#same with sasha. god she blames herself so much

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Sashannarcy Soulmates AU but soulmates aren't a thing on Earth, only in Amphibia. Or rather, on Earth there's nothing that indicates soulmatehood(? but on Amphibia there is: you feel your soulmate's pain, and the more they love you, the more you feel it.

So the girls have been soulmates since forever, obviously, but their ability to notice it only came when they landed in Amphibia. Anne and Sasha wake up feeling sore and limping when Marcy breaks her leg. Sasha and Marcy gasp and hold their right arms when the tax toads strike Anne. Both Anne and Marcy feel the right side of their faces burning when Anne cuts Sasha, and her heart breaks because it's only now that the realization hits her.

Both Anne and Sasha scream in pain when Marcy is killed. They wake up in cold sweat holding their heads when she's brought back wrong. And the long slash up Sasha's spine is what makes Darcy falter, body twitching in pain as it remembered that it belonged to someone that Sasha loved.

It's a dangerous thing: loving someone means hurting them, but you can't really help it, can you? Your only option is being careful.

Cue Anne waking up every day feeling like she was beaten up in her sleep after Marcy fell down the stairs again and Sasha hurt herself sparring/training with Grime and Hop Pop just says "huh, that soulmate of yours looks like he keeps getting himself into trouble", much to Anne's shock that 1) Hop Pop thinks she likes boys 2) There are soulmates in Amphibia 3) he assumed she knew what soulmates are.

[thelambthatkilledthewolf]

I feel like not enough people talk about Melanie's tragedy. Everyone talks about Jon and Tim and Martin and Sasha and Gerry and Michael and Elias and every avatar that gets five seconds of screentime and even Jonah, but I barely see anyone talking about how badly Melanie suffered too.

Do you ever think about it? Her friends, her community abandoned her. Her dad was already dead. She joins the Institute, working under a man she already dislikes, only to find out that the big boss is actually literally evil. The only reason the Slaughter bullet worked so well is because she was already so angry at everything, and who can blame her? She had as much right to be angry as Tim did, which is to say, she had every right in the world - even if that anger was a little misplaced.

And then, she is so desperate to get away, that she gouges her own eyes out. Do you understand that? She mutilated her own body, took away the main sense that we humans use to survive. Just to get out of that god forsaken place. Do you know how traumatizing that must be? Everyone is going insane, she's going insane, and then she gouges her own damn eyes out. She was not just okay after that.

And then, and then, just when she thinks everything is over and she can just be happy with her girlfriend, the fucking APOCALYPSE happens. The goddamn mother fucking end of the world. And she's one of the only people who can help others. She's suddenly a savior? All of this is thrust upon her, the world as she knows it is fucking ending, and she has the ability to save people. How stressful that must be, feeling guilty if you didn't help but being burdened with the title of savior if you did. How awful. How downright horrific. I'm amazed she didn't kill herself to get out of all of this.

I just. Melanie. Guys. Melanie. The level of desperation she must have felt to get out of the institute, that she was not only willing, but able to fully go through with gouging her eyes out? Guys I don't think we talk about that enough. She gouged her own eyes out with her own fucking hands and a book binder. We don't talk enough about how much that must've fucked her up. And then to turn into someone else's savior. A martyr. A prophet. I think by the end, she was just as, if not more traumatized than Tim - and yes, I'm going to keep comparing her to Tim, because they are so similar, and yet one is far more loved and spoken about than the other. Melanie deserved so much, and got so little, and she will never be the same. None of them will ever be the same, of course, but again - SHE MUTILATED HERSELF. SHE GOT RID OF HER PRECIOUS SIGHT, THE ONE SENSE THAT WE (generally) RELY ON THE MOST. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS, HOW DESPERATE YOU HAVE TO BE, FOR YOUR BRAIN TO EVEN ALLOW YOU TO DO THAT?

Just. Melanie. Guys please talk to me about Melanie I love her so much she deserves everything.

[vwritesaus]

meet sasha and kiyoshi, disaster duo

going off this poll, i've decided to share a snippet of my original work ft. the main protagonist and her boyfriend :> more under the cut!!

.

      Sasha sucks in a deep breath and steps in front of the couch. Immediately, her boyfriend’s eyes flick up from his phone screen to her face.

      ‘Kiyoshi.’

      ‘Yes, Sash?’

      With as much will as she can muster, Sasha says, ‘I need your help with something. Something only you can help me with.’

      ‘Sure!’ Kiyoshi declares, and his enthusiasm is enough to cause a small smile to tug at Sasha’s lips. ‘What is it?’

      That small smile quickly falls apart and dread fills every crevice of Sasha’s being. But she needs to do this. She has to. It’s the only way. It’s the worst idea she’s ever had.

      ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…’ She shakes her head, wincing at the words that come out of her mouth. ‘D’you wanna go to the gym… together?’

      The following silence is devastating. Sasha wants to dig a hole into the floor and crawl into it.

      Kiyoshi blinks at her, his mouth agape. ‘Huh?’

      Groaning into her palms, Sasha bites, ‘Please don’t make this more painful than it already is. Just say yes or no, dammit!’

      ‘Sasha…’ Peeking through her fingers, she sees Kiyoshi dump his phone onto the cushion next to him and hold his hands out to her, palms up. ‘As much as going to the gym together would make me very happy, I also know you.’

      There is no malice in his voice, just pure fact. He does know her, and she knows herself. Kiyoshi’s the sporty one, the gym rat, the muscle pig. Sasha is… not.

      ‘Which is exactly why I need you to motivate me to go. Who knows what can happen in the future?’

      ‘The future?’ Alarm is rife in his expression. ‘Babe, where are you going with this?’

      Sasha drops her hands from her face, her voice turning dry as she shoots Kiyoshi a weary look. ‘Well, y’know how it goes. All those YA novels. The trope is always the same: the protagonist didn’t know they were magic, and then all of a sudden they need to save the fucking world and they are very conveniently armed with MMA knowledge and are super fit and have amazing stamina and know how to hold their own in a spontaneous fight with otherworldly creatures. As you know, I am the complete opposite, so I better start training in case one of my future goddamn visions ends up being a plot to destroy the world and I’m somehow the only fucking person who can stop it.’

      Gasping for air, Sasha tries to catch her breath and curses her lungs for not being to do their job properly. It just hammers the truth of the matter right down to its core. Kiyoshi is frowning, deep in thought, but there’s something in his expression that flickers ever-so-slightly. She knows what’s up. He’s trying to keep his face neutral, and if her nerves weren’t so shot, she’d be doing the same.

      ‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ she says to him instead.

      ‘Sasha. My love.’

      It’s inevitable and Sasha cannot blame him for it. No longer able to keep his face straight, Kiyoshi crumbles and peals with laughter. Never mind that Sasha glares at him.

      ‘My love, I adore you, but you are thinking way too hard about this.’

      ‘I gotta be prepared, Kiyoshi!’ Sasha argues.

      ‘You are prepared!’ he counters. When all Sasha does is stare at him, question marks flying around her head, Kiyoshi puffs out his chest and states with confidence, ‘You have me! Ya think I’m gonna let ya fight alone should one break out? Girl, please. I’ll always have your back. Just say the word and I’ll come and one-two punch the living shit out of whoever tries to mess with you!’

      The whole scenario is emphasised with Kiyoshi’s signature grin, the one Sasha’s seen flashed at the opposing team during his volleyball matches, and with him flexing his biceps. The whole thing is hilarious, and Sasha would laugh if not for the overwhelming fondness that blooms across her whole chest. God, she got lucky with this guy.

      But there’s just one small problem with his proposal.

      She says gravely, ‘That’s sweet of you, darl, but I hate to break it to you... you don’t have MMA skills either.’

      Kiyoshi blinks. Sasha blinks back.

      ‘Guess we’re fucked then,’ he says.

      ‘Guess we are,’ she echoes.

      ‘Better go train then.’

      ‘Better go train.’

      Tapping a finger to his chin, Kiyoshi’s voice suddenly becomes pensive. ‘Say, wanna place a bet?’

      Not one to back down from a challenge, Sasha asks, ‘What kind of bet?’

      Dark eyes sparkle and Sasha’s hooked.

      ‘If you can survive two consecutive days training at the gym with whatever regime I throw at you to “prepare for the end of the world,’ Kiyoshi pitches, ‘I’ll do whatever you want for a week.’

      ‘A month,’ Sasha rebuts, smiling when Kiyoshi nods his head in agreement. Then she pauses. ‘And if I can’t?’

      She regrets the question the second it passes her lips for an evil-looking grin splits Kiyoshi’s cheeks.

      ‘Kiyoshi—’

      ‘If you can’t,’ he says, ‘you have to eat my famous stir-fry.’

      Horrified, Sasha splutters, ‘Kiyoshi—’

      ‘Broccoli and all. Every. Last. Bite.’

      ‘You fucking arsehole!’ she shouts. Seeing no other alternative that won’t end up with this conversation being a waste, Sasha throws her hands up in defeat. ‘Fine! Just you wait. I’ll fucking do it.’

Two days later

      She storms out of the living room, not wanting to give her boyfriend the satisfaction, but his delighted laughter follows her. It’s contagious, and she laughs quietly to herself. But her determination is stronger.

.

      ‘I gotta say, Sash. I’m very surprised,’ he says in awe.

.

Watching Sasha drop the weights on the floor with a deep groan, Kiyoshi’s mouth turns down at the corners.

      With her hands on her knees, huffing and puffing and wishing for a long, long shower, Sasha peers up at him through her eyelashes. Her hair is stuck to her forehead, disgustingly damp with sweat, and her arms are screaming at her, but she manages a smug grin.

      ‘What can I say?’ she wheezes. ‘I’d rather kill my arms and legs, hack a lung out and feel like death than put Satan in my mouth.’

      Kiyoshi laughs and smiles hugely at her. ‘I can see that! I’m super proud of you though.’

      He makes a heart with his hands to exemplify this, and Sasha barely manages to make one as well.

idk who else specifically is interested, but i'm tagging @alastairstom since you wanted to read ajksdas ♡

[dasphinxone]

Agree with all this and am TIRED AS FUCK AT PEOPLE BLAMING A BLACK WOMAN FOR A MAN'S BULLSHIT.

"Nakia should have brought tranq weapons!"

Are these people fucking stupid? You think if Sasha or Malia Obama were taken by a hostile state that threatened their parents with war, Barack and Michelle would be out there saying "Well, bring the tranqs 🥴"

"Ramonda should have known she was fucking with a god!"

He's a god TO HIS PEOPLE, NOT HER. Yet people are out here wanting to colonize his religion onto her, the same way colonizers do. Are y'all fucking serious?! They are EQUALS since they are both sovereign heads ofdammed.

Just because Ramonda doesn't set herself up as a Goddess Queen doesn't mean she's inferior to him. How dare you sit here and try to claim such with this weak-ass "he's a god!" argument. Gods are deemed so due to perception, not fact. Namor's people CHOOSE to worship him as such and that doesn't mean anyone else must. You think Thor would be out here demanding other people not of his religion worship him as a god? Namor is owed no more deference than any other head of state, god status to his own people be damned.

"Nakia should have let Shuri save the handmaiden!"

Please explain to me why Nakia should give a single, flying fuck about someone who held a knife to Shuri’s throat? All while she's saving two black women from a hostile nation?

Also, Nakia answers to the Queen who gave her the mission, not Shuri. Nakia is under zero obligation to answer to Shuri's orders because that's how the line of command works. You answer to your commander in the Queen, who ordered Nakia to get Shuri out by any means necessary. That's the agreement as soon as Nakia took the mission.

And I love how you Namor stans never answer this, who gave that handmaiden the order to try to kill Shuri in the first damn place, hmmm? If Shuri was "a guest," as that bitch-ass water elf claimed she was, she should have been able to go home freely. Instead, the minute she tries to leave, her minders under Namor’s orders try to SLIT HER THROAT. Fuck all that.

That handmaiden's death was Namor’s fault. I hope he gave her a good funeral. Cause on his orders, that handmaiden fucked around and found out and lost. Oh wells.

"Well, Namor gave Ramonda death threats, she should have realized he was serious and heeded them, what did she expect? Lol, she dead!"

This right here? Is some ghetto-ass thinking and shows that a lot of you clearly a.) don't love yourselves or other black women like you claim to, b.) Have never taken a poli-sci or international relations course in your life and clearly don't understand how diplomacy works.

Sovereigns aren't supposed to be threatening people's lives. If they do, they deserve to be fucked over. Namor had NO RIGHT to keep Shuri and then threaten to kill her. By the way, he also has no right to negotiate anything with Shuri, as she is not the head of state. Ramonda is queen and therefore is.

Don't even get me started on how a lot of you forget that he was threatening TO KILL A TEENAGE BLACK GIRL IN RIRI. Yes, he didn't know that at first but Shuri told him. Yet he still lost his shit and tried to kill her in Wakanda the minute he witnessed the Queen protecting A 19 YEAR-OLD BLACK TEENAGER. And no, Namor didn't do it on accident. He saw her with Riri, LEFT TO GET THOSE BOMBS, tossed them and then STUCK AROUND TO TAUNT A SCREAMING IN TERROR AND GRIEF SHURI.

A reminder since y'all seem to conveniently forget:

Yet you trash people stick by this garbage man to the detriment of pretty much all the other Black women in this movie. You give him all the excuses in the world because you want to suck his dick. You claim to "support Black Women!" yet throw all of them under the bus in this movie to side with Namor. You lack empathy for a grieving mother in Ramonda and a grieving widow in Nakia. And most of all, you give zero fucks about Namor trying to kill a Black teenager in Riri, who is 19 years old.

Y'all are trash. With a lot of work to do on your own internalized misogynoir.

And don't you dare sit here and claim you "support Black women," all while you blame them in this movie for the aggressive sociopathy of the antagonist who started this shit. And no, Nakia saying that maybe Wakanda could help people with outreach didn't start this shit either.

The way some of yall are going out of your way to villianize Nakia for: 1. Wakanda opening up their borders and 2. Causing Ramonda's death is so weird and honestly is starting to sound like misogynoir. Same with how yall can understand why Namor retaliated against Wakanda for the death of his two subjects, but not understand why Ramonda went to such drastic measures to get Shuri, her only surviving child after the RECENT death of her oldest, back.

[sepublic]

Barrel’s Warhammer!

           YYYYOOOOOO SASHA!!!!

           She really is the epitome, the pinnacle, of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss! I love Sasha, she’s such an utter mess, morally ambiguous and then downright terrible in so many ways, and genuinely unhinged in just as many! She’s a freaking riot and SUCH an amazing character, y’all!

           In general, I adore how Toads are handled in this show! Yeah, they’re big and brutish and used as thugs… But the show still clearly portrays them as people, and some of them are terrible like Bog, but others are just trying to live their lives, like Percy and Braddock! And how they’re all clearly working with this ascribed role as Andrias’ enforcers and iron fist across Amphibia, how they’re encouraged to be cruel brutes… But they’re still people and they’re still oppressed, which is why Grime is leading his rebellion! Good for him, good for THEM!

           Also… GRIMMITY?!?! Beatrix?! Grime LORE! I like how Beatrix and Grime have blind eyes on opposite sides, and Sasha roasting Bufo by naturally connecting his name to Buffoon, WONDERFUL! Aldo’s also a legendary, killer design, he reminds me of VLD Zarkon, old and decrepit and fanged and clearly has seen a LOT of stuff, a real warrior of his time… Honestly, getting a look into the Toads and THEIR complicated role in this story, as the ‘bad guys’ but not really, there’s more to them; It’s such a fit to Sasha’s character, and I LOVE how she’s such an utter brute for someone who normally seems accustomed to using honey over vinegar to attract flies (to feed her Toads)! She’s nuts, she’s great.

           I love the explanation for the eye symbol, I love Sasha really getting to appreciate Percy and Braddock, and for a moment I thought she really was learning her lesson… When she gave them an out, I thought maybe she took what happened with Anne to heart, but now…! Maybe this is what she’s always done; Made empty promises. God, I love this little arc for her character, how she wants to be a good friend, but she keeps valuing power and control over all else…

           AND HER RAGE! HER JEALOUSY! At Anne and Marcy being with each other, leaving her out, Sasha’s mind jumping to all of the worst conclusions, and how THAT anger is what unlocks her gem power, not heroism or anything else! Sasha’s such a complex and messed-up character but you can’t help but root for her, she really IS a Problematic Fave! God, with how she’s going to meet Anne in a volcano, and the whole “Sasha is Anakin and Anne is Obi-Wan” just WRITES itself, with Sasha angrily accusing Anne of turning Marcy against her, Anne retorting that Sasha did that herself, etc.!

           God Sasha’s such a complicated mess and ball of unresolved emotions and contradictions, denial that’s insisting everything’s fine when it’s really not… She’s a manipulator who prefers to be hands-off, yet is also somehow the raw brute with unthinking, unyielding strength! She’s utterly terrifying, no wonder all of the Toads are in awe of her ferocity and power!

