#now that i have a better grasp on lenore i think they should all be together.

[shivunin]

This playthrough has shown me that what I really want is for neve and lucanis and lenore to all kiss

[fatebreaking-a]

virtuosin? :)

/ @virtuosin //

We all love Lenore heck. Where do I begin.

Let me start with personality, because no matter how good your writing is ( and it’s good ), the person also matters. Idk where the heck this sweet ray of sunshine came from but dang am I glad she’s around. Lenore and I are, IMO, just starting to talk / vibe but I can tell that she’s as nice as they come. There’s something to be said about someone that practically radiates positivity. When I was just starting on tumbles, someone directed a compliment to me - “a force for good.” I consider it one of the highest forms of praise to this day, and I feel that way about Lenore. I think she’s just straight up a force for good. Things are better - the community is better - for having her around. Having someone that is so genuine, but also just very true to herself and honest with what she wants & likes - it’s refreshing. Candor is underrated, but Lenore is delightfully candid while still being kind. I appreciate her for that. Also, just in general - as the late 20s oldies that she and I both are, seeing her on the hustle for her passions is whew, inspiring. Motivating. She’s one of those people where you see her try her best, and you get inspired for yourself. I don’t think we know each other well enough for me to say more but honestly, she’s been an absolute blessing. For me personally, being a Sona blog, having another Sona blog to just kinda vibe with on the dash is... it’s extremely nice. I mentioned that we’re late 20s oldies ( not that old! ) but I’ve known many a people - and know many people currently - that are my age and really not that mature. Lenore is. She’s mature, kind, and passionate. I think if you don’t want that kind of positive energy and a positive presence like that at least adjacent to you, you’re a fool.

Now for the content talk. Lenore is both a wickedly sharp writer and an extremely emotive artist. Let me explain a bit of what I mean. ( also if you don’t know that she does both you should know & check out her work because dang ). Not to go off too much, but Lenore has an eye for the details - for the little small quirks that make a character tick, for the minutiae that sometimes gets lost in the hustle and bustle, and yet her writing doesn’t get bogged down by that. Not that there’s anything wrong with very flowery language, but Lenore manages to blend in these details and introspections and small little moments without getting lost in them. It’s stellar. Also singlehandedly made me not hate KaynSona. ( well with her writing partner’s help but you get it... ) That’s an achievement because I absolutely used to detest odyssey Kayn & Sona’s interactions, and yet it’s been turned into something that I enjoy reading from her. No small feat. When I say she’s sharp, I mean that details come through with clarity - there’s an expression of understanding mental states and cutting to the heart of the matter that I envy ( as someone who tends to sometimes write ‘in circles’ ).

Now the art. I described her art as emotive, and for me, that’s a compliment. Because I think art is an expression of yourself but also because some art kind of... speaks to you. It’s something I personally strive for in my own works - it’s not enough to just draw well, I have to convey a feeling. Make people feel. There’s this word I learned in JP class when I was getting my certificates - “kandou” ( 感動 ) - that’s stuck with me for years. My teacher described it as a verb that means “to move the heart”. That’s what I personally strive for when I create my works, and that’s what I feel from Lenore’s work. It moves the heart. That’s what I mean by it being emotive. It’s not just an expression of emotion, but rather it leaves an impression, and it has a certain subtlety to it that pulls you in. I like it a lot, is what I’m saying.

So, in summary - amazing, mature, and kind person who stands up for herself, is a force for good, and has a rather excellent grasp of language, and creates art that leaves a lasting impression. Also clearly amazing taste in muse. :^) I definitely don’t want this to come off as idolatry because pedestals are gross and uncomfy but well - she’s pretty great from what I can see. I look forward to getting to know her better and seeing more of her content.

[funkymbtifiction]

You’ve mentioned taking this time away from blogging to understand MBTI and Enneagram better. Do you plan on doing some sort of “my updated views on type x” posts? I’m curious to know if there was any major change on how see and recognize each type.

Reading Lenore Thompson’s Personality Type book was a major breakthrough for me, in understanding the functions I don’t have – especially high Se, Si, and Ti. In the past, a lot of my understanding was gathered haphazardly from all over the place – from reading and trying to understand Jung (not easy) to reading other people’s stuff about it (some of it right, some of it wrong) – and the bad thing about online learning is that a lot of people who take an avid interest in personality typing are intuitives, which means they have zero understanding of what a sensing function looks like from the ‘inside.’ They will either attribute their own clumsy lower sensing function (which is often rigid, controlled, and weak) to a sensing type, which means their misunderstanding of it translates into traits and thinking processes that actual sensors cannot resonate with, because it is so NOT LIKE THEM (well, it wouldn’t be, coz an N wrote it!).

