1988 and virtually all, thanks to President U Thein Sein, fully internet-literate.

Internet literacy enables the population, led by the youth, to communicate with each other, and with their colleagues and friends outside Myanmar. This has produced a great deal of public pressure from outside the country, and while most of the Tatmadaw have not traveled widely, nearly all of them have relatives who have. There is much more knowledge of the outside world now than in 1988, and the lessons which Snr-Gen Min Aung Hlaing would have learned as a young man would no longer fit to the world he inhabits now.

Tomorrow

The indications from yesterday and today say that this is where astrologers (very popular in Myanmar) would be looking:

[swordoforion]

Orion Digest №31 - The Importance of a State

The question has been asked before - do we need a state, and for that matter, organized society? Humans lived nomadic existences as hunters long before we settled down and formed civilization, and in the eyes of some, the events that resulted are evidence we should abandon modern systems of gathering, all the way from the first civilizations to the long-lasting negative effects of the Industrial Revolution. However, while it is undeniable that the world today is in disarray and disaster, it does not mean we should abandon everything we have learned, and declare organized society a lost cause. We have become closer as a species than ever before, and now, as we near the height of our knowledge, we are becoming well equipped to deal with the problems we have created.

First, let us specify exactly what a state is, and the argument against it. Any citizen, as an individual, has certain needs for survival, and beyond that, for mental health and self-actualization. The world is filled with resources, and people can work to turn those resources into usable forms that we can use to fulfill our survival needs, but the time cost usually means that we have to put our mental health and attainment on hold. The more effective the resource development process is, the less input we need from the average individual, and thus the more time they can spend fulfilling their higher needs.

The system by which resource development is made more effective is economy, which in some forms of societal organization, is separate from the state, but within an ESF system, is incorporated into the state's natural functions. Within economy, instead of everyone working through the complete process to fulfill their needs, they take on a specific task, and receive the same reward, which when divided among a larger population, can be used to decrease the amount of input required from each individual.

To ensure that economy functions as it needs to, and to provide guidelines for the resultant organization of individuals, government, or the state, is formed. ESF government is made up of the people, and thus assumes ownership of the resources, for equal distribution out to the people in exchange for input. It also sets rules to prevent offenses by citizens against others, maintaining order and stability. Within this framework, an individual can live safely and provide minimal input to have their needs fulfilled, and will have time to focus on the task of self-actualization, so long as they remain within the rules of the state.

Many argue against the existence of a state, viewing the requirement to pay taxes, remain within set rules, and provide input to an economy as forceful and coercive. Logically, if they wanted to, they could go and live without owing to anyone, simply providing for themselves and self-governing. Popular among leftist theory is the idea of a 'stateless, classless' society, in which people live freely and self-govern, but peacefully cooperate on matters of public importance, and only use violence in self-defense of their own freedom. Government would cease to exist, with only economy remaining, as people would simply act respectful without legal coercion.

Much of the grounds for this theory comes from rampant corruption in government throughout history - discrimination and greed make their way into the public sector, and those in power use it for their own personal gain. Without government, people are unable to seek power. Admittedly, there are numerous advantages to this approach, as many as there are potential dangers in the foundation of government. However, the same could be said for a stateless society - the absence of a vehicle to seek power and spread discrimination does not mean the abolition of those ideas and drives.

A state of anarchy relies on constant cooperation without legal incentive, as well as allowing the people enough strength to fend off would be attackers and conquerors. In this kind of community, the responsibility of public facilities, such as infrastructure and health care, requires continuous volunteer work from the members of a community. This makes sense, as it benefits most of the community to pitch in. Just the same, everyone would have to agree to keep the peace and not take more than what they need, while having tools for self defense should the need arise.

Both of these conditions, however, rely on the assumption that those members of society who seek greater power and advantage over others are few enough in number to not directly impact society. Throughout history, we have seen that people can be swayed by just a handful of individuals, and result in sweeping them into power. Even in a state of anarchy, a new state could easily rise, since it does not matter the ability of a single individual to fight in self defense - it just requires a majority. With no incentive to follow set rules, the greedy could take power once again, this time on their own terms. The true test of any stateless society is whether the values of peace and harmony are yet universal, because if people are not willing to cooperate, you could fall once more into ruin.

It is in this manner that a state holds superiority, as although it uses forceful coercion to enforce the rules, those rules and the order of society becomes more concrete and stable, and over time, a moral society can instill those standards upon its citizens and future generations. If anarchy were possible, it would be after a period of moral state rule, in which the population is conditioned to the ideas of cooperation and harmony required to maintain a stateless society. Of course, the state itself needs to be moral, which means that careful safeguards need to be put in place to prevent the rise of an elite class or the presence of discrimination within political power. In other words, if we ever want to live without a government, we need one that is democratic and fair to teach us how to do so.

In our current context, the environmental collapse and unequal wealth distribution of Earth also pose problems not solvable without a larger and more coercive body of law, as it will require actions not in our immediate self interest (namely, getting rid of wealth and putting ourselves at economic disadvantage for the sake of others and long term growth). Even current governments cannot put forth the necessary effort out of fear of risk - it will take a state created from the outset for that express goal with more jurisdiction to accomplish it. Even taking into consideration the concerns of those who wish for a stateless society, we can't live a simple life if the planet is destroyed, but we can save the planet first and then get down to the business of the state later.

Beyond the climate crisis, though, a world federal government gives us an increased level of connection and coordination across the world, should another crisis arise, or in case aid should be needed by any area of the world. With a much bigger population and worldview, the genie is out of the bottle on simplistic societies, and with a simple touch of a button, we can talk with people all over the world, which has more benefits than downsides. We can understand each other better, see places across the globe, and with global democracy, do our part to make the entire world a better place.

Should we develop to a point where we have staved off global crisis and maintain communication and coordination, a stateless society could be possible, but the continuation of a democratically malleable state would prevent the collapse of society should a dictator ever rise too powerful for the common populace to defeat. In either case, there are set rules that are agreed to, whether by law or by social convention, but only a state has the power to effectively enforce them, and even if we never have to, it's good to be prepared for the risk.

The only true detriment to a state is the ability of the government to become corrupt, as it is far more dangerous when the state itself is an enemy, compared to a simple warlord arising amidst a stateless society. This is why the creation of such a government must be done with careful consideration to future interpretation of the law and democratic structure - today, we deal with corrupt governments sometimes caused by looser legislation and little vigilance to prevent the powerful from bending the rules to bring about oppression. A world federal constitution must be thorough in its description of the law, and democracy must be kept in mind at every stage of the process.

- DKTC FL

[the1stn0elle]

Attack on Titan Analysis Prt.1

This analysis will contain MAJOR spoilers for the AoT series, so if you wish to not have anything spoiled be warned now. This is also not a FULL analysis of the series since it is so ridiculously plot heavy. It would take probably over 100 pages for me to get to everything I'd want to, so this is all for now :)

Summary:

Attack on Titan (AoT) follows the story of a civilization of people forced into living trapped behind walls due to the fear of the giant human-like creatures called titans who thirst for nothing but human flesh and blood. Titans have terrorized the remainder of humanity for many years and the population has been kept safe behind the 3 walls Maria, Rose, and Shina for an entire century. The main 3 characters of the story Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, and Armin Arlert witness the end of a century of peace as the colossal peeks above the 60-meter tall walls that have successfully protected humanity for 100 years and kick a giant hole in it, exposing all of the civilians to the horrors of the bloodthirsty titans. The 3 friends strive to become members of the survey corps, a group dedicated to protecting the people from titans and uncovering the many mysteries of the existence of titans; in order to reach their goals, they must complete grueling training to prepare them for venturing outside the walls to slaughter titans and bring the creatures to their extinction, but the duty of a corps member evolves being prepared for one’s likely and untimely death while fighting against the titans. AoT is a thought-provoking story that is based around perspectives and discovering the mysteries surrounding the near extinction of humanity. Questions are posed throughout as the plot is filled with twists and surprises, and morals are questioned as the viewers grapple with themes such as “do the means justify the ends?” and “who is the real enemy?”.

Analysis:

Part I: Erwin Smith

(MAJOR SPOILERS)

The Monstrous Commander

AoT is very morally complex in the sense that when an entire group of individuals risks their lives by going outside the walls to save humanity, an individual must lead the herd. Said individual goes by the name Erwin Smith, the commander of the survey corps. Erwin is an individual who must send thousands of his soldiers to their death during each expedition outside of the walls; Erwin’s a pretty morally gray character since his job is to ultimately save humanity but the question is at what price? Immeasurable sacrifices are made in the form of human lives as a successful expedition may result in the loss of more than 40% of the soldiers due to being devoured by titans. At an outward appearance, Erwin is a strong leader who is willing to become a monster in order to provide the eventual win of humanity over the titans, but when diving deeper into his character he is a man who is caught up in his childhood desire to learn all the answers to the mysteries about titans and the world that he lives in.

In these few panels, Armin Arlert picks apart how commander Erwin is an amazing leader despite what many people may believe since he has the ability to make sacrifices even though the outcome may be devastating as many lives will most likely be lost in the process. Armin’s opinion of a great leader is brought around again at different points in the story to emphasize its importance.

Part II: Eren Jaeger

The Boy who Wished for Freedom

Eren Jager is the main character of AoT and might be one of the most dynamic characters in his amazing character development throughout the story. Eren starts as a hotheaded teenager whose only desire is to eradicate all the titans after witnessing his mother and hundreds of people die after the collapse of wall Maria by the colossal and armored titans. His bloodthirst for killing the titans is unnerving in its intensity but he’s become dedicated to the cause because he no longer wishes to live like cattle enclosed in walls for the rest of his life. Eren’s core value throughout the entire series is freedom. Each and everything Eren does is to attain freedom in the hellish world he was born into. His value of freedom is most notably portrayed when Eren is out with his father Grisha Jaeger to visit the Ackerman family; Eren finds Mikasa in her home with the dead bodies of her parents accompanied by dangerous individuals attempting to kidnap her. Eren’s solution to the situation is to aid Mikasa in killing the individuals who have murdered her parents. The turn of events is quite frightening as both Mikasa and Eren were only 10 years old at the time, but it highlights Eren’s desire for freedom. He saw that Mikasa’s freedom was being threatened and he felt so passionately about this that he was not fazed at the prospect of killing the kidnappers who were trying to steal someone’s freedom.

Eren and Armin are able to bond over an illegal book that has drawings and descriptions of the world outside the walls and both boys instantly develop the desire to travel outside the walls to go see the vastness and beauty of the ocean. It serves as a goal to mark their eventual freedom from the terrors of the titans.

After the breaching of wall rose by the colossal titan the cadets experience their first real mission and witness many of their comrades die in the jaws of titans. Eren has headstrong and confident as ever lands himself into the stomach of a titan after protecting Armin from being eaten. Eventually, it is revealed that Eren can turn into the creatures he despises with his whole being. A titan. Following the discovery, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin are tasked with the challenge of trying to convince the leaders of the military factions that Eren is on humanity’s side and will not resort to killing more people. The major event is followed by many trials and questions in whether or not Eren is a threat to humanity until he is finally taken into the care of the survey corps where commander Erwin and “Humanity’s Strongest” Levi Ackerman are finally able to convince the military police to give them custody of Eren. It is concluded that Eren is to be kept alive as a comrade of humanity as he claims that his childhood home in wall Maria has a basement that holds secrets about the titans.

A Life that Carries Weight

As the story progresses, Eren goes from a headstrong hothead to a boy that carries an immense amount of weight on his shoulders. Eren realizes that his very life holds a great weight; many soldiers and civilians die for the small thread of hope that the Jaeger home’s basement holds important information about the titans that will lead to the victory of humanity. The world of AotT is nothing short of being bleak and void of hope so it is understandable that Erwin and other members of the corps are willing to take the risk because what do they have to lose? Up to this point, Eren has faced numerous great losses ranging from the death of his mother, learning how he caused the death of his father, his most trusted comrades being uncovered as traitors, etc. Eren’s mental state is in tethers as he tries to come to terms with the meaning and value of his life and begins to wonder if he was ever “special” to begin with but has been burdened by a special path of life by his father. All of these events take place in the royal government arc of the story. Historia Reiss (formerly known as Krista), a character who was previously only in the background assumes an important role as it is revealed that she is some of the last bit of true royal blood left in the world.

Following Historia’s growing importance to the story, we learn more about the titans and where they come from. I won’t get into all of the technicalities of the 9 titan powers and whatnot but the most important fact to note is that all titans existed as humans at some point in time. Due to the complexity of the topic, I will only graze the surface and state that humans become titans with an injection of spinal fluid from an individual of Eldian descent, this includes almost all of the humans that reside within the walls (I will come back to this sometime later). Rod Riess, Historia’s father has received help from the interior military police to capture his daughter and Eren to have Historia inherit the power of the attack titan which is currently held by Eren (was given to him by his father Grisha). Eren snd Historia learns that the 9 major titan powers are passed down when one consumes the individual possessing the power; this means Rod wishes to have Historia eat Eren so she gains the attack titan power, meaning the power will be in the hands of a pure royal and only those of royal descent can fully harness the power of the 9 titans.

Eren’s capture by Rod is marked by the total collapse of Eren’s mental fortitude as it all but crumbles when he discovers the crimes his father has committed and the consequences of his actions that have led Eren to shoulder such an enormous burden that the once confident boy has lost all hope in himself and his existence.

Now before I get into the next few parts of Eren’s development I have to address the powers of the attack titan, the power that Eren currently possesses. The individual who carries the power of the attack titan can see the memories of their future inheritors which equates to the user being able to see the future. Up to this point, it has been confirmed that only those of royal blood can fully utilize the 9 titan powers. can

Following the events between Rod Reiss, Eren, and Historia, Historia is tasked with taking the throne as the current king is a fraud. At Historia’s crowning ceremony and the ceremony to commemorate the few survivors of the battle at shiganshina where the corps was finally able to uncover the truth about the titans with the information in Eren’s basement, a simple touch of Historia’s hand grants Eren to fully use the power of the attack titan and the future is revealed to him.

The scene marks the complete loss of the Eren Jaeger the viewers are familiar with and marks a new chapter in the story because at this point forward quite literally everything changes.

[nyxshadowhawk]

An Analysis of The Ninth Gate

I finally got around to watching The Ninth Gate after it was recommended on Occultism with a Side of Salt. Seriously, why did it take me so long to watch this film? This is pretty much everything I like! It’s a film from 1999 (incidentally, the same year as Eyes Wide Shut) starring Johnny Depp as an expert on rare books called Dean Corso. It’s based loosely on a novel by Arturo Pérez-Reverte called The Club Dumas, and was directed by Roman Polanski (who’s the man behind Tanz der Vampire, but who is extremely problematic and we do not stan). Corso is employed by a rich book collector named Boris Balkan to authenticate his copy of a grimoire called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, which may be the coolest title for a grimoire ever. The book is supposedly designed to summon the Devil himself, and was copied from another mysterious book that the Devil was said to have written. Corso compares the grimoire with the two other existing copies to find out which one is the real one, but there are mysterious deaths and other unsettling events around the book, and he has a mysterious girl helping him.