           Also, I like how Barrel’s Warhammer was included; At first I wondered WHY the Narwhal Worm would guard the weapon used by the Toad who fought it, but as we can clearly see… Barrel must’ve conked it out BADLY with his Warhammer, knocking it out, and the hammer has been stuck since! And once more, the hammer has been slammed into the worm… And in general, I love seeing the Toads just ROOT around Sasha and Grime, I love seeing villainous characters get to go feral and unhinged as you root for them, as THEY rise up and fight against all odds as the underdogs!

           Percy and Braddock and the gag with the kawaii poses was great, but it’s also sad to see them go! They’re definitely a wake-up call for Sasha and I like it, I wonder if you could parallel them, one-by-one, to Anne and Marcy respectively? Perhaps Anne and Marcy were initially not taken seriously by Sasha at first, but ultimately she DID grow to care for them and not just as ‘tools’, who knows? With Anne and Percy and Braddock, I think Sasha’s going to have to reconsider things… And GRIME, how he just sort of accepts that, yeah, you gotta lose people to achieve a goal! I could see him being a bad influence to Sasha, unintentionally- Like her, he means well, they’re really great parallels to one another!

           Like, Sasha and Grime are both brutes, power-hungry, and wanting control, but Sasha prefers subtlety and manipulation, appeals to both her and others’ emotions, while Grime prefers to be raw and unthinking strength, he’s a seasoned veteran from combat, while Sasha is likely a rich kid, young and learning… They’re such a dynamic duo with a lot to teach one another! Maybe Grime sees himself in Sasha; Himself when HE was a kid… Maybe when he was a gladiator, he had friends but left them behind to be promoted to Captain? I wonder if Beatrix has anything to say on this, too…

           Could Beatrix provide insight to Grimmity? Did Grime leave her behind in a sense…? Does SASHA have a sibling, and that leads to her weird power complex, as another parallel to Grime! Either way it’s sweet, I adore the dynamic of two horrible people who are good friends and bad, enabling influences to each other… Being problematic faves, you can’t help but cringe at their mistakes but also cheer as they win as underdogs and turn the tables on their enemies! I like how Sasha is still supportive of Grime and vice-versa, Grime’s guiding this kid, but Sasha’s fully supporting Grime as the de-facto leader and backing him up, not trying to seize control!

           I think it really parallels Anne, how she just wanted to get back home… But somewhere along the way, she realizes how much she loves and enjoys this, and values her friend! And maybe it could lead to Sasha not wanting to head back home after all, especially if there’s nothing there for her; Which could play into her keeping all of her gem powers as she opposes Andrias openly, while Anne has some of her power because again, she’s more neutral, and then Marcy has none because she’s fully bought into the Newt King’s schtick!

           Also, it’s funny that Sasha is no doubt feeling betrayed, like her trust has been jeopardized by Anne and Marcy, considering she did the same to Anne in Reunion! Lying to her about what she intended to do with the Frogs… It’s wonderfully hypocritical and this kid does NOT want self-awareness, she’ll toy with it for a bit, but then immediately backpedal! Get better and well Sasha, for everyone’s sake… The confrontation and paranoia as she loses her friends and only has Grime, who means well but isn’t so great himself, is also nice!

           Honestly, there’s even a parallel to the idea of Sasha meaning well, only to be ruined by her own toxicity… And Grime wanting a better life for Toads in his revolution, but still allowing a hierarchy to exist by the end of the day, instead of abolishing it for all! They both have good ideas and initiative, but it’s ruined by Sasha and Grime not backing down on certain things and not listening to others, being SO sure they’re right… Very compelling stuff. Now I’m starting to wonder if Sasha will be open to Anne about her suspicions, if they WILL get along for the Third Temple…

           …Or if she’ll try to manipulate and fool her again, thinking that SHE’s been betrayed herself! And maybe Sasha will realize her faults in the battle of Newtopia, only for it to be too late, Anne has been too betrayed, Sasha has only herself (and, well, Andrias) to blame! In the meantime, as Sasha no doubt embraces her role as a rebel, but also unknowingly as a hero against Andrias and his master… I can see her tapping more into her gem powers and actually using them as part of her rage, hence the shots we see from the Third Temple! She’s going to be terrifying, y’all, and even more of a match for Yunnan at this point… And Anne, poor Anne’s going to be caught between TWO toxic friends!

           Both mean well, but both have other bad points… And it just means Anne’s gonna have to forge her own path, make her own decisions and group and faction, be her own person and take initiative once more! But it’s also gonna be lonely and could contribute to more trust issues along the way… And maybe she’ll think she can only trust herself, only do things on her own, and how this might pair badly with her selfless martyr-complex. We’ll have to wait and see, though… We’ll have to wait and see.

[halcyonstorm]

Levi notices she looks lighter and happier and is glad shes getting used to the commander post but also notices shes getting distant and blames it on commander duties. He thinks do i miss her? Nah maybe its just habit. Buuut theeen. He then finds out about it one day during an after training drinking session with 104th at the same bar and his breath hitches in his throat. Hange all pretty in a dress very drunk laughing at something this guy said and the world stops around him. He doesnt understand what it makes him feel. He feels like shit. Terrible. He hates it. He wants to smack the guy's face but doenst understand why. 104th notices his sudden unease and follows the direction he's staring and see hange with a guy. Sasha and Armin sigh dreamily happy that hange found someone she likes and that 'this is the happiest ive ever seen her" Levi dies at that. What does that mean? He wasnt enough? What does this guy give her that he doesnt? Wait. Why does it matter why am I even comparing. She cares about me too. But not like that. He thinks. It gets confusing and he leaves in a rush leaving everyone else stunned. Except connie who laughs at how hange made him jealous. The rest is just levi childishly following hange around mocking her happiness and the guy, finding out WHY she likes him. But gets nothing the guys actually nice and cares about hange. He hates himself and accepts her happiness but falls for her even harder since now he knows what shes like when shes in love and he wants it to be him. He accepts that hes fallen for her with the help of a very drunk man next to him at the same bar to whom he spills his secret to. The story continues and pls can someone write this already before i kill myself daydreaming about it

hi anon! sorry it took me a while but I finally got around to writing this. thank you for suggesting the prompt! i hope you enjoy. you can read it below OR check it out here on Ao3.

Title: Get Your Shit Together, Levi!

WARNING: ANGST

note: this is gifted to @tundrainafrica. i hope this satisfies your angst cravings. i hope you enjoy as well <3

Levi and some members from the 104 went out to a bar one night. It was a warm, summer evening and the sun had just begun to set. They all had a long day training out in the field, and Connie somehow convinced Levi to go out with them. Perhaps it was because Connie batted his puppy-dog eyes at Levi in such a way where if Levi didn’t, he thought Connie would break down and cry. Besides, Levi had asked Hange and she declined stating she had other plans. The bar was hustling and bustling that evening. They sat in a booth: Levi, Sasha, Connie, and Armin. They all ordered food, Sasha ordering herself more food than she looks like she can eat. The kids talked amongst themselves. After all, who was going to talk to Levi? He was their superior, almost like their parent who disappeared for years before showing up unexpectedly, expecting the kids to take him back. Armin made some small talk with Levi, but no one knew much about Levi. They knew two things for sure: he loved to clean and he loved tea. He usually hated alcohol, but somehow managed to down an entire beer glass before receiving the food. He was exhausted from the day, as was everyone else.

Suddenly, a loud laugh caught his attention. It wasn’t just any laugh, but a familiar one. A laugh that sent shivers down his spine and his heart to throb hard in his chest. It was Hange Zoe’s laugh. Had he known she were going, he would’ve invited her to avoid the awkward socialization with his subordinates. He looked to where the sound was coming from and was shocked. Other plans, huh? She was sitting next to a dark skinned man with a buzzcut and a beer glass in one hand. He was laughing too. She was laughing at something he said. The sight of her took his breath away. She never wore a dress like that before, but tonight she wore an emerald green dress that went a bit past her knees, exposing her muscular calves. The neckline of the dress cut low, exposing her collarbones. Her hair was in a ponytail but was neater than usual. Was she on a date? The realization caused Levi to feel as if his heart was being squeezed by a fist that was wringing out all the blood from it. Squeezing it so tight Levi thought he was going to die for a brief moment. He rubbed his eyes and looked again to make sure he could believe what he saw. He could. There she was: Hange in her beautiful emerald dress, talking and laughing with the dark-skinned man. They were sitting across from one another at a table-for-two. Their faces were close to one another as they spoke and laughed, drinking glasses and glasses of wine. Why do I feel this way? He asked himself. But he knew why. This feeling was familiar. It happened a few times before, specifically with Hange. It happened when she gave Moblit all her attention, gushing over how competent he was as her assistant, and now. Seeing her face to face on a date with this man who was much more attractive than himself: honey brown eyes; aquiline nose; plump lips; big, strong hands; a deep voice; and most importantly, he was much taller than Levi. He saw her date place a hand on hers, making Levi’s rage fester even stronger. I’m gonna slap that man, he thought. Why was he touching her? And why does she not mind it?

Levi had been staring for a long time, longer than he thought, before Connie nudged him from across the table. He was clearly drunk.

“Leeeeeeeeeevi,” he slurred with a cheshire cat-like grin. “Gawking, are we?” Levi rolled his eyes, taking his beer glass from him.

“You’ve gotta stop drinking,” he ordered, finishing whatever was left of Connie’s beer.

“Are you looking at Hange?” Armin asked, turning his head left to look at Levi. Armin could tell right away that was what Levi was doing. He shook his head no.

“She looks soooooo happy!” Sasha chimed in, dreamily gazing at the couple. Levi felt his face contort into a wretched grimace.

“She does. I haven’t seen her look so happy in a while,” Armin added. He quickly regretted it though when Levi threw him a harsh glare. Armin looked through his glare after a moment. Levi had a look in his eyes that Armin never saw before: hurt. Levi was hurt. His eyebrows were knit together, expressing a look that one may give when they’re about to cry.

I am not enough for her.

Armin felt his heart strings tugged, hesitantly placing a comforting hand on Levi’s bicep. He knew how much he loved her, despite his harsh tone. Hange was the only one who truly understood Levi and his words. Armin was able to observe Levi with Hange one night.

It was a cool March evening and Hange was working hard that day. She had been cooped up in her office sorting through and reading stacks and stacks of papers. She never came out for a meal that entire day. He saw Levi knock on her door with a plate of food in one hand and a blanket folded over his arm. She didn’t respond, so Levi allowed himself in. The door was shut behind him, but Armin could hear him softly talking to her before leaving the office. She must’ve fallen asleep so Levi draped the blanket over her shoulders. He must’ve left the food on her desk. That was the moment Armin realized Levi loved Hange. He didn’t just love her. He adored her. Ever since that moment, Armin was able to decipher Levi’s words from his true feelings.

“Oooooooooooooh, is someone jealous?” Connie teased. Sasha slapped his arm. Levi felt like if he stayed any longer, he’d explode and say something he’d regret.

“Shut the fuck up,” Levi sneered, standing up to leave. He felt as if he should torture himself more and watch the happy couple, but he didn’t have the willpower to do so. He drank a bit too much than he would’ve liked, and the heat inside the bar was getting to a boiling point, and he felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t need to hear it from the 104 that he lost his chance with Hange. They called out for him, but he didn’t hear. The air outside was much cooler compared to the sweltering temperature of hundreds of bodies tightly packed in the small bar. He found a trash can nearby, barely making it before vomiting. The stomach acid and alcohol came spewing out of him. He smelt it in his nose each time he breathed. He spit into the trash can when he was done, starting to slowly walk back to the cabins.

-

A few days later, Levi goes back to that bar alone after another hard day training. He felt like the sun was draining him of his energy each time he dared to stay outside. He sat on a bar stool and ordered a beer. There was a man next to him of whom he didn’t recognize. He was a stocky older man who had short black hair and brown eyes. The man looked drunk, the type of drunk where you can remember half the shit that was going on. The man saw Levi’s face and did not recognize him which gave Levi an impulsive idea.

“Are you from out of town?” Levi asked the man. He gave Levi a small smile.

“Yes.”

Say no more, Levi thought. Suddenly, a few drinks in, he opened up the key on his heart and started spilling his emotions to this guy. A few tears came through. Levi was buzzed at this point, his words too jittery and his hands too shaky. The man to whom he spoke listened intently. Somehow, this man he met at the bar had this pleasant aura that Levi felt he could tell him anything.

“Sir,” The man said. “Why don’t you just talk to her? Talk to her like you’re talking to me. That is the only way you’ll find out her true intentions with her date.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is. You know how much more peace there’d be in the world if people just talked things out?”

The man’s unrealistic statement somehow gave Levi some confidence. That confidence, however, quickly went out the window when he caught a glance of a messy brown mop of hair. It was Hange with that dark-skinned man again. She wore a black dress this time with a high collar, her arms exposed. God, she looked beautiful. Levi wished she could dress up for him like that. In that moment, hearing her beautiful laugh and seeing her beautiful smile, Levi realized he was in love with her.

“Ah… is that her?” The man asked, looking over his shoulder inconspicuously (unlike Levi who starred with no shame).

“Yes…”

“Find time to talk to her,” The man said. “You got this, man.” Before Levi went to say something to the man again, he was gone. He tried to watch her as she talked with the man. She was radiant. She had a look on her face that he couldn’t quite place. Was it… No. It couldn’t be. Her eyes were glowing, she was shining. Was she falling for this man?

He felt like he was gonna be sick again. He abruptly got up from his seat and headed to the bathroom. He pushed the stall door open, vomiting once again. His throat was still sore from the last time, so this time the acid ripped at his throat even more. Hot tears started to stream down his face. He wanted her so bad. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh and smile. He wanted to be the one she fell in love with, not him. His heart ached so bad it was attempting to jump out from his throat. What hurt the most is that the guy she was with was nice. Too fucking nice. He laughed at her jokes, didn’t complain when she rambled, made subtle touches that weren’t inappropriate, and he was tall. He placed a hand to his heart as if it’d help put it back together. He took a deep, quivering inhale before standing up, flushing the toilet, and going to the faucet. He splashed his face with some cold water. How can I expect her to like me if I can’t confess? He looked at himself in the mirror.

You look like shit, he told himself. He murmured a few words aloud: “I’m in love with you. I am in love with you. Hange, I love you. I love you, Hange. Please be with me.” He took in a deep breath, stronger than the last, before exiting. He bumped into a person when he left the stall but paid no mind to it. When he was about to leave, he noticed the man she was with was gone. Maybe he was the one he bumped into?

“Oi, Hange,” he said, walking to her table. She smiled softly when she saw him.

“Levi, what’re you doing here? I thought you hated liquor.”

“I can’t spend time at a bar?” he replied, leaning a hand on the table. Hange rolled her eyes playfully.

“You can do whatever you please,” She said, beginning to stand up.. “Now if you’ll-”

“Four-eyes,” he interrupted her. “You look…” She stared at him intently, waiting for his response. “Good.”

Her eyes lost their light. Did he upset her? Then Levi realized she wasn’t staring at him anymore, she was looking past his shoulder. At that moment, the dark-skinned man approached Hange from behind Levi. So I did bump into him earlier.

“Are you ready?” He asked her. His voice was deep and seductive. Levi wondered if they fucked yet.

“Just a moment,” Hange replied. “Thank you, Levi. Was that all you had to say?” He felt like an idiot. An absolute idiot.

“N...Yes,” he said, losing all the confidence he had built up. How could he compete with this man? Levi just wretched in the bathroom and looked as pale as a ghost. Hange placed her hand on his shoulder gently, which made Levi’s heart skip a beat.

“Have a good night, Levi. Get your rest.” She started walking past him with her date towards the exit.

“No…” he murmured, inaudible to Hange. Or so he thought. She froze in her spot as she heard him change his answer.

“Onyankapon, could you wait outside for me? Give us a moment,” She whispered to her date. He nodded, exiting the bar. Hange turned around to face Levi. They were standing within a comfortable distance from each other.

“Levi, what else did you have to say? It’s getting late, you know.”

“I miss you,” he admitted. Hange’s eyes widened at his direct statement, knowing he usually states the opposite. “I miss hanging out with you and being with you all the time. You’re with him now and that’s okay but I just wanted to tell you that I can be better for you. I can take you on dates that are more exciting than a bar. You said you always wanted to swim, we can do that… We can do whatever you want us to do. All I care about is being with you.”

Hange’s face flushed red. He never talked like this with her before. She could tell he was a bit desperate but that didn’t make him any less genuine. Her heart ached. She was not sure how to feel. She did love him, but that was a while ago. A little part of her would always love Levi, but she was falling for Onyankapon now.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” she said, barely audible. “I’m sorry. I did feel that way for you a long time ago, but I don’t anymore. I wish you had told me sooner.”

[radiantmists]

pjo + rqg?

(send me two+ fandoms and I’ll give you some thoughts about a crossover!)

Okay, juicy! I ended up spending way longer on this than 10 minutes but I had fun...

The obvious point of meeting is the greek gods being real in both settings, but the challenge with using that approach is that the gods in PJO function as actual characters, albeit powerful ones, whereas in RQG they're very removed forces of nature. They don't have specific interests for which they give quests; they have a sort of general value set and as long as you live by that, you have their favor. And compare the glimpse of Hades we get in RQG Rome with the portrayal of him in PJO-- very different, yeah?