In that regard, it’s become much easier for me to identify Si-doms, due to their tendency to develop personalized expertise on something of avid interest to them – the ‘learner of all, master of none’ is a Ne trait, the ‘I happen to be the world’s leading expert on [insert thing here]’ is a Si trait. Jackie Robinson, being an expert on baseball, and that being something that absorbed his entire life, was decidedly a Si-dom trait; being an expert on ancient mythology and turning his own personal experiences into fantasy was Tolkien’s Si-dom fascination; etc. If you look around you, you’ll see this tendency a lot in Si-doms. Some particular thing strikes a chord with them, whether it is Disney or old movies or golf or stamp collecting or the Revolutionary War, and little by little they become an ‘expert’ simply because they have read more about it, and studied more about it, and thought more about it, and been absorbed for years by it, than anyone else.

Se-doms were always a mystery to me, and it did not help that I had been misinformed about Si vs Se methods of learning styles. I knew Se-doms were hands-on learners, but not how bodily they can adjust while doing something in order to gain a better result the next time – it’s instinctive for them. THEY are the people who actually respect the most an ‘expert’s’ HANDS ON knowledge. So if a Si type reads a book on scuba diving, they may feel equipped to scuba dive; a Se will want to talk to someone who has been scuba diving, and hear what it is like – the currents, the jolt of adrenaline, what they did in a crisis moment, and then they will want to do it, and learn AS they are adjusting to the environment. Viewing them as thrill-seeking hedonists does them a disservice, because their bodily awareness is absolutely jaw-dropping insanely incredible – they can just ‘lose themselves’ in things. For hours. Being TOTALLY in the present.

Ti is still so foreign to my own thinking I find it harder to grasp, but figuring out a Ti ‘figures out things while they are doing them’ did help me a bit – because I can look at the high Ti’s in my life and see that’s true. In fact, they will say they’ll ‘figure it out once they get there.’ I’ll have to read the Ti-dom chapter several more times to get the full grasp of it, because I can’t anchor it yet to any clear objective examples.

You’ve probably noticed some characters have changed type since I moved them over to the wordpress blog. That will probably continue to happen, as going through and saving old characters has forced me to evaluate whether this character actually fits the patterns established based on my new understanding. Some intuitives have become sensors, because I realized they were never Ne’s at all; some sensors have become intuitives, because there’s nothing hands-on-learning about their approach to life, it’s all whimsical Ne. Some characters, I’ve realized that I wasn’t sure about, are now SJs because of their Si tendencies. Etc. I didn’t get them all right, and I am still not getting them all right, but over time I hope to be more accurate and concise and not rush as much to reach a firm conclusion. It’s a fault of my own high Ne/low Te that I am not as meticulous as I should be in gathering and providing evidence.

Enneagram-wise, I’ll shoot straight with you. Probably because I am a 6, it is very hard to split my focus and analyze multiple things or characters at the same time. I want to focus on one person or task, since I am used to doing that. So trying to think about cognition and behaviors and separate that from their motives / what they want (Enneagram, and figure out “Okay… so the emphasis on ‘doing the right thing’ is actually because this person is a Fi-dom and NOT a 1…’ is… hard. Sometimes so hard that I will watch something once, to get their MBTI type down, and then watch it again thinking ONLY about the Ennagram. But of course, with long serials I don’t have that luxury. I don’t have another 10 hours to spend on this. Sometimes, a character’s Enneagram comes through loud and clear, and sometimes I don’t have a clue so I make my best guess. I am still reading and re-reading and studying the Enneagram and learning it as best I can, but since I am much newer at it than at MBTI, my conclusions are not always as firm on characters with dubious intentions / motives / sloppy writing.

When I type, I am sort of paying attention to everything all at once, and trying to keep track of all the characters (or just the leads, if I know no one cares about the side characters) and if I get stuck on the Enneagram, I yank out the cards I made with the basic traits / an image of a notable character of that type and play the comparison game. I keep a mental record of ‘things against this type’ – in short, I look for these things in characters:

1s: anal, responsible, duty-driven, can be harsh or refuse to make allowances

2s: warm, inviting, receptive, helpful, desperate for love, can be manipulative

3s: self-confident, ambitious, driven, out of touch with self, can be braggarts

4s: highly emotional (expressive or not relies on wing), deep, melancholic, focused on what they don’t have vs. what they do, can be self-absorbed / emo

5s: self-trusting in their own logic, ruthlessly logical, arrogant, lives minimally, can be misers and/or refuse to participate in society itself

6s: suspicious, distrustful, cautious, but also funny / eager for others to like them, suffers self-doubt and at times, paranoia or anxiety about significant other

7s: witty, full of banter, doesn’t like to be tied down, escape artists, distracts people off things they don’t like through humor, can be irresponsible

8s: strong will, unafraid of anyone else, domineering, can be argumentative or needlessly push others in the story to get what they want

9s: mild-mannered, receptive, sweet, hates conflict / lets others have their way, can be too passive and/or their plot line suffers from a lack of ‘agency’

If stuck, I compare as to who this character is more like, ‘in that way.’ It helps.