The film is very spooky and has a wonderful Dark Academia aesthetic. What’s most interesting to me about it is, although it isn’t authentically occult, it feels very authentic. The grimoire is clearly modeled after real ones. The engravings in the book also could easily be mistaken for real ones if I didn’t know better. I think that the pentagram on the cover is a little too on-the-nose, especially since pentagrams weren’t associated with Satanism until relatively recently — I think the Sigil of Lucifer would be a better fit, since it’s reasonably well-known (for example, the Mother Superior of the Satanic Nuns in Good Omens wears one instead of a cross) and it comes from a real grimoire. That’s me being very nitpicky, though. Although this film follows some tropes of Hollywood Satanism, its portrayal of that is still more realistic than normal. Real-life occult ritual groups are more like book clubs or potlucks, but the actual ritual part can in fact look something like the one in the film. (Sure, it wouldn’t be in a mansion with cool-ass gargoyles, but this is certainly more realistic than Eyes Wide Shut.)

This film feels authentically occult becuase a lot of real occultism is pouring over old books and analyzing symbolic images. I do a lot of that! Right now, I’m reading a dictionary of alchemical symbolism. I hope to eventually be able to look at all the weird images in alchemical manuscripts and make some sense of them. This film is basically about doing exactly that. I noticed the tarot symbolism in the engravings immediately, and I felt a little like I was trying to decipher them right alongside Corso. It reminded me of solving Nox Arcana puzzles, and that just makes me incredibly happy. The approach this film takes is also realistic — (slight spoilers) it could have gone the classic Hollywood route of summoning Satan to destroy the world and all that, but it doesn’t. Instead, the end goal is more abstract and spiritual, much more in-line with occultists’ actual goals in real life. Just as in alchemy, the goal is not to make gold or live forever, but to experience spiritual transcendence, and this is encoded in alchemists’ notes and artwork.

So, I want to try my hand at deciphering the engravings’ secrets, and test my own knowledge of occult symbolism in the process. Everything that follows involves major spoilers, so I will dispense with the exposition and assume that you have already seen the film.

I’ve seen it argued on YouTube that the engravings represent actual events in the film, and some of them seem to. Bernie is murdered and hung upside down, the collapsing scaffolding is the “danger from above” arrow, Corso is hit in the back of the head in one of the film’s most chilling scenes, and the Girl (who is implied to be Lucifer) ends up… well… “riding” him in front of the burning castle. But come on, that is way too easy. For one thing, the related events don’t seem to occur in any specific sequence, either the engravings’ numbered sequence or Balkan’s rearranged sequence. It would make sense if Corso would have to experience every engraving and “pass through each gate” — that happens a lot in films like this one, where an eerily coincidental series of events plays out just as in the book/prophecy/whatnot. But that doesn’t really happen, or if it does, it’s not obvious enough for the only interpretation of the engravings to be literal. What impresses me the most about The Ninth Gate is that it goes for that more figurative, spiritual dimension. That is really what makes it feel realistically occult.

The real solution to the engravings seems to be spiritual growth or enlightenment, which is the goal of most occultists. Balkan sort of understands this, which is why he disdains Telfer and her coven being edgy and playing dress up instead of really making an effort to understand Lucifer’s secrets. And yet, Balkan also fails, because he is after power, not enlightenment. It seems as though both of them misunderstand Lucifer, believing him to be the kind of Lucifer that you usually see in these movies. (That would fit in well with his name and his role in the Eden story, if you interpret it that way.) If we assume that the Girl is Lucifer, then she is more benevolent an influence than anything else. Hell, Corso doesn’t even suffer any “temptation” consequences from having sex with her. Corso wins in the end because he actually puts in the effort, and the Girl helps guide him toward enlightenment. Maybe Lucifer is a good force in this film’s world. Lucifer’s own versions of the engravings seem to emphasize that s/he is genuinely invested in helping his/her followers towards enlightenment.

When Balkan assembles the engravings in the proper order, this is his interpretation of the riddle:

To travel in silence, by a long and circuitous route, to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire, to play the greatest of all games and win, foregoing no expense, is to mock the vicissitudes of fate and gain at last the key that will unlock the Ninth Gate.

First, I want to say that this riddle reminds me a lot of the Emerald Tablet. It’s similarly cryptic, and I only sort of have it figured out. I love that something like that is real and authentically ancient. Anyway, moving on. I’ll go through the engravings in the order that Balkan puts them in (as opposed to their numbered order), and see if I can make sense of them.

The first engraving shows a knight traveling towards a castle. In the AT version of the engraving, the castle has four towers, while in LCF’s version, it has three. Balkan’s interpretation is “To travel in silence,” while the caption is “Silence is golden.” That immediately reminds me of the common occult maxim, “To Know, to Will, to Dare, to Keep Silent.” I’ve never been much of a fan of keeping silent, which is why I post things like this on the internet, but in general occultists tend to be secretive folk. According to this article, another translation of the caption is “Only one who has battled according to the rules will prevail.” I’m not sure whose rules are being referred to here. Lucifer’s, maybe?

This is one of the only engravings in which there is no obvious tarot symbolism. There are four Knights in tarot, one for each suit — wands, swords, cups, and pentacles — but this knight doesn’t have a symbol of any of the suits or anything that could suggest that. The difference is in the castle towers — three in LCF’s, four in AT’s. In traditional numerology, three is a number symbolizing perfection and creation, as in the Holy Trinity, while four is the number of the solid and material and unlucky. (Source: Richard Cavendish, The Black Arts). Sets of three are especially common in fairy tales and mythology — three siblings, three tasks, three encounters, three magical objects, three questions, three trials or tests, repeating an action three times with the third time being different or conclusive, etc. Lucifer’s castle at the end also has three sets of towers. The most obvious interpretation of this is that your destination will be either material gain (AT) or spiritual advancement (LCF).

In the tarot, the threes represent the completion of the first stage of a venture — the Three of Wands represents a successful enterprise, the Three of Cups represents celebration and fulfillment, and the Three of Pentacles represents recognition for your achievements. All of them have something to do with attainment except for the Three of Swords, which represents loss, heartbreak, betrayal, etc. The fours aren’t bad, representing stability and structure — the Four of Wands is joyful and peaceful, the Four of Swords takes time to rest and recoup, the Four of Cups is bored and listless, and the Four of Pentacles receives material abundance. All of them are a bit more grounded and material, so I think it makes the most sense to interpret the difference in this engraving as being the spiritual three vs. the material four, and leave it at that.

The fourth engraving, which is second in Balkan’s sequence, is of a jester standing at the entrance to a labyrinth. In LCF’s version the labyrinth’s exit is open, while in AT’s it is bricked up. Balkan interprets this as meaning “by long and circuitous route,” while the caption reads “Fate is not the same for all.” that seems fairly straightforward — Balkan and Corso have different fates. Corso is able to find his way out of the Labyrinth, but Balkan’s exit is bricked up. This is because he never properly experienced the journey the way Corso did, he just wanted the payoff and tried to take shortcuts.

The Labyrinth is a very old symbol, and it carries the dual symbolism of a death trap in which there is a Minotaur, and a path to spiritual enlightenment. It can represent the Underworld or the darkness of the subconscious mind, with the Minotaur being your Shadow. Either you are trapped in the Labyrinth and eaten by the monster, or you find your way back out into the light having gained some self-awareness. The jester is probably meant to represent 0 The Fool, who, in the Tarot, is the naive adventurer who sets out on a spiritual journey over the threshold and into the realm of the subconscious and symbolic — i.e. the Labyrinth. As for the dice in the foreground, this seems to reinforce the caption’s point about fate. But dice, like tarot cards, can be used as both a game and a divination tool — it is the assumption of the diviner that random chance is always meaningful. And indeed, the visible faces on each die add up to 6 — 666.

The third engraving depicts a traveler walking towards a bridge. In the clouds above him, there’s a Cupid-like figure with an arrow pointing down at him. Balkan’s interpretation is “to brave the arrows of misfortune,” and the caption is “The lost word keeps the secret.” AT’s version is pictured here; in LCF’s version, there are two arrows, the other one pointing upwards in the quiver.

This traveller looks much more like the traditional Tarot depiction of 0 The Fool than the jester. The Fool is happy-go-lucky and doesn’t notice the danger he might be walking into. TV Tropes describes The Fool trope as referring to a person who, despite having no idea what they’re doing, doesn’t come to any harm because of their luck and innocence. So, the traveler will probably not be hit by the arrow, the same way Corso avoids the collapsing scaffolding. The two arrows in the LCF version seem to reinforce the idea of there being two possible outcomes. The arrow pointing up and the other one pointing down could also reference the famous occult maxim, “As above, so below,” adding another spiritual dimension to it. Balkan’s interpretation of the engraving reminded me a lot of a certain famous soliloquy: “To be or not to be, that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.” In this scene, Hamlet is considering whether or not to take his own life. But when applied to this engraving, these lines seem to once again suggest the two possible outcomes — you can suffer and die, or move on towards your goal.

And then there’s the caption. “The lost word keeps the secret.” Well, it’s pretty obvious what that refers to — the ninth engraving, replaced with a forgery that changes the meaning of the entire thing. The missing engraving contains the secret. But that caption seems completely irrelevant to this engraving, except that the face of the archer doesn’t look remotely like a baby’s, as putti usually do — it looks like an old man’s, specifically, the Ceniza brothers’, who removed and replaced the missing engraving.

The sixth engraving, fourth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, and an arm with a flaming sword reaching out of a castle tower. Balkan’s interpretation of this is “and fear neither noose nor fire,” which proves he knows fuck all about tarot. No wonder he got the riddle wrong. This one is so blindingly obvious. The man isn’t hanging by his neck, he’s hanging by his foot. He’s the Hanged Man.

XII The Hanged Man is a strange and disturbing card at first glance, but it has become one of my favorites. The Hanged Man is almost never depicted hanging by his neck; he hangs by his foot, and has a serene expression, indicating that he wants to be there. He represents going through a period of tribulation, suffering, surrender, or introspection in order to obtain wisdom, enlightenment, self-awareness, and insight. He goes through a metamorphosis, just like the caterpillar that hangs upside-down in its chrysalis to become a butterfly. He’s a Christlike figure, evidenced by the halo around his head in the Rider-Waite deck, and the fact that he willingly suffers for a higher purpose. He even wears the same colors as Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper in the Rider-Waite deck, although I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not.

The caption to the engraving is “I am enriched by death,” which is a million times more meaningful than Balkan’s interpretation. If you’re an occultist, that line is probably self-explanatory. Pretty much everything mystical involves that theme of (symbolically) dying and being resurrected. The alchemical process has three stages — nigredo, which is death, albedo, which is the ascension of the soul, and rubedo, which is returning to life in a “purified” body as a more spiritual being. The Hero’s Journey follows this same pattern — the hero entering the Underworld or the Labyrinth and facing trials that allow them to spiritually ascend and achieve apotheosis (or something close to it). It’s everywhere in books, movies, and video games. It is the initiation ritual. Most occultists figuratively go through it in one way or another. And in tarot, XII The Hanged Man is at the rough midpoint of the Fool’s journey through the Major Arcana, and immediately followed by XIII Death. “I am enriched by death.” You cannot be reborn as a new and better version of yourself without first having died.

The difference between AT’s and LCF’s engravings is that AT’s has the Hanged Man hanging by his right foot, while LCF’s has him hanging by his left foot. I don’t think this changes the meaning of the engraving too much. In Rider-Waite, the Hanged Man hangs by his right foot, but in the Tarot de Marseille, which is older, he hangs by the left foot. The only significance to this that I can see is that the Latin word for “left” is sinistram, and the word “sinister” has its current meaning because left was considered Satanic. Left-handed people were discriminated against for this reason, until as late as the mid-20th century. In occultism, the “Left-Hand Path” is an approach to magic that involves rejecting tradition and dogma and generally being edgy. I think that the right-hand and left-hand paths are a false dichotomy (you use both your hands, don’t you?), but anything Satanic is considered part of the Left-Hand Path. Jung associated left with the unconscious, so we’re back to the Labyrinth.

I don’t have much to say about the flaming sword. It could be foreshadowing Balkan’s death (more on that later), or it could represent the flaming sword of the angel of Eden (i.e. guarding spiritual knowledge).

The seventh engraving, fifth in Balkan’s sequence, is of a king and a peasant playing a chess game. Two dogs are fighting in the background, and the moon can be seen through the window. In AT’s version, the board is black, and in LCF’s, the board is white. Balkan interprets it as “to play the greatest of all games,” and the caption is “The disciple surpasses the master.”

The tarot symbolism that I see here is that of XVIII The Moon, which has dogs baying at it in the Rider-Waite deck. The Moon represents the subconscious, imagination, and dreams, but also nightmares, madness, and illusion. The illusion here is probably still the missing engraving being replaced by the forgery. The themes of the subconscious get reinforced. Underneath the Moon, a black dog and a white dog fight each other, almost seeming to create a yin/yang shape. This brings the dark and the light into balance, the same way the Moon spends equal times dark and bright as it goes through its phases. The game is chess, which is played with black and white pieces, and the board is either black or white. The game seems to be a draw, making the peasant and the king equals, just as the dogs are unable to defeat each other. So, this engraving is all about reconciling dualities.

There’s another layer to this. God is the “King of Kings,” so this could demonstrate a human becoming God’s equal. This is basically the goal of occultism — to become like God, in some form. Left-Hand Path’ers in particular seem to like the idea of becoming gods themselves, or even “surpassing” God. Since the book was created by Lucifer, this could tie in to Lucifer’s desire to become God’s equal that got him cast out of Heaven (but I’m not the biggest fan of that story, so I won’t go any further with that). To the occultist, man is God, just as God can become a man — as above, so below. That’s also a form of reconciling the duality of human and divine.

The caption, “The disciple surpasses the master,” probably refers to this, but it could also refer to Corso surpassing Balkan and succeeding where Balkan failed. Any good teacher wants their students to have learned so well that they surpass them. God (or Lucifer) intends for his disciples to surpass him, but Balkan tries (and fails) to prevent Corso from surpassing him.

The fifth engraving, which is sixth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man counting coins while Death stands behind him with a pitchfork and hourglass. Balkan’s interpretation is “and win, foregoing no expense,” while the caption reads “In vain.” Balkan is an idiot. Exactly like the man in the engraving, he is focused entirely on the money and completely misses the literal shadow of Death standing behind him. How does one overlook the significance of that? There’s a big difference between “I won the game so now I get money” and “in vain”! Of course, this means that Balkan is too focused on material pursuits and misses that he is about to die. In AT’s version, the sand is at the top of the hourglass, while in LCF’s version, it is at the bottom — the man has run out of time. The expression “you can’t take it with you” comes to mind. Money and material goods don’t ultimately matter compared to spiritual growth. “In vain.”

In tarot, XIII Death almost never represents physical death. Instead, it represents change, usually a change for the better. Death is about letting go of old things so that new things can come, stepping through a threshold into another life or state of being. This can be difficult or emotionally painful, but it is necessary and ultimately beneficial. If The Hanged Man is the chrysalis, then Death is the emerging butterfly (the Greek word psyche means both “soul” and “butterfly,” because butterflies represent the souls of the dead). Once again, Death is a required step towards spiritual advancement. And if you refuse to acknowledge this, it isn’t going to go well for you.