(at this point i got distracted by something and when i came back i didn’t remember where the above was going, so i’m just gonna leave it there to contemplate)

But! I’m now thinking about the rqg cast as demigods, and specifically the fact that Zolf is like, older, which is established in PJO as an unusual thing for demigods and especially kids of the big three. And like, his brother died in a mining accident, so maybe that was Hades or some other god trying to kill him and getting Feryn instead. And so Zolf goes to sea where he’s not constantly harassed by Hades like he would be in a mine, and miraculously survives a shipwreck (or two?), probably thanks to his powers, and maybe one of those wrecks is partially caused by a monster that’s attracted to his demigod-ness so he’s got some more self-blame attached to that, but he’s also  got this weird relationship with Poseidon where he doesn’t want to be ungrateful for his own life being saved and his powers, but he also resents him for all the suffering that’s happened  around him because of his heritage, and that Poseidon hadn’t shielded his family and friends at all.

So he comes on shore after his last shipwreck, having lost the leg to whatever monster there is, and he decides that now that he’s got no one he’s really attached to, he’s going to just fight some monsters. And one day he comes upon some girl getting attacked, and wades in.

Sasha  in this scenario would be a child of Hermes, which I especially like because iirc children of Hermes get basically no powers, they just tend to be sneaky and have the base demigod build. She never knew her mortal parent, and instead got picked up by Barrett, who’s most likely a mortal who can see through the Mist and keeps some monsters on the payroll as well as some demigods to keep them in line. he doesn’t tell her a lot about the grander system, just makes use of her abilities. At some point she’d encountered Eldarion, who’s some kind of minor immortal, maybe a dryad or something, who plays the role of Chiron but... worse. 

Sasha gets away, but out of Eldarion’s protection the monsters who work for Barrett track her down, and this is when she meets Zolf. She’s a bit leery of him at first because the other fully-adult demigods she’s met have all worked for Barret and made questionable compromises of morality in  order to stay alive, but she’s  starting to realize that she genuinely can’t make it on her own, so she agrees to travel with him when he asks. For his part, Zolf is like gdi I can’t believe I’m getting attached to someone again, this always ends badly, but he can hardly leave her to fend for herself either, right?

Within a fairly short window of meeting each other, maybe the same encounter actually, they come across Hamid, who has no idea about any of this myth stuff. Neither of them can figure out who his godly parent is bc he manifests some accidental fire powers, but he really doesn’t seem like any child of Hephaestus they’ve met. Zolf also really can’t leave this one to fend for himself because he has no freaking clue what’s going on and is horrified by killing monsters. He’s not sure how Hamid survived this long by himself.

So they go off together and eventually encounter Wilde, who’s mortal but the Oracle of Apollo. The idea of prophecies and fate has always vaguely infuriated Zolf, plus Wilde is still Wilde, so they don’t get off on a good note, but you also can’t ignore prophecies, so when he says he’s been  guided to them and then goes all funny and vomits a poem that, when recited back to him, he scoffs at the quality of, they don’t much have a choice.

The prophecy probably involves them foiling some plot by a child of Hades, which is maybe why Hades has been so aggressive toward Zolf in the past; along the way they discover that Hamid is actually the child of a monster, specifically a dragon, which iirc is a thing in actual greek myth even if i can’t remember it coming up in PJO. (this is how he’s survived so long; monsters aren’t drawn to him bc he’s not a demigod). 

hamid, i think, figures this out a bit before the rest of the group, and is very freaked out by how his friends will react to it so he keeps it secret. the secret gets blown wide open soon after they meet grizzop, who joined the hunters of artemis bc she’s cool and because immortality and is now off away from the others, tracking some monster involved in the main plot. i think when they reconvene with the hunters, one of them recognizes what hamid is, and then there’s a whole drama where the others have to deal with the revelation while also preventing him from being killed.

wilde manages to be pretty useful despite being mortal and they all get attached to their squishy poet friend, especially when the fact that he never quite asked to be an Oracle and the way it messes with him becomes clear to them.

azu is a child of aphrodite and probably comes from a place where there is a more camp half-blood claiming, group training structure, but she’s definitely the black sheep of the aphrodite group because while love is important to her, she’s really interested in fighting. when whatever oracle they have tells them an aphrodite person has to go on a quest she’s pretty universally nominated, not that she has a problem with that.

cel is a sorceror person along the lines of medea or circe but less evil; i’m not sure where exactly they fit into the plot though. ed is also definitely a child of Apollo in this, and the things with dyslexia and adhd from PJO canon definitely come into play in his backstory as the black sheep of his own family.

zolf and,  to a lesser extent, sasha, tend to come into conflict with grizzop and azu who buy into the whole ‘greatness of gods’ and ‘fate’ stuff a lot more. azu starts to get somewhat disillusioned of all this as the quest goes on and she sees what being a hero actually means. zolf gets into a lot of shouting matches with poseidon, though i think in this universe it would be reparable bc poseidon is a bit more like PJO poseidon who isn’t perfect but is less of a remote dickhead.

i don’t exactly know how things resolve immediately, but an epilogue would definitely be sasha establishing a sort of school/home/camp for demigods that doesn’t push them into roles the way the ones azu and she knew tended to do, and focuses more on giving them a safe place and enough fighting skill to survive, as well as a community who understand, the way zolf helped her. 

[doyelikehaggis]

it has been a hot minute but i am BACK and i also just drank like a whole ass can of monster so this is certainly gonna be something

currently watching s6 e8, it is evil chloe hours and i am HERE FOR IT

is it just me who thinks it’s hilarious that ryan and chloe are the only ones not grounded. like somehow bird is grounded but ryan isnt?? who would’ve thought.

the fact that chloe is inherently disadvantaged in her chances of signing up for the trip. how the hell is she gonna wheel herself there faster than everyone can run without getting herself grounded anyway for going too fast in the house. that was such a stupid system, honestly

everyone: wow ryan’s so mean and unsympathetic

also everyone: *doesn’t even try and be kind up chloe when she got them ungrounded for the trip*

ryan is like,, really not a bad brother? i honestly do not understand why chloe seems to think he’s so terrible (“unfortunate to have a brother who’s ryan” in her words) when she loved him so much before that one episode with the festival in the garden, and now she suddenly dislikes him because he burned sasha’s poster? like i’d get it if she blamed him for her accident but she doesn’t. and literally no matter what she does and says, he still loves her snd helps her? she’s literally like the only person he’ll put above himself and help without some ulterior motive or getting something out of it (mission totally possible notwithstanding) and yet she acts like he���s the worst unless he’s helping her and even when he is (“sometimes it’s hard admitting that someone we love is less than perfect. i should know”) like BITCH you’re worse than him! wow i am unreasonably angry about this

sasha listening to metal and knitting is such a mood. would literally kill to be her

why does bird always get framed for these things. you’d think people would learn it’s never him but somehow everyone always believes it? that kid would never do anything outside the rules unless he was helping someone he cares about *cough* jay and candi-rose *cough*

for fucks sake even ryan thinks framing bird for locking finn in the shed is too far, but noooo he’s the worse sibling, not chloe. she really blackmailed him into dressing as a fucking clown when he was meeting the mayor, but him accidentally saying that chloe was the one who locked finn in the shed is apparently so much more of a betrayal 🧐 (i’m so mad about this help)

“you’re just like ryan” WOW JAY WHEN HAS RYAN EVER REACHED THIS LEVEL OF MANIPULATION. like i know he’s bad but he’s never gotten anyone almost kicked out (i don’t think so anyway, might be forgetting things)

why does chloe get away with all of this with just a telling off and an apology (that she clearly didn’t entirely mean if “enjoy the musical. my musical.” is anything to go by) but ryan gets permanently hated. what. the injustice of this-

and then she really just tricks ryan about supposedly having given the sweets back? she is n o t the lovely person the narrative makes her out to be and i am mad

i’m sorry that most of this was just one long rant, oops 😂 also i hope you make your deadline you mentioned, good luck 🤞

Oh god, okay, I definitely know how it feels to be rambling about TDG while drinking a whole can of monster lmao (though sometimes for me it's like three cans of mountain dew.)

Honestly, I really liked evil Chloe. 1) she deserved the chance to do it at least once or twice, you know? and 2) I just love her more than usual when she acts more like Ryan, there's just something about it.

It is actually quite funny now that you're saying. But also I am now confused, is that still about 6x8? Because if so, I don't remember, was Bird grounded for lying for Jay?? Why was EVERYONE grounded other than Ryan and Chloe??

Wait, hold on, did you mean 7x8? "Snake"? Because that one I understand. But, really, Bird would never have been grounded if it wasn't for Chloe, we all know he is too precious. It is a surprise that Ryan wasn't already grounded on his own, though, I agree

That really was such a stupid system and I absolutely understand why Chloe was so mad about it. She was the one who got them the chance to go again, it was obvious she wanted to go, her name should have automatically been on the list to go. But either way it was going to be unfair because the older ones could easily get there faster than the younger ones, too?? What were they thinking?

It is really annoying how Chloe treats Ryan. He genuinely tries to help her all of the time, and as you said, would put her above himself when he literally would not do that for anyone else. And now we're never going to get anything better than what we got because they're both gone!

Oh my god, yes, Sasha with her knitting and heavy metal. She reminded me of my sister in that scene; crocheting and listening to screaming emo. Sasha is a blessing.

Seriously, it should be so obvious to everyone by now that Bird would never do anything wrong unless he had a really good reason. He's not cruel just for the fun of it, doesn't break stuff and not own up to it. If anything, he's likely to take the blame!!

Ryan's face when he realized what Chloe had done. I do think that was more because we know he does care about Finn and thinks that was a step way too far. I quite liked Ryan accidentally giving up what Chloe had done because he genuinely didn't mean to do it and looked like he regretted it right after, which is interesting for him.

I'm not sure what exactly Jay could have been referencing, it's been a little bit since I've watched it as well, but I do actually kind of see where he was coming from. I think he should have said "you're worse than Ryan" because that would have hurt a lot more, but in that kind of situation, I can see how the first thought would just be to say they're the same because it would still hurt Chloe. It makes sense dialogue wise for what realistically would be said, but I do agree that Chloe was worse than Ryan in that episode. And I loved it.

I don't know why Chloe just got away with it, to be honest. If it had been Ryan, there would definitely be some lingering grudges. Maybe they do just expect Chloe to have learned from it and never do anything like it again, so they're willing to move on and forget it, but because Ryan has slipped up again after being "forgiven" they don't believe he'll change anymore.

Haha, it's okay! And I did not make the deadline, it was for a ship week thing, but it's okay, I'll probably still finish the fics anyway and just post them on their own.

[equalseleventhirds]

quick disclaimer before fic: this is not meant to excuse or absolve melanie and georgie of outing jon; what they did was wrong and they should not have done it. instead it is an... examination of a character who is Maybe working some things out but, due to Internalized Issues, is harshly rejecting it both for herself and other people. (i’m aware i wrote something with the exact same FUCKING premise back when i was in the sh*rl*ck fandom dear god don’t read that linked fic it is from a deeply shameful time of fandom i only linked it as proof i did the same thing before. almost like i’m still working through the same stuff via writing fanfiction. hm.) (further discussion on THAT in post-fic notes; i wanted to keep it under the cut for personal reasons.)

furthermore: warning for discussion of sex (but not explicit depictions of sex), characters experiencing aphobia both internalized and not, mention of sexism wrt jobs, characters outing other characters without their consent (more than once, and more than just jon), and mention of consensual but unwanted sex (as in, consent was given, but the consenter did not enjoy it, and consented due to expectations).

- - -

It starts with: “I don’t, I, I usually can’t—Lately. I mean. Lately I can’t.” Melanie shuts her eyes so she won’t have to see Georgie, her hand on the sheets, judgment questions in her eyes. “Since I got—shot. It’s more difficult, is all.”

“Melanie—”

“You can still try,” she says, the words falling too fast, too panicked. “If you want, sometimes other people—and it’s fine! I’m always, it’s fine to try. Sometimes I do. I just might not. You know.”

“You might not orgasm,” Georgie finishes for her. It’s hard to tell how she’s feeling about it—until her fingers brush Melanie’s chin, turning her face up.

Reluctantly, Melanie opens her eyes, and then she’s glad she did. Because Georgie’s smiling, not a mocking smile, gentle. And they said this was just, just casual, just between friends (there’s too much going on with ghosts and the Institute and Georgie’s ex sleeping on her couch when he isn’t being kidnapped for it to be more than that), but Melanie’s glad Georgie is smiling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Georgie says. She’s sitting up now, not lying almost-not-quite between Melanie’s legs anymore. She looks gorgeous, naked and cross-legged on that horrible mattress with a microfiber sheet wrapped around her shoulders, and Melanie wants to curl up in the sheet with her and eat the leftover pizza from earlier and fall asleep together with grease on their hands.

No. Focus. “It’s okay,” Georgie says again, gentler. “If you can’t right now. If you don’t want to. You certainly gave me a lovely orgasm—”

“—or three—”

“—yes, thank you, and if you’d rather just call it there, I’m not pushing it. As long as you enjoyed yourself.” She frowns, suddenly, glancing down at Melanie’s hands. “You… did enjoy yourself? I hope we didn’t—”

“I did!” She always does, when it’s other people coming, when she gets to be touching warm skin and watching someone fall apart. It’s… nice. “It’s just, you know. I got shot.”

(And isn’t that a convenient excuse, she sneers in her own head, and it sounds like Toni refusing to come back to the team, it sounds like the most sarcastic videos about her breakdown, it sounds like Elias. Isn’t it convenient that now you can blame your little problem on blood flow, or nerve endings, or stress. Never mind that you didn’t have those excuses a year ago. Or two years. Or back when you had a real girlfriend, and you always said yes but she got tired before—)

Georgie tucks a strand of hair behind Melanie’s ear. “Okay, good. If we, you know, try this again sometime? If you’re feeling better? Then I can try.” She stops, licks her lips, watches Melanie’s expression. “Or I can… not try, if you’d still prefer that. Later. You know. If.”

“I’m not—” And she’s rushing again, always rushing, she doesn’t even know if she and Georgie will ever—

“No, I know! It’s fine! But like—Look, this isn’t exactly new for me, you know? If that’s something you want. Something you don’t want. Or I, I’m saying it’s not a problem, if you do or don’t want me to make you come in the future, or even if you don’t want to have sex at all, I mean, when we were dating Jon didn’t—”

That’s where Georgie stops, as if talking about Jon is too much, as if she hasn’t been speaking Melanie’s secret insecurities out loud in bed like it’s something they can talk about, as if all of this hasn’t already been too much and too terrifying already.

Melanie stands up, grabs the comforter as a makeshift cloak (because Georgie has the sheet, and suddenly she isn’t sure she wants to share the sheet with her). “Right.”

“I’m just—I have a friend. Who you might talk to, if you wanted to talk about this.”

She steps away from the bed, towards the door. “Sure. Pizza? I’m hungry.”

-

The problem is, Melanie doesn’t much like Jon. He was such a dick about the Youtube thing, and about her statement, and about Sasha. And even though she knows (sort of) that part of it hadn’t been his fault, she still isn’t going to talk over her disinterest in sex with him. It’s mortifying. Even if he wasn’t her boss. And Georgie’s ex. And currently out of the Archives, anyway.

But she wants to talk to somebody, about Georgie’s words running around and around and around her head, about the sheer panic mixing with almost-relief and then the visceral no no no churning low in her stomach that had made it a struggle just to choke down her pizza. She wants to ask someone is this normal, am I allowed, is it even enough to be halfway to ‘not at all’ or should I just suck it up. She wants to talk that out desperately.

It’s just… she doesn’t have many friends left, after her whole fall from Youtube ghost hunter grace. She’s not going to ask Georgie about it, any more than Jon, although for pretty much the opposite reason. Who’s left? Her shiny new coworkers? Tim, who seethes and hates everything and everyone in the Archives? Martin, who’s still upset that Jon so much as spoke to her while he was on the run? Basira?

-

When Melanie met Sasha—the real Sasha, the one apparently no one but her even remembers—she’d been the only woman in the Archives. And Melanie had chatted with her about haunted pubs, and maximizing SEO, and how to talk to people who’d seen a white dog while they were drunk and thought it was a ghost. And about their jobs, of course, which led to both of them scoffing about the sexist bullshit of academia and how someone like Sasha could be just an assistant and the only woman on her team.

And then Elias hired Melanie to replace… the thing that replaced Sasha. Hired another woman to replace the only woman. You learn to see patterns from the kind of person who might say diversity the same way as toilet plunger: something necessary, but distasteful. Melanie was filling a role he needed filled, and she could live with that.

And then Basira.

Who wasn’t there because she wanted to be, of course, but was still there. Was still another woman in the boy’s club of terror they’d apparently signed on for. Could maybe, maybe, be someone Melanie could connect with. Someone she could talk to.

Maybe.

-

“Do you know if he and Jon ever…?”

“No clue, and not interested!” She’s laughing, about to just dismiss it out of hand, but… maybe. She can feel the questions she never asked Georgie, the words sharpening their claws on the edges of her mind. The no, not me, not allowed sinking in her gut.