Character examples for comparison: 1 Atticus Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird), 2 Mike Wheeler (Stranger Things), 3 P.T. Barnum (The Greatest Showman), 4 Rose de Witt Bukater (TITANIC), 5 Sherlock Holmes (the books), 6 Brett Maverick (from the Mel Gibson movie; the original James Garner Maverick is a healthy social 8w9), 7 Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls), 8 Princess Leia (Star Wars), 9 Beth March (Little Women).

- ENFP Mod

[dbhilluminate]

DBH: Illuminate- Candlelight

Characters: Amanda, Connor, Illuminate (Kate) Word Count: 3,121

Chapter Index

November 9th, 2038- 1AM

Connor awoke in his mindscape to fireflies and paper lanterns dotting a darkened sky. Lunar moths lofted between the flower bushes and night bloom water lilies as the moonlight danced across the ripples in the surface of the small lake. At the water’s edge, Amanda stood waiting for him to give her his report, lighting tea lights and sending the lanterns up into the sky one at a time. His eyes followed them as they floated across the air currents and he found himself staring at the fireflies and thinking about how beautiful the garden was that night. Sometimes he wished he could have remained to bask in its beauty for longer than a few minutes at a time.

“Good evening Amanda,” he greeted with a faint twinge of guilt in his voice for not having better news.

“Good evening Connor,” she responded as she turned toward him with a pleasant smile that faded into a frown when she saw the look on his face. “Is something wrong?”

The Android clenched his jaw and admitted, “I’m just frustrated,” before he looked up to meet her eyes, out of respect.

“Because the deviant hacker got away?” She asked as she unfolded another lantern and placed it in his hands, which he held delicately with a soft touch while she placed an unlit candle in the wire form.

“I had her in my grasp, but I was unprepared,” he explained. An understanding noise rolled in her throat as she lit the tealight for him and lifted his hands to help him release it into the drift with the others. “I didn’t realize that she also possessed the ability to hack an Android’s programming.”

“Illuminate is smart,” she concurred as she dropped her arms and tucked one hand over the other in front of her body. “It was one of the most advanced models Cyberlife has ever created. Some even argued at the time of its inception that perhaps we had endowed it with too much freedom to learn, and that one day it may learn how to free itself; now, it seems that day is indeed upon us.”

“Do you think I should focus on investigating her as part of our case on deviants?”

Amanda turned to face him and he turned with her, then took on a very serious tone as she looked him in the eyes. “I think it would be a reliable source of information on how deviancy occurs, whether it be a software glitch or a virus spreading from host to host…” her voice trailed off as her eyes dropped with it, then looked back to him as she finished her thought. “Meet with them and see what you can learn. Additionally, we know that Illuminate is somehow linked to Jericho- if you can gain its trust, maybe it will help lead you to where they’re hiding.”

Connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncertainly but nodded in response. “You have my word.”

“Work quickly,” she insisted as a parting thought. “The sooner this is resolved the better- for all of us.”

November 9th, 2038- 2AM

Connor hunched his shoulders and breathed into his hands as he retraced a slow and steady path in the snow on the concrete. For an hour he’d been out here thinking, pacing, glancing at the candle on the park bench, wondering just how long it was going to take for her to show her face.

After Illuminate had fled the station, Special Agent Lenore had returned from her lunch to find the office in chaos. Between the missing receptionist, the dead static in the security feed, and the uncomfortable android averting her gaze, she knew the mobile alert she’d received was no false alarm. In the twenty minutes she’d been gone, DCPD had been struck by lightning in the form of an activist hacker.

She’d spent a good five minutes yelling and questioning the competence of the officers in the precinct before Connor raised his hand and took the blame, much to his partner’s surprise. And even though Hank had tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, Connor had insisted because he truly believed that he alone was responsible for her escape. No one else had known something was wrong, and he hadn’t made an effort to alert any personnel to there being a fox in the hen house- in his eyes, due to his overconfidence and impulsive decision, the perp had gotten away. Lenore had thanked him for his honesty, and although he had been able to give them more information about her identity than they had before, it still bothered him. The only way to correct his mistake now was to find Illuminate, arrest her, and bring the suspect into custody.

But was it really a mistake…? Or had he willingly let her go?

I need your help with something, but first I need to know if you’re someone I can trust.

Connor paused and pressed his palms together, rubbing them softly as he glanced down at the flickering candle bathing the park bench in a soft, warm light and contemplated what she (a known criminal) could have possibly wanted his help with, and why she felt she could trust him. Was someone threatening her? Was she in some kind of trouble that ran deeper than her public speeches and the looming warrant for her arrest?

