#saskia plays me

[fenharel]

hurting because solas never wanted a body and never wanted to fight "he never wanted a body but she asked him to come", "he wants to give wisdom not orders" but he did it anyway. "i pulled you from the fade you loved and sent you into war. i used your wisdom as a weapon… and it broke you." inquisition forced him to slow down and just be himself. "solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts. spirit self, seeing the soul, solas, but somehow sorrows." lavellan nourished that. seeked out his wisdom. his purpose in the world. never twisted him, loving him as he was. she craddled the part of himself he wants to be in her palms. the part that was beaten and bruised and abused a millennia ago.

[fenharel-archived]

You are as thick as they come, sweetness. This is my personal play house. And you don't have an invite. Get. Out.

[theirwolfbicanthrope]

all that i have - eve/saskia/adam

thunder beats in my blood

How curious, that change their creator gave them - two hearts, two hands.

[fllagellant]

Actually screamed so loudly pulling this card . Legendary card of a character I love and adore ???? Gwent app u spoil me

[izzymalec]

the women in this show are the absolulte mvp btw

[bewitchingbloom]

Blorbos from my brain in this picrew because it's cute and I'm in a mood.

[fenharel]

most underrated solas/sera banter

[resplendentdare]

Saskia was absolutely devastated at the idea of Theo being without her, but she knew it was the inevitable way they would end. She would die either because of her lycanthropy or old age, while they barely aged a day.

She tried her best to keep her emotions from boiling over but it was practically impossible. "Noah's right," she said quietly. "You should let me go, I'm just going to cause more pain for you. And it hurts to say this, ripping my heart out would be less painful, but I know it's the best thing to do."

If she could take it back, made sure she didn't end up as a werewolf, she would've done it in a heartbeat. She wouldn't have gone to that stupid party, she wouldn't have tried to catch a ride home with some weird guy and ended up having to walk. She would just be normal.

Hiding her face in her hands, she let out a few loud sobs before trying her best to control herself. "I love you, Theo. God knows I do; I just don't know what to do. I can't do this, I shouldn't have to do this."

Theo still couldn't believe that any of this real. He couldn't believe he didn't figure out Saskia was a werewolf sooner. All the signs were there, why her scent was suddenly different, why she seemed to avoid him, why she would disappear around full moons.

Seeing how upset Saskia was by this as well was breaking Theo's heart. They knew deep down that their older brother was right and the two of them should just end things now. But he didn't want to give up on her.

"There has to be something we can do! We have to try!" Theo exclaimed, letting go of Saskia's hands to pace. "There has to be other werewolves around Hawkins... we should try and find them... we should-" they rambled before Noah came up and put his hand on his shoulder, stopping their spiral.

"Theo, you need to let her go, there is nothing to be done here," the older brother murmured. "No! I can't just walk away! I love her!" Theo yelled out as he moved away from Noah's touch.

Moving back over to Saskia, Theo gently wiped the tears from her eyes. "I was never going to be able to spend the rest of my life with you, I was always going to be the one to say goodbye first," he confessed, trying to hold back his own tears. "I am not going anywhere, you can't make me."

[fenharel-archived]

gotta finish this evil bg3 playthrough real quick so I can replay dragon age

[lovelyllamasblog]

Puddle

For @loojii and her OC Saskia. Crossposted on AO3.

Floyd hated supply runs. They were so boring and pointless. Not if you were Azul of course.

“But why do I have to go??” Floyd whined. “Get one of the anemones to do it!”

“Because, Floyd,” Azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses in the process. “All of the available contractors are busy helping in the Lounge. Some have called out sick or are studying for tests. And yes, I checked Floyd. Don’t pout at me!”

Floyd puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. “Why can’t Jade do it? Or get Shrimpy to do it.”

Jade chuckled, clearly enjoying this little scene in front of him. “Because I am helping Azul with the books. And we did ask Yuu, but they were busy helping Heartslabyul with preparing for an upcoming Unbirthday Party. Apparently Riddle has invited a little friend, or so I’ve heard.”

Floyd continued to pout. Jade smiled and continued, “Or I could do the supply run and you could help Azul with the books.” He offered with a smile.

Floyd’s face immediately twisted into one of disgust. “No way.”