“Although…” Make it light. Make it interesting. Make it about someone else. How to hook an audience without having a public breakdown and becoming a— “According to Georgie, Jon… doesn’t.”

It feels wrong as soon as she says it. Like she’s dirty. Like she’s lying. Like a thousand eyes are looking at her, watching her, waiting for more. Make it a story. Engage your audience. Like it’s 2013 in a convention hotel room and Pete just told everyone Don’t worry, Mel likes girls actually, and even though they were all fine about it that moment of sharpshock terror in her throat as they all looked—

“Like, at all?”

The one thing she never learned was how to stop talking. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, that does explain some stuff.”

And that’s… it, really. That does explain some stuff. Jon is a dick, has always been a dick, overfocused on work and not on other people, and that does explain some stuff. Right. Yes. Like her last girlfriend had told her, about all you do is work, I can’t even get you off. An explanation, just like she always knew it would be.

It doesn’t really matter. She has a boss to go kill.

-

“I think,” she says, slow, like every word is being dragged out of her, “that I might not like. Sex. As much as, you know, people do.”

“You’re a person,” her therapist says, firm, and she has to bite back a sarcastic laugh.

“Right. ‘Course.”

- - -

post-fic notes: i myself personally have previously identified as: heteroromantic gray-ace, heteroromantic ace, aroace, aro gray-ace, aro bi, bi, arospec bi, aro bi again, and aro bi but sex ambivalent. part of that has been natural progression and change; part of that was bcos some people i considered friends got very into aphobic discourse, and i internalized a lot of what they said. in recent months i have been examining my sex ambivalence (sometimes repulsion) and considering what that means about whether or not i am on the ace spectrum. i’m still thinking about these things. i’m still, deep down inside, afraid of the aphobic people i respected and cared about hearing about this.

in part i wrote this to work through some of My Own Shit regarding this. in part i wrote this bcos i will get my grubby little aspec hands (bcos regardless of anything else, i am aspec, whether that’s ace or aro) on every character i can. yes, even the ones who did an objectively shitty thing to jon, the one canonical ace character. bcos sometimes people (like me) internalize things and make mistakes.

[yodawgiherd]

Red flag

>>> AO3 <<<

ye, just creating random scenarios instead of sleeping, that's how we roll

“Don’t get into cars with strangers.“

That’s what her mother told her back when she was a child, and that was the rule she lived by. Until tonight. Because tonight, Mikasa was leading a complete unknown out of the bar, not nearly as drunk as she wanted to be when she came. Why? Because her last exam was done, which meant that now she had a glorious month of no university work, no assignments, no nothing, just free time to do whatever she wished. Which meant getting roped in with Sasha and following her bestie out of the dorms and into the welcoming embrace of the city’s busy nightlife.

With a clear intent in mind, to get as drunk as possible and finally let go for once. School was kicking her ass lately, so much that she had to cut down on her Muay Thai classes, a fact that had her brother scowling endlessly. Mikasa shook her head. She didn’t want to think about her brother today, or school, or workouts. Tonight, she wanted to drink and have a good time with Sasha. Tonight, her brain was on party mode.

The plan was great at the start. She and Sasha met some other schoolmates at the first bar, doing the exact same thing, and they joined forces. When Sasha grew bored, they changed establishments for another bar where they met yet another group, and once again bundled together. Her brown-haired friend just had that effect on people, Sasha was so friendly that it was infectious in a way. Now surrounded by a rather large group, Mikasa could finally feel the fact that her finals are done making its way to her brain. For the first time in months, she felt herself relaxing, truly enjoying the moment. Raising her glass, she emptied it, feeling the burn of alcohol in her throat. Everything was going great, she was getting wasted at exactly the preferred rate, and her life didn’t seem so gloom for a moment.

And then he walked in.

Brown hair in a ponytail, green emeralds for eyes, a confident stride of someone who is attractive and damn well knows it. Not paying attention left or right, he beelined to the bar, nodding at the bartender who almost immediately served him something in a tall glass. A regular then.

“Hey, Miks…”

Torn from her trance, she turned her head to the left to see Sasha gripping her shoulder, an ear to ear grin on her face.

“You’re staring.”

A faint blush crept up Mikasa’s features and she vehemently shook her head.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I haven’t seen you like this since you saw that new motorbike model.”, turning on shaky legs, Sasha observed the new guy down the glass in one smooth go, “Well, I can see why you’re gawking like that. This looks like a fun ride too.”

It took a second before Mikasa understood the double-meaning in Sasha’s words, which made her blush even harder.

“It’s not like that…”

“Why not?”

“H-Huh?”

“You’re a grown woman Miks, just go talk to the guy, see where the night takes you.”

“B-But..”

“Hey, I won’t force you.”, Sasha calmed her, “But I don’t see what’s wrong in you having some fun once in your life. C’mon, what’s the worst thing that can happen? If he’s a creep or something, just knock him on his ass.”

Mikasa opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, but nothing came out.

“Welp, if you want to just sit here and make fish-faces at me, that’s fine too, but I’m getting another drink. You have fun now, you hear?”

Done with her free advice class, Sasha let go of Mikasa’s shoulder and made her way back towards the bar. Turning the words inside her head, she tapped her fingers against the glass. Have fun, Sasha said. But she was having fun, damn it, before this guy walked in. Now all she could think of was how nicely his forearms looked when he flexed his fingers and….

Oh god, was she seriously admiring his forearms? How far had she fallen.

Then again, Sasha was right, there was nothing wrong with enjoying yourself once in a while. In the worst-case scenario, Mikasa was more than able to defend herself, Levi took care of that years ago. Finishing her next shot, Mikasa made a decision, standing up swiftly without even wobbling on her feet. Unlike Sasha, she was very far from being hammered, and the lack of alcohol in her system was making this thing just that much harder. A deep breath later, she made her way towards where the guy was sitting, wondering how the hell one started a conversation with a complete stranger.

In high school, Mikasa was often told that she has the attitude of ice queen – she didn’t care what people thought about her, and she didn’t think much about anyone herself. As queen of the ice, she should be good at breaking it, right? Yet apparently it didn’t work that way, because she found herself standing next to the stranger’s barstool while drawing a complete blank in her brain. Words were just impossible, and she cursed whoever invented English because he had to make the language so hard on purpose. Just as she was about to turn and walk/run away in shame, the stranger took notice of her, turning towards Mikasa with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I help you?”

Damn, even his voice was sexy. He asked her a question, answer. Answer. Answer….

“I…. Huh…”

For some reason, he found that amusing, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. Pointing at the stool next to him, he continued himself.

“Would you like to sit?”

Saved from answering, she plopped down on the offered seat, her cheeks flaming red. This wouldn’t work, she was just making a fool of herself. And the stranger was keen on torturing her with more completely basic questions that any other human being would have no problem answering.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

A nod was the best she could manage.

“Any preferences?”

“H-Huh…”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“I’ll pick for you then if that’s okay.”

Another nod.

Leaning over the counter, he ordered her something, sitting back after. Determined to stop acting like a five-year-old, Mikasa raised her eyes, meeting the inquisitive green gaze. She could get lost in those eyes no problem….

“Can I at least know your name? Please.”

All right, she can give him this, come on.

“M-Mikasa.”

Good job!

“Mikasa.”, it rolled off his tongue naturally, “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

He paused there, probably waiting for a response, but got nothing.

“I’m Eren. Nice to meet you.”

She nodded at him. Again. Luckily, the bartender picked just that moment to clink her drink down, and Mikasa could hide her face behind glass for a moment. Whatever Eren ordered her was fruity and fresh, with just a small hint of alcohol. It would appear that he wasn’t trying to get her wasted, which gave him a few good guy points in her book.

“So… Mikasa…”

Oh shit, he was talking again.

“How are you doing this evening? All good?”

If she came here of her own volition, that meant that she wanted to talk to the guy so, please... Nope, nothing came out.

“Well, they say silence is golden right?”

For whatever reason, Eren looked like he was having a blast in this one-sided dialogue, instead of being weirded out. Why? And he still went on.

“Since you are such a great conversation partner, I could bounce some of my ideas off you, what do you say? Nothing? Good. Ok, so….”

Sometimes, she wished that she was more like Sasha. While in the ring Mikasa could take on anyone or anything, in social situations she was helpless. On the other hand, Sasha could very well have a great talk with a rock and somehow befriend it. Mikasa should know, as she was the rock at the start of their friendship, it was completely Sasha’s doing that they were roommates now. But even with that giant social blocker in her brain, Mikasa could see that she completely sunk whatever chance she had here, and now was left with only one thing. Exit. Gritting her teeth, she stood up straight, interrupting Eren’s monologue about the economic situation of the middle class.

“I’m sorry, but this is not working.”, to ease her speech, she kept her eyes on the floor, “I made an ass of myself, so I’ll just cut my losses and leave. Feel free to laugh.”

Resolutely, she began to turn, only to be stopped by his voice.

“Please don’t.”

Raising her eyes from the floor, she saw that Eren’s face was completely serious, he wasn’t making fun of her.

“Huh?”

“Mikasa, please don’t go.”, he repeated, “I do enjoy your company.”

“The company of a silent creep?”

“Creep? No... I think it’s cute.”

The blush that was present on her face for this whole time had now spread everywhere.

“W-What?”

“Yea. I know that this is pretty shallow of me, but I think that you are really pretty, and I would like to get to know you better.”,  a crooked smile appeared, “If you will finally talk to me, that is.”

This was completely out of her character. She had never done this before. She never even thought about doing it before. But this is how Sasha did it, right? This is how.. normal people did it. This was….

But she liked this guy, really really liked how he looked, he was basically what she imagined her type to be if it was a person, liked how he talked. Plus there was that strange gut feeling Mikasa got once she moved closer to him. Like she knew him already, like they already talked before or something. That had to be fake, as this was the first time her eyes saw him because she wouldn’t forget someone like this. Yet the feeling remained, only growing stronger.

So Mikasa collected all that was left of her courage, hot-glued it together, and made a sentence.

“How about we skip the talking and head out?”

Eren’s eyes widened, and Mikasa didn’t blame him. How does one react when the girl that couldn’t complete a sentence is now asking you out, just like that.

“You sure?”, the wariness was clear in his voice.

Scared that her voice will betray her again, Mikasa just nodded, her favorite head movement for the evening.

“All right then.”

Eren finished his drink, fished out some money and placed them on the counter before standing up. His eyes were still confused, but he gestured towards the exit in the classic “ladies first” move. Dude was probably still half-sure that Mikasa was making fun of him. Shooting a last look towards her group, her eyes met Sasha��s who gave her encouraging thumbs up. And then they were out, standing awkwardly in front of the bar.

“Is there a place you want to go?”, Eren asked, either dense as hell or the perfect gentleman, giving her an out if she wanted it.

Judging from his face, it was probably the latter, but Mikasa was still riding high on that bravery wave, determined to push through to the final goal.

“How about your place?” she offered.

To her surprise, Eren leaned closer, and Mikasa’s fist tensed on its own, ready to defend herself if the need arose. But all he did was look her in the eyes, studying her face for a moment.

“You’re hardly even drunk.”, he finally concluded, pulling back.

“That an issue?”

“It would be an issue if you were hammered.”, Eren corrected her, “I have no interest in that.”

“Well, I’m just slightly buzzed, so how about you get us a ride?”

“Do you really want me to?”

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.”

Finally convinced that Mikasa was in her senses and wanting this, Eren was quick to grab them a taxi. Not that long after, they were standing in front of his flat’s door while he fumbled with the keys a bit before finding the right one. Cracking the door open, he stepped aside, letting Mikasa go in first.

“Welcome to my kingdom.”, he said, “Make yourself at home.”

It was a very nice flat, much better than her dorm. Pretty big too, Mikasa noted, making her wonder if he was living here on his own.

“Take your shoes off please,” a polite request from behind her, “I like to keep things clean.”

Her brother would be happy. After complying, Mikasa walked into something which was probably a living room, dominated by a large couch and a flat-screened TV. Following Eren’s wish of making herself at home, she sat down, eyes wandering. The room was very neat and organized, but it lacked personal items, those small trinkets that people collected through their lives and that could be used to get a bit of an insight into their personality. Even in his home, Eren remained a mystery.

The couch dipped, announcing his arrival. Turning to face him, Mikasa was once again hit by that beautiful green gaze, somehow making her feel all warm and tingly inside.

“So, what do we do now?”, Eren asked, smiling once more, “Something in mind?”

In rare moments like these, Mikasa usually asked herself a question. What would Sasha do? Well…

“Just one.”

Luckily, he sat close enough that when she moved in for the kiss, she didn’t have to go far. It still caught him a bit off guard, but Eren had quick reactions and was kissing her back before she could truly get irritated at the lack of response. And damn, he was good. She could say that he was experienced, because the movements of his tongue and lips were short but calculated, drawing gasps much faster than Mikasa thought was possible. He liked to take control too, as she found herself on her back very quickly, with Eren hovering over her, pressing her down into the soft material. The way he kissed was addicting, and with each one, Mikasa was more at peace with her reckless decision to come here. When he dropped his mouth down on her neck, the sharp bite made her moan, the realization that she will have a dark mark tomorrow flying out of the window. Her body acted on its own, turned on so efficiently, she didn’t even realize that her hips rubbed against him, against that hardness that was forming in Eren’s pants. Dropping a hand between them, she palmed that impressive length, earning a groan against the skin on her neck. Yet for some reason, it was that touch that broke the spell. She was enjoying this, he was, judging from the sounds he was making, too, so when Eren suddenly pulled back without saying anything Mikasa did not understand it at all.

Opening her eyes that she closed in her bliss before, Mikasa saw that Eren was sitting a bit away from her, watching her with a strange glint in his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”, she asked, more than hoping that he will continue.

Instead, he shook his head.

“I can’t do this.”

“Huh?”

Bullshit. Unless Eren was keeping a large flashlight in his boxers, he most definitely could do it. Question was, why didn’t he want to? He did say that she is pretty, right?

“I can’t…. Uhm... It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I think it would be better to show you. Wait here? Please.”

Again so polite. Mikasa nodded, watching him give her a tight smile before he stood up and disappeared somewhere inside the flat. At least it gave her time to sit up and fix her ruffled dress, calming her horny mind for a moment. It didn’t feel nice to be so violently yanked from such a pleasant kiss, but Eren had something to get off his chest and if she wanted the night to go on, she had to deal with it first. Such is life, no good thing comes without baggage.

Eren was back before she could think about whatever the problem was. He looked the same, the only change being that his face was wet, most likely from a splash of cold water, and he was holding something in his hands. Sitting back, he offered the item to Mikasa for inspection, making her brows furrow. It was a rope. Reaching out, she took it, feeling it in her own hands, still having no idea what this had to do with Eren giving her the proverbial blue balls.

“It’s soft.”, she said out of nowhere, breaking the silence.

“It’s a special kind, doesn’t give burns or marks easily.”, Eren quickly supplied.

All right, that’s cool, but still….

“I don’t get it.”, she finally surrendered, looking up from the rope.

“The thing is, I don’t really have a normal sex.”

“Why?”

“Professional deformation.”

“H-Huh?”

“That’s a story for another day. Now, since you are apparently willing to continue, I have to ask you.”, Eren took the rope from her hands, flexing it between his fingers, “Would it be okay if I tied you up first?”

Talk about a giant red flag. The stranger not only had her in his home, he also wanted to tie her up as the first thing. Normally, Mikasa would immediately say no and leave. But then again, normal Mikasa would never find herself here in the first place. Normal Mikasa would never talk to strangers at a bar and ask them out. Normal Mikasa…….. was on vacation today.

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.”, she confessed.

“That’s fine, let’s start small, see if you can handle it.”, Eren immediately answered, “Hold out your hand.”

Following the command, Mikasa did so, watching when he looped the rope once around her wrist, tightening it with very practiced movements. This was not his first time, that was for sure.

“First a rule, if I do something you don’t like and you want me to stop immediately, just say red, okay?”

She nodded. That was easy enough.

“Good. Now close your eyes.”, Eren went on, “Tell me how you feel.”

She did so, surrendering to the darkness. The touch at her wrist was something new, but not unpleasant, the rope was indeed very soft. It hugged her close, like a bracelet, sliding over her skin with a hushed whisper that promised so much more, if she is willing.

“It’s… good. Good.”

“Okay, let’s try something harder. Can I have your other hand? Oh, and keep your eyes closed.”

When she offered it, Eren gently pushed her hands together and after a moment her hands were tied at the wrist.

“What now?”

Mikasa breathed in, breathed out, focused on that sensation. At first, it was fine, but then….

The memories, the blood, the darkness. And she was helpless to defend herself, she couldn’t do anything, because her hands were tied, she couldn’t….

Her breathing became ragged, heartbeat accelerating but not in a good way, and suddenly it was very, very cold in the room. Panic was choking her, rising into her throat and she had to get away, get free, now, now, NOW.

“Red red red red.”, Mikasa screamed those words out.