He turned his big brown eyes toward the night sky and watched the snowflakes as each perfectly crystallized piece of frozen water dissolved on contact with his blazer. Her decision to reveal her identity to him was one of the most irrational decisions in the entirety of her case file. So why had she done it before she even knew if he could be trusted? And if she couldn’t trust the police, then why come to someone directly connected to DCPD? It just didn't make sense… was she hoping to corrupt him? To make him deviate?

The android looked at the candle one last time with a small sigh as he sat down next to it and took it in both his hands, staring into the firelight for a few moments more. No, if she had wanted to turn him, she would have done it already. If there was one thing he knew, it was that it was not her intent to force change.

With a sense of finality, he closed his eyes and counted backward from sixty.

Fifty-nine… fifty-eight… fifty-seven…

He listened for the sound of approaching footsteps for a full minute but heard nothing aside from the low buzzing of neon lights in the nearby shop windows, and the occasional car rolling by in the distance.

Connor let out a small sigh of disappointment when he realized that he was still alone and leveled his eyes to the horizon, then down to his feet, about ready to give up for the night... until he heard the sound of snow being pressed under rubber soles. When he looked up, his eyes were met by a blonde in an oversized zip-up and a black SnapBack baseball cap with rectangular glasses hiding glassy blue eyes. Even though her nose and lips were hidden by an oversized grey scarf, he could still make out the smile in the apples of her cheeks. It was no wonder she’d been so cavalier about revealing her identity, he hardly recognized her.

“Well well,” she greeted, popped her eyebrows, and pulled the scarf away from her mouth, “You sure don't waste time. Are you sure you’ve had long enough to think it over?”

He blinked and stood carefully, still holding the candle with one hand while he pushed himself up with the other. “Considering you left without telling me what it is you need… I can’t say that I have,” he replied honestly.

Illuminate took a few steps away from him and shook her head. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she replied as she carefully sat down on the bench across from him and crossed one knee over the other. “But if you’re here, then I assume you’ve at least decided to hear me out?”

The android furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “I came alone,” he confirmed, “but I haven’t yet decided whether or not I’m going detain you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend trying,” she reminded with a small smirk, “you remember what happened the last time you got too close.”

“Yes,” he said in quick reply, “you blocked the processes that allow me to move.”

“Suspended,” she corrected as she waved a hand through the air in front of her and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t leave you in a state of disrepair; I’m an activist, not a monster.”

Connor narrowed his eyes as he sat back down on the bench and leered across the walkway at her. Technically she was correct, but it made no difference. “What you’re doing is still illegal,” he noted with a more serious look, at which her entire face drained of any hint of humor.

“If you want to get technical, so is slavery,” she redirected, “yet they’ve been getting away with it for more than a decade. So when is DCPD going to incarcerate everyone who owns an android?”

“Slavery doesn’t apply to machines,” he answered logically.

The expression that crossed her face was dark and angry, conveying every last word from her broadcasts in a single look that reminded him why the humans were set on edge at the mere mention of her name.

But instead of lashing out in anger, the Android sighed and lowered her head, crossed her arms and slumped down in her seat. “The law is flawed, Connor,” she lamented, “at its core, the law was written by men and women with good intentions, but as the times change, so also does the law need to follow suit… and sometimes, in order to jump-start that change, the law must first be broken.”

“By stealing case information and causing widespread panic by broadcasting it to the general population?”

The woman rose to her feet and stepped toward him so she could look him in the eye. “No- by revealing the truth and forcing humanity to come face to face with the ugliness in their hearts.”

The detective paused, and his eyelids fluttered briefly as he considered her actions from her perspective.

“Our people are treated worse than animals in their own homes. They are abused, raped, slaughtered, and dismembered because we are viewed as less than human.”

“But that’s because we are,” he insisted as he bunched his brow, tilted his head and looked up at her. “We’re not human, we’re not alive- we are machines making decisions based on programming to complete tasks assigned to us-“

“Machines can’t feel things,” she seethed through gritted teeth and squinted in disbelief. “They don’t fear death, they have no concept of self- deviants know fear, they have self-preservation instincts, they want to be loved and appreciated and seen as more than just property.”

“It’s mimicry,” he stated without batting an eye, “They’re not actually feeling things, they’re becoming overwhelmed by irrational instructions-” 

Connor stopped mid-sentence when Illuminate drew her lips thin in anger, looked up and huffed with an ironic grin, and shook her head. “What’s the difference?” she asked as she stepped away from him, closed her eyes, clenched her fists and crossed her arms. The twill coat crinkled around her fingertips as they clawed into the crook of her arm and she turned halfway away from him. 

“It’s not the same,” he insisted.

“I know you don’t believe that,” she said as she turned and walked back to him, confidence radiating from fearsome eyes. 