“Then you can do the supply run,” Azul said. “Since you are currently not busy at the moment.” Azul gestured to the pile of papers on his desk with his hand. Jade held out the shopping list to him with a smile.

Floyd scowled before ripping the list out his brother’s hand and stomping out of Azul’s office. The other two watched him leave before turning back to the desk.

“Do you think he’ll get everything on the list?” Jade asked with a smile.

Azul sighed. “Who knows? He’s one of his moods after all. Now, hand me the quarterly statement for the lounge. I want to finish that before we continue reviewing the dorm’s budget. I would like to finish it before the next meeting.”

Jade smiled. “Of course.” And began shifting through the paperwork.

Floyd continued to scowl as he made his way into town.

Stupid Jade. Stupid Azul. Stupid anemones. Stupid Shrimpy. Stupid supply run.

He angrily kicked a nearby trashcan before stopping in front of a store and glaring at the sign.

Sage Island Grocer. Family owned since 1800.

Floyd scowled up at the sign. Stupid grocery store. He pushed the glass doors open with a ding coming from the little bell at the top of it. The inside of the store wasn’t too different from any grocery store. The dim lights overhead hummed softly while cheesy music played. Aisles of food and other products lined up in perfect rows filled with customers shopping and staff restocking shelves from one end to the other.

Floyd grabbed a cart and began to walk down the aisles, throwing whatever he could get his hands on into it. He got a few odd looks from other shoppers and a few staff, but the scowl on his face stopped anyone from approaching him.

Finally, he was satisfied with what he had collected and moved to the front of the store. He got into one of the lines and began fiddling with his phone while he waited. He heard the person in front of him exchanging pleasantries with the cashier and the beep of the scanner. After a while, the cashier pushed a few buttons on the register and told the customer the amount. The customer paid, put the bags in their cart, and began rolling away.

“Thank you. Have a nice day,” the cashier said. “Next please.”

Floyd pushed his cart forward and began putting stuff on the conveyor belt. The cashier grabbed the first item and scanned it. Floyd stood there while they, she he noticed, continued scanning. He looked at her name tag. 

‘Saskia’

“That’s an interesting name,” he commented. The cashier looked up at him, her face largely unchanged.

“Thank you,” she said. “It was my great-grandmother’s.” And went back to scanning his items.

Floyd studied her. Her face was rather plain, with pale skin, mousy brown hair tied back into a low ponytail and matching eyes. She wore the standard store uniform, a white polo with blue strips, black pants and shoes, and a green apron with the store logo on it.

“Your total $257.25, sir,” she said after a while. Floyd snapped out the trance he was in and dug around in his pocket before pulling out a Monstro Lounge card and handing it to her.

“Could you send the bill here, or whatever?” he asked.

She gently took it out of his hand and looked at it. “One moment please.” And picked up a nearby phone, punched in a few numbers, and waited quietly for someone to pick up. “Yes, it’s Saskia at register seven. I have a card here for the Monstro Lounge.” A few beats of silence. “Alright. Thank you.” And hung up.

“My manager will take care of that,” she said. “Is there anything else I can help you with today sir?”

Floyd looked at her for a minute before smiling. “I think I’m gonna call you Puddle.”

She blinked up at him a few times before turning back to the register. She punched a few buttons and handed him a copy of the receipt.

“Have a nice day sir,” she said. 

Floyd couldn’t help but smile back. “You too Puddle.” He then took the cart and headed out of the store, feeling much better than when he had come in.

Saskia, or Puddle, watched him leave before turning back to the next customer. “Next please.”

“Floyd is acting strange,” Azul said. Jade looked up from the paper he was writing on and looked up at Azul.

Back at Night Raven College, Azul reamed Floyd for getting unnecessary items and wasting the Lounge’s budget.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked

Azul scoffed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? Floyd is offering to do supply runs. Offering! Have you ever heard of him offering to do something?”

Jade looked thoughtful for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I ever had. How odd, even for him.”

Azul stood up and slapped his desk. “Exactly! It could only mean that Floyd is slacking off or-”

“Or something has gotten his attention,” Jade finished for him. Azul nodded. 

The two looked at each before the taller one stood up. “Do you want to investigate?” Jade asked.