There was a kiss of something cold on her wrists but then the rope was gone and she was free, scooting away from her assailant on the sofa as far as it would let her. Finally opening her eyes, she saw Eren looking at her, with the cut rope in one hand and a knife in the other. Sensing her urgency, he probably decided to just cut the bindings instead of taking his time with undoing the knots. He also saw just how distressed Mikasa was and didn’t try to move closer, giving her all the space she wanted. Rubbing her wrists, calming her breathing and realizing that nothing happened, Mikasa slowly got her body back into control.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do it after all.”, she finally said, earning a sad smile from him.

“Of course, I understand.”

Her reaction was violent and over the top, but it was clear to see that whatever plagued Mikasa was not something she was willing to share, and Eren did not press the issue. Smart guy.

“I should go.”

“Let me call you a cab.”, he offered immediately, grabbing his phone before Mikasa could protest.

Sitting in silence, she listened as he got her a ride, gallant as ever.

“He will be here soon.”

A nod. Good enough.

“Listen, Mikasa.”, she looked up from her lap, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Eren wanted to hug her then but held himself back because he could say that physical contact was something very far down on her priority list right now.

“Can I give you my number?”

She blinked at him, not understanding why he would ever want something to do with her again.

“I meant what I said at the bar,“ Eren continued, “I would like to get to know you. How about you give me a call and we meet someday. I’ll treat you to lunch or something.”

She was still on the fence, though, this humiliating evening left her ashamed enough that meeting the guy who saw her at her lowest was not exactly appealing.

“I’ll just give you my number, you don’t have to give me yours.”, he offered, “So If you don’t want to see me again, just don’t call. I promise I won’t stalk you.”

Finally, thank heavens, she caved in. Must have been the promise of free food.

“All right.”

So one one-sided number exchange later, Mikasa said her goodbyes and was gone, leaving Eren alone with a faint ember of hope in his chest. It was strange since she said about two to three full sentences that evening, but Eren could not shake that pleasant feeling that he had in her presence. And what was that spine tingle that tried to tell him that he met her before? No way, a girl like that he would remember. Why? Because she was exactly his type.

[whitehotharlots]

Previewing the 2024 Democrat Primary

Within a couple weeks of his being sworn in, just about every person on earth will wish Joe Biden was no longer president. Sure, the few surviving John B. Anderson voters will be thrilled to see 4 years of crushing austerity and half-assed attempts at Keynesian stimulus. But most people will begin dreaming about a brighter future.

Good news! The 2024 Democratic primary field is going to contain dozens of options. Bad news! They are all going to be disgusting piles of shit. 

The “top tier”

While it’s too early to do any handicapping, these are the candidates the media will treat as having the most realistic chances of securing the nomination. 

Kamala Harris

Kamala did not win a single primary delegate in 2020. This is because she dropped out before the first primary, and that was because no one likes her. She has no base beyond a few thousand of twitter’s most violent psychos. Her disingenuousness approaches John Edwards levels: any halfway incredulous person can see immediately beyond her bullshit. She has no principles whatsoever, and while that may be par for the course for Democrats, she lacks even the basic politician’s ability to intuit anything that might, hypothetically, constitute a principle. 

Even better: she is an awful public speaker. She sounds like how a talking dog would speak if he were just caught stealing people food off the kitchen table. She communicates in weird grunts and faux sassy squeaks, which is how she imagines real black women sound like, but something about her is unable to sell the bit. She begins her sentences in halfhearted AAVE, stops and panics halfway through as she realizes that maybe this sounds fake and offensive, and then reminds herself oh wait, no, this is okay since I’m black. This doesn’t happen once or twice per speech. This is how every single sentence sounds. 

Kamala is like Nancy Pelosi in that no sketch show will ever impersonate her correctly, because anything that came close to authenticity would be considered far too cruel. This might benefit her in the primaries, as she exists in the minds of Democrats as someone and something she absolutely is not in reality. Nominating her would be like allowing your child’s imaginary friend to attempt to drive you to the store. 

Andrew Cuomo

Easily one of the 50 worst people alive, Cuomo has a solid chance because Democrats, same as Republicans, are unable to differentiate between electability and self-serving ruthlessness. Cuomo used the deadliest public health crisis in American history as a pretext for cutting Medicaid and firing 5,000 MTA workers, and his approval rating increased. New York Dems are little piggies who love eating shit. If we assume that the political media will continue their habit of refusing to discuss the legislative history of right wing Democrats, Cuomo might well cruise to the nomination and then lose to literally any human being the GOP nominates by an historic margin. 

Joe Biden

The party loves him because he is a right wing racist. “Progressives” tolerate him because black primary voters over 40 supported him, and their opinion is supposedly a magic window into god’s truth. Everyone else can tell he is manifestly senile. I don’t put it above the DNC to pick a candidate who is in horrible health, dying, or even dead--whatever the financial sector wants, they’ll get. But I would be shocked if his approval rating is above 39% by mid-2023, and by that point deep fake technology will be advanced enough they’ll put out a very lifelike video in which the Max Headroom version of Joe explains he’s proud of his accomplishments--that budget’s almost balanced already--but, man, I gotta abd--I gotta abdica--, uhh, I gotta, I, uhh, I gotta move down, man. 

Wild Cards

These candidates would have all have a chance if they ran, but they could all much more easily retire to Little Saint James off of kickbacks they’ve gotten from Citibank and I.G. Farben. 

Rahm Emanuel

Rahm is going to receive some hugely influential post in the Biden administration. Let’s say he becomes Secretary of Education. His signature achievement will be replacing all elementary school teachers with Amazon’s Alexa, which saved the taxpayers so much money we were able to quadruple the number of armed police officers we put into high schools. This will give him several thousand positive profiles on network news programs and the near-universal support of the Silicon Valley vampires who will own 99% of the country by the time Biden’s term ends. They will use their fancy mind control devices to convince geriatic primary voters that Rahm’s the one who will bring Decency back to the white house. His candidacy will be the paragon of wokeness, as expressing concern toward the fact that he covered up the police murder of a black guy will get you called a racist. 

Rahm has a bonus in that Jewish men are now Schrodeniger’s PoC. When they are decent human beings, they are basic, cis white men who are stealing attention from disabled trans candidates of color. When they love austerity and apartheid, they become the most vulnerable people of color on earth and criticizing them in any way is genocide. No one will be able to mention a single thing Rahm has ever done or said without opening themselves to accusations of antisemitism, and that gives him a strong edge against the rest of the field. The good news is that an Emmanuel candidacy would result in over 50% of black voters choosing the GOP candidate--which, I guess that’s not really good but it would certainly be funny. 

Gavin Newsom

Newsom is every bit as feckless as Cuomo, but he doesn’t put off the same “bad guy in an early Steven Segal movie” vibes. He will mention climate change 50 times per speech and no one will bother to mention how he keeps signing fracking contracts even though his state is now on fire 11 months of the year. If anything, this will be spun into an argument about how he’s actually the candidate best suited to handle all the water refugees gathering on the southern border. Look for his plan to curb emissions by 10% by the year 2150 to get high marks from Sierra Club nerds. He’s also a celebate librarian’s idea of what constitutes a handsome man, so he’ll have some support from the type of women who claim to hate all men. 

Larry Summers

I mean, why not? Larry, like most members of the Obama administration, has politics that are eerily similar to those of Jordan Peterson. In normal circumstances, this makes a person a dangerous fascist who should not be platformed. But if that person has a D next to their name this makes them a realistic pragmatist who has what it takes to bring suburban bankers into our tent. If current trends in Woke Phrenology continue apace, Larry’s belief that women are inherently bad at STEM will be liberal orthodoxy by 2023, and his dedication to the Laffer Curve could see him rake in massive donations. Seriously, I’m not kidding: cultural liberalism is now fully dedicated to identity essentialism and balanced budgets. Larry is their ideal candidate. If he were black and/or a woman, I’d put him in the very top tier. 

Jay Inslee

Unlike Newsom, Inslee’s attempt to crown himself the King of Global Warming won’t be immediately derailed, since his state is only on fire because of protestors. This, however, poses a different problem. He’s going to be a good test case for the Democrat’s uneasy peace with the ever increasing share of the electorate who become catatonic upon hearing a pronoun. On the one hand, you need to take their votes for granted. On the other hand, they’re not like black people or regular gays: most voters actively, consciously despise wokies, and associating yourself with them will ruin a campaign even in deep blue areas. There’s still gonna be riots in a year. Biden’s gonna announce the sale of all our nation’s potable water to the good folks at Nestle and some trans freak named Sasha-Malia DeBalzac is going to use that as an opportunity to sell their new pamphlet about how it’s fascist to not burn down small businesses. No matter what Inslee does in response, it’ll end his career. 

AOC

I’m not one of those “AOC is a secret conservative” weirdos, but I am aware enough of basic reality to know she has zero chance of coming close to the nomination. The right and the center both regard her as a literal demon. The party is already blaming her for the fact that a handful of faceless Reagan acolytes failed to flip their suburban districts even though they ran on sensible pragmatic proposals like euthanizing the homeless. The recriminations will only get more unhinged when the Dems eat shit in the 2022 midterms. She will be a Russian, she will be white male, she will be a communist, she will be a homophobe: any insult or conspiracy theory you can name, MSNBC will spend hours discussing. Her house seat challenger will receive a record amount of support from the DNC in 2024 and it’ll be all she can do to remain in congress.

Larry Hogan

Don’t be dissuaded by the fact that he’s a Republican. Larry is the DNC’s ideal candidate: a physically repulsive conservative who owes his entire career to appealing to the most spiteful desires of suburban white people. He’s an open racist in a material sense--if you’re old-school enough to think racism is a matter of beliefs and actions, rather than the presence of cultural signifiers--but his is the beloved “never Trump” style of racism that Dems covet. He’s also a Proven Leader who thinks the role of government should be to finance the construction of investment property and give police the resources they need to run successful drug trafficking operations. Few people embody the Democrat worldview more than Larry. 

The Losers Bracket

These people will have at least a small chance due solely to the fact that the Democrats love losing. They have lost in the past, and in the Democrat Mind that makes them especially qualified.

Joe Kennedy

The man looks like a mushroom-human hybrid from a JRPG. Trump proved that physical hideousness need not doom a presidential bid, but a candidate still needs some kind of charm or oratorical abilities or, god forbid, a decent platform. Joe aggressively lacks all of these things. A vanity campaign would be a good way to raise money and perhaps secure an MSNBC gig, so Joe might still run. 

Mayor Pete 

I am 100% convinced that Pete’s 2020 run was a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. I am also 100% aware that Democrats are dumb enough to enthusiastically support a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. If we have some sort of military or terror disaster between now and 2023 the Dems are sure to want a TROOP, and wait wait wait you’re telling me this one is a gay troop? Holy hell there’s no way that could lose!

Stacy Abrams

Never underestimate the power of white guilt. She lost the gubernatorial race to Gomer Pyle’s grandson, and her spiritual guidance of the Dems saw the party lose black voters in Georgia in 2020. Nonetheless, she is regarded as a magic font of fierceness within the DNC. She might stand a chance if she can establish herself as the most conservative non-white candidate in the field, but there’s going to be stiff competition for that honor.

Elizabeth Warren

Liz is probably angry that the party so shamelessly sold her out even after she was a good little girl and sabatoged Bernie’s campaign for them--yet another example of high ranking US government officials reneging on their promises to the Native American community. Smdh. The fact that this woman hasn’t been bankrupted a dozen times over by various Wallet Inspectors genuinely astounds me. So Liz is probably going to run again, and her campaign will be even sadder the second time around. 

It might surprise you to hear this if you don’t work at a college or NGO, but Liz diehards actually do exist. She’ll get even less support this time because there will be no viable leftist in the field for her to spoil, but she’ll still hang in long enough to make sure the very worst possible candidate beats out the second worst possible candidate. Maybe she’ll fabricate a rape accusation against Sherrod Brown. Maybe she’ll spend her entire allotted debate time doing a land acknowledgment. With Liz, anything is possible--so long as it ends in failure. 

Amy Klobuchar 

Amy was the most bloodthirsty of the 2020 also rans. She will double down on the unpopular failures of the Biden administration, explaining that if you weren’t such a selfish idiot you’d love the higher social security retirement age and oh my god are so such a moron you think you shouldn’t go bankrupt to get a COVID vaccine? There’s a non-unsubstantial segment of the Democratic base that’s self-hating enough to find this appealing, but it won’t be enough to make her viable. 

Martha Coakley

She lost Ted Kennedy’s senate seat to a retarded man who was pretending to be even more retarded than he actually was. Then she lost a gubernatorial race to a guy who openly promised Massachusetts voters that he would punish them for electing him. Her record of failure is unparalleled, making her perhaps the ideal Democrat standard bearer for the twenty twenties. 

[dathen]

TMA 166 Liveblog Dump

I finally got through an episode without my twitter getting locked for spam good for me

OH GOOD THEY'RE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE THING

Domain of the Buried oh I was not expecting that

"look down" and then helen shows up IS SHE PUTTING HER DOORS ON THE FLOOR..

I wish Martin had wanted to talk about the Implications of Jon killing vs. the "how"....like...does the "how" matter..?  everything is fairy tale logic

Helen trying to put Jon at the same level as Elias for having a difficult time describing stuff >:|  fucking helen

oooh this is GOOD LORE though Helen describing herself as a manifestation on par with the Not!Sasha is EXACTLY what my theory was (vs. a Helen-the-person becoming a formerly-person avatar)

Jon being able to shift someone from being The Feared to The Afraid [eye emojis] I am dying for this to happen to Jonah I am DYING

"I don't see why you were being so coy about it--" "Because I'm ashamed, Martin!"  Jonnnnn ;;;A;;; Also said in the EXACT same delivery as "because I'm afraid, Martin!"

hhhh this Martin characterization is exactly what I felt was the context of the end of 165; he's so used to being in a position of powerlessness and having to play these dangerous games to stay safe, power is EXCITING

it's weird to hear the words "go full Kill Bill" and "get our murder" on coming from his mouth, but the idea of him supporting Jon in avenging himself on those who hurt him and killing the torturers of the new world is..not as surprising to me as it could be

(I hate that this conversation is happening in front of Helen though.  Helen is the one of the worst influences I could come up with for either of them right now, and I genuinely expect some level of spying/sabotage from that direction if they're too open)

[presses face to glass]  Martin honey you've been doing great with relationship stuff so far and this is probably your first one but you might have not learned the "have delicate arguments in privacy and security with boundaries vs in front of a Monster Jury" bittttt

I think Martin realized he fucked up a bit, his voice gets so soft asking if Jon needs anything after Helen leaves ._. 

I can't get over Jon's ramble about why he's ashamed that he still blames himself for this, and hates that he has less pain and more freedom than those he considers more innocent, and even hates that he has the power to defend himself now. I'm SO SAD but I love him so much

once again I get where both of them are coming from; Jon feels it's WRONG that he's not suffering and can kill things that try to hurt him or Martin while Martin sees Jon as a victim regaining agency Jon is back to being eight years old and blaming himself for escaping Mr Spider

oh man oh man this buried statement coming after Jon's confession of shame and guilt  "He never knew something that could be called freedom, even if he had choice" That sums up so much for these characters from the moment they started working in the Archive

"while his feet could turn left, only turning right let him scrape out a meager living"  I REALLY love the explorations of the tyranny of poverty this season; with the show as a whole working as an effective metaphor for capitalism, it makes me wonder what the ending message is

this statement is a jon metaphor all the way through  "If it moves like a worm and thinks like a worm.." for the self-dehumanization of the victim compare to "if it lives like a monster and feeds like a monster" for him

(I'm having a little ADHD trouble following statements this season--I think it's because they're less of a personal story format)

"forces of paper and ink and decimal points" go OFF

hhhhh this also feels like a parallel to how Jon feels about the very journey they're taking if even THAT is the pinprick of light at the surface Martin's hope of fixing the world?  does Jon even have that tiny spark of hope?

me:  for this statement to really parallel how the characters in the show are trapped, it would have to include something about how they turned on each other when they couldn't escape statement:  [does exactly that] me:  surprisedpikachu.jpg

Jon's "god, I hate the Buried" and struggling to catch his breath after... .________.   retraumatizing himself over his own stay in the coffin....  I'm so SAD

Martin:  Man I wish I had some magazines Martin:  *imagines Leitner magazine*  ACTUALLY NEVERMIND

ohh I do NOT like Martin seeing a spade and then giving in to using it I do NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL where is my boy who refused to pick up the telephone

LKSJDFLSJF I KNEW THAT WHEN WE HEARD FROM ANNABELLE THE VOICE WOULD BE UNDERWHELMING  listen it's impossible to top "Jon reading a woman's statement" voice that is just maximum appeal to me it doesn't get sexier than that

I am seething this entire conversation but Martin starting out with refusal and telling her to stop calling him is giving me my scraps of validation against the "Martin's been working for the Web the whole time" idea

"does he even need you at all" Annabelle........is that really the angle you're gonna try............are you kidding me.......

okay what is Annabelle's angle here at all Trying to convince him that Jon doesn't need him...and she does? Offering him help...to do what? She's obviously trying to hit some nerves or pull some strings but it felt very hamfisted fhhsdfh

I'm going to make Martin hanging up on Annabelle and telling her to never contact him again my ringtone

*adds Telephone by Lady Gaga to my TMA playlist*   it's a Martin song

[wolftraps]

Sign over your soul

Many people (including @sidewalk-and-chalkin most recently) asked about Cass and her meeting with Martin about keeping her job and the whole reveal. Technically this doesn’t include the full reveal, but I already gave you a powerpoint for that. So here. Have Cass and Martin trying to one-up each other while Jon continues being a disaster.