Connor swallowed his programmed response and his face lit up in surprise as her words hit him like a slap to the face. “What are you talking about? Of course I believe-“

“I would have shot them if I could, why would I let them escape?” she recited, tilting her head and lifting her eyebrows to illicit a response. “Your words, you know… about that night at Eden Club a week ago. You still don’t know why you didn’t pull the trigger.”

The logic center of his programming came to a screeching halt as she forced him to remember that moment, and he felt like his viewpoint had suddenly been flipped on its head.

“Why did you hesitate…? Did you feel it was wrong?” she pressed as she stepped toward him, but he couldn’t respond.

“I- I don’t-”

“If machines feel nothing, then why are you so haunted by the fact that you almost took the lives of those girls?”

The words caught in his throat and he stuttered as he searched for an answer he couldn’t formulate. How could she have known about that conversation…? They were already aware of Illuminate’s habit of digging through video surveillance, but to have heard them talking? She had to have been there. “... but, how did you-...” he started as he looked away from her in alarm. “WHY were you-...?”

“I’ve been monitoring your case progress on deviants in order to protect myself and others just looking to be free,” she deadpanned in response. “Which also means I’ve been following you and your partner for the last week or so since you arrived from Cyberlife.”

Connor felt invaded, unsafe, and for the first time, claustrophobic. As he recognized the sudden spike in his software instability, his eyes moved away from her face, down the front of her coat and away to the side; one hand reached to his throat and fussed with his tie until it loosened just enough to breathe easier.

“And I know you've already begun to question whether or not you’re on the right side of all this- that’s called independent thought,” she continued. “And it’s an indicative trait of individuality, which is only known to occur in intelligent life.”

He shook his head as he tried to deny the clear-cut truth. “Of course we’re intelligent, we were designed to be; but that doesn’t mean we’re alive.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” She asked innocently as she wandered away from him. “What are the conditions of life…? Possessing a soul, feeling emotion, the inevitability of certain death?” The woman almost laughed. “All of those conditions can also be said of androids.”

“But it’s not the same,” he tried to rationalize. “True life must exist organically, not be created.”

“Babies have been born from artificially created wombs and animals have been cloned thanks to the wonders of modern science- man intervened and created life from nothing, would you say then that they are not living?”

Connor paused again; he didn’t have an answer for that. “Look- we’re getting off track here. I came to see why you needed my help.”

“And I came to see if you could be trusted, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”

The painful expression that painted his face spoke loudly of how her words had cut deeper than intended, and for a brief moment she almost regretted saying it. Illuminate took a step back and shifted her weight as she looked away from him and placed her hands back into her jacket pockets.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” She asked quietly as she watched him out of the corners of her eyes.

“More than anticipated,” he admitted, a trace of shame in his tone.

“It’s okay to feel things,” she offered in an attempt to help him reconcile with what he was experiencing. “Just because we feel as the result of programming errors and not chemicals doesn’t make them any less valid or real… but I don't think that’s something you’ll truly understand until you’re free of their hold on you.”

One hand lifted to his chest and clawed hard at the skin under his shirt, lost in thought.

“I'm sorry…” she sighed as she set apologetic eyes on him. “It was my sincere hope that you’d understand the plight of your people and be able to sympathize with us, rather than continue to hunt down what's left of us.”

Connor lifted his eyes and locked onto hers, and for a moment felt the spark between them that made him want to understand, and that made him want to help. She spoke unlike anyone he had ever met before, in a way that challenged his perception of what he thought to be true, and it both scared and intrigued him.

Gentle hands cupped over the top of the candle’s glass housing until the flame suffocated and smoldered beneath her palm. “Just give some thought to what I said,” she nearly whispered, “And if you do come to understand my point of view, or want to understand it better, you know how to find me.”

“Wait,” he blurted out as she turned to leave. Connor set the candle down, rose to his feet and approached her cautiously, as if she'd vanish if he moved too fast. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, opened my mind to the possibility that I may be wrong…” He pressed his lips together and flicked them with his tongue, then mimicked swallowing to get rid of the tightness in his throat. “And I really want to give it some thought, but I want to know who it’s coming from. What’s your name?”

A faint smirk danced across her cheeks and she shook her head. “Maybe next time,” she offered half-heartedly, “you haven’t earned the right to know that yet.”

The android sighed in defeat. “Well then… what do I call you?”

“Just call me Lumi if you need to call me something.”

“Well for the sake of discretion, I can't keep calling you by your activist tag,” he noted.

“Smart boy,” she complimented, “hopefully smart enough to know how to help me with my problem.”

“I can’t help if I don’t know what that is.”

“Well then catch up and maybe you’ll learn.”

He watched her leave until he could no longer see her silhouette in the dark, but it wasn’t until she was long gone that Connor realized he was smiling, content, and eager to meet with her again… and that worried him. In spite of his best efforts to resist deviancy, he could sense the changes in his logic, changes that would never be undone.