“Of course! I need to figure out why Floyd is wasting the Lounge’s budget on unnecessary items! He bought a scented candle last time! A scented candle! And the scent wasn’t even pleasant!”

Jade chuckled. “Maybe to you, but one of the dorm members liked it well enough.”

Azul scoffed. “I will never understand why humans are so obsessed with everything smelling good.”

Jade just chuckled. “Well then, shall we?” he asked, opening the office door. Azul straightened his tie and walked out.

“Yes, we shall.”

Azul and Jade found Floyd in the twin’s dorm room, fiddling around on his phone. He looked up at them when the door opened.

“Oh hey there. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Azul asked. “What’s up? What’s up is that you are going on supply runs and getting unnecessary items! Therefore wasting the Lounge’s budget!”

Floyd blinked up at him. “So?”

Azul looked like he was about to have an aneurysm when Jade stepped in.

“Floyd, I’m sure you know how seriously Azul takes the Lounge. We just don’t have to cut back on anyone’s pay check or stop plans for the Lounge due to bad spending.”

Floyd looked at his brother and Azul for a minute before getting off his bed. “Ok, you two can come with me.”

Azul blinked. “Where?” He asked cautiously. Floyd just smiled.

“Isn’t this the local grocery store?” Jade asked when they arrived at their destination.

“On a supply run of course.” Azul and Jade exchanged glances before nodding, following Floyd out of the room.

Floyd continued to smile. “Yep.”

Azul adjusted his glasses. “I sincerely hope you are being serious right now.”

Floyd looked offended. “Of course I am. When am I not?” Azul and Jade just exchanged more looks and turned back to Floyd.

“Well then Floyd,” Jade gestured to the store. “Lead the way.”

They didn’t go very far, as Floyd immediately beelined for one of the registers.

“Heeey Puddle~ Did you miss me?” 

Azul looked scandalized. “P-puddle?” he asked.

The girl, Puddle, looked up at him. “Welcome back sir.” Her face was largely unreadable and her voice was monotone.

“Hey Puddle, this is my brother I was telling you about. And Azul.” he said, gesturing to the two of them.

Puddle looked at them and nodded. “I’m Saskia.”

Jade looked between the two and smiled. “Ah, this makes sense.”

Azul looked at him. “Explain.” Jade just chuckled.

“It’s simple. Floyd is drawn to extremes, yes? If someone’s lively, he wants to drag them down. If they’re strong, he wants to break them. But when someone is completely neutral, like Miss Saskia, he finds it endlessly fascinating.”

Azul looked shocked for a moment before speaking. “You mean to tell me… he’s obsessed with her because she’s boring?!”

Jade smirked. “Maybe to you and others, but to Floyd, she is an endless source of entertainment. Someone who is none of the things I mentioned before and is just simply living day to day is interesting to him.”

Azul turned back to where Floyd was with Saskia. Floyd seemed to be carrying a one way conversation with her as she continued with her job, scanning items and bagging them, nodding along with whatever he was saying. The customer she was with seemed uneasy but didn’t say anything.

Azul just shook his head and straightened his tie. “Well, we’re here. May as well thank the store owner for being a loyal partner to the Monstro Lounge these last two years.” He turned to the closest employee and handed them his business card.

“Of course,” Jade said, and followed Azul and the employee to the back of the store, leaving Floyd and Saskia behind. If Floyd ever noticed, he didn’t say.

“Bye Puddle~ I’ll be back soon!” he called as Jade dragged him out when they were done.

Saskia didn’t say anything, but did wave as they left.

[autumncalls]

100 Days of Practice: Day 50

Wohoo, halfway through 🎉

Practice was going really well today, was really happy with my progress on the suite 2 Courante and Sarabande and then I made the mistake of trying to start to learn the suite 2 Menuete 1. That is going to be a pain. I can hit all the chords and double stops cleanly when practicing them in isolation or when playing slow but uh yeah, I am currently nowhere near fast enough to switch between the chords to play it without pause in tempo. Also the second chord, going from third to thumb position? Forget it, I don't play in thumb position nearly often enough to make that one fast. I mean I don't have to necessarily use my thumb but it's easier to reach the c that way. This will require a lot of practice. I am confident that I can do it, my brain was just really short circuiting a lot today. So yeah, we'll see how it goes tomorrow. Any tips are much appreciated.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