--

Cass and Martin have never been friends. Which is odd because it’s not like they haven’t known each other, and they’re both generally friendly people. They’ve even been friends with a lot of the same people. And yet, even after years of working in the same place and talking to the same people, they still know each other almost solely by reputation. Reputation which, prior to Martin joining the Archives, had been good. Now… well, now it’s hard to say. The doors are locked, as usual, when Cass arrives for her pseudo-interview, but that’s been the case for months and it hasn’t mattered so far. And as usual, Patrząc meets her out front and leads her around to a side door, propped open with a tape recorder, that she locks back up behind her. As always. “And how are you today, beautiful?” Cass asks. Patrząc meows back, pleased. “That’s great. So, what are the odds I’m about to lose my job?” Another meow; Cass laughs. “I know better than to bet against myself. Do you even have any money?” Patrząc ignores her, just leads her through the familiar building to a room on the ground floor that Cass knows has been turned into Martin’s new office. There they stop. “Right.” Cass takes a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

“Mrrow,” Patrząc says. “It doesn’t matter if I need it or not. It’s polite.” The cat just stares. “Oh hush.” With another breath, Cass knocks, intending to wait, but as soon as she does, Patrząc huffs and rubs up against the door, which swings open with only a soft click. She meows at Martin as she leads Cass in and then stalks right back out as the door closes behind her. “That cat has no sense of decorum,” Cass says fondly, staring after her. “She’s Jon’s cat,” Martin responds, just as fond, “I’ve given up. Anyway. Sit, please. You want any tea?” “Sure. Just a—” “Small spoonful of sugar,” Martin finishes, already setting the mug in front of her. It’s made perfectly. “So, first off, thank you for all the work you’ve been doing. It’s really been a relief to not have all that to worry about.” “No idea what you’re talking about,” Cass lies. “Right. So you don’t want this bonus I was going to give you.” “Well it’s not like you or Sims were going to maintain the network. Also you can blame the cat for letting me in.” “Yeah, I know. I’ve always known. If it was a problem we would’ve talked way before now.” “Right. Good… Should I bother asking how? I know you’re not watching the security footage.” She’d checked. No one had accessed any of it but her since they closed the doors. “You… can. First I’d like to go over some things myself. And, whenever he can be bothered to join us, Jon has some questions too.” “O- oh.” Cass doesn’t actually have anything to hide— not really. She still gets a shiver down her spine, though, and takes a sip of perfect tea to cover it. “Sure.” “Cool. Alright. Where—” Martin flips through the papers on his desk, fumbling a bit. It makes him look like the same nice, approachable man he’d been before. Something about it feels deliberate, though. Cass forces herself into a relaxed posture to match. Finally, Martin finds what he was ‘looking’ for, two sheets down in the stack right in front of him. “Ah! Here we go. So you’ve been working here for six years, right? Two promotions in that time. Do you like working here? I guess that’s a good place to start.” “I mean, yeah. It’s not exactly easy work. IT in a place like this—” “Not exactly easy to do any job in a place like this,” Martin mutters. “Well, yeah, but you never had to explain to Elias that it didn’t matter how high- or low- tech we went, security cameras wouldn’t work in the Archives.” “You didn’t have to hide in your flat for a full day because supernatural worms trapped you there.” “You didn’t have to create an entirely new encryption program to prevent data corruption in all Elias’s emails.” “You didn’t have to try to convince Tim not to murder Jon.” “You didn’t have to write a virus to keep Tim from stalking Sims even more.” “Did you really?” “Yeah.” “Oh… thanks.” Cass waves him off. “Not like it worked.” “Still… You didn’t get chased through secret tunnels and stumble across your old boss’s corpse.” “Right, about that! Who did kill Gertrude? Really?” “Elias.” “Yes! Called it…” She considers for a second. “You didn’t have to crawl through the walls to replace the cables the worms ate through. You think the ECDC cleared out all their gross, wriggly little corpses? They didn’t.” Martin sets down his tea, looking appropriately disgusted. “Oh, ugh. Hmm… You didn’t have to run from a creature that eats people and steals their identities.” “You didn’t have your friend replaced and have to explain to their best friend what happened without fully understanding it yourself.” “I… kind of did, actually.”

Cass pauses, something suddenly becoming clear. “Oh… oh. I’m… surprised Tim was as controlled as he was, then.” “Yeah. He had… other things to distract him. It’s not exactly the same. Sasha’s still around, sort of. She’s just—” Not something he really wants to talk about, clearly. “Right. You’ve never had to spend hours trying to figure out exactly how Sasha fucked up your system after she changed things without warning.” “I have, though,” Martin sighs, clearly exasperated. “The number of forms I’ve had to redo. It’s not… totally her fault. She doesn’t mean to do it; it’s more like a reflex.” “Oh no. Michael Lanson’s entire existence in our system was not some reflex. She did that intentionally, and she made it just right enough that I probably wouldn’t have noticed for months if Hannah hadn’t said something, and just wrong enough I had to redo the whole thing from scratch or it would’ve drove me insane.” “Oh. That. Yeah. She was… trying to do us a favor, sort of? Anyway, you never had to convince Daisy Tonner that you had no clue where Jon might be while he was on the run.” “Sure I did. Not as hard as you did, sure, but I still had to lie to her.” “Wait— You knew where Jon was?” “I mean, not at first. But Melanie King comes in talking about the dead guy being Jurgen Leitner and leaving with boxes from the Archives? That she’s just allowed to carry out? After Sims utterly destroyed Diana in her defense?” “Wait, Jon did what?”

Cass sits bolt upright, potential glee already taking hold. “You don’t know about that? I swear the archives were CCed.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Oh my god. Okay. Hold on,” Cass says, already scrolling through the saved emails on her phone. It takes less than a minute to find and send the right one. “You never wondered why Diana hates Sims so much?” “I mean. A lot of people hate Jon, and I doubt Diana could kill him, so I wasn’t that worried that… Oh my god, Jon. How did I miss this? I… I think I might need to frame this… Wait, if you thought he was with Melanie, why didn’t you say anything to Daisy?” Cass pauses for a second, but, well, given how freaky the Archivist himself is, this probably won’t phase Martin too much. “I didn’t just think. I traced her mobile to place her at Georgie Barker’s and then hacked CCTV feeds until I caught Sims.” “You…” Martin sighs and slumps a bit. “Of course you did. I don’t know why I… That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell Daisy.” Cass shrugs and takes another sip of tea. “Wasn’t my business. Also, that would’ve been tampering and all the bets I’d taken would be void. Anyway. You never had to prove to Daisy Tonner that you’d already destroyed any and all evidence that might implicate Jonathan Sims in any murder, especially that of Peter Lukas, after she joined the Institute.” “You never had to get Jon to talk about his feelings.” “True, but you never had to explain to Elias both what keyloggers are and why we shouldn’t use them.” “Key— Wait, are you trying to tell me there aren’t keyloggers on every computer here?” “Oh, no, there absolutely are. But all collected data is immediately encrypted with a specially created algorithm where the key changes at short, irregular intervals and requires both knowledge-based and biological-based authentication just to generate a decryption key for use. Also our storage space is limited, so most of it can only be kept for a week at most. He probably still knew everything everyone ever typed, but any actual evidence was only ever accessible by me.” It takes Martin a moment to process this. Cass takes another sip of tea. “How did you get away with that?” “Assured him Gertrude would never be able to access any of it. And then every time he came around for any reason I started thinking about all the upgrades I wanted to ask for.” He looks a little shell-shocked. “I… honestly can’t tell how much you know about everything that’s been going on around here.” “Not as much as us, but more than most everyone else, and enough she likely won’t change her mind about staying,” Jonathan Sims says, striding in looking harried with a very self-satisfied cat draped across his shoulders. “I… apologize for my tardiness, Martin, Josie.” Cass freezes. “Jos—” Martin starts to ask. “Ahh,” Sims says, almost sheepishly. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t—” “It’s fine,” Cass says stiffly. “I figured you probably knew. It’s— not actually that big a deal.” “Still. I shouldn’t— I didn’t mean to—” Well, this is awkward. “Martin said you had some questions,” she cuts him off. “Y-yes. I— don’t think that will be necessary.” “Wait- really?” Martin asks incredulously. “You don’t have any questions? You?” “I—” Cass knows many things about most of the people who have worked in the Institute over the past six years, but there’s only so much you can ever actually know about a person from a distance. She’s good at filling in the blanks, but it still somehow surprises her to find that the dreaded Archivist is almost painfully awkward. He looks at her with something like apprehension. “Go ahead,” she tells him and goes to take another sip, only to find her cup empty. Damn. “Miss Walters has a grand total of one close friend outside the Institute, and that only because Hannah Kenway has now left our employ. Her only remaining family is a grandfather who lives in a small town near Barcelona and hasn’t taken any of her calls in the past five years, though she still always tries on Christmas and her mother’s birthday. She has had an interest in the paranormal since… ah.” “Since?” Martin prompts. Cass keeps staring at the empty mug in betrayal. “Since her mother disappeared when she was six, after reading her a children’s book titled “Una Invitada Para el Señor Araña.” “What does— Ohh.” “Guessing you know that one, then,” Cass says. “I— had my own encounter with it,” Sims tells her. “About three years after yours, though it was in English then.” “Yeah. Strange how no one ever believes the kid who says they saw a giant spider eat someone.” “And yet— You aren’t afraid of spiders.” “I am. Sort of. After it happened, I decided I was going to learn everything there was to know about spiders, the supernatural, and Jurgen Letiner. Which eventually brought me here. It’s just… Spiders are fascinating. I have a… healthy respect for them—” “And you’ve always been attracted to dangerous things.” Cass narrows her eyes at him and tries to keep her voice serious when she says, “If you’re about to say the word ‘murderwives,’ I’m gonna have to insist you let me record it.” Sims scowls, something like affront on his face. “I would not.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but now I actually kind of want to hear you say that, Jon,” Martin says. Cass wonders again why they aren’t friends already. “I will not!” “I bet Sasha could get you to say it.” “She could not, and you are not going to call her in here just to try,” Sims asserts, but the mischievous smile Martin has doesn’t seem to agree. “Martin.” “I won’t call her in here just to try,” Martin promises, though Cass notes what he doesn’t say and doubts that will be the end of it. Around Sims, Martin nods at her, just slightly, and she knows that she’ll probably get an audio file from him within the week. Sims looks reproachful. Martin looks entirely unrepentant. “Regardless,” Sims decides to move on, “Miss Walters has found herself rather attached to the Institute and likely hasn’t even considered not staying on. Also I suspect, should we not keep her on, our network may refuse to cooperate with her replacement entirely.” “… You mean that literally, don’t you?” Martin sounds so resigned Cass has to laugh. “That’s my baby,” she says proudly. “Right,” he sighs. “So I guess we’ll just go straight to selling your soul to a fear god, then.” She can’t say that’s what she was expecting to hear, especially with someone like Martin in charge. But, she supposes, they don’t actually know each other that well. Anyway, selling your soul to a fear god sounds dangerous, and she’s intrigued. “Alright,” she asks, “is that a bug or a feature?”

[nyctolovian]

My first platonic fic in a while! Just hope its not too odd! I like Daisy and Jon’s friendship a lot. It’s so... complicated but real? Ugh yeh. This is an exploration of that

Summary: For a while, everyone was busy in their own corners of the world, and Jon and Daisy only had each other. So they made sure they were there for each other.

Exactly what it says on the tin. (Set in S4)

Daisy had just completed the set of exercises Basira had tasked her with when she heard Jon's low voice behind her, "Daisy, could you move over?" Jon nudged her shoulder and she hissed in pain. Immediately, he snatched his hand back. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he stammered out. "Did I hurt you? I—"

"It's nothing. You didn't hurt me."

"A-Are you sure?"

She glanced down. "I… I might have a couple of bruises after I… you know."

"Oh," Jon muttered.

Daisy bit her lip. She had been layered up ever since she emerged from the coffin. Half of the reason was her insecurity over her stark muscle loss. She was miserably stick-thin, sharing almost the same body shape as Jon. A body that she couldn't recognise and made her sick at the sight. And then, there were those bruises. Blue and purple spilled over her skin like ink stains, and she couldn't bear the thought of Basira fussing over those as well.

Jon cleared his throat nervously and said, "I got a couple of bruises from then too. Probably not as bad as yours. I-I have a tube of cream in my bag. Do you want some? It, uh, helped me. With mine."

"It's alright. I couldn't reach anyway."

"Reach what?"

"The bruises. On my back."

"Oh… Um, you could ask Basira to help you with it."

"No, I…" Daisy glared at her feet. "I'd rather not bother Basira anymore than I already have. I'm dead weight to her and that isn't what she needs."

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind helping you."

"Who she doesn't mind helping is the old Daisy. The one who could have her back. This Daisy is useless to her, no matter how she tries to help," she growled. "I'm not going to burden her with babysitting duties. She has… so much to deal with already."

Jon shot her a look of pain and she ducked her head. God, it hurt that she was being treated like a… a child. All everyone has done since she's come back was pity her or baby her, neither of which she felt she deserved. Who was she to receive this care and concern from people when she had robbed that possibility for so many others?

Silently, she stepped aside and Jon nodded, grabbing the box from the shelf. He slotted some things into it before tiptoeing to put it back. He struggled for a little bit before he managed to shove the box in with a low grunt.

Jon's feet shuffled away before marching right back. "I'll give you the cream anyway," he said.

Daisy shook her head.

"Wh-Why not? Look, uh, you could just use it for the places you can reach. Your arms and legs maybe? I did get a bit bruised up there from crawling."

"No, thank you."

"Or, uh, if you want, I could ask Melanie—"

"I don't," she said exhaustedly. "You don't have to do things for me."

"I don't have to. But I want to," Jon replied firmly.

Daisy folded her arms, gripping her sleeves. Why wouldn't Jon leave her alone. Why did he care?

Jon began again. "Or I could help—" He winced at his own words. "That's a terrible idea, isn't it?"

"You know what, Jon?" she said. "Fine, I'll let you do it."

His jaw dropped. "Wh-What?"

"There's a cot, right? I'll be there," she said, walking off, leaving Jon stammering by himself.

She sat on the cot, fiddling with her phone listlessly. Daisy didn't know whether she expected Jon to show up or not. So she was simultaneously shocked and not surprised when Jon came in, knocking on the door frame. He had a tube of cream in his hands and his eyes darted around nervously.

"Uh…" he said, as he pulled a stool towards the cot. "Right." After sitting in it, he cleared his throat.

Daisy sighed and went to the door to close it. When she turned around, Jon was looking at her with wide eyes, like a frightened rabbit. Though, he really couldn't be blamed.

She lay facedown on the cot. The two of them locked eyes for five awkward seconds before she sighed and said, "Lift the back of my shirt."

Jon jumped. "What?"

"I'm aching all over. I cannot do it myself, alright?"

Jon's eyes darted between Daisy and the door. "Uh, are you sure you're okay with that?"

"I asked you to do it, didn't I?"

"I'm… I just want to make sure. You're not usually…" He paused, wringing his hands. Static rose in. As though there was a change in pressure, Daisy's ear popped and a gasp escaped Jon. Indignation and fear seeped out of him and shook his voice. "You… You expect me to hurt you," he said.

Daisy gritted her teeth. "Whatever you'll do to me, I probably deserve it," she replied.

A conflicted look passed over Jon's bony features. "I… I don't… Deserve? I— It's… I'm not going to hurt you, Daisy."

"Why not?" Daisy snapped, pushing herself upright. Her movement was too big and too fast, because a sharp pang of pain shot through her shoulder and she crumpled back onto the cot.

Jon caught her just barely and stopped her from landing face first into the hard mattress. She let out a groan as she slowly eased her arms into a more comfortable position.

Warm hands massaged her upper arm and shoulder tentatively at first, before pressing more firmly. Jon sighed. "Look, Melanie hates my guts. Basira… She'd prefer not to be in the same room as me. Tim's dead. Sasha's dead. Martin won't even talk to me."

Gaze shifting to the floor, she swallowed thickly. "I see," she said with understanding. "Sorry."

Jon hummed emphatically.

They fell silent for a couple of seconds before Daisy pat the cot with conviction. "Come on," she said, looking up at the fidgety man. "We don't have all day. Get on with it, Jon."

[ollieofthebeholder]

and some say love is holding on (and some say letting go): a The Magnus Archives fanfic

Also on AO3. Takes place immediately after Episode 159: The Last. Title and song lyrics from Perhaps Love by John Denver, which is going to end up being the lynchpin of an eventual JonMartin playlist.

Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm It exists to bring you comfort, it is there to keep you warm And in those times of trouble when you are most alone The memory of love will bring you home...