The checkerboard floor probably continues to reinforce the theme of duality. As for the pitchfork, maybe the reason Death has a peasant’s pitchfork instead of a scythe is because pitchforks are associated with Satan, or it could be a representation of peasants taking revenge on rich people. Or it could be a reference to American Gothic. I think it’s the first one.

The eighth engraving, which is seventh in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a praying man about to be bludgeoned by a knight with a mace, with the Wheel of Fortune in the background. Balkan’s interpretation is “to mock the vicissitudes of fate” and the caption says “Virtue is defeated.”

The Wheel of Fortune is a medieval motif that shows how fortune is apparently random. Some get to be kings, others are serfs, and your fortunes can turn at any moment. Just when you think everything is great, someone hits you on the back of the head. In tarot, X The Wheel of Fortune means exactly what you would expect it to — a twist of fate, a change of fortune. Whether it’s for better or for worse depends on the context and the cards around it. Life is full of ups and downs, so enjoy what you’ve got while you have it, etc. Sometimes when it shows up, it can mean that you should trust in fate.

But that’s the background. What to make of the foreground? Honestly, this is the most disturbing engraving to me, especially with the accompanying scene where Corso gets hit in the head. By whom? It’s probably Telfer’s lackey, because the knight in the engraving kind of looks like him. And if the caption is “Virtue is defeated,” the praying man hasn’t been defeated yet. The knight is about to hit him, not already standing over his body. It could be an example of “bad things happen to good people” — being virtuous won’t stop you from suffering. Since Corso is the one who gets hit in the back of the head, maybe that indicates that he’s the most virtuous character (which is saying a lot, since he’s not exactly an upstanding person). In LCF’s version of the engraving, the knight has a halo — does that mean that defeating Virtue is a good thing? I guess that would make sense if the artist is Satan? Or does it mean the knight is protecting the praying man? I don’t know. I genuinely am not sure how to interpret this one. What I do know is that Balkan is still an idiot. Nothing about this suggests mocking fate. If anything, this is an example of succumbing to it.

The second engraving, eighth in Balkan’s sequence, shows an old man with a dog, holding two keys in his hand. In AT’s version, the keys are in his right hand, and in LCF’s, they are in his left hand. Balkan’s interpretation is “gain at last the key,” and the caption is “Open that which is closed.”

This is another obvious tarot image. This is clearly The Hermit with his lantern. IX The Hermit represents withdrawing into solitude for contemplation and meditation, to gain spiritual wisdom and awareness. Like the Hanged Man, he indicates a need to be passive in the service of introspection. He’s the archetypical guru on a mountain, and he holds the keys to enlightenment. Keys represent access to information, and the ability to pass between worlds. “Open that which is closed” is pretty obvious — unlock the gates, receive spiritual insight. LCF’s version having the keys be in the left hand just reinforces everything I said about left earlier.

Also, that Hebrew symbol next to him is the one for the number nine. That suggests that the Hermit is right in front of the Ninth Gate. In numerology, nine is a magical number, being three times three. It represents completeness, spiritual achievement, and initiation. So, that’s self-explanatory. In tarot, tens are the ultimate state of completion, so the nines are the penultimate step — the Nine of Wands gives you the strength and willpower to overcome obstacles, the Nine of Cups represents success and contentment, and the Nine of Pentacles represents celebrating an accomplishment. (Once again, the Swords are the outlier, representing fear and despair.) Nines in general are good, the perfection of three multiplied by itself. (The Hermit is also the ninth card of the Major Arcana, if you noticed.)

And finally, we come to the ninth and final engraving (that Roman numeral should read “IX”). This depicts a woman who looks suspiciously like the Girl reading a book, ostensibly The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, and riding a dragon with seven goatlike heads. There is a castle in the background, and the castle is a real place. There are three versions of the engraving — this one, which is signed by AT and has the castle as-is, a forged LCF engraving that shows the castle in flames, and the real one. Balkan’s interpretation is “that will unlock the Ninth Gate,” and the caption is “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.”

The woman is apparently an image of the “Whore of Babylon” from Revelations, who rides a seven-headed dragon. I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to represent, beyond being generally Satanic. Of course, Crowley recasted her as a sex goddess. The seven heads of her dragon are significant — seven is the number of secrets, mysteries, magic, introspection, and searching for inner truth, which have been running themes this whole time. It also signifies creation, completeness, and rest, since God created the world in seven days. In tarot, the sevens present a new challenge after the perfection of the sixes — the Seven of Wands brings new obstacles that require determination to overcome; the Seven of Cups represents imagination, dreams, and illusions, so back to The Moon again (and the illusion of the forgery); the Seven of Swords also represents deception or a con artist (like the Ceniza twins, or maybe Balkan); and the Seven of Pentacles represents a threshold or a new opportunity, and reflecting on one’s achievements. That all aligns scarily well with the situation here.

The critical illusion is that the “LCF” engraving with the burning castle is a forgery. So, Balkan sets himself on fire for no reason other than egomania. This image is similar to XVI The Tower in Tarot. The Tower is one of the scariest cards to get. If Death is a difficult but beneficial change, The Tower is a dramatic turn for the worse, complete destruction and devastation. It is struck by lightning and destroyed, going up in flames. I drew this card shortly before the pandemic hit. That was The Tower — destruction, upheaval, devastation, but with the promise of rebuilding. I also had to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil because of an unrelated thing that happened around the same time, and it shook me to my core. So, obviously the forged engraving leads to Balkan’s destruction.

The true ninth LCF engraving shows the sun shining from behind one of the castle’s towers:

Replacing The Tower with The Sun is a drastic difference. If The Tower is one of the worst cards to get, XIX The Sun is one of the best. The Sun is a good omen in every capacity. It represents everything that these engravings have been working towards — spiritual growth, fulfillment, success, enlightenment, revelation of secrets, good fortune, etc. It fits right in with Lucifer’s status as the Light Bringer, and it is the solution. (The true engraving is also very reminiscent of The Star, which directly follows The Tower, and represents hope and the light at the end of the tunnel. I drew it recently, signifying the end of my emotional turmoil.) The jagged rocks at the bottom of the castle in the other two versions are missing here, and the castle is more accessible, with a visible path. The woman gestures directly to it.

The rest of the scene is much more shadowed in the true version, which fits right in with the caption: “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.” I, in my obsession with Shadow work, interpret this as confronting the dark parts of oneself and bringing them out into the light to become a whole person, and to grow spiritually. This goes back to the Labyrinth, needing to enter the dark Underworld or the realm of the subconscious in order to gain spiritual wisdom and finally achieve enlightenment. Everything in the engravings seems to point back to that — needing a period of introspection, reconciling of duality, obtaining safe passage through the various trials until you see The Sun, which is followed by Judgement (resurrection) and The World (fulfillment). The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows are like the seven gates of the Underworld that Inanna must pass through (and that eight-pointed star is a symbol of Inanna). Corso passes through the Ninth Gate, out of the Kingdom of Shadows and into the light.

Balkan’s interpretation is clearly off. So, let’s rearrange the engravings back into their intended order:

Silence is golden. Open that which is closed. The lost word keeps the secret. Fate is not the same for all. In vain. I am enriched by death. The disciple surpasses the master. Virtue lies defeated. Now I know that from darkness comes Light.

If you, who seek after secrets, wish to unlock the gates to wisdom and enlightenment, be wary of potential dangers and missing pieces. You can either suffer and die, or move towards your goal. You will either find a way out of the Labyrinth or find that your path is blocked. Do not pursue material gains, and miss the shadow of Death hanging over you. Face Death, and you will be enriched by it, gaining spiritual insight that will allow you to surpass your superiors and become God’s equal. After a final challenge, test of virtue or twist of fortune, you will emerge from the darkness and into the light.

Am I reading way too deep into a spooky movie? Maybe, but come on! How could I resist? Do any of you have interpretations of your own?

Sources:

https://slapphappe.wordpress.com/2009/03/22/symbolism-in-the-ninth-gate/#%3A~%3Atext%3DThe%20fire%20at%20the%20Ninth%2Cof%20the%20Kingdom%20of%20Shadows.

https://davidjrodger.wordpress.com/2011/08/24/the-ninth-gate-occult-and-tarot-like-symbolism-in-the-engravings-by-aristide-torchia-and-lucifer-plus-wider-meanings-of-the-movie/

[thelordice]

Lightsaber forms: A nerd rant.

In the time of the prequel trilogy, the predominant Jedi lightsaber form has usually cited to be Form IV, Ataru. And while I get why that might be popular because of Grand Master Yoda’s textbook mastery of the form... He chose that form to accommodate for his physical limitations. Ataru is a massively impractical form for modern Jedi to specialize in. Not only is it an inherently aggressive form (an odd choice for an order of peace keepers), it is heavily reliant on Force-assisted acrobatics, and can therefore be countered by devices that prevent a Jedi from focusing enough to call upon the Force. Its capacity for blast deflection is also extremely lacking, since it was principally designed as an offensive combat form to fight other saber-wielders during the Great Hyperspace War. And until the Clone Wars, there were basically no lightsaber wielders outside the Jedi Order. It makes literally zero sense for the Jedi to specialize in these forms, particularly when Forms III and V exist.

Form III, Soresu, is a martial embodiment of Jedi pacifism, having essentially no attacking maneuvers - it’s entirely defensive. Form III masters have been said to enter a state of “moving meditation”, becoming the tranquil eyes within a storm of chaos. Jedi master Obi-Wan Kenobi was at one point in the EU recognized by Jedi Battlemaster Mace Windu as the greatest Soresu master in the Order at the time, and possibly ever. And we saw how that worked out for him during the Clone Wars. He was only outfenced by Count Dooku (a specialist in the saber-to-saber fencing style, Form II aka Makashi) when he was still a Knight, before attaining the aforementioned mastery. After that, he was only bested in saber combat after his age-related physical deterioration and lack of practice owing to decades spent on Tatooine meditating on the higher mysteries of the Force caused his skills to rust.

Form V, however, is possibly the most useful and practical mastery for a Jedi (except perhaps Form VI, Niman), because Form V is not one style, but two - Shien and Djem So. Djem So is easily the more famous of the two, because its notable masters are the posterchildren for the Skywalker Saga - Anakin (and Vader) and Luke Skywalker. It is essentially lightsaber judo, designed to parry enemy strikes and then immediately deliver a counterattack with the same momentum, and has an emphasis on heavy power attacks. Shien, on the other hand, is actually specifically designed for aimed blast deflection. And its most notable practitioner is Ahsoka Tano - her greatest feat with Shien being aboard the Venator-class Star Destroyer when Order 66 was declared, when she deflected a massive fusillade of blaster fire from the clones trying to kill her, all into the ceiling so she could use the hole created by the fire to escape. Shien practitioners are easily identified due to their (seemingly without cause) preference for reverse grips (meaning that Starkiller/Galen Marek in The Force Unleashed was also likely a Shien specialist). And in an era where 99.9999999999% of the enemies you’re going to face are using blasters instead of lightsabers... why would any Jedi, save a few niche cases, specialize in an aggressive lightsaber dueling style over aimed blast deflection?

Maybe it was the influence of a previous Rule of Two Sith Lord to weaken the Jedi. Maybe it was just Jedi arrogance. I think it’s just flat stupid.

End rant.

[whitherliliesbloom]

Illya of the Twilight Sakura - Shijin au

Headcanons for this new au under the cut ;w;

Set in a feudal japanese esque period, Doma was split into four very different feuding clans, one representing each of the cardinal directions and elements. Each clan owned a set amount of their own territories, had their owl ideals and beliefs and lived in relative peace with one another.

However, every seven years, a bloody war would break out among the four clans over no man’s land - a plot of land that laid right in the center of the four clans. The clan that emerged victorious would win ownership of that land, and also full control over who they could appoint into the government. 

This au doesn’t just pertain to samurai! Each clan has their own set of specialties. Samurai, shinobi, archers, medics etc are all present in this au. 

The four clans:

West: The strongest and largest of the four clans, and also the one that is favored the most by the curre . They are known for their sheer numbers and preference for using brute force and pure strength to win battles. Conscription into their elite forces is mandatory for a select number of capable fighters, and their method of training is known to be strict and harsh. They have been in possession of no man’s land for the past three feuds, and wish to continue to do so in order to keep their position of power and expand on their building project catered towards the noble and rich. 

South: The second largest clan. What they lacked in brute force and durable fighters, they more then made up for in their wit and intellect. They specialize in strategy, superior war tactics and their incredible resourcefulness. They also regularly engage in negotiations with the other clans when necessary, and aren’t above forming temporary alliances. The southern clan wishes to attain no man’s land in order to build schools and facilities for the purpose of education and research. 

North: A clan that specializes in stealth, foul play and manipulation. They may not be quite as aggressive or brutish as those who come from the west, but they are just as much of a threat and danger - if not more so. It’s often hard to tell what the Northern clan is up to, as they prefer solving their problems with roundabout solutions that more often than not can result in collateral. Rumor has it that they don’t even have a set plan for no man’s land if they do win it, they’re simply engaged in the feud for the conflict and potential power over the west.

East: The smallest of the four clans, and also often considered the weakest, as they are the newest to be formed and have only just begun building up an elite force strong enough to be considered a threat to the others in recent years. They often accept refugees not just from foreign lands, but also people from the other clans who have been banished for whatever reason. This clan places great importance on fidelity and being morally upstanding. As such, they have no forms of conscription. Their elite force is simply made of volunteers who truly wished to fight for what they believe to be right. Should they obtain no man’s land, they plan on building hospitals and residences for the most impoverished of the people.  

ILLYA’S HEADCANONS:

Illya is the daughter of Lachlan, a former member of the West clan who fled and married Cocona, a farmer’s daughter who lived on the dangerous outskirts of the Northern clan. Together with a few others, Lachlan went on to be one of the founders of the newly formed Eastern clan. As their forces were still incredibly small and weak, they were trampled upon the other three clans (especially by the west) for the first five wars they’d participated in.

Now aged and growing too weak to be an asset in battle, he hands the mantle over to his only daughter, an 18 year old girl who has trained as a samurai since a tender age for the purpose of fighting in this very battle. 

Illya’s title is “Sakura of Twilight” or “Illya of the Twilight Sakura”, named after the way her katana would glow in the night and the way she could summon sakura petals as she fights. 

In this au, her normally high pitched and soft voice is a lot deeper with a mature tone. She also speaks with far more confidence. I’ll probably make a video just dedicated to her voice another time.

In general, Illya is a little less jittery and anxious than she is in canon, and holds herself with an air of elegance and maturity.

This however, is only a pretense, due to her upbringing and training as a samurai and eventually to be one of the leaders of the Eastern clan. At heart, she is still socially awkward and nervous around strangers. If you fluster her, her normal, high pitched speaking voice will slip out. 

She almost always wears a mask, due to the way people often pointed out how soft and gentle her face looked as she grew up, so much that nobody would ever take her seriously as a samurai. In the above images, she’s wearing a fox mask but only because there aren’t any mods for what I envisioned. In the actual au, Illya wears a black mask with an oni face in order to appear more threatening in battle. 

Illya has a drastic class change from her canon to this au. While she’s still capable of some basic first aid, she’s far from a dedicated chirurgeon or the little goddess of healing she is in canon in this au. 

Her dream was to be a physician, however her sense of obligation to become a samurai much like her father and to fight has pulled her away from that dream. 