GIF: Originally posted by @simply---words

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Language. Kissing. Nudity. First time. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Hello there! How are you all doing? Thank you so much for sticking with me on this. I always hope I can get chapters out quickly and it always turns into 2+ weeks... Special thank you shout out to my IRL bestie @theviridianbunny for giving the chapter a once over ❤️Much love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

Morpheus' eyes glint like onyx stones under firelight as he waits for you to yield. His breathing is as laboured as it was when you initially laid eyes on him, and with each exhale you are exposed more and more to the intoxicating scent that rolls off his alabaster skin.

One hand is braceleted around your wrist, thumb swiping back and forth over the veins there that jump frantically, the other steadies the solid appendage that nudges temptingly against your opening.

"I can see that you want this," he intonates proudly. "Your physical reactions inform me of all that I need to know."

Your attention darts down to the markers that are broadcasting your arousal: first to the hardened peaks of your nipples, and further down to blushing labia framing your swollen clit. Morpheus follows the same path with predatory meticulousness.

"Oh, yes, those reactions are delightfully obvious. Most of all here."

He drags the tip of his erection in a teasing circle around your entrance and smiles sadistically when you stiffen and whimper in response. He brushes his nose against yours, the playfulness of the gesture juxtaposed entirely by his next sentence.

"Your sweet enticing cunt, gushing as it prepares itself for entry."

If you could close your legs to shield yourself from further embarrassment you would, for his dirty words only add to the wetness that he has observed between them. It's now running onto the silk sheets, mingling with the pre-cum that drips from his poised cock.

Morpheus continues to speak, "But I would know from even more subtle signs: the shade of the flush on your chest, the curl of your toes, the arch of your back." He dips his head, breath feathering over the shell of your ear as he whispers, "You want penetration."

He is right. Of course he is.

The desire to be filled is powerful - a base instinct that is relentlessly chiselling away at your resolve. You swear you can hear a voice in your head chanting with every proverbial swing of the hammer:

Do it. Do it. Do it.

A conflicted whine pushes past the clench of your teeth.

Morpheus has fallen silent, his tongue tracing a scintillating path directly over your jugular, an action that makes you automatically twist to offer more of your neck to him. He doesn't oblige, instead he moves his head lazily and stares you down once more.

How was he so good at playing with you like this?

The question spends little time unanswered; the Maiden's words from the tail-end of your conversation with the Fates bounces to the forefront of your brain. "He has been made to be perfect for you."

It's the whole soulmates thing.

Speaking of the soul, to make matters worse, the ache in your chest is returning with ire. It appears that the touch of his skin is no longer enough to pacify the pain. A flash of recognition musters in your mind from the near-imperceptible sudden knit of Morpheus' brows, the tautness in his own chest; subdued cues that he shares this affliction.

You reach out with your free hand and spread your palm across his sternum, feeling the fierce shuddering there that matches yours.

His soul.

It is under the same stress as yours. He had said he could feel the sub-epidermal heat like you but had made no mention of this. Supernatural being or not, Morpheus is grappling with pain and it will simply not do.

Your eyes flick up, your decision made in the next heartbeat.

"I surrender."

Quicksilver flashes through those blackhole irises and with an exultant groan he sheathes himself within you.

You screw your eyes shut and cry out, amazed by how far he is able to push in before he meets resistance. The overstimulation you had been predicting is absent, as is the agony you feared would accompany it. It's just the involuntary constricting of your channel that you contend with, a metronome swinging between discomfort and enjoyment.

"Look at me," Morpheus commands in that velvet voice.

You comply, and when you do you see that his eyes are blue again. A pair of cerulean pools; tranquil, somewhere to shelter. If only you could relax enough to slip into those waters. There's so much tension in your jaw and balled fists, inside you.

"Breathe," he coaxes, guiding you with tenderness, a hand reaching to hold yours to give it a grounding squeeze.

You inhale slowly and shakily, mouth forming a shape of surprise when the muscles slacken and allow Morpheus to sink those last few centimetres within you.

The agony inside your chest ceases and from the small change in Morpheus' posture, you intuit that his has too. Heat like a solar flare envelopes you head to toe and the weight of his lustful stare only adds to the pyre.