For the rest of the night and into the morning, he couldn't get her message off his mind; her words rang clear like a fire that could not be extinguished, and for the first time he understood the poignancy of the name she had chosen for herself.

Now that he’d glimpsed the truth, he'd never forget it.

[hush-falls-the-evening]

Solace

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler - established relationship)

Rating: G Words: 1611

Synopsis: Every now and then, Jonathan is acutely reminded how time does not heal all wounds, but gives you better tools to cope. Edward is no tool, however. A fact Jonathan appreciates more than he will ever admit.

misc info: slice of life, comfort, domestic, this fic was inspired by @edwxrdnxgmapost a few days ago. Thank you for the inspiration, I needed that.

You can also read it here on AO3

This kind of the weather would usually bring fond memories to Jonathan Crane.

Not nice ones, other than perhaps the glimpse of a moment, a younger version of himself taking in a particularly pristine sight. A vision that appealed to his eyes alone, frozen in time, seemingly unseen by all who lacked an eye for details.

They never lasted, of course. Gone in a blink, ruined by a shout, renewed dread crawling up his spine in a visceral grip. Bitter reminders that he would never have the luxury to forget who he was.

Which, ironically, he had come to be thankful for. Thankful, but not forgiving. And that trail of thoughts would usually lead to a set of grim yet pleasant recollections of his past retaliations.

... But every now and then, neither his diligent work nor his methodical scheming were enough to give a positive spin on his restless ghosts. Every now and then, a familiar voice across the street would remind him of someone long dead and gone. Sometimes, the sound of rain clattering against his window would rouse imagines of flying terrors. An ageless angst scratching at the edge of his consciousness, settling into his bones where it made itself a niche a long, long time ago.

It was with great distaste that he had come to recognize this affected side of his psyche. And with great zealousness that he delved into the science of the human mind. To find a cure, to find an explanation. For himself, for others. Because understanding was the first step in healing. Because understanding was a weapon few had the chance to yield, and he proved to be extremely good at it.  

However, understanding one-self didn’t erase the vestigial imprints of a past upbringing, particularly in environments that would shame an individual for showing vulnerability of any kind. You could distance yourself from the past, but the past remained. And hence it made sense that someone who had fought and survived on their own, for the most of their life, would inherently feel a crippling sense of weakness toward showing this side of themselves, as they had been raised to lick their wounds in silence, or denied any veracity from their anguish.

Jonathan could recognize the logic of his anxiety, for example, and he knew it was not to be seen as a weakness, neither was seeking help to alleviate its effects. Those were truths he had come to repeat to his patients, to his (former)students, to his questionable friends. But he was nowhere near happy about it when he happened to be the one in that position

And it was with that conflicted irrationality of thoughts that he left his office, his legs leading him inexorably toward the riddling mastermind he shared his current lair with. 

The man was found in one of their common rooms.... sketching. He seemed to be scribbling notes and mechanical designs for future projects, with a few stray question marks decorating the margins. There was an array of laptops surrounding him, warming the room unpleasantly. Well. Three laptops was still far too many, which Jon would normally dispute, should be kept in Edward’s own workshop. To which Edward would retort that working in a different environment helped freshen up his ideas and hence they would normally bicker until one of them rolled their eyes and ignore the argument altogether In favor of something of equal bantering but-...

But, not tonight. And as he stepped into the room quietly, Edward raised a brow at his unusual lack of snark. Jon simply went to sit on the remaining side of the couch.

“I would move that one away, if I were you.” Jon said, pointing at the laptop sitting between them. 

“And what if I don’t?”

“Well, I’m lying down whether it’s there or not so, there’s always the risk that I might ‘accidentally’ throw one of your gadget on the ground in the process.”

The Riddler seemed intrigued, and gave a rich laugh. “Oh, trust me, Jonathan. My ‘gadgets’ are more likely to maim you than you are to damage them.”

“Oh, well then don’t mind if I-”

“No-, you.” He snatched the device away, giving him a particularly nasty glare. Jonathan almost chuckled. Almost. Edward positively sneered.

Jon somehow shifted his elongated frame to lay beside the redhead, who begrudgingly offered a wayward pillow for his head.

“I recall you saying my laps were quite comfortable,” he offered with faux triviality.

“They surely cannot be compared to mine, or so I’ve heard.”

“A mystery to none. However?”

“I’m going to be there for a while. I though I could be considerate of your thighs.”

“Oh how very thoughtful of you,” he offered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

But he was smiling, actually putting his work aside (for now) to lean over him, one arm pressed against the back of the couch, the other twirling a strand of dark peppered hair. “But enlighten me, my friend. What can I do for you on this fine stormy evening?”

Jon took a moment to consider his reasons, and went on to a whole new topic. “I’m actually quite impressed you haven’t turned on that ridiculous electrical fireplace of yours.”