Other headcanons:

As your designated clan is usually decided by birth / your parent’s clan, it’s not uncommon to have deserters or traitors from each and every clan. Lachlan for example left the Western clan due to his disagreeing with their fundamental goals.. while many people from the other clans would often leave and join the Western clan due to their power and wealth. There are also many people who would feel forced to remain in their clan, but are fighting unwillingly. Some others end up being spies, or even not siding with any clan at all secretly.

Alphinaud is a member of the South clan, acting as one of the youngest members of their elite force as both a strategist and negotiator. He wishes to form an alliance with the Eastern clan, but the higher ups within his clan sees no benefit in siding with the smallest of the four clans.

Laurelis ( @ancientechos ) is a member of the Eastern clan, acting as a guard and healer when needed.  She often takes in animals and refugees that come running in their territory, convincing them to join with her persuasive and optimistic demeanor. She truly believes everyone should have a home and thinks that their clan may as well be it for those who have no where else to go. And if in the end they decide to go out on their own anyway, she’ll still help them regardless. Any other headcanons will be posted by Jam in the future.

There’s rumors of there being a civil disagreement within the Nothern clan. Despite being known for their scheming and manipulative ways, there are a select few in the Northern clan with genuinely kind intentions. The reputation of the North makes it hard to tell who is being sincere or who is simply pretending to be sincere, however. One such example is Thancred.

There are no dedicated mages or sorcerers for battle in this au, but there is a small amount of magic, or at least supernatural abilities involved sometimes with fights. Like summoning bursts of flames from an arrow / cloning skills used by shinobi / summoning a dragon temporarily genji style etc. Oracles, fortune tellers and the like may exist. Up for interpretation =)

[aiorevelations]

A Number, Not a Name: Part 18

Enjoy everyone!

4 months earlier:

Regis scanned the fragment of paper spread out across the table before him. Not even a month ago he was a desperate man chasing the shadows of his lifelong mentor. What he’d found in the jungles of South America had been nothing short of a profound revelation. The ancient words inscribed held the key to changing humanity. From the very beginning, he had believed deep within his soul that what Professor M spoke of was true. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew it. Though he’d never have suspected that the place which possessed what he sought was merely some speck on a map. A hamlet of small-town America. In the end, though the where didn’t matter. What mattered was that he attained his goal. Failure was his greatest fear. After what he’d sacrificed to get this far he wasn’t about to fall short an inch away from the finish line. Like Professor M had. When he stumbled upon he’d found a broken sickly old man barely clinging onto life. Filled with regret and sorrow that though he literally held in his hand the culmination of his life’s work, he would never live to see it. Regis had vowed that would not be his fate.

Fate, however, was a funny thing. Previously Dr. Blackgaard had possessed adequate resources yet lacked the knowledge he required. Now just when he had attained the necessary knowledge his funds were depleted. Alas Professor M had died, weighed down in debt, and without any assets to further fund Regis’ research. Dr. Blackgaard was one to keep his research away from prying eyes. The last thing he wanted was to inform anyone of his discovery. Who knows what might happen. Word could spread to the general public if that happened it was game over. Blackgaard was well aware however that the little venture he was starting in Chicago wouldn’t provide him with the funds he needed. The choice was before him. Either choose not to share his work and lose any chance of funding or take the chance and inform potential investors of his findings. When put that way there was only one option - the latter. “Blast” he muttered under his breath.

He rolled up the parchment and stood up from his chair, grasping his walking stick as he sat up. Pacing back and forth on the wooden floor he tried thinking of someone who would work as a potential investor. Blackgaard’s mind raced. Too many people had their motives and agendas they were trying to serve. The last thing he wanted to be was someone’s puppet. He’d rather give up his work altogether than be a pawn in someone else’s game. It has to be someone who has enough resources yet can be easily fooled. Someone obsessed with power and ambition that they’d do anything to obtain it - even trust a complete stranger. A person who is so full of themselves they’d never think anyone could bring them down. Sasha meowed, interrupting Blackgaard’s thoughts. He stooped down and picked up his faithful feline companion. Softly, he stroked her neck and behind her ears, prompting a deep purr from Sasha. “Oh, Sasha…Now, who do we know who’d be aware of someone like that.” 

Blackgaard had a long list of reliable contacts. Men and women spread across the globe. People who were aware of plots and schemes of power and the people behind them. Blackgaard’s polished shoes thudded on the packed earth as he circled the jungle cabin, left exactly as it had been when Professor M died. Professor M’s research notes and documents were packed carefully in boxes that were neatly stacked. His personal effects and clothes were strewn throughout the room. 

Regis placed Sasha down on the floor and walked to where Professor M’s trunk was located in the corner of the small hut. He opened the lid and searched through it until he found a notebook. He scanned over the pages looking for a particular name. An old contact of theirs who Professor M had known even before he met his esteemed mentor. They had come to value her greatly. Every secret or scheme going on she always found a way to find out. Finally, Regis' eyes landed on the name he was searching for. Blackgaard knew she was the answer. 

…..

4 months earlier:

Liana stared blankly ahead. She was busy pouring coffee yet her mind was somewhere else. Today would have been Erik’s birthday. She tried to push it to the side and carry on waitressing, but the memories would come flooding back. Picnics in the park. Splashing each other in the lake. The way he’d shower her with flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day. 

Liana had known she’d never be able to have peace until her father and all those responsible answered for their actions, but she at least thought with time she’d be able to have a sense of healing. Instead, the more time passed the more angry she became. She should be spending these years with Erik. If he was here she was certain they’d have been married by now probably with children. Living a happy and beautiful life. She’d been robbed of that life and forced to live a cold and lonely one. 

“Liana!”  Hearing her name, she snapped out of her thoughts.

“Uh sorry. Millie. What is it?”

“You’re pouring coffee all over the counter.” Liana glanced down and saw she’d overfilled the coffee cup, causing the liquid to flow all over the countertop. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She set the decanter down and grabbed some napkins from the dispenser.

“Are you okay? You’ve seemed distracted all morning.” 

She wiped up the spilled coffee. “I’m fine.” Liana picked up the coffee cup and walked to a table by the shop window. 

She set the piping hot coffee on the table. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thanks so much” the man graciously responded.

“Would you like anything else?”

“No, this is good for me. Thanks.”

“Of course. If you need anything please let me know.” She forced a smile and began to walk to another table where two women were waiting to order. Halfway to the table, she stopped. Her eyes were drawn to the television mounted in the corner of the room. An image of a man’s face caught her eye. His familiar features, grey hair, wrinkled skin, piercing black eyes, matched the image she’d seen in person on multiple occasions. One of the faces seared into her head for the last nearly five years. There was no mistake, the man was none other than Davit Dalmar. Below his image was the headline “Breaking News: Davit Dalmar, CEO and founder of Dalmar Petroleum, announces run for Krudian parliament.”

Liana found herself chilled to the core seeing his face. It took her back, back to that night. The worst night of life. She holding her dying boyfriend in her arms, knowing there was nothing she or anyone else could do. She bit back her lip and took a deep breath. No, she wouldn’t break down, especially in a Budapest cafe. 

What was that expression? The past has a way of catching up to you. She’d always planned to go back. To go home. Deep down she knew what she had to do. That pain. That anger. That overwhelming feeling of loss. It was still there. Burning in her soul stronger than ever.  She knew she’d never be able to move forward unless she went backward. Nevertheless, when it came to confronting her past she’d find herself paralyzed. Unable to go back. Memories of Krudia, her father, Eric haunted her. Every street or shop in Bulin came with some painful reminder. The very thought of stepping off the airplane filled with her dread and terror.

But now seeing Dalmar had served to remind her of the men she’d left behind. And of what she’d lost. He was a monster. Him and her father both. She felt another wave of anger surge through her. In what world was it fair that Erik was dead and Norvan and Dalmar were still breathing? How could someone be so heartless as to take him from her without a second thought? How could people, like her father and Dalmar, find pleasure in killing others? She may have thought the removal of some malevolent individuals necessary but never took pleasure in their demise only in the justice being served. One thing couldn’t be denied: her father and Dalmar were insane. They had to be brought down. Any reservations or fears she had, Liana knew she couldn’t wait any longer. She was done running from her past. 

…..

Present-day:

Jason woke, tied to a chair. Ropes dug into his wrists. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, or perhaps blood, though he wasn’t sure which one. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He appeared to be in some type of warehouse. Above him, warehouse pendant lights flickered the only source of light in the room. 

It all came flooding back to him—what he'd prayed had been only a nightmare—The car chase, men shooting at them, Tasha slumping forward on the steering wheel ….

Tasha. His heart began to race and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Where was she? He prayed she was still alive. He frantically glanced around him but saw no one. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if his earlier actions had caused this. 

He struggled to loosen the ropes that bound him. Straining he turned every which way trying to free himself. It was no use. He let out a scream of frustration and lowered his head. A feeling of helplessness and utter loneliness consumed him, His head throbbed but the physical pain he was experiencing didn’t compare to his overwhelming guilt.

It’s my fault. The words stabbed through his mind. I got us into this. I shouldn't have acted recklessly—Why didn’t I just stick to the plan? Why did I have to be so stubborn? He shook his head. I wanted so desperately to prove myself that I ended up screwing everything up. If I get out of this I’ll probably have to resign. The last thing the NSA wants is someone who can’t complete a routine mission, let alone their first assignment. Who knows, maybe that’s probably for the best anyway. Donovan saw right through me. My flaws and weaknesses…how careless I could be…and I proved him right. Now not only is the mission ruined but Tasha’s life is in danger because of me. If she dies I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

He glanced up at the ceiling. Right now he didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. His whole body felt numb.

There was nothing he wanted to do, nowhere he wanted to go. Nothing mattered anymore, except doing everything he possibly could to right his mistake. To make sure Tasha was safe and if possible successfully complete their assignment.

Whoever was behind this would probably hurt him. The thought barely registered in his mind. He knew he should feel something. Dread. Fear. Anxiety. But he didn’t. All his thoughts were turned to Tasha. They could do whatever they wanted to him. It didn’t matter. He would willingly sacrifice his life without hesitation if it meant they didn’t touch her. At that moment he knew he was powerless. There was only one thing he could do. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

…..

Tasha’s eyes darted around the room, her eyes landing on the metal door to the side of her. She felt something digging into her skin and realized she was tied up. Tasha lay against the wall struggling to recall previous events, how she’d ended up here. Her mind was blank. The last thing she remembered was leaving with Jason for the gala. She looked down at her clothes. Instead of the dark blue dress, she remembered she was wearing light pink pajamas. She looked around the room. The floor was layered with dirt. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the room. Jason was nowhere in sight. Who knew where he could be. For all Tasha knew he could be lying dead somewhere or being mercilessly tortured. 

The door creaked open causing Tasha to look up. An older muscular man entered the room followed by a tall brown-haired woman. 

It didn’t take a genius to guess what they were probably after. Information. Luckily, Tasha thought, she’d been briefed and trained how to resist such efforts. She sat up in her seat and braced herself for whatever was coming, though she couldn’t help the shivers that traveled down her spine. 

Milena’s eyes met Tasha’s. Tasha tried to read them yet they seemed nearly expressionless. The man’s on the other hand were easy to read. They were deathly cold.

Milena spoke. “I have to say that was quite a showing back there. Very impressive. My hired men are known for their efficiency. You and your associate were their hardest targets ever by far.” She crossed her arms. “So congrats.”

Tasha kept a blank expression on her face. "You might as well just skip to the end. I’m not saying anything.” 

“Who said anything about getting information? I’m not so stupid as to waste my time trying to get intel out of an NSA agent.”

Elias walked over to Tasha “Never saw that coming did you?”

Tasha looked him directly in the eyes. “Can’t say I didn’t. If I was in your shoes I wouldn’t waste my time either.” Fear trembled through her, but at the same time, there was a defiance in her eyes. Even in face of danger, she wasn’t one to submit or hold back on fiery comebacks. 

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. He glanced at Milena. “I like this one. Too bad we can’t keep her around.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be the best company anyway.” Tasha glanced at the metal door beyond Milena and Elias. There was one question she had to ask. Though a possible answer filled her with dread. Life had a funny, even almost cruel way of unfolding. Not even a few hours ago Jason and she had been going at it and now here she was worrying over his safety. Though she was still deeply angry and upset at Jason for what he had done, all that mattered to her right now was that he was alright. “Is…he okay?”

“He’s alive if that’s what you’re asking,” Elias replied.

 A wave of relief washed over Tasha. At least she and Jason were both alive. When it came down to it that alone only mattered. A dark thought crept into her mind. But then again who knew what their captors had in mind for them. Perhaps it would have been better for him not to survive, that might have been a merciful fate.

Elias stepped closer to Tasha. Then, from under his black shirt, he unslung a small black pistol from his belt.

Tasha’s mouth began to run dry and her heart began to race. Elias twirled the gun on his finger, only increasing Tasha’s uneasiness.

She ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed on Milena. “You know, you seem like a straight shooter so I’ll cut to the chase. Why exactly do you need us? If you’re not after information I fail to see the point.” 

Milena gave a small laugh. “Aren’t you a fast talker? Trying to hide your fear?”

“No, my boredom.”

Milena clasped her hands. “Let’s just say I need you both for a plan of mine.”

Tasha eyed her confusingly. “What kind of plan.”

“That would be giving things away now would it?”

“What things? Are you working for Dalmar?”

Pain flashed across Milena’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was only there for a second and was gone as soon as it came. Not before being noticed by Tasha. “Dalmar, that monster. Heck no! Your whole plan of bringing him down is still happening. You and Edward are just playing a different role than you originally planned.”

Tasha found herself shocked by Milena’s revelation. However, she made certain not to show her surprise to those in the room. Basic training - never show your opponent what you’re thinking. 

Milena turned to Elias. “Would you give us a moment?”

 He glanced from Milena to Tasha and back to Milena again. He placed his gun back in its holster. “Sure.” The door clanked shut behind him.

“I know what you may think of me and I can’t say I blame you. I’d probably feel the same way too…but I just want to say that I admire your tenacity. I respect what you’re doing.”

Tasha leaned forward. “Really. I would never have guessed. If you respected my mission, why interfere with it?”

“Trust me. I had my reasons. The justice I’d get from your NSA wouldn’t be enough.” She spoke, a hint of sadness showing in her eyes for a brief moment. 

From the first time she laid eyes on her Tasha could tell that the woman standing in front of her wasn’t a hardened criminal. That there was something beneath the surface. It was obvious now she’d suffered some tragic painful event in her life. Dalmar’s doing most likely. Tasha thought for a moment about how to respond. She knew the words she’d say would probably not change her mind or course of action, but she had to try.

Tasha spoke softly. “I know what horrific things Dalmar is capable of…Sometimes it seems that men like him just end up walking away but that’s no ex—”

“Excuse for me to take the law into my hands. Yeah, I figured that speech was coming. Guess what, I don’t have time for it.” Milena said strongly before turning around and walked across the room. Well, that went well but pretty much how I expected. Tasha thought as Milena shut the door behind her as she exited the room, leaving Tasha alone once again. 