~*~*~*~*~*~

The exhaustion hits the second they cross the threshold from the Lonely’s domain to the real world. Jon is shaking from head to toe, worse than the last time he went more than a couple days without a statement, and the confidence and energy with which he brought them out seems to leave him in a rush, like water swirling down a bathtub drain. He could easily sleep for a week.

At his side, Martin’s knees buckle, and he’s trembling so hard it seems like he might actually fly to pieces. Jon tries to support him, but he’s a head shorter and a good deal skinnier than Martin and it would be an effort under the best of circumstances, which these are decidedly not. He intends to guide Martin gently to sit down on the floor, but it ends up being an ungraceful, barely-controlled mutual collapse.

“Let’s just rest here for a minute,” Jon murmurs, trying to catch his breath.

“Do we really have time?” Martin asks, also gasping for air like they had to work a lot harder to get out than they did.

They probably don’t, actually. Trevor and Julia are up there somewhere, cutting a swath through the Institute’s staff, or trying to anyway. The thing that took Sasha’s place is on the loose, too, abandoning all pretense at humanity. Daisy has given herself back over to the Hunt—Jon knew that was what she was going to do without even having to use his abilities—and even if she did it to save them, to save him, she did it knowing she won’t be coming back from it this time. God, if there is an actual God, only knows where Elias—Jonah—has gone or what he’s up to, what he’s plotting now. There may not be a new entity coming into being or a ritual they need to interrupt, but there are still a lot of very dangerous things out there and most of them very much want to kill them. Or at least Jon.

But they’re both exhausted. Jon’s never used his abilities against another avatar before, or such a reluctant subject, and it’s taken a lot out of him. And Martin—God, Martin. Martin stood up to Peter Lukas, to the avatar of the Lonely. He fought his way back from the brink of being claimed. There’s no way he’s not completely worn out. Whatever might be happening on the surface, Martin needs to rest and Jon is going to give him that.

“I think we’ll have to make it,” he says. “The time, I mean. Whatever’s going on...we won’t be of much use like this.”

Martin gives a soft hum, maybe of agreement, maybe just of acknowledgment. They sit there for a few moments, leaning against one of the smooth stone walls, arms still wrapped around each other’s shoulders. There is no sound in that vast, empty room but their harsh and ragged breathing. Jon concentrates on Martin’s heartbeat, close to his ear because of his height and the way they’re sitting. The steady, even thudding comforts him, reminding him that Martin is alive and safe and there. He’s not okay. Neither of them are by a long shot. They haven’t been for a long time, probably since they started working at the Institute. But they’re together and they’re alive, and that goes a pretty long way.

After a bit, Martin says quietly, “The...thing. Not-Sasha. Peter set it loose, Jon.”

“I know,” Jon admits. “It came after us. After me. Trouble is, Trevor and Julia are up there too.”

“The...? I thought they were in America!”

“They were. Followed me here. Finally figured out I’d taken Gerry’s page from that damned book.” Jon sighs heavily. “Daisy fought them off once before, but they came back. They were cutting their way through the Institute. We—Basira and Daisy and I—we were going to try and fight them off, but then the thing that took Sasha’s place came out. Decided Trevor and Julia were a better target than me, I guess? Basira told me to go and I don’t have any real idea what happened after that.”

Martin gives a short laugh that somehow sounds amused, tired, and slightly bitter all at once. “There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say again.”

“Yes, well, I do have to concentrate most of the time to read minds,” Jon says, trying and failing to smile. “And I had something rather more important worrying me.” He pauses, then adds, “What...happened? I know this is the Panopticon. I know Elias is Jonah Magnus body-hopping, and I know Peter Lukas took you into the Lonely, but...what happened?”

“A lot,” Martin says. “Or maybe it just...felt like a lot. I don’t know if I can...” He looks around, then gestures with his free hand off to Jon’s left. “Should be on there.”

Jon turns to look and sees one of those damned tape recorders. Honestly, he should be used to them turning up everywhere these days, and he mostly is, but he’s got to admit he’s surprised to see it here. “Did Jonah bring that?”

“No, I did. Or, well, it came with me.” Martin shrugs. “Didn’t turn it on consciously or anything, so I’ve no idea what’s on there, but I can guess. Tends to turn itself on when something important is going to happen.”

Jon considers the recorder for a minute. It sits innocuously enough, and it doesn’t seem to be running at the moment, so whatever is on its tape is a past recording. It’s just out of reach from his present position, but there is a black nylon strap trailing off one side. He stretches his leg out as far as he can go and kicks ineffectually for a bit before he finally manages to land his heel in the center of the loop. Slowly and carefully, he drags the recorder towards him until it’s close enough that he can reach out and snag it with his free hand.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier just to get up and grab it?” Martin says. “Or wait until you were up to moving that far?”

Jon doesn’t even give the idea of bantering back a second’s thought, nor does he consider putting a gloss on his reasoning. If anyone deserves the immediate, instinctive, and above all honest answer, it’s Martin. “I’d have had to let go of you to do that,” he says as he hits the rewind button. “And I’m honestly afraid if I do, something else will try to take you away again.”

For a moment, there’s no sound in the room but the whir of the tape spooling backwards. Finally, Martin says, “I know, you put a lot of effort into dragging me out of there once already. Shame for that to go to waste.”

A knot forms in Jon’s chest. God, what the hell did Peter Lukas do to Martin? Or...has he always thought like this? “You honestly think I’d have done that for anyone else?”

There’s another beat before Martin answers. “I mean...yes?”

“Martin...”

“You already did it with Daisy—”

Jon is shaking his head before Martin gets all the words out. “That wasn’t the same thing at all.”

“She was trapped in the domain of another...power. You went plunging in, found her, and brought her back out again, alive and well. Seems like the same thing to me.”

“It’s not,” Jon insists, looking up into Martin’s face. “For one thing, the reasoning was completely different. I went to find Daisy because I felt guilty.”

“Guilty,” Martin says flatly.

“I’m the one that brought her into that mess,” Jon says softly. “I’m the one that didn’t prepare properly for what would happen in the Unknowing and got her mixed up in it. And I just...we lost Tim. I lost Tim. I couldn’t bring him home. I could bring Daisy home safe. I went after her because I thought it would help my guilt if I could see her alive, and with Basira again.”

“Did it?”

“Sort of? I still...” The tape pops as it hits the beginning of the reel, but Jon ignores it for the moment. “I still feel guilty about Tim. I think I always will. Not just him getting killed, but...all of it. I couldn’t fix that, and no matter what I do for anyone else, I never can make it up to him. I’m not sure if I could have even if he’d survived. I don’t know if he would have let me. But at least Daisy was out of there, and I knew I’d done what I could for her. And she’s been doing all right, more or less. Or was, until today. Even if she did join the Institute to get away from the nightmares. Basira’s still inclined to beat up on me a bit, but Daisy doesn’t seem like she blames me, which helps.”

Martin sighs and slumps back against the wall. “Think that tape’s ready.”

Jon knows a dodge when he hears one, but he decides not to call Martin out on it just yet. Instead, he presses the play button and lets the tape go.

It is the one Martin had with him, starting with him and Peter Lukas first coming into the tunnels. Jon’s stomach lurches every time Lukas talks, the buttery-smooth words eroding Martin’s self-confidence and serving to isolate him further. It’s no wonder Martin tried to make Jon leave him in the Lonely, if this is how the bastard talked to him every time they interacted. His heart twists violently at Martin’s voice—the way it shifts from nervousness to trepidation to fear to outright panic—and then Elias’s voice comes through and his heart nearly stops dead. He listens to both of them taunting, toying with Martin, both of them for some reason urging him to kill Elias—to kill Jonah...

And then Martin refuses.

Jon’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He stares speechlessly at the tape recorder as Martin’s voice spills out, telling Lukas what he was thinking, why he did what he did, how he figured out that Lukas was lying to him for some reason. He stands up to Peter Lukas, the avatar of the Lonely, to his face, and refuses to kill a man who richly deserves it, a man nobody would blame him for destroying. Jon can picture him, shoulders squared and head held high, a defiant glint in his eye as he stares down not one, but two fears trying to claim him, and remains, solely and unequivocally, Martin.

He’s never been prouder.

His heart stutters again when Martin starts to ask a question and then vanishes. There’s a loud squeal of static, and Jon can almost hear voices in it, but it’s too much effort to try and force knowledge out of a magnetic tape right then, so he leaves it. And then he hears his own voice, piecing together the little bit he was able to glean from the surface of Elias’s—Jonah’s—mind, replaying the conversation leading up to him opening his mind, finding the path to the Lonely, and going off after Martin.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Martin says softly when the tape ends with a final-sounding click.

“What, you wanted me to leave you there?”

“Yes! I mean...I can’t say I’d like being there, but...damn it, Jon, the whole point was to keep you safe,” Martin blurts out. “Weren’t you listening? Did you not listen to a single thing I said? All right, I know I didn’t give you all the information, but I couldn’t, not and risk Peter starting to toy with you. As long as he thought I was really staying away from you, you were safe, from him at least. And I thought with Elias locked up, you’d be safe from him, and I knew—Elias told me you listened to all the tapes, so I knew once the recorders started popping up again you’d hear them eventually. I tried everything I could to keep you safe, and you just—walked into the Lonely like it was nothing!”

“No!” Jon says forcefully, and he grips Martin’s shirt tightly, forcing his attention onto him, forcing him to listen. “It wasn’t nothing, Martin, and you know that. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Ever. I had no idea if I was going to be able to get out again, if we were going to be able to get out again. When I went into that coffin to find Daisy, I left a rib as an anchor by the door, so I’d know where the way out was. I had a plan, as...ill-advised as it was, but I did have one. I didn’t have that when I came after you, and I knew there was a chance this was a one-way trip. But it would have been worth it, do you hear me? I don’t care if I’d been trapped in there forever, because if I hadn’t gone in there, you would have been alone, and I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t, Martin.” He closes his eyes, trying to stop the sudden rush of tears he can feel threatening to spill over. “All this time...I trusted you. I did. I knew you knew what you were doing. I trusted you to have a plan and to be all right. And you did, and I am so very, very proud of you and what you did. But you...I didn’t just need you to know what you were doing. I needed you to be all right. And when I found that tape you left me, and I realized where you’d gone, I...I panicked. A lot. Nobody would help me, and I was so damn desperate I tried to force Helen to take me to the center, take me to you. I was never afraid for myself, Martin. Not throughout any of this. I was afraid for you. I needed you to be safe, and I was so afraid that I’d be too late.” He draws in a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought I was.”

He looks up and sees Martin staring at him, his eyes wide and wet behind his glasses and lips parted slightly. His expression is hard to read—Jon’s leaning towards disbelief, but there might be a little bit of fear there, too. He could probably know if he wanted to, but in the first place, he is very tired and that’s a lot of effort, and in the second place...well. He’s never pried into Martin’s mind, even accidentally, except once to know where he was because he needed to see him so badly. He’s not about to start now—not here, not in the aftermath of what’s probably the most terrifying thing they’ve faced down since Jon took over as Archivist, which is saying rather a lot.

“Martin,” he whispers again, and it’s halfway a prayer and halfway a question.

Martin shakes his head slightly, although it doesn’t seem like it’s in answer to the unspoken question. “Don’t do this, Jon,” he says, his voice breaking. “Don’t...don’t just tell me what I want to hear. I know you know...I know you listen to the tapes. I know you know how I—don’t play with me. Please.”

“I’m not playing, Martin,” Jon says, his heart breaking all over again. “I meant what I said. Just now. In the Lonely. What I’ve been...I should have told you so long ago. I need you, very much. I care about you. I—” His voice hitches. He hasn’t said it to anyone, in so many years—maybe not ever—has he ever said it? Has he ever meant it?

Well, he means it now. With his entire heart, with whatever he has that still passes for a soul, with everything that is within him. All the twisting paths his mind has taken these last two years, since the first time he really looked at Martin as he sat opposite the tape recorder and insisted on giving his statement, coalesce and unfold into a single, beautiful truth. But it sticks in his damned throat, and he can’t seem to manage to actually just say it.

“He was wrong, you know,” Martin says softly. “Elias. Jonah. Whatever. He was wrong.”

“About what?” Jon asks, a little taken aback by the twist of the conversation. Has he misjudged? He was so sure...

“What he said when he caught me burning those statements. My distraction. So Melanie could get those tapes.” Martin blinks hard. “You listened to that tape, right? He said...that’s when he told me you listened to all of them.” Again that short laugh layered with emotion. “Like that was going to change anything I said.”

“I, ah—no, not that one,” Jon confesses. “Not yet. I...Melanie told me your plan worked. I was...more focused on the statements. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive that day. I almost did, the other day, after I told you about...how to quit, but I—I just haven’t yet. What did he tell you?”

Martin swallows hard. “He said...he assumed you’d told me to burn the statements while he was gone. Said I’d do anything you told me to. It’s not that. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Jon nods. He’s known that for a while now, ever since Martin was “out sick” for two weeks and then came tumbling back into the Archives with the news that Jane Prentiss had been holding him hostage in his own apartment, without his phone. At first he thought, if only to himself, that Martin’s insistence on investigating so deeply was out of some inane need to prove himself, but somewhere around midnight, lying awake in his bed and finding himself wondering if the other man was comfortable and—most importantly—safe in the Archives after all, he came to the sudden realization that it wasn’t that at all. Martin knew, even before Jon did, how badly he needed to know all the details of the statements, and he went looking in the hopes that it would make Jon happy. It hasn’t escaped Jon’s attention that Martin is the only one on the team who’s recorded more than one or two statements, either. He shouldered the burden without question or complaint, for no other reason than to help Jon out. Martin has become the only person in the Institute Jon trusts completely and without question, because if anyone has earned that trust, it’s Martin.

“I just...I figured you knew how I felt,” Martin mumbles. “Even aside from the tapes. I know you just...know things sometimes, too. And, let’s face it, I’m not exactly subtle. Tim—” His voice hitches slightly on their friend’s name. “Tim used to love taking the piss out of me for it. So even if you weren’t psychic—”

“I’m not—all right, fine, I’m psychic. But I’ve never read your mind,” Jon tells him. “I—I try very hard not to invade people’s privacy, especially the people I care about, even accidentally. And I’m—I can be somewhat oblivious at times,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh. “I suppose...I suppose I didn’t see it because I thought there was no possible way I could be so lucky.”

“Lucky?” Martin repeats, sounding faintly surprised.

Jon reaches up with one trembling hand and cups Martin’s cheek. “To have you feel the same way about me that I do about you.”

He tries not to voice his thoughts aloud, tries not to think about what Martin said the first time, when they were still trapped in Peter Lukas’s hellscape. I loved you. Not present tense, past tense. Loved. Jon knows, with a certainty that has nothing to do with the Eye, that he’s not going to stop feeling this way any time in his life. And if it’s now as one-sided as he always assumed it was, well, he’s lived with it this long. It won’t bother him too much.

Both the Eye and his own, actual brain chime in to inform him that he’s only kidding himself. It will bother him; it will hurt deeply to know that he could have had a chance at happiness, at maybe a little bit of peace, and he missed out on it forever because he couldn’t get his head out of his arse long enough to tell Martin why he agreed so readily to leave him behind before traipsing off to blow up a circus. He hopes like hell that Martin’s words were just an effect of the Lonely, that the world they were in warped his mind and made all his thoughts and feelings in the real world seem distant and unreal, because as terrifying as that thought is, the idea that Martin might have really stopped loving him is worse.

Of course, he thinks bitterly, see previous statement regarding there being no possible way I could be so lucky.

There seems to be an eternity in the heartbeat between Jon’s statement and the small, broken sound that escapes Martin’s lips. He turns his head slightly and brushes his lips against the palm of Jon’s hand, just for a second, then leans into the hand and wraps his arms around Jon, tight and secure. Jon can’t help the gasp of relief as he returns the embrace as fiercely as he dares, silently offering up a prayer of thanks to whatever higher power has decided to give him a damned break for once in his life.

“I—” Jon tries again, but the words stick in his throat just as hard. He wants to say it. Needs to say it. Needs Martin to understand. But they just won’t come.

“I know,” Martin whispers, his voice thick with tears. “Me, too, Jon.”

There are no words, in any language, to describe the emotions that flood over Jon with that. Or maybe there are, but Jon can’t think of them. All he can think is thank you thank you thank you as he presses his face into the space between Martin’s neck and shoulder. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s never deserved Martin, his loyalty and quiet devotion, everything that’s served as a touchstone, a way to ground Jon to reality, the one thing keeping him from losing himself completely. It’s been hard, keeping his distance from Martin since he woke up from his coma, but he realizes it hasn’t exactly been a picnic for Martin either. Jon at least had Basira and Melanie and Daisy, even if at least one of them wanted to kill him at any given time, and even though none of them are Martin, none of them could ever understand him the way Martin has from the very start. Martin had no one, and even if it was his choice—or he was pretending it was, anyway—it had to hurt. All those months in close, near-constant proximity to Peter Lukas, the avatar of Isolation, would destroy a weaker man than Martin Blackwood. Jon knows, with utter certainty, that he would never have been able to survive that. He would have given in. He would have broken. But Martin stayed the course and survived.