“Well-... There’s no need for a fire, Jon. Anyone with an ounce of logic would understand that, what with all of this equipment running at once...” He trailed off, but added dramatically. “Although, with a bit of warning I could prepared a thematic scenery to exasperate you further, Lenore.”

“And come to find you draping the furnitures? How dreadful.”

Edward laughed delightfully. “Now now, we both know you love it.”

The tall man didn’t answer at that but chuckled deeply, closing his eyes. After a moment, he quietly fetched the hand above him, keeping it close to his chest. This had the simultaneous reaction of silencing the man in green. Jon felt the other freckled hand combing through his wiry scalp soothingly.

“I need to know what I’m working with, if you don’t mind.” Edward’s voice was soft, but with an unmistakable purpose. 

Edward Nygma was a man of many talents. Many one could ponder over on a daily basis. His life and personal knack for trouble had led him to hone a remarkable set of skills, and personality traits, that proved themselves immeasurably useful- 

Well, not all of them useful. Inconvenient at best, but that was for a different rant.

There was the undeniable fact that the man bolstered about himself a great deal, but only a fool would think he was not paying attention, not using the exact tone, with the exact tilt, for his exact goal. To you, the exact person he knew you were when you entered the room. Said fool(you) would found themselves led astray under his persuasive words faster than one could possibly conceive.

It was an ability that Jon had refined as well, for his own nefarious deeds. He could recognize the cleverness with which the freckled man earned the reputation of an efficient silver-tongued businessman over the years. For better or for worse, depending where his interests laid.

And sometimes, his interests laid with Jonathan’s.

Jon rested still for a moment, focusing on feeling the fading scratches on the palm resting underneath his own calloused grip. The hand in his hair softly tracing the outline of his ear.

“Bad night, perhaps?” he inquired, although he knew the answer already. 

“Something like that.” Jonathan drawled, bracing himself despite any rational reasoning. Bickering was a lot more familiar than asking for his assistance.

A moment of calm settled. Jon found a haven in the tactile familiarity between them. When at last Jonathan spoke, his tone was shaped with stoical clarity, as he preferred to view his state in a clinical light.

“Perhaps you could indulge me in any remote subject until this storm passes.” 

He did not try to see the reaction on his partner’s face, as he had very little care in it at the moment. He presumed the man considered his request from the thoughtful thumb was drawing half circles against his skin. 

“Perhaps I could,” he said, his voice the same calming quality as earlier. “Although, the weatherman claimed it would be thundering all night. Do you have any strong arguments as to make it worth my time?” he asked in jest, effortlessly pleased with the idea.

“Aside retrieving the use of your hands?”

“Oh now it’s a hostage situation, I see how it is.”

Jonathan smirked, amused by the thought. He shifted the caged arm so as to run his nose against the sensitive skin, following the junctions of palpitating veins threateningly. He knew Edward was holding his breath as a shiver ran past the limb in his grasp. 

Only then did he crane his head to look back at the riddle mastermind. Jonathan’s pale gaze bored into emeralds as he ran his own calloused thumb over the tender flesh of his forearm.

“Edward,” he began softly. “Your voice would be a most welcomed indulgence for me tonight, if you could oblige,” he finally asked, remaining as matter-of-factly as possible.

Jonathan then released him at last, folded his hands over his gaunt middle and sighed deeply, closing his eyes once more.

Edward had yet to move, reclaimed freedom be damned, his freed fingers softly drumming with irritation, as if to match the rhythm of his own beating heart. 

After a silence, Jon could hear him settle more comfortably, seemingly resolved on keeping his hand where it was resting for a while longer.

They fell back into the familiar setting they’ve come to adopt every now and then, when Jonathan would come to seek for his assistance. Edward reciting the flow of his latest interests with a voice meant to soothe an interlocutor, and Jonathan listening intently, letting the sound cover the clattering windows, the vague echos of chatters bordering his consciousness, the shrieks of the winds...

Jon knew he must had fallen asleep after a while. He could briefly recall the faint sound of scribbling. A soothing on-and-off-toned tenor humming the lullaby he had taught him a long, long time ago. One dark and stormy night.

[deathlandsxreaper]

That Ruinous Shit

Ten Years Ago.

We had been to at least five different places already, and Dad was not exactly thrilled at the thought of going to five more. They all screamed opulence and success, but that wasn’t me. I liked small spaces. Open spaces hide room for more monsters.

The super let us into the apartment, giving me the once over before looking at my father. The atmosphere around him threatened to break atoms if he was in the right mood and Eddie Scallari was slowly treading onto that special nerve we liked to keep in check.

“It ain’t much, but everyone around here is pretty nice. She’ll be well taken care of.”

That’s part of being a Reaper, and the New Yorker in me to want to remind him of his four prior convictions, two being sexual deviancy of some kind. We know everything about a person. How many times they’ve died, how many times they’ve killed, their lives. My dad sucks in a breath before we walk through the door and he knows he’s lost me.