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 || Tumblr

Chapter 18 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 18: discussion of passive suicidal ideation; unintentional self-harm (scratching at arms as a stim, to the point of drawing blood); brief allusion to childhood neglect; internalized ableism (re: ADHD, but not explicitly stated as such); brief acephobia (past experience & internalized); Jon-typical negative self-talk, guilt, & rejection sensitive dysphoria; discussion of past trauma (including having bodily autonomy overridden, canon non-consensual surgery, & stabbing); internalized victim blaming/comparing victim to their abuser; discussion of self-inflicted blinding/eye gouging (past attempts & potential future attempts); brief mention of Mr. Spider/arachnophobia themes; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 18: Reconciliation

Once Jon opened the door and the Fears rewrote reality, not only was sleep no longer a physiological necessity – it was no longer an option. Much like the Coffin, even a temporary escape via unconsciousness was contrary to a world defined by the ceaseless generation of terror. And just as it did any human in that place, perpetual wakefulness took its toll on Jon’s already ravaged mental health.

The fact that he was no longer plaguing the nightmares of his victims may have been a small consolation, if not for the fact that he was instead witnessing the waking nightmares of billions of new victims: the same scenes looping over and over, layered one on top of the other, an endless soundtrack screaming in the background of his mind. Venting a statement from time to time could only do so much to quell that storm. He’d really had no choice but to learn to compartmentalize on autopilot and dissociate on command.

So when, for the first time since before the world ended, Jon awakens to Martin at his side, his mind cannot immediately reconcile the sight. He might think he was dreaming, if not for the fact that he hasn’t had a pleasant dream of his own since he became the Archivist. And even before then – well, he’d always been more predisposed to nightmares.

Jon feels his heart stutter in his throat when he sets eyes on Martin. Their hands are still clasped together, and despite the sweatiness of their palms and the way Jon’s arm is cramping from the angle, he has no desire to let go. Instead, he lies still, breathing shallow and measured, fearful of any sound or movement that might shatter the almost uncanny peace of the moment.

He really shouldn’t be staring like this, though, should he? Martin has given him permission to stare many times before, but that was in a future where they had Seen each other at their most vulnerable. Being seen, truly seen – as terrifying as it was for the both of them – became a comfort, because of what they had been through together. Here in the past, Martin hasn’t shared that experience. He might not be as keen to put up with Jon’s incessant watching.

Those reservations still aren’t enough to stop him, though.

Martin is still sat in his chair, but bent sideways at the waist to lean halfway on the cot. He’s snoring lightly, his head pillowed on his free arm, glasses askew. The angle is probably hell on his back.

Maybe I should wake him up, Jon thinks idly, one corner of his mouth turning up in a small, fond smile.

He doesn’t. Instead, his eyes remain rapt on Martin, soaking in every detail, as beloved and familiar as always: the length of his eyelashes, the shape of his lips, the spray of freckles across his nose, that particularly stubborn cowlick that always, always stands on end. Jon wants to reach out, sink his fingers into those curls, massage his scalp in that way Martin used to love – but that would be a step beyond staring, wouldn’t it? So he watches: unblinking, aching, adoring, and so overwhelmed that he's at risk of tearing up.

It’s painfully, embarrassingly maudlin of him, he knows, but can he really be faulted for that? Jon surpassed the lifespan of a normal human several times over, bereft and alone in a desolated realm of his own making. He spent much of that time out of his mind with grief, drowning in hopelessness and guilt, cycling between numb dissociation and raw destruction. When he wasn’t wandering aimlessly – near-catatonic, subsumed by the never-ending deluge of fear permeating that world – he was lashing out. Although he couldn���t die, he could still hurt, and so he did, with exacting focus: both himself and all the other monsters going through the motions in that doomed world.

Ending them neither decreased nor increased the net output of fear, but it was the closest Jon could come to some nebulous, fleeting sense of justice. He didn’t enjoy it – in fact, he hated the other Avatars sometimes, bitter that they could attain a release that seemed impossible for him. His first few acts of vengeance in those early days had felt good in the moment, but the high never lasted: just like taking a statement.

Eventually, once the fear began to grow scarcer, it felt more and more like granting mercy – often to monsters who never showed any themselves – rather than meting out justice. A few moments of pain was preferable to slow, torturous starvation. Breekon was the first to request such a favor. He was far from the last.

It made Jon feel monstrous in an all new way, offering escape to predators when he could do nothing to save their victims – at least not without turning them into Avatars themselves, creating more monsters to replace the old. But it also made him feel real – a tangible, active presence interacting with the world, as opposed to a ghost, unseen and unknowable. An undeniable consequence, rather than a detached observer.

Tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes. Jon tries to swallow them back, but his throat has grown thick with emotion. He never expected to escape that place; never expected to see a friendly face or hear a kind word ever again. And now that he has…

This isn’t for you, says an insidious little voice in the back of his head: some twisted chimera comprised of all those who have known him well enough to see him for what he is, to catalogue his failings, to pass judgment. There is no place for you in this world. You don’t belong here. You were made for something greater; eliminate that, and what remains –

A gentle knock-knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts.

“Jon?” Georgie pushes the door open and peers through the gap. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” It comes out as a fractured whisper. He sniffles and rubs his eyes, but Georgie has already noticed his distress.

“Bad dream?”

“No.” Jon clears his throat and props himself up on one elbow. “No, ah – quite the opposite, really.”

“Oh?” Georgie says, probing for an explanation.

Jon's gaze drifts to his hand, still joined with Martin’s. “None of this feels real, and…”

“And?”

“I, uh…” Jon closes his eyes, blinking back tears. “I don’t deserve it.”

“The world doesn’t work that way.”

“Maybe it should.” Jon lets out a wet, clipped laugh.

No one got what they deserved in the world he created, only what hurt them the most. Tempting as it was to find some meaning in it all, to retroactively draw correlations between past actions and current circumstances, Jon Knew from the very beginning that there was no cause-and-effect at play. Not really. Any misery being experienced in that new world was utterly unrelated to the lives people lived before the change. It was indiscriminate. Everyone was afraid and in agony, regardless of any subjective judgment on whether or not they deserved it.

And nothing Jon did changed those material conditions in the slightest. He could shift an individual’s role from subject to object and vice versa, reassign their place on the spectrum of the tortured versus the torturer, but at the end of the day, he was still just facilitating fear, regardless of what shape it took. Despite being one of the most powerful and fearful things roaming that scorched earth, his options were as limited as they’d always been. Every choice led to more or less the same end.

By every measure that could be said to actually matter, he was ultimately powerless.

Would it have been any more tolerable if the suffering was more proportionate? If at least some of the people trapped in the domains could be said to be receiving just punishment for any agony they themselves had inflicted before the end of the world? Maybe. But probably not. Securing vengeance never actually yielded any meaningful catharsis for Jon. Even Jonah Magnus' ultimate fate produced nothing but revulsion. The Archive may feed on such fear, but after all this time, Jon – all the pieces of him that still belong to him – has no desire to behold suffering. He has seen enough for several lifetimes, and he was never once given the option to look away, let alone put an end to it.

Jon shakes his head and begins to fully sit up, slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Martin. He’s hardly expecting Georgie to engage with his newest avenue of brooding, but after a minute, she gives a thoughtful hum and leans against the doorframe.

“Don’t know that I want to see what that would look like,” she says pensively.

“What?”

“A world where ‘deservedness’ was quantifiable – where you could put a precise value on suffering, and every action had a moral price tag on it that stayed the same regardless of the circumstances. Where subjective experiences could be – shoved into neat little categories that everyone could agree on.”

“Like Robert Smirke,” Jon murmurs.

“Sure.” Georgie shrugs. “I don’t know if humanity as we know it could even exist in a world like that. We’d be… unrecognizable.”

“O-oh?”

“Mm. We aren’t equations. Or – well, we are, I guess, at the most basic physical level, if you scale down small enough. Atoms, physics, chemical reactions and all that. But when it comes to the experience of consciousness, personal identity, free will… isn’t the complexity what gives it all meaning? If we could account for every last variable, know the exact effect of every cause, what would that make us?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Life isn’t about the destination, I guess is what I’m saying.” Georgie runs her thumb over her lips as she muses. “We already know the destination. One way or another, everything dies.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Jon recites, a distant quality to his voice. “There’s no difference between that last moment that ushers us out into oblivion and the one we experience now – everything ends, even the universe, even time. And… that means it has always already ended.”

It takes a moment for Jon to come back to himself, blinking dazedly. It's another few seconds before he realizes what happened – and when he does, a sudden, heavy coldness takes root and blossoms in his chest.

“I’m so– I didn’t – I wasn’t –”

“It’s – fine,” Georgie says, although she sounds a bit rattled. “It was an accident.”

“Still, I’m sorry, I –”

“Apology accepted, Jon. I’m not angry.” When she sees Jon gearing up to belabor the point, she holds up a hand. “You’re forgiven. Let’s just move on, okay?”

Jon bites down on his lower lip, torn between dueling impulses: groveling, berating himself, shutting down, or… simply taking Georgie at her word. With a long, shaky exhale, he settles on trust: Georgie expressed a desire to drop it and move forward. He should respect that, right? Right.

He bites back his protests and nods stiffly. “Okay.”

“Look, what I was trying to get at is – knowing the destination doesn’t invalidate the journey, right? If anything, the inevitability of an ending is what gives meaning to all the rest.”

The End forced Georgie to confront the insignificance of her own birth and death against the backdrop of a vast universe – but rather than allow that realization to immobilize her with despair, she opted to make all the moments in between meaningful. Jon can't help but once again remember the confidence with which Martin countered Simon Fairchild's brand of flippant nihilism: I think our experience of the universe has value, even if it disappears forever.

I might have a type, he thinks to himself, equal parts wry and endeared.

“We all end up in the same place,” Georgie continues, “but that doesn’t have to mean we all follow the same path. What matters is what happens along the way, and – if you could map out every bit of the journey, predict the outcome of every single step you take, then – what else is left?”

“If you already know the answer to every question,” Jon says softly, “what’s the point of being?”

Jon isn’t sure what expression he’s making, but whatever it is, Georgie blanches when she catches his eye.

“Oh, I – Jon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“No, it’s – it’s alright. You’re not wrong.” Jon chuckles awkwardly. “Is it odd that I find the thought…reassuring? Sort of?”

“We’re getting lost in the weeds, aren't we?” Georgie says with a flustered laugh. “My original point was – this obsession you have with deservedness, and establishing dichotomies, and trying to find simple, objective answers to complicated questions – it’s a skewed way of looking at the world, and it’s eating you alive. You have to stop treating your life like it’s a scorecard. Relentlessly punishing yourself isn’t going to change the past. It’s not healthy, it’s not productive, and it just makes you more likely to sabotage your future.”

“I know. It’s just… the things I’ve done, they’re – unforgivable. I can’t leave it behind, and I can’t take it back.”

Jon used to wonder when the Eye would make him too monstrous to feel shame. It never did, never had to: he abetted it regardless of how he felt about it. For the most part, he can’t even apologize: the people he hurt are either dead or have no memory of what Jon did to warrant it. Besides, some consequences too irrevocable, too catastrophic to cushion with remorse.

Sorry that you died because I failed; sorry that I burned a bridge that could have kept us both safe; sorry that you’re trapped here just because I stood too close to you. Sorry for the invaded privacy, sorry for the mistreatment, sorry for all the hunger and fear and nightmares. Sincerest apologies, everyone, for the eternal torment.

He could have composed a personalized apology for every last person in the world had he wanted – he’d certainly had the time to spare, as well as detailed knowledge of each victim’s plight. But any apology he could possibly make, no matter how eloquent or sincere, would have been insulting in its inadequacy. What reparations can be made to soften the blow of a life lost or a world ended?

“S-so,” he says, eyes downcast, “that just leaves… guilt.”

And fear. Fear enough to cram an Archive full to bursting.

“I know,” Georgie says.

“I’m sorry, I –” Jon breathes a bitter laugh. “I’m a broken record, aren’t I? I fall apart every time I see you.”

“Jon,” George sighs, “you don’t have to apologize. You’ve been through unimaginable trauma. You’ve had barely any chance to start to heal from it. You’re still living it. I don’t expect a few heart-to-heart conversations to close the book on… all of that.”

“Still, it’s – annoying, I imagine.” Jon picks nervously at a loose thread on his trouser leg. “To sit through the same conversation over and over again.”

“I’d be more worried if you went back to just – pretending to be okay, refusing to talk about it. It’s been barely a month since you got out of the hospital. Shit, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you crawled out of that Coffin.” Her eyes narrow slightly, intent and searching. “Speaking of which, I should ask: Are you a danger to yourself right now?”

“What?” The question catches Jon off guard. “No? N-no, I’m – why would you –”

“Just checking in. Which I’m going to keep doing. Regularly. So you may as well make peace with that now.”

“It’s not like I’m going to kill myself,” Jon mumbles – aiming for casually unconcerned and instead landing squarely in transparently uncomfortable territory. “I’m fairly certain I can’t die a mundane human death, anyway.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt yourself. And being suicidal sucks regardless of whether you actually plan on going through with it.” Jon studiously avoids eye contact as Georgie speaks. “Anyway, I know I sound like a broken record, but I’ll say it as many times as you need reminding: You have a second chance. You said you were going to make the best of it, and you can’t do that if you won’t let yourself have some peace.” Her expression softens, as does her voice. “Just… let yourself be, won’t you?”

There’s truth to what Georgie is saying. Even if he wasn’t mired in guilt, though…

“I’m afraid,” Jon whispers. “Of losing him, of losing everyone, of…”

Of dooming everyone. It was so easy. All it took was his voice, an incantation, and this ceaseless, aberrant hunger. He’s seen the consequences of the destiny for which he has unwittingly been prepared. Like it or not, he is the most dangerous thing in this world – a walking hair-trigger, already having overstayed his welcome on this earth by several lifetimes. One misstep, and…

“I should be grateful to have this, to have him – and I am, but every – every time I come close to letting myself feel – safe, hopeful, content, it… it never lasts. It’s always swallowed up by fear – not of if something goes wrong, but when. It just feels like… any choice I make is bound to end in tragedy. Like there’s no way out. Like nothing I do will change anything. I – I’ll mess it up; I always do.”

It’s a pattern that began long before he became entangled in Jonah’s machinations. Jon was a difficult child who grew into an even more difficult adult, always saying and doing all the wrong things because he’s never been able to fully grasp the invisible rules that other people seem to navigate so naturally. At home he could never shake the feeling that he was an odd guest, secretly unwelcome but with nowhere else to keep him; at school he was a menace, asking all the wrong questions at all the wrong times and prone to following his own lesson plans whenever the curriculum failed to hold his interest. Peer relationships typically failed to take root: he’s too guarded, too abrasive, too annoying and tactless and awkward. Whatever friendships managed to blossom tended to wilt before long, for all the same reasons.

Romantic relationships have historically been even more fraught. There are expectations that he will never meet, forms of intimacy that are traditionally assumed to be required rather than optional for such a relationship to qualify as normal, healthy, and sustainable. In his experience, setting those boundaries have usually been a deal-breaker. Georgie was the first to accept that aspect of him unconditionally; Martin was the second – and although Jon no longer believes that it’s a problem to be fixed, those old, long-held insecurities still rear up from time to time.