And then Jon almost lost him anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the sound muffled by Martin’s shirt. “I’m so sorry. If I’d...”

“Don’t,” Martin chokes. “’S not your fault. You didn’t—this isn’t on you.” He lets out another short laugh, but there’s no bitterness in it this time and it makes Jon’s heart lighten a little. “You saved me.”

“You saved me first. We’re even.” Jon tries to laugh. “Actually, I think you’re still well ahead.”

Martin huffs, but doesn’t argue. Jon senses it’s less because he agrees and more because he doesn’t have the energy. “Don’t suppose you know the way out of this maze.”

“That...no. I don’t,” Jon admits. He shifts back enough to look up at Martin’s face, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t know if he can right now. Maybe not ever. “I only got down here because—Jonah called me. I’d like to think I’d have been able to find you, but these paths are...”

“Distorted?”

“Yes, that’s probably the best word for them. I doubt I could have retraced your steps and made it.”

Martin’s lips twitch in a smile. “Maybe it’s like leaving the Lonely. Maybe you just have to pick a direction and keep moving that way.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Jon corrects him. “It wasn’t that I knew where the exit was, either. I didn’t...not exactly.”

“You said you—” Martin stops. “No. You said you knew the way out. That’s it, isn’t it? The only way out of the Lonely was together.”

Jon brushes his knuckles against Martin’s cheek fondly. “I knew you were still part of the Archives.”

Martin blushes. He takes Jon’s hand in his and kisses the back of it gently. “Well, then, maybe we can find our way out of here together, too. If you’re ready.”

Jon can feel his own cheeks heating up. He nods. “I think I’m about as ready as I’ll be able to be down here. You?”

“Same. Feel like I could sleep for a week, though.”

It’s on the tip of Jon’s tongue to suggest they collapse in the back room of the Archives, where Martin stayed when they were worried about Jane Prentiss, but he holds off. First of all, he suspects neither one of them wants to relive those days, especially as Prentiss was closer than they’d suspected. Even now, Jon’s heart lurches and stutters when he remembers those worms working their way through the walls, how close they came to getting to Martin when he was alone and vulnerable, and he doubts Martin has forgotten that either. Second, and more importantly, Jon is fairly certain the Institute is going to be crawling with police, between the thing that isn’t Sasha getting loose and Travis and Julia outright murdering people. The Archives are almost certainly a crime scene, and there’s no way they’ll be able to stay there, even if they want to.

“We might be able to get some sleep down here first,” he says instead.

“Not sure how much sleep I’d actually be able to get with...” Martin trails off, glancing over to where Jonah Magnus’s body lies. “And what if he comes back?”

“Both excellent points. Upwards, then. And let’s hope there’s nothing worse waiting for us than Basira.”

They manage to get to their feet. Jon isn’t sure who assists whom, but they struggle up together. Before they start to move, though, Jon tugs Martin around and hugs him again. He’s not sure he’s quite ready to head through the tunnels, through the Spiral’s domain, and up to the undoubted chaos awaiting them in the Institute. He just wants another moment of quiet. And more than that...he just needs to reassure himself, again, that Martin is here, solidly present and warm and safe, or at least as safe as they can be in the world they inhabit.

Martin hugs him back, just as tightly. Jon can feel the same emotions roiling through him as he does, relief and love and the lingering remnants of fear. He tries to shut them out, tries to do Martin the courtesy of not prying into his brain, until he realizes that it’s not his abilities as the Archivist, it’s simply that Martin’s feeling those emotions so strongly that anyone who knew him could pick up on them. It may also have to do with the fact that he’s shaking slightly.

“Has anyone touched you since you...came back?” Martin asks in his ear. He sounds a little sad.

It takes Jon a moment to realize what Martin means. “I did get a hug from Melanie right before she...resigned. Other than that, nothing very pleasant.” He looks up at Martin, whose eyes radiate so much sympathy it almost hurts. “You?”

“That’s on me. And I don’t...you need that, Jon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I could have...asked someone.” It’s ridiculous, and Jon knows it, and he knows Martin knows it. Basira is prickly and stoic and very much not the touchy-feely type, and Melanie was angry with him for so long, partly because of the bullet in her leg and partly because Jon was a convenient target for her feeling of being trapped. And while he and Daisy have come to an accord, she’s got her own traumas and neuroses to deal with and Jon’s never been sure where the line between his needs and hers might lie. Once upon a time he might have been able to count on Georgie for at least a few friendly touches, but, well, that bridge was well and truly burnt. But he won’t let Martin blame himself for this. “Let’s just agree that we both need to agree to stop ignoring our needs in favor of protecting the people around us and practice being a little kinder to ourselves, hmm?”

Martin’s lips twitch in a smile. “I promise to ask next time before I assume I know what the best thing to do to protect you is.”

Warmth flows through Jon, and he returns the smile. “And I promise to do the same.”

Martin bends over and presses his forehead against Jon’s. Jon closes his eyes, feeling calm soak through him. It’s probably a ridiculous thing to feel, as the likelihood that things are going to be all right even for a little while is slim to none, but he’ll take it while he can.

Whatever is coming, Jon is sure it’s nothing they can’t face together.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Perhaps love is like the ocean, full of conflict, full of pain Like a fire when it's cold outside or thunder when it rains If I should live forever and all my dreams come true My memories of love will be of you...

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 27)

Daryl places three soft knocks on the passenger door’s window of the old Chevy pickup. The lock clicks and Mila opens the door, letting out the faint sound of Bob Dylan singing: 

“-Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood, when blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud. I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form. Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm-”

“Hi.” Mila greets him, halfway through a bottle of Stolichnaya. Juri’s lying in the passenger seat, resting his head in her lap.  

”Having a party?” Daryl leans up against the car and looks at the tired, blood stained woman in the driver’s seat, looking back at him.  

”Celebrating another day of being alive, I guess.” Mila replies. ”Hop in.” 

She scoots over and Daryl gets in, shuts the passenger door behind him. The worn buttons and wheels of the radio shine faintly in the darkness. 

“You missed me?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl adjusts in the seat, as Mila lifts his arm and puts it around her neck, rests her head at his shoulder. Juri continues to sleep, breathes calmly in her lap. A heavy odor of vodka surrounds Mila and the half full, half empty, bottle tattles that she’s not sloshed, but seems like planning to be. 

As the fire spread over the pond in the middle of the community, like a bonfire on the 4th of July, and the walkers started to drag their feets towards it, Daryl climbed down from the truck’s roof. He’d seen Mila in the middle of the sea of rotting limbs and melting scalps, covered in blood and seemingly dead tired, with her arms hanging along the sides. A demeanor he had not seen before in her. Despite the distance between them, he saw that something was wrong. Mila seemed distracted. Deranged. When he landed on his feet on the ground,  he stabbed his way through the crowd, struggling to reach her. 

Was she injured? It was hard to see at a distance and her being spattered with blood, that could just as well be the blood of the walkers. When he finally reached her, she had awoken from her trance-like state, returning to slaughtering, but her mind was still stuck in another galaxy it seemed. She was there, just not present, like if she had to empty her system a bit, by killing off the remaining walkers. She walked around the grounds, managed to find twelve bastards hiding out in nooks and crannies, until the last of ‘em was annihilated. Daryl walked up close to her and said, as soft as he could, that it was over now. 

“They’re dead. All of ’em.” 

If he believed his words would pull her back to the present, to make her feel better- damn, he was wrong. Instead he managed to lose sight of her as soon as the others gathered up around him, Abe, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie and Enid. It was Carol who pointed out where she, and Juri went, when things had calmed down. 

Mila holds up the bottle for him. He takes it. 

“Ya’ fought well, back there.” Daryl unscrews the lid. “Like goddamn’ Rambo.” He says and hopes it will make her smile.

“Yeah, I had to let off some steam.” Mila says in a husky, ‘half a bottle of vodka’-voice. “It was a bit much… all of it.”

“Ya’ okay?” Softly, yet steady, Daryl turns her face towards his, with his hand on her chin. “Ey, Jersey-”

The big blue eyes, not even slightly hazy from the vast amount of alcohol Mila’s devoured herself in, looks back at him. They’re gleaming like a sky full of stars, like she has been crying recently. He hasn’t seen her like this before, something between sad and almost afraid of her own feelings, exhausted with the strong combination of emotions. 

“I froze.” She manages to utter, raspy. “I- he could’ve died. Carl.” Mila sighs. “If I- I was scared. For the first time in-” her voice cracks. “Since I killed him.”

“Ey, Ya’ didn’t kill him. He’ll be alright.” Daryl says, in an attempt to cheer her up. “Carl’s a strong kid.”

“That’s not-” She pauses. “The flashbacks- It was like I was back at that motel in fucking, shitty Missouri. Killing Jim all over again. I- I panicked.”

Daryl’s astonished to see her like this; vulnerable, afraid even. She must’ve drowned her sorrows pretty good, while being on her own with the kid, after killing that guy. Jim. 

His throat burns as he sweeps the last drops of the clear colored beverage in the bottle. Mila reaches for a new bottle, cracks it open and pours a mouthful sip onto her system, without making a face. She then hands him the bottle. Daryl, in the mood to unwind, takes it and drinks. 

“Ya’ had to do what you had to do.” Daryl says husky, as soon as he has swallowed. “I- I killed my brother.” He lets the bottle rest on his leg. “Merle.”

The memory of Merle looking at him with that dead gaze, has haunted him ever since. Not everyday thank fuckin’ god for that, but sometimes he can see the face in his dreams. He wasn’t there, yet he moved around, his body moved around, tried to attack him. But it wasn’t Merle anymore. The sight of him made Daryl feel it all; grief, anxiety, anger, and boy it hurt. And he didn’t know how to handle it, except with unhealthy amounts of booze, like Mila.  

“Sorry.” Mila says.

”Nobody liked him anyway.” 

What a lousy fucking excuse. 

”How so?” Mila asks. 

“He was a jerk. An ass.” Daryl huffs. “Saved us back at the prison though, the last thing he did before- yeah.” Mila leans her head on his shoulder, intertwines her fingers with his, to the raspy tunes of another Dylan folk-song. ”He saved me-” Daryl continues, fixating his gaze on the dashboard. ”-more than once. Treated me like fuckin’ shit sometimes but- I owed him a lot. Guess he didn’t know better.”

Yeah, Merle always kept an eye on him, ever since when they were younger, in one way or another; well, except when he was sent away to juvenile prison. Despite being the teasing big brother he sometimes stepped up and helped him fend off their old man, beating him, doing things- They never talked about what they’d been through, not back then or later for that matter, instead they kept it to themselves. The secrets, the shame- everything oppressed to the point of no return, Daryl thought for a very long time, until he couldn’t carry it inside anymore. So he began to act out. Drink, fight and steal. Let off steam. What difference would it make? He was damaged. He only had Merle, who, despite the arguing and the fights, was the only person he relied on. Not that it was uncomplicated, hell no! Merle could be cruel, which made Daryl’s feelings against him ambivalent if anything. His brother was a huge reason why Daryl more than often found himself in fucked up situations and couldn’t establish contact with anyone, least of all women. Merle taunted him for it and Daryl went deeper into shame and insecurity, closing more and more, until he created an invisible, but armor thick shell where no one could reach him.

“Ya’ ever been with a chick, little brother?” Merle once laughed at him, badly sloshed, so the whole bar they hung out at heard it. “Ya’ boned any of ‘em ladies, huh? Or ‘ya a damn virgin, ya’ pussy?” 

And he laughed even louder, followed by a bad attempt to apologize for his so called ‘joke’. Well, it wasn’t funny and the damage was already done. Daryl felt humiliated down to his core. No fuckin’ wonder he’d never tried to find himself a girlfriend. Not that he’d ever wanted to or tried. Who would want to have him? As far as he was concerned back then, he was trash. A nobody.

Daryl looks down at Mila, whose blue eyes are locked at the steering wheel. Well, until now, he thinks. 

“I killed him.” Daryl continues, still focusing on the dashboard panel. “I killed Merle. He’d already turned and I killed him. We’ve all killed someone that just... felt more- worse.” He can’t find the right word. “Ya’ know ‘bout Beth?”

“Maggie told me.” Mila replies and nods slightly, while continuing to look at the steering wheel.

“She was my friend, and I couldn’t save her. Failed her, failed Maggie.” Daryl says and throws a glance out of the window. “Ya’ didn’t fail Carl. He’s alive.” 

The tips of Mila’s fingers run gently up and down his arm. Her touch is the most tender he has ever felt. He felt it the same moment he took her hand the first time they met. The fact her touch didn’t make the hair on his body stand upright in discomfort as if he was a frightened deer, was proof enough Mila was special. 

“Come on, gotta get ya’ to bed.” Daryl nods towards Juri. “Can’t sleep in the front seat of a goddamn pickup when there’s plenty of beds.” 

Daryl gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side, where he lifts the sleeping boy from the long seat, placing the blonde head carefully on his shoulder. Mila stumbles out of the car and shuts the door after her with a thud, holding on to her trusted rifle and the vodka bottle. She walks around the car, over to him. 

“That... zhopa, the wolf-guy’s dead.” Mila says while caressing Juri’s limp leg. “Wish I’d killed him when I had the chance.” She lets out a dry chuckle and steers the big vodka bottle to her mouth. “That’d cheered me up. Is that fucked up?” 

“Nah. Can’t blame ya’.” Daryl lets his hand find its way around her waist, placing itself towards the soft leather in her jacket, to steer her in the direction of the houses and to prevent her from tripping over some walker’s bodies. “Let’s go Jersey- Ain’t carrying both of ya’.”  

“Don’t have to.” Mila says doughty and frowns a little. “ I’m not even half drunk.”

Talk about strong Russian genes, Daryl thinks to himself. And the stubbornness, is that part of the genes as well? He inhales the cool night air deeply into his lungs as they walk to the house. It’s calm, quiet and the air is different. Even though the threat isn’t eliminated, not by far, everything feels somewhat at ease for now. They have posted guards at the breached wall and will start to fix it first thing in the morning. Daryl hands the sleeping toddler over to Mila at the stairs to the porch, looking after her as she announces that she’ll be back as soon as she has tucked Juri in. He sits down at the stairs and leans up against the pole holding the roof up. When Mila returns, she has changed her t-shirt to one without blood and guts all over it. She sits down next to him and looks out over the empty street, sprinkled with bodies. 

“Ya cold?” 

Mila meets his gaze and shakes her head, making the long hair sway around her face. 

“Got all I need here.” She nods at the bottle of vodka placed next to her boots, meaning that sooner or later she’ll be intoxicated to the point where she doesn't feel the cool breeze. “I’m Russian- used to much worse.” 

Ain’t a good enough answer. Daryl gets up, walks into the calm and quiet house, and grabs the worn, but warm, Navajo poncho he’s managed to hold on to for quite a while now. 

“Here-” Daryl says and places the warm garment over her shoulders. “-Ya’ ain’t that drunk yet, Jersey.”

Mila smiles a little at him as he sits down again, moves closer and wraps the poncho around her shoulders.

“Started to think you bailed before.” She says and meets his eyes through the dark, giving him a cheeky smile. “You took your time, Dixon.”

Daryl grunts a little, smiles faintly.

“Ya’ seemed to have everything under control.”

“I always do.” Mila leans against his arm and the amazing scent of her hair surrounds him, wraps him in a sense of security, drowns all other scents around them; sweat, blood. Daryl inhales her hair deep into his nose, it makes him all warm inside. It’s a complex composition of flowers; he can smell magnolia, he thinks, and something woody, like cedar or sandal. It’s a soulful mixture, it embodies her. He could recognize the scent of her from miles away, he’s sure of it. “But I’m glad you're back.” She sighs and cuddles up even closer against him, turns her head and looks up at him. 

“Well, I ain’t going anywhere now.” Daryl says, almost in a whisper, leans his forehead down against Milas. “I promise.”

Her breath smells like a solid 40%, but it’s of no importance, he wants her anyway, more than anything. He clenches to the soft leather in the worn biker jacket she wears, not wanting to let go. From not wanting any human contact at all for decades it seems, it feels like he can’t be an inch away from her; she’s the final piece of the ship after a shipwreck. Daryl has to cling to it, or else he drowns.

”I can’t lose ya’-” he says quietly, knows that he’s more vulnerable than ever when he does so. ”I can’t-”

”You won’t.” Mila whispers softly. ”You won’t.”

”I won’t let anything happen to ya’.” Daryl mumbles, his voice hoarse from vodka. He needs to be closer to her, in the haze of the initiated jagg he feels an urge to pour his heart out to her, this magnificent woman. ”I care for ya’, so much-” He met her eyes. ”I like this. Just, being with you. And the kid.”

Vodka really does wonders, Daryl thinks to himself as he draws in the young woman by his side. Or is he this goddamn’ talkative and honest because he’s so sure, more sure than he’s ever been about something in his life, that this is what he wants, more than anything? 

As if she could read his mind, answering all of his questions, Mila says: 

“You remember what I said about choice in life? How I said that I made some stupid ones?” She takes his hand, hugs it. “This is not one of them. I want you too, Daryl.”