"Mmm, that's it," he praises huskily, putting a forearm flat on the bed next to your face. "You feel divine, Y/N."

You nod zealously, unable to concur in any other way as he has robbed you completely of sentence forming. Your walls flutter as you adjust to the stretch, the feeling of this beautiful being bottomed out inside you. Your soulmate, exactly where he needs to be.

Morpheus makes the first move; a languid roll of his hips that grazes every place inside you, and releases breathy moans from you both. Your grab onto him, the spot where neck meets shoulder, as your mind scrambles to process the pleasure. With this initial test completed, he studies your expression, looking for any indication of a wish to stop. He finds none. Only a pair of expectant eyes overflowing with desire for him to keep teaching you like he promised.

He begins to rock into you with lavish, sensual thrusts. Your cunt unfurls even further to ease his movements; you are a moonflower, blooming under the night sky that overlooks the chamber, under his celestial form.

Remembering how much he liked it before, you move your free hand to play with his hair, eliciting deep-seated shudders all down his spine. It is joyous to inspire another such visceral reflex and you feel it pass through into your own body at each point of contact.

If he is a sculptor, you are the clay yielding beneath the presses of his body, shaping you into something entirely new - a lover. Just when he has you in the desired form, he changes everything.

He slows to a stop, still tucked safely within your warmth and secures his hands around your calves to bring them around his slight waist. You're not sure how it's possible but the change in elevation makes him feel even thicker.

His eyes are becoming darker again, gaze centred steadfastly on your face as he once more restrains both your wrists against the midnight coloured sheets. The semiotics give an unmistakable clue to his plan.

He's going to fuck you like he said he wanted.

You brace as he drags his cock back, and then he delivers a bruising thrust, animalistic grunt sounding low in his throat as the jut of his hip bones imprint into your flesh. A measure of dark lust is shot into your bloodstream and immediately you yearn for more of this roughness.

"Please," you say breathlessly.

He indulges you with a barrage of hammering thrusts, moans tumbling from your lips with abandon as warmth settles in your skeleton. His own vocalisations of pleasure syncopate with the completion of each thrust. The sound takes residence in your brain, his touch in every cell. The wish he had to occupy you in entirety is being granted.

You only take your eyes off him for a handful of seconds to look at the place where your bodies are joined, where he is slamming into you, the obscene image of it.

It's like he is an open flame and you are being doused in 99% proof vodka; the fire under your skin is so intense that your moans transform into screams. Morpheus consumes them all with the sudden seal of his mouth over yours.

The smothering action unlocks something inside you. In your chest, where your soul resides, it is vibrating aggressively, much more than it has done in the course of the evening thus far.

Morpheus notices the surge in the shaking and pulls back from the kiss.

"We must be close," he muses.

You feel the orb writhe in retaliation to his statement and your whole body does the same involuntarily.

"Shhh," he says in baritone purrs, pausing in his movements to soothe you. "A little longer and then I will breach the last defence about your soul."

His tone is confident as he restarts the powerful pace he has set, "I will not fail you."

He is stormy waves against a sea wall, bringing with it both the promise of blissful inundation and the threat of drowning. Yet you wouldn't mind drowning in him. A deep-rooted impulse tells you it would be an honour to lose yourself to the King of Dreams and Nightmares.

Your conclusion translates to the contraction of your calf muscles as you pull Morpheus tighter against you, deepening the physical connection to him as well as the emotional; choosing to submit fully to this somewhat scary situation - the tying together of your souls.

Pulling him closer, it's not without cost. The extra exertion, the deeper angle he can now reach, with all the pleasure it brings, quickly takes its toll. You are becoming weaker, his determined expression growing blurry, the edges of your vision field greying and closing in. You can't tell if you're about to climax or pass out.

Morpheus, observant and empathic, interlaces his fingers with yours and grips them tightly, clearly intent on keeping you here, not drifting off into the dimension of unconsciousness. Your returning hold is just as strong, perhaps a tad on the side of overtly vehement, but if it is then he doesn't seem to care. He just keeps railing into you, the warning signs of an oncoming orgasm beginning to daintily pulse through your walls.