He had hoped he could at least prove himself capable as a Head Archivist, but, well… he was inexperienced with the duties of a mundane archiving job, unsuited to managing a department, and his preexisting difficulties with establishing rapport were exacerbated by his need to maintain a professional boundary between himself and his assistants. He tried to make up for those shortcomings with effort and dedication and – in retrospect – frankly obscene levels of overwork, but he never did manage to be a good boss or a good coworker.

It’s a cruel joke that of all the roles to finally excel in, it’s as the Archivist – or, specifically, Jonah’s Archivist. He met every expectation, even – perhaps especially – when he didn’t know what those expectations were. Not like Gertrude. She would doubtless be disappointed by her successor: constantly second-guessing himself, resolving indecisiveness with impulsivity, stumbling around in the dark, pointlessly sabotaging himself and those unlucky enough to find themselves in his orbit – ultimately devastating a world that she had made so many ruthless sacrifices to protect.

Jon has spent most of his life fumbling at being a peer, a friend, a partner, a colleague, an ally. If he couldn’t manage to figure it out when he was still human, how is he supposed to play at being a person now, when he’s…

“This – this isn’t for things like me,” Jon says hoarsely. He can feel more tears teeming as he looks down at Martin: kind and good and so, so deserving of happiness, of security, of a peaceful life that Jon fears he will never be able to provide, no matter how fiercely he loves. “I don’t get to” – end the world – “to become – this, and still get a happy ending.”

“Do you Know that?” Georgie asks.

“N-no, I can’t predict the future, but –”

“Then you shouldn’t assume the worst. You don’t have a fixed destiny, no matter what you’ve been led to believe.” She scowls at him. “And stop referring to yourself as a ‘thing’. It really doesn’t matter how human you are or aren’t, you're still you. You’re still a person.”

Jon doesn’t know how to respond to that without either contradicting her or offering lukewarm, disingenuous agreement. Luckily, he doesn’t have to: Martin begins to stir, and Jon hurriedly wipes away any evidence of tears, fighting to regain his composure. With a snuffle and a sleepy groan, Martin opens his eyes, blinking blearily.

“Hey there,” Jon says with a soft smile.

Martin returns a vague grin, muzzy with sleep. With unfocused eyes, he appears to slowly take in his surroundings, gaze lingering briefly on and then skating over his hand, fingers still interlocked with Jon’s. When his attention drifts towards Georgie, he stares at her for a long few seconds, squinting at the influx of light from the hallway. Another slow blink, another extended stare at his and Jon’s linked hands, and then his eyes widen. Color blooms on his cheeks as he abruptly surfaces into full consciousness, glasses tumbling off his face as he jerks upward.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he says, groggy voice at odds with the panicked embarrassment in his eyes. He pulls his hand back, mumbling apologies about clammy palms. As he straightens in his seat, he lets out a pained hiss.

Jon cringes sympathetically. “You should’ve taken the cot.”

Martin ignores the comment, scrubbing at his face now, hiding it in his sleeve. It does nothing to conceal his reddened ears, Jon notes with amused affection.

“Did you sleep alright, otherwise?” Jon asks.

“Mm?” Martin retrieves his glasses and slips them back on before turning his attention to Jon. “Oh, uh – yes. You?”

“Yes, actually.”

His first routine breakdown of the day notwithstanding, Jon did manage to sleep through most of the night, only waking once after a brief foray back into Karolina’s nightmare.

The rest of the dreams were relatively benign. He spent some time with Georgie. Naomi was pleased to see him and eager as ever to regale him with cat anecdotes. Dr. Elliott was less pleased, but he was at least no more afraid of Jon than he had been during the coma. Seeing Jordan Kennedy was as uncomfortable as ever; Jon doubts he’ll ever know what to say to him. Tessa was more difficult to read. She wasn’t exactly happy to see him again, but she didn't seem angry, either.

Should’ve known it wouldn’t last, she’d sighed to herself – and then promptly changed the subject before Jon could stammer out an apology.

“Learned a lot about the right to repair movement,” Jon says absently.

“What?” Martin asks, bewildered.

“Oh, uh – Tessa Winters. Gave a statement in 2016 about a haunted chatbot. It forced her to watch a seventeen-hour-long video of a man eating his computer.”

Georgie perks up at that.

“Oh, is that the, uh – that creepypasta about that guy who mutilated himself trying to upload his mind to his computer?”

“Sergey Ushanka.”

“Yeah! Something about how he tried to crack open his skull and wire his brain to the motherboard?”

“That is one variation of the story, yes.”

“What,” Martin says flatly.

“I was thinking about doing a What the Ghost episode on that one,” Georgie explains, her sheepish smile doing little to conceal her lingering enthusiasm. “Haunted technology is always a popular topic. Didn’t expect that one to be real, though. I wonder –”

Jon answers her question before she can ask it: “I doubt Tessa would be interested in being a guest on the show.”

“Yeah,” Georgie sighs, “I guess not.”

Martin lets out a nervous chuckle. “What, uh – sorry, what does any of this have to do with right to repair?”

“Oh. Right. Tessa’s one of the people whose nightmares I… invade. Perpetuate, I suppose. She’s, ah, not my biggest fan, considering what I’ve put her through, but she says I’m a decent audience.” Martin gives Jon a blank look. “She basically gives me free lectures sometimes? Technology-related subjects, mostly. Fascinating stuff.”

“God, you sound like a grandpa,” Georgie says.

“Yes, yes, Tessa tells me the same.” Jon rolls his eyes. “Anyway, she has some, ah… strong feelings about Apple. Among other things.”

“Right,” Martin says slowly. “Wait, back up – you know what creepypasta is?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says with a sigh and an indulgent smile, “I know what creepypasta is.”

“That particular internet rabbit hole was one of his many, many avenues of procrastination in uni, believe it or not,” Georgie says.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a Luddite. I tried to introduce the Archives to the twenty-first century, remember? It’s not my fault the Beholding has a retro aesthetic.”

“Huh,” Martin says with a bemused smile. Then he yawns. “Sorry. What time is it?”

As soon as the question is posed, the Beholding drops the knowledge into Jon’s head.

“About 10:30,” Georgie answers, just as Jon says, “10:28 and forty-six seconds” – and then, wincing at his own pedantry, “Sorry.”

Georgie looks ready to let loose with a snarky reply, but before she can say anything, Martin is on his feet, the blanket on his lap sliding to the floor.

“10:30? Jon, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I – I wasn’t really paying attention to the time, I haven’t actually been awake for…”

Jon trails off as the Beholding casually notifies him that he woke up thirty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds ago. He can feel heat pooling in his cheeks as a vague sense of shame sets in. Good lord, was he really just watching Martin sleep for that long?

“I should have been upstairs over an hour ago,” Martin says, frantically scanning the room for –

For his shoes, the Eye informs Jon.

Do you ever mind your goddamn business? Jon shoots back. On impulse, he swats at the air to his side, momentarily forgetting that the ever-present eldritch tagalongs he’d grown accustomed to during the apocalypse are no longer with him. In his dreams, he’d come eye-to-eye with them again for the first time since waking up in the hospital; apparently, that’s all it took to reintroduce this old, reflexive shooing tic to his waking life.

Georgie raises her eyebrows at the gesture, but Martin appears not to notice, preoccupied with his escalating panic.

Jon scrambles for some way to soothe him, but he’s at a loss. In his future, through trial and error and intense observation, he had painstakingly learned how to comfort Martin. Now, though, after so much time spent alone, Jon is out of practice. Moreover, he’s always been more adept at offering comfort through action and touch rather than words – and right now, he’s still uncertain where Martin’s boundaries lie.

So Jon continues to sit there, hands fluttering slightly as his mind rifles through a mountain of inane clichés in search of something, anything that might be able to help. Meanwhile, the Archivist in him is distracted by Martin’s growing anxiety. It isn’t the same as abject fear, per se, but it’s similar enough to pique the Eye’s interest.

Once again, Jon takes a swipe at the empty space beside him – and again ignores Georgie’s amused expression.

“If Peter notices I’m not in the office…” Martin nearly trips over the blanket on the floor as he turns in place to search behind him. “He – he’ll be suspicious –”

That’s when Georgie decides to speak up. Thank god, Jon thinks to himself. She exudes far more confidence than he does in this sort of situation.

“Won’t he already be suspicious?” she says, calm as can be. It’s enough to bring Martin’s fretting to a pause. “It’s not like you can keep this a secret forever, right? Your change in attitude is… pretty noticeable, Martin.”

“I – I – I didn’t really think much further ahead than –” Martin laughs nervously. “I was just – playing along, and it felt right, like if I just kept following the path I’d reach a – a – a conclusion? I don’t know what, but…” His shoulders slump, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides; he tugs at the hem of his shirt, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I don’t think I cared much? I figured I could just – gather information and pass it along, and if nothing else I could keep Peter’s attention away from the Archives, and… that was the whole plan, to just keep doing that until… until whatever was going to happen happened, I guess, and now I don’t – I don’t know where to go from here, and…”

“Martin?” Jon says softly.

“Huh?” Martin finally glances up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“Can I take your hand?”

Cautiously, wordlessly, Martin offers his hand. Jon takes it in his, lacing their fingers together loosely.

“It’ll be alright,” he says. “You don’t have to figure it out on your own. Not anymore.”

Martin’s lips move minutely for a few seconds before meekly saying, “That doesn’t feel right.”

“I know.”

“I’m – I’m not saying you’re lying,” Martin says, rushed and anxious to appease, “it’s just…”

“Hearing something isn’t the same as accepting it. Or trusting it.”

“I do trust you, I do, it’s just… I don’t know. It’s like I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“It’s alright,” Jon says gently. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispers, his voice steeped in guilt.

“You don’t need to apologize.” When Martin opens his mouth to protest, Jon reiterates: “You have nothing to be sorry for. I promise.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a pause, still sounding somewhat doubtful. Then he grimaces. “I, uh, still don’t know what to do about Peter, though.”

“That depends on what you want,” Jon says, squeezing Martin’s hand. “I trust you. I’ll follow your lead.”

“O-okay,” Martin repeats. He blinks several times, surprised, before giving a nervous chuckle. “Only… I, uh, don’t really know what I want, to be honest?”

“Break it down into smaller pieces,” Georgie says. Martin flinches slightly – he must have momentarily forgotten she was in the room. “Do you want to go back to the Lonely?”

There’s only a short delay before Martin says, “No. I don’t… it feels different than before. Doesn’t fit right.”

“Do you want to continue working with Peter?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says slowly. “Not really? I mean, I never wanted to in the first place, it just… seemed like the thing to do.”

“Okay, rephrase,” Georgie says. “Do you want to stop working with him now?”

“I think so.” Another pause. Martin’s brow wrinkles as he stares at the floor in thought before glancing back up at Georgie. “Yeah, I – I think I do.”

“But…?” Georgie prompts, sensing Martin’s uncertainty.

“I worry about how he might react. He’ll probably start paying more attention to the Archives, and…” Martin looks at Jon. “What if he takes it out on you? Or – I mean, I don’t want him to hurt anyone, but I…” He looks down at their joined hands, tightening his grip just slightly. “I think you would be his most likely target.”

“Maybe,” Jon admits. He’s witnessed firsthand how vindictive Peter can be. “But I would rather take that risk than have you torture yourself on the off chance he’ll let me be. And… I think we’ll all be safer if we cooperate as a group rather than stay divided.”

“I guess. I’m not sure how to go about it, though.”

“Well,” Georgie says thoughtfully, “it depends on whether you want to quit all at once or ease into it.”

“I don’t know.” Martin looks to Jon again. “If I continue to work for him in some capacity, would it give us an advantage?”

At this point, they know more about the Extinction than Peter does, and Jon has a decent grasp on Peter’s goals and how he operates. So…

“I… don’t think there’s anything to be gained if you keep working closely with him, no,” Jon replies. “And anyway, I – I would rather that not be the deciding factor? It’s your decision, of course, it’s just – your wellbeing is more important.”

“Hypocrite,” Martin mutters, but there’s a tinge of endearment there.

“I know,” Jon sighs. “I’m working on it. But to the point, I worry that working closely with him might drag you back into the Lonely.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m also worried about you confronting him directly to resign. Especially on your own.”

Peter is patient. Moreover, he enjoys a long game. If he sees Martin’s change of heart as a surmountable obstacle, Peter is likely to take a step back and wait for another opening to regain the upper hand. If, on the other hand, he decides that Martin is a lost cause… well, Peter is a sore loser. There’s every chance that he could drop Martin into the Lonely out of spite again.

“Either way,” Jon says, “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone with him. Sooner or later, he’ll realize that the Lonely’s starting to lose its hold on you.”

Unthinkingly, Jon tightens his grip on Martin’s hand.

“It’s been slipping for a while now,” Martin says quietly. “I think he’s already noticed.”

“In that case… there’s no telling how he’ll react if he decides your allegiance to the Lonely is too tenuous to salvage.”

“Do you – or…” Georgie appears to grapple with wording for a few seconds. “Can you Know what Peter knows?”

“No,” Jon says. The last time he tried to Know something about Peter, not only did it yield nothing of value, it nearly incapacitated Jon – and he didn’t recover until he gave in and fed on a new victim. He can’t afford to repeat the experience. Daisy’s supply of statements is finite; Jon needs to ration them as much as possible. “I do know that Peter can’t spy from a distance, but that doesn’t mean he can’t just turn invisible to eavesdrop. Or that Elias won’t feed him information.”

“Let’s focus on the immediate question, then,” Georgie says. “Do you want to go upstairs and walk into your office two hours late with bedhead” – Martin runs a self-conscious hand through his hair, eliciting an affectionate smile from Jon – “or do you want to no-call/no-show?”

“Well… Peter isn’t actually around much,” Martin says. “Sometimes days go by before he checks in. He might not realize I’m not in my office yet. Maybe I can just – go about my normal routine for now?” He glances at Jon, almost beseeching. “At least until I have an idea of how much he knows?”

Like everyone who has worked in the Archives, Martin has developed a harder edge over the years. Early in his tenure, he seemed unassuming on first impression. He was by no means a pushover, but he was eager to please and preferred to avoid unnecessary confrontation. It made him an all-too-easy target for Jon’s insecurity-fueled ire.

But rather than roll over in the face of criticism, Martin has always been determined to prove his detractors wrong. Whether it’s risking his life for the sake of doing his due diligence – Jon cringes at the memory – or stubbornly caring for people who deemed him incompetent and didn’t appreciate his attentions, Martin is tenacious. It would be admirable – and it is, to an extent – but all too often it leads to self-neglect, bordering on self-harm.

And right now, despite the thicker skin that Martin has been forced to grow through necessity and loss, his demeanor when he looks at Jon is vaguely reminiscent of those early days in the Archives: cowed, cautious, desperate for approval and dreading reproach. With a pang of old guilt and a desire to soothe, Jon forces a smile and kneads the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb.

“I trust you,” Jon says, “and I know you’re more than capable. Just – when the fog starts to creep up on you, try to remember that there are people who care about you. You’re not a burden; you’re not – unseen, unwanted, undeserving, or – or whatever other lies the Lonely wants to tell you. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

“Right,” Martin says in a breathless whisper. He gives Jon’s hand another squeeze before letting go. “I guess I, uh – I guess should head upstairs.”