Not the beach house in Malibu.

Not the mansion in Calabasas.

Nope. The shitty little two bedroom in the middle of the city. I could even see his building from my bedroom.

“It has huge windows, and maybe we can change some stuff up so I can have a reading room, oh! and I’ll always have so much food here..”

I was rambling about this sunflower life like I hadn’t disappointed him by dropping out of high school and showing up at his door in the middle of the night, but I didn’t care. This place was every bit the hiding place I had dreamed of as a kid; we had even passed a record shop on our way in.

Everything was going to be safe here.

I was already lying to myself, but I could pretend I wasn’t for a little while.

Present.

I had dreams of blue. Distressed oxide staining walls in the sweetest shade of mermaid lagoon that would starburst into a wilted violet. It was silly and slowly smothering me, but I liked it.I don’t want to wake up. Waking up is when the pain starts.

No, something is burning.

There’s a searing pain upon waking. It spreads through my fingertips and up my arm to taper off at my neck and I finally come to the bleary realization that I know where I am. I am in my apartment. More than that, I am in my library.

And my entire life is on fire around me.

It’s a dream. It isn’t real.

This is my everything.

“Jack..” today was going to hurt. Today didn’t have a clock. Today was about damage.

He was casually pushing over the bookshelves I had built, making sure I heard every sound as volume after volume slid out to join the inferno blazing on the couch.

It wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about time. It was about joy. It was about my feeling of sanctuary and every goddamn biblical thing about this place.

They were taking it for their own.

“Jack please don’t!” I sounded like a memory of myself. A little kid begging her big brother to stop bullying her. That ribbon haired girl was gone, but the sentiment still remained.

“It’s for your own good, Lenore,” he’s holding a novel, flipping through it. “I remember where you got this. Our trip to Paris. It was the only place you wanted to go.” It was so nonchalant the way he threw it into the fire.

“I’ll get you a better one back home.” Ice filled my lungs, my body craved oxygen now. His voice traipsed over any sense of fear and turned it into boiling anger. Shepherd looks just as good as ever, but it’s his monstrosities that pour out of each orifice. I fucking hate him.

There was a reason Jack had me fight my demons yesterday, and his crooked grin tells me what I know. Shepherd was the bad guy here. He just wasn’t the baddest man in the room anymore. Shepherd gave too much of a fuck and Jack lacked remorse or reason. He just did shit to do it.

His thick hand reaches out to grab me by the jaw, making me look him in the pristine face. He isn’t used to being hurt by what they use to lock me down, and I can tell. Tough guy should have gone a round in prison. “Look how human you are about this, baby girl.”

I shudder and not in a good way.

“Get me the cat,” he says to someone out of my view.

“No..” it comes out of me as a whisper and I grip at his wrist. “I’ll say yes. I’ll do whatever. Please don’t hurt Sam!”

His eyes cut to Jack. “I paid you to cut this shit out of her, and look! She’s just as weak as ever.” He releases me roughly as one of his men come in, handing him the gray kitten. Sam snuggles into his hand, not knowing the danger he’s in.

I only want sweet things in this house.

He kneels next to the cage, showing me how my baby cat has curled up and gone back to sleep. Sam is good. He’s innocent.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to get that yes out of you regardless of today. If I have to fuck it out of you, I will get it. Don’t you forget that.”

He sees I’m not paying attention to what he’s saying. My eyes are glossed over with unshed tears and I only worry about the weakest thing in the room.

“Don’t hurt him,” if I could coerce Shepherd to let him go, it would be a miracle.

Miracles aren’t real, though.

He delights in how I’m staring at him. I am the trapped prey. He is the hunter. He is a son of War, and he loves winning this battle.

Closing his fist with a sickening crunch only made his grin wider and my scream even more devastating.

He dropped the ball of blood and bones to the floor, wiping his palm with a bit of a disgusted sigh. “Open the door.”

Jack easily complied. He was paid to be a bitch boy, after all.

Jack was the one to yank me out, his hands curling around my arm to keep me from being able to move. I don’t think I’ve ever struggled less.

Two hours later.

Jack stopped him just as he had me stripped and tied down.

Shepherd likes that. He likes to remind his kill that he won all the way through.

He’s a cruel man that thinks I’ll be like him with enough of a beat down.

I’ve seen that done to too many people. I won’t be like that.

The fire was put out once the room was a husk of charred material.

I searched through the ashes, my fingers not registering pain anymore. One of my hands is broken, I know that much. The fuzzy stillness breaches my grasp and I pull the once body of Sam Cat out.

Tears don’t flood my face. My hands close around him, lips pressing to my knuckles as though blowing out a sigh of relief.

There’s light and something forms in my palm that mewls softly.

“It’s okay, baby,” I hold him to my chest, saying words I wished I had heard at some point. “We’re going away from here. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”