“Text or call if you need a reminder,” Jon blurts out as Martin turns to leave. “S-sorry, I don’t mean to – to hover, it’s just… sometimes it helps.”

In Scotland, once Jon was too hungry to safely visit the village, Martin had to go on supply runs alone. Although he had largely left the Lonely behind, it still lurked in the background, waiting for quiet moments in which it could seep back in through the cracks it left behind. It was opportunistic and insidious, passive until it wasn’t, and it could strike unpredictably. And so, he and Jon would check in with one another frequently whenever Martin had to go into town.

In many ways it was an exercise in codependence, but they were doing their best, considering their particular circumstances.

“Thanks,” Martin says, splotches of pink staining his face again. “I – I will.”

“There’s no service in the tunnels,” Georgie reminds them. “Just in case you were planning on going down there today, Jon. Martin, do you have the rest of our numbers?”

“I have Basira’s. And Melanie’s.”

“Give me your phone. I’ll add my number. And Daisy’s.” Martin makes a face at that, but hands his phone over. “If Jon doesn’t answer, text one of the rest of us. We can make sure to always keep someone up here and reachable, just in case.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Martin says stiffly. “I don’t need my hand held every second of the day.”

“No, but you might need your hand held at any second during the day,” Georgie says, entirely unfazed by the shift in attitude, “and there's no shame in that. Sometimes a bad time sneaks up on you. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“I’ve always taken care of myself. I can handle a few hours alone.”

“I’m sure you can, but that doesn’t mean you have to.” Martin looks ready to object, but Georgie cuts him off. “You’re not going to win this argument; I’ve already heard it all before. I’ve known this one” – she jerks her thumb in Jon’s direction – “for years, and you have near-identical hangups about being an inconvenience or whatever.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jon mutters.

“Yeah, this is directed at both of you. People want to help you. The world won’t end if you let yourself accept it without berating yourself in the process.” Georgie looks between the two of them as she hands Martin’s phone back, and then chuckles. “Huh. You two have damn-near-identical scowls, too, by the way.”

Simultaneously, Jon and Martin both roll their eyes.

Compared to the last time Jon saw her, Melanie looks… well, better. The wild, furious look in her eyes has subsided and the bags underneath are no longer quite so heavy. Her posture doesn’t look relaxed, exactly, but she doesn’t seem nearly as overwrought. She's still clearly weighed down by ambient tension, but she always has been – and the Archives have a way of making even the most well-adjusted person feel on edge.

She pauses at the bottom of the ladder, watching Jon with an air of distrust and uncertainty. Then Georgie takes her hand and a little more of that stiffness bleeds out of her. She allows Georgie to lead her over to the circle of chairs where Jon waits, and mirrors Georgie when she sits.

The ensuing silence is thoroughly unsettling. When it becomes clear that Georgie isn’t going to break the ice for them, and Melanie likewise keeps her silence, Jon reluctantly takes the initiative.

“Hi,” he says eloquently. He starts to give a little wave, but doesn’t fully commit to the motion, instead allowing his hand to hang awkwardly in the air for a few seconds before lowering his arm again, self-conscious.

“Hey,” Melanie replies – guarded, somewhat flat, but without any outright hostility.

Melanie scuffs one foot against the ground. Jon bounces his leg, chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at the floor. Neither of them speak.

“So…” Georgie says after a minute, drawing out the vowel. “Do you two want me to, uh… I can leave, if you’d prefer to have this discussion in private?”

“Stay,” Melanie says abruptly, seeking out Georgie’s hand again. Georgie looks at Jon, a question in her eyes.

“I don’t mind. You can stay, Georgie.”

“If you’re sure,” Georgie says. “Just – let me know if that changes, I suppose.”

More silence. When Jon can’t take it anymore, he blurts out: “H-how have you been?”

“Well,” Melanie says sardonically, “I’m essentially trapped in an eldritch fear prison, doing the bidding of an evil voyeur-god, and apparently the only way out of its unfathomable contract is to gouge my eyes out.”

“Right,” Jon says with a hollow laugh. “Stupid question.”

“How are you?” Melanie asks with mock cheeriness.

“Same as you, really. Well. Except for the eye-gouging clause.”

“What, don’t have the stomach for it?”

“No, uh – it… it just won’t work for me, is all.” Staring down at his lap, Jon occupies himself with tracing circles onto one knee with his fingernail. “The Beholding isn’t keen on losing its Archivist.”

“It didn’t mind losing Gertrude.”

“Gertrude… wasn’t as far gone as I am,” Jon says quietly. “She never fully embraced the power the Eye offered. Not to the extent that I did. Blinding herself would have released her from the Eye’s service. She planned on it, actually, but Elias got to her first. And she was still human enough for a gunshot to kill her.”

And wasn’t that a release, in a way? Is it morbid for Jon to envy the fact that Gertrude even had that option available to her?

“Right,” is all Melanie says. She sounds dubious.

“I’m not just speculating a worst-case scenario to give myself an excuse not to go through with it.” Jon can feel himself bristling now. “I know it won’t work. I’ve tried. Multiple times. It hurts like hell, and then I heal. All I got out of it was an onset of chronic cluster headaches – though, who knows,” he adds acidly, “that may have just been the side effect of becoming a linchpin of the apocalypse and having all the world’s terror crammed into my head. I didn’t bother Knowing. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Jon,” Georgie says gently – and all the fight goes out of him, shoulders slumping.

“Sorry,” he sighs. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“I wasn’t scolding you. It’s just – you’re scratching.”

Oh. Jon looks down to see long, angry red scratches on his forearms, already fading now.

“Sorry,” he says again. “Didn’t notice.”

“It’s alright.”

Another awkward pause, until Melanie breaks the silence.

“Are you sure blinding will work for the rest of us?” she asks. She no longer sounds suspicious. Simply… curious: reminiscent of how things used to be, back when she was an avid investigator, beholden only to herself.

“Yes.”

“Did I…? Last time?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Jon waits until Melanie gives a firm nod before he answers the question. “You did.”

“And it worked.”

“It worked.”

Melanie nods again. She’s clenching her teeth, if the subtle movements in her jaw are any indication. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly – and her shoulders relax. By the time she’s opened her eyes, there’s the hint of a smile on her face.

“Good,” she says, equal parts relief and determination.

“S-so, do you think you’ll –” Jon stops himself, shaking his head. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

Melanie simply shrugs. “I haven’t made a decision yet. Let’s just say I’m strongly considering it.”

Georgie’s hand tightens on Melanie’s, worry lining her face.

“Tell me what happened last time?” Melanie says. “I’d like to hear the whole story.”

Jon takes a deep breath, rubbing his arms as he orders his thoughts.

“Last time, I didn’t know about the bullet until after I woke up,” he begins. “I, ah, only saw you briefly – you were, um… you were convinced that I wasn’t me anymore. Didn’t want me anywhere near you.”

Thought I should have been the one to die, he doesn’t add. Most days, Jon couldn’t find fault in that assessment. He didn’t want to die – most of the time, anyway – but if he could have traded his life for Tim’s… well, it wouldn’t have been a difficult decision.

“So how did you find out about it, then?”

“I just… Knew it, all of a sudden.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melanie narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“It’s an Archivist thing. I mean, you're probably already aware – I just… Know things, sometimes, even without compelling anyone. It started before the Unknowing, but it wasn’t as noticeable. Or as often. And it was typically more vague impressions, rather than specific truths. It got worse after I woke up from the coma. More frequent, more detailed, more – intrusive.”

“Fantastic,” Melanie says sourly.

“Yes, I’m not thrilled about it either. Sometimes I can Know things by choice, but the Beholding has a tendency to withhold answers to the questions I actually ask. Mostly it just airdrops information on me unsolicited. Often without me even wondering about a thing. Just… apropos of nothing. I did have much more control over it after the world ended, but, well…” He shrugs, awkward. “Not anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Melanie repeats.

“Last time, I had – still have, I suppose – a tendency to Know things about specific people. Things they wouldn’t normally share with me. I still remember things I Knew back then. Including some things about you.”

The color rises in Melanie’s cheeks. “That’s –”

“An invasion of privacy, I know,” he says, contrite. “I really will try to avoid it, just… sometimes things slip through the cracks when I’m not paying attention.”

“So, what, you can read minds?” Melanie says, an accusation threaded through the question. “Like Elias?”

Jon visibly recoils.

“Melanie,” Georgie begins, but Jon cuts her off.

“No, it’s – it’s a fair question. Elias’ powers come from the same source mine do.” He pauses, nervously flexing his fingers as he composes an explanation. “I can’t see your thoughts verbatim. It’s just… Knowing things. It’s the same with Elias. Sometimes it seems like he can read minds, b-but that’s – that’s just because he’s very – very good at reading people –”

“– finding you when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable. And when you’re at that point it’s astounding what can crawl into your heart and start to fester there –“

Jon bites his tongue, applying pressure until the Archive stops its clamoring. Melanie raises her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“Sorry. Sometimes it just slips out, and…” He laughs and massages his temples. “Well. Still an Archive, in the end.”

His voice cracks and Georgie’s already-concerned expression grows more serious.

“Jon –”

“I’m fine, Georgie,” Jon says, more curtly than intended. “Sorry. I just – I can’t go there right now.”

“We can take a break if you need,” she says.

“No, I… let’s just continue.” He nods at Melanie. “You have more questions.”

Melanie gnaws on the inside of her cheek for a moment, mulling over her words.

“Can you do that…” She wiggles her fingers vaguely. “That thing where you put thoughts in people’s heads?”

“No. Not – not really.”

Not anymore, he corrects privately. During the apocalypse, he was able to make others See and feel things, but… only because he could call upon the Ceaseless Watcher to turn its gaze upon them. Here in the past, the Beholding and all the other Fears remain cloistered behind their door, leeching through the cracks but unable to fully manifest in the world.

“But I, um…” Jon pauses, wetting his lips nervously. “In addition to compelling people to tell me things, sometimes I can compel people to… to do things. Nothing – nothing complex. Simple commands, mostly. ‘Stop,’ ‘leave,’ ‘look,’ ‘don’t look,’ that sort of thing. I haven’t done it often, but the times I have… with a few exceptions, it’s usually been accidental. A sort of – knee-jerk defense mechanism of sorts.”

“Hmm.” Melanie crosses her arms, tapping her foot on the ground.

“I realize that reflects poorly on me.” He swallows, mouth going dry. “It’s… a terrifying prospect, being near someone who can do something like that, and doesn’t have full control over it.”

Jon knows – and Knows via billions of proxies – what it’s like to have something other supplant his will and commandeer his body. Melanie deserves to know the risks of standing too close to him.

“I promise I’ll try to keep it under control, I just – wanted you to be aware of it. I won’t blame you if you’d rather not be around me.”

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Melanie says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not,” Jon says flatly. “Compelling answers and – and subsisting on a diet of fear has always been more than enough to justify people keeping their distance. Adding more sinister bullshit on top of the pile doesn’t exactly do me credit. I know – Know how people see me.” He laughs, a harsh and humorless thing. “I can’t not Know.”

People tend to naturally give him a wide berth, as if they can sense that there’s something wrong about him, even if they can’t quite discern why. If he’s too careless, if he locks eyes with the wrong person, sometimes they can’t look away – and sometimes he can’t, either, and he’s forced to watch as the terror dawns in their eyes. Just like the nightmares, bleeding into his waking life.

Jon can feel when people are afraid; the Archivist in him relishes it, gravitates towards it like a flower turning to face the sun, soaks it in regardless of whether or not he wants it. And there is always a part of him that does want it, that always wants more – and isn’t that fitting, taking a page from the book of his very first monster? He is, quite literally, a thing of nightmares. Helen is right: he is what he is, and there’s no use denying it.

He’s always been hypersensitive to how other people perceive him. Being able to Know how people really feel about him has historically tended to confirm his customary hostile attribution bias. Vicariously feeling the reality of others’ hatred and fear of him, passively basking in it, being forced to derive sustenance from it – god, it’s like cannibalizing his own vicious self-loathing, a sustainable resource that can be recycled ad infinitum. It takes self-flagellation to a new and perverse extreme.

“I Know when people don’t want to be near me,” he says, unable to suppress the bitterness in his tone. “When someone nearby is afraid, I feel it – as natural as sensing the temperature in a room. I feed on it. It’s an automatic process. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not bask in the knowledge of how much the other people in the room can’t stand breathing the same air as me, if I can avoid it.”

“Jon,” Georgie tries again, “I know how things used to be, but –”

“It’s different now, I know. But the Eye tends to prioritize – well, unpleasant impressions. I know it’s only giving me one side of the story. That there’s more, even if I can’t See it. But fear is loud. Doesn’t leave room for mindfulness.”

Georgie has a reply ready, but Melanie speaks first.

“Okay. I get it.” At Jon’s blank expression, Melanie heaves a sigh – aggravated, but not hostile. “It’s like how anger was for me, okay? Rage has a way of drowning out everything else. Reliable, when nothing else can be trusted. Makes things clearer, simpler. Made me feel more… alive, real.” She hesitates, crossing her arms and shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Nourishing. Sort of. I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, picking aimlessly at his sleeve.

“I’ll just avoid being in the same room as you when I’m… having a day,” she continues. Jon nods. “Or you can just tell me to go away if I’m – I don’t know, giving off rancid vibes, or whatever.”

Jon breathes a surprised, amused huff. “Well. Same goes for you, I suppose.”

He’s even more shocked to see a grin twitch to life on Melanie’s face – very small, but present all the same. Then, appearing to take pity on him, she changes the subject.

“So, you Knew about the bullet.”

“Yes,” Jon says, grateful for the opportunity to move on. “But not until a couple weeks after I got out of the hospital. Didn’t even realize I Knew it until I said it aloud.”

“Meaning it had more time to poison me, where you’re from. Was I… worse?”

“Well, the first time I saw you after I came back, you attacked me on sight, so… maybe? But I don’t really have a point of comparison. That was the only time I saw you up until we removed it, so I don’t know how much you deteriorated in the interim. And this time, I only saw you after the bullet had already been removed.”

“I attacked you?” She doesn’t sound surprised, really. More… intrigued.

“In your defense, you didn’t think I was me anymore. Tim died, Daisy was presumed dead, and I was still alive.” He knows that, of the three of them, Melanie wouldn’t have picked Jon to be the survivor. I hope it hurts, she’d said in her testament. Instead, he slept for six months and then woke up wrong. “You were angry, and afraid, and you had a bullet in your leg making it worse. You needed someone to blame, and Elias was beyond your reach.”

So I was the next best thing, he doesn’t say. Bitterness aside, Jon can’t say he blames her.

Melanie narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Then how the hell did you convince me to have it removed?”

“We, uh… we didn’t. I told Basira first. She – didn’t think you would have agreed. So, we…” Jon forces himself to meet Melanie’s eyes as he gives the confession. “We performed some amateur surgery. Without your consent. Basira procured some local anesthetic, and the Eye let me See where the bullet was, how to remove it with… minimal damage. You were using some rather strong sleep aids, at the time, so you slept through most of it. You only woke up once the bullet was out. And you, uh, promptly stabbed me with the scalpel, though I – I probably deserved that.”

“What the fuck, Jon.”

“I – I know, I know. I’m – well, it might be – odd, to apologize for something that never happened from your perspective? But I am sorry. It wasn’t right, for us to do it that way. We should have asked you.”

“I might not have agreed.” Her voice is tightly controlled, but there’s still a quiet sort of fury simmering just under the words.

“No, uh – probably not. You said later that the anger was always there. Motivating you to keep going. Helping you survive. The Slaughter validated that rage. Made it feel like home.” Melanie stares, unblinking. “You told me the bullet stayed because you wanted it, and… we took that choice from you, decided what was in your best interests without asking you how you felt about it.”

Melanie is quiet for a few more moments, glaring at the floor, before her eyes flick back up to meet Jon's. “What would have happened if you didn’t get it out of me?”

“I can’t say for certain, but it’s likely that you would have become a Slaughter Avatar. Reached a point of no return.”

She scoffs. “So it was worth it, in the end?”

“I don’t know. I want to say yes. You saw me as a monster, and I doubt you would have wanted to become like me. Something inhuman, feeding on suffering. But…”

“But?”

“It’s easy to look at how things ultimately worked out for you and use that outcome to justify what we did,” he says, “but I – I’m not fond of the idea that the ends justify the means. I didn’t know at the time that you and Georgie were this close. If I did, maybe I could have asked her to talk to you, except…”

“We weren’t speaking,” Georgie says.

“Yeah. I – honestly don’t know what else we could have done, but… still, the way we went about it was wrong. You were trapped here like the rest of us, and we… we stole the only thing that gave you some semblance of control. What we did was a violation of your autonomy. I know that feeling, I know how it feels to…” Jon shakes his head. “We saved your life, or – your humanity, at least, but in doing so we took away your choice. Subjected you to more trauma, made it so you couldn’t feel safe anywhere. Eventually you quit, and you and Georgie seemed happy together after that, but the fact that you were able to start healing – that doesn’t change the fact that we hurt you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

“This place,” Melanie says with a breathless laugh.

“Yeah. It’s… not known for presenting benign choices. I’m, ah… I’m glad that this time, it was your own choice.”

“And what if I had still said no?”

“I probably would’ve given you the line about becoming a monster like me. I would have told you what happened last time – or, told Georgie and let her tell you, more likely, if only to avoid any, ah… stabbiness.” Melanie huffs, but it sounds amused rather than offended. “And if you still decided to choose the Slaughter after being fully informed… well, it wasn’t my place to take the choice away from you.”

“Even if I wasn’t in my right mind?” she asks.

“Even if you weren’t in your right mind.”

Melanie’s stare is piercing, scanning him for any signs of dishonesty. Eventually, she folds her arms and leads back in her chair with a hmm.

“What?” Jon asks, heart in his throat.

“Just – unexpected. Would’ve expected you to make a unilateral decision.”

Truthfully, Jon doesn’t trust himself to make those kinds of decisions. Last time, he’d let Basira call the shot. Not only did he trust her judgment more than his own – secretly, selfishly, he was relieved to abdicate at least some of the responsibility. He doubts that his conscience would have been able to carry the full burden of that choice.

Later, during the apocalypse, he had made an executive decision on someone else’s behalf: Jordan Kennedy. In that instance, there was no one with whom he could share the blame. Although it was intended as an act of mercy, Jon cannot deny that he created an unwilling Avatar – stripped a man of his humanity and reshaped him into something other, same as had been done to Jon.

The people in that domain would have continued to suffer just the same whether it was controlled by an Avatar or a hivemind of ants. At least this way, one person could be spared the torture. But it didn’t save anyone. It did not even end Jordan’s suffering, only transformed it into a different, hypothetically more endurable but still horrific shape – one that Jon knew all too intimately.

It was done with merciful intentions, and he may have given Jordan the choice to reverse it – a choice that Jon has never been given himself – but making that decision for Jordan in the first place… well, at the end of the day, Jon could never shake the feeling that he’d taken a page out of Jonah’s playbook. It wasn’t the same, but it felt… adjacent, too much so for comfort.

The choice has haunted Jon ever since. It eats away at him every time he sees Jordan in his nightmares, whenever Jordan watches him with the same dread that he does Jane Prentiss. Yet, Jon still cannot say for certain whether he would do anything differently, if faced with Jordan’s agonized pleading a second time.

But as for Melanie’s particular situation…

“I know what it’s like to have someone else decide on your destiny for you,” he says quietly.

Melanie looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“Look, I – I understand why you resent me. Elias used you to further the Archivist’s progress. Same as he used Tim, Sasha, and Martin, and Basira and Daisy, and Helen… even Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew, Jude Perry – and Jared, Manuela, Peter… everyone, everyone who crosses his path is either irrelevant or a stepping stone. Which means that everyone who crosses my path suffers.”

Stop, Jon tells himself, shutting his eyes tight against the first stirrings of panic lapping at the edges of his mind. It’s pathetic, he thinks, how easily he sinks into this headspace. Jon’s mutinous brain does all of Jonah’s work for him – like prodding at a recent wound, just to see if it still hurts, even knowing full well that it only sabotages the healing process. Stupid, pointless. Just stop dwelling on it.

He can’t.

“All of it – all of it was to create the Archive to his specifications –”

“– bound together – I would look at him, and see a grim sort of destiny for myself: trapped here, until I became him; any future I might have had, sacrificed to his –”

“– and I just – I don’t want people to look at me and – and see him. Or the Beholding –”

“– keeping its prisoners ignorant in pursuit of… knowledge –”

“– I've spent enough time being synonymous with the Eye. I don’t want it. I never wanted it, even if I did choose to – to keep looking for answers –”

“– idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing –”

“– I can’t reverse that, but I can still make it difficult for Elias to get any use out of me. But I’m sorry – I’m sorry that I let him do it for so long –”

“– any idiot could have seen it would play out that way –”

“– I’m sorry you got dragged into all this. I wish I could have gone back to the very beginning, back to the day I took the job, and – god, I thanked Elias for the opportunity, and he – he smiled, because he knew, he knew I would be easily manipulated, knew everything about me – knew all about –”

Thankfully, Georgie interrupts his heated muttering and brings that thought train to a jarring halt. Or – no, she's been saying his name, but he's only just now heard it.

“Jon,” she says, loudly but calmly. She's leaning forward in her seat, hand prepared to reach over to him. “You’re scratching again.”

So he is. Badly. As soon as he stops, the scratches along his forearms heal, leaving only drying blood behind: thin, messy streaks painted across his skin and caked under his fingernails. He should probably clip them shorter, at this rate.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling his sleeves down to hide his arms. “I’m just – sorry.”

“Change the subject?” Georgie offers, lowering her arm.

“I think that would be best,” Jon agrees, discomfited and more than a little annoyed with himself. Will he ever be able to spare a thought for Jonah Magnus without completely unraveling in the process? Hell, will he ever be able to go a day without sparing a single thought for Jonah Magnus at all? Okay, no, stop harping, he reprimands himself. “Just – give me a minute.”

Jon forces himself to take several breaths until he can no longer hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Once he regathers his composure, he meets Melanie’s eyes again.

“What I mean to say is – I owe you a lot of apologies, Melanie. I was dismissive of you when we first met, and it just sort of – snowballed from there.”

“It was mutual, I think,” Melanie says guardedly.

“Still, I was – unprofessional, at the very least. And unnecessarily cruel. It was my job to be impartial, but I didn’t have to be callous. Most of the statements that come in aren’t real, but they aren’t impossible, either. And even if a story was due to – substance use, or mental illness, or – or even just an overactive imagination… most people who came in still believed that their story was true. Their distress was genuine. They deserved comfort, not ridicule, regardless of whether or not their story actually happened the way they remembered. And beyond that, it was… poor research methodology, really, to refuse to entertain the possibility of a story’s veracity simply because of my first impression of a statement giver.” His voice grows quieter. “Or because of my own baggage.”

“Your own baggage?”

“I, ah…” Jon deliberates for a brief moment on whether to share this part of himself. It seems only fair, given the personal details he knows about the rest of them. And… telling Daisy had felt cathartic in its own way, hadn't it? “I had a supernatural experience of my own once. Before working at the Institute, I mean. I was a child, so of course it was chalked up to an overactive imagination. And then at some point I was too old to still be afraid of monsters.”

Jonathan, this has gotten out of hand, his grandmother had told him with hands on her hips, exasperated after once again finding every door and cupboard in the house thrown open. Ten is too old to be sleeping with the lights on and checking closets for monsters.

And with that, she had closed the closet doors, flicked the light off, and pulled his bedroom door shut on her way out. He had clung desperately to the hope that she would at least leave the hall light on – but moments later the thin strip of light filtering through the crack under the door was snuffed out. When he heard the click of his grandmother's bedroom door down the hall, he'd dissolved into tears. Turning his face into his pillow to muffle his sobs so as not to alert her to yet another of his childish meltdowns, he spent the rest of the night – and countless nights thereafter – sleeping in fitful stops and starts, plagued by phantom knocking and chitinous clicking and creaking doors. He knows now that such sounds were nothing more than hypnopompic hallucinations, the remnants of nightmares chasing him into wakefulness; knows that the web binding him in place and the hulking presence in the room were only symptoms of sleep paralysis; but at the time…

Jon shakes his head.

“The fear doesn’t go away just because people don’t believe it’s based in truth. So, I learned to hide it instead. To stop talking about it, even though I never stopped searching for an answer –”

“– was there when he was taken; he never got over what he saw. Or didn’t see. After much searching and despair, it drove him into the waiting arms of the Institute –”

“– damn,” he hisses, flustered.

“You okay?” Georgie asks.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Just – one moment.”

Pause, breathe, recollect. Listen to the quiet – which really shouldn’t be so difficult, should it? Aren’t archives supposed to be quiet? Why does this library have to be so horrifically noisy? – and breathe, breathe, breathe. Okay.

“What I’m saying is, I coped with it – poorly – with denial. I could never shake the conviction that what I saw was real, no matter how I tried to rationalize it. But I was still afraid that admitting belief in monsters would – draw their attention to me, somehow. Again. And because of that, I was… unsympathetic, to people who were genuinely afraid. The last thing they needed was derisive skepticism. Or projection. I know what it’s like to not be believed. I shouldn’t have put others through the same thing.”

“Huh.” Melanie looks him up and down. “That’s… unusually insightful for you.”

“I had a lot of time alone to obsess during the apocalypse,” Jon says drily. “Some of it even ended up being productive.” Melanie snorts; Jon gives a cautious smile. “I, ah, also should have tried harder to warn you away from India. Or the Institute in general.”

“And I would have told you to fuck off, because I already didn’t like you, and you would have been just one more in a long line of pompous men acting like they knew better than me.”

Jon laughs. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Look, we just – we both treated each other poorly. You were the easiest target to take my anger out on. Martin’s too nice, Basira was basically a hostage, Daisy is Daisy, and Tim… Tim wasn’t around much, and anyway, he would have thrown whatever I gave him right back in my face. You were a prick, but I think I blamed you more than was fair. And I guess… you were – are – trapped as much as the rest of us. So. I’m sorry too.”

“Well, it’s not like I tried to make a good first impression.”

“Neither did I.” She glowers at him, daring him to challenge her. “Accept the apology or don’t, but don’t throw it back in my face.”

“Fine,” Jon sighs. “I accept the apology.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

“Excruciating,” he deadpans.

Georgie snorts. Melanie and Jon both look at her with a combined, “What?”

“Just… watching the two of you. I think I may have a type.”

Another simultaneous, “What?”

“Curious, stubborn, temperamental, cute, short…”

“H-hey,” Melanie protests, “I’m at least a few centimeters taller than he is –”

“One-point-eight, actually,” Jon mutters under his breath – and then cracks a smile, encouraged by Georgie’s bright, surprised laugh. Melanie just glares at him.

“You know,” Melanie says, “you make it very hard to like you sometimes.”

“Sorry.” He’s not sorry at all. Shooting Georgie an indignant glance, he adds: “Also, I’m not cute.”

“I’m sure Martin would beg to differ,” Georgie teases. Jon sighs, arms crossed and face uncomfortably warm. “Well, anyway…” Georgie grins, looking between the two of them. “Does this mean… truce?”

Melanie gives Jon another long, searching look, and Jon forces himself to meet her eyes.

“Yeah, alright,” she says after a moment, then looks down, bouncing her heel against the floor. “Seems the only one who isn’t trapped and miserable is Elias. And you’re not him. Or working with him. So.” She shrugs one shoulder. “That just makes you one of us. I guess.” When Jon doesn’t reply, she glances back up at him. “What’s that face for?”

“That, uh…” Speechless, Jon roots around for something substantial to say. Instead, one corner of his mouth quirks up as he says, with tentative daring: “That might just be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me, is all.”

“Yeah, well…” Melanie scoffs, but there’s a hint of amusement in it now. “I’m still going to call you out when you’re being a dick, mind.”

“A public service, really,” Jon says, wry and more than a little elated.

An invitation to playful bickering as opposed to scathing antagonism is, as far as he and Melanie are concerned, an undeniable olive branch.

End Notes:

Jon: my type is Aggressively Idealistic Existentialists Who Give Amazing Hugs, apparently Georgie: and my type is Short Nerds With Strong Feelings About Basically Everything ~*mlm/wlw solidarity*~ But seriously though,,, I love the idea of Georgie and Martin meeting the End and the Vast, respectively, and basically going "hey why don't you read some Camus and maybe you'll calm down???" I may or may not be projecting. I need them and Oliver to have a philosophy book club. Actually everyone else can come too. Basira strikes me as the type to have some Strong Opinions about Certain Philosophers and yes sure that dude may have died ages ago and maybe she shouldn't take it so personally but if she found a Leitner that let her temporarily resurrect him for an hour she might just do so if only for the opportunity to debate his pompous ass in a Tesco parking lot. (I, once again, may or may not be projecting. I was a philosophy minor and I WILL pepper in the fact that I hate Kant. You cannot hold this against me.)

____

Citations for Jon's Archive-speak are as follows, in order of appearance: MAG 094; 153; 144/101/111/014; 101.

Martin's "I think our experience of the universe has value, even if it disappears forever" quote is from MAG 151 and yes it IS one of my all time favorite Martin quotes, how could you tell

Disclaimer re: how Jon talks about his ace identity: I'm ace & projecting a bit, like I do with Jon's ADHD/neurodivergence. The way I describe ace stuff is not meant to be reflective of all ace-spec people's experiences.

would you believe me if I said the whole 'deservedness' spiel was written before the latest episode??? bc it was and then I read the newest ep transcript and I was like "oh"

Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, btw. funny story: I accidentally let the prescription for my ADHD meds expire and I had to go like four days without them before I could go get another paper script bc it's one they can't submit electronically or call in, soooo I got fuck-all done for half of that week and it broke my writing flow :0  hoping to get back into my usual flow from here on out and manage to have the next chapter ready in 2ish weeks, but we shall see. Thanks for sticking with me <3  (I might start shortening chapters again, the last few have been 10k+ compared to the earlier 6-8k and I could probably stand to split them up a bit.)

Speaking of the next chapter - yes, I AM planning on moving the plot forward I swear. I realize the last few chapters have basically taken place within a single week and have been mostly People Talking About Things, RIP.  

And as always, thank you for reading, and for all your comments! <3 They're basically 50% of my regular serotonin intake. The other 50% is my cat's motorboat purring.