A long-fingered hand reaches between your bodies to hover over your clit. With the last of your energy reserves, you arch up into his fingers, determined to reach your high, instinct telling you that it will somehow aid Morpheus in his endeavours.

He grunts sinfully in approval at your enthusiasm and uses the pad of his index finger to stimulate you, a familiar instruction issued as your soul jolts sharply, shockwaves rocking your bones.

"Let go."

The way he says the words, coupled with the movements of his hand and cock brings on the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty seconds elapse where your muscles are clamping down, desiring to keep his still-moving length as deep inside as possible. You loudly say his name, pleasure devouring you whole as you look adoringly into Morpheus' indigo eyes, before you are devastated by a snapping sensation as he breaks your soul open.

You are splintered and for a measure of moments, the exposed edges of the shards threaten to turn your insides to ribbons. Your brace for lacerations is short-lived; his essence, like liquid lapis, pours in to bind the pieces of your soul. Melding with you on a metaphysical level. Waking you from the mortal life you had and greeting you with a new path.

While you have no basis for comparison, an errant thought occurs to you that what is transpiring between you and Morpheus is fulfilling something of unfathomable importance. Something that was borne far from this room, in both the measures of space and time. Primordial. Inexorable. This linking of your soul with his is the culmination of what the Fates have wanted for millennia.

And once your soul is content, your essence begins to reach out in return. Like tender shoots drawn towards solar light, your soul stretches past its boundary to embrace his.

It's the final trigger that allows Morpheus to find his own release. His mouth jumps in astonishment, eyes turning black, then silver, then blue; a broken groan echoing around the low-lit room as he buries his pulsating cock deep inside you and spills his seed into your cunt.

You keen from the warmth of it, and you swear the fast paced breaths he is taking sound like melodies carried on ocean breezes.

The stars above you have been joined by dancing swathes of green and purple - a depiction of the Aurora Borealis at its finest. It swells with each inhale that Morpheus takes, his state having a direct effect on the sky. The colours catch the high points of his face, glowing vibrantly on his cheekbones, nose bridge and cupid's bow.

You wonder if this is the most beautiful sight you will ever see. The perfect face of your ethereal soulmate, framed by celestial splendour, gazing at you with the same devotion that you are casting towards him. But then he smiles. A small, genuine smile that makes your heart soar despite its fatigue, and it's clear that there will never be anything that can compare.

Morpheus then lowers his head to your chest and presses his lips to your healed soul.

"You are complete," he declares.

-------------------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

Blinding: "Felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids. Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs. No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone. No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden. No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love with the wrong world."

[daincrediblegg]

I need all the lore about Lamb and Standish too. When did they become so dependent on each other? Did they ever get drunk together back in the day? Did they ever sleep together? We know he cares about her a lot and feels guilty AND protective over her since Partner, but does he actually love her and is he in denial about this? I have so many questions

OK OK OK SO. I just finished the first book (woohoo) and. I am honestly so thrilled to say that what little lore we got from the first book at least aligned a lot with some of the stuff that I had come to my own conclusions about from having watched the show... way too many times now. And I have to say- real credit to Saskia and Gary and Will Smith for putting it together in the show the way they did because man. I feel like they give us so many subtextual clues and they really capitalize on each and every one of them that it makes doing my job as a film scholar just super fun.

Anways- on the Standish and Lamb situation? I have lots of thoughts. Most of which I wrote down last night in a complete stupor because this is what keeps me up at night thinking about this character dynamic. So buckle up. We're gonna ramble our way through my own thoughts and ideas about all this.

Like to start, to me it seems that they really never had much contact at all back in the day, and that makes sense: considering Jackson's mostly in Berlin playing Moscow rules in the field while Standish is at home holding the fort for Charles, there's not a lot of overlap with each other physically but they did know each other as much as they needed to know at the time: Standish was Partner's drunk PA, and Lamb was the Joe of All Joes (can I make it any more obvious?). What little contact they may have ever had was certainly mostly through Charles, and the show gives us some insight to that giving us that little flashback that Catherine has where she seemingly meets Lamb for the first time after "Berlin's blown" (which could mean either the wall came down as Lamb says to Catherine in his half-confession, or that he's referring to the incident that he describes to Katinsky in season 2, and of these two options, my money is on the latter). That looks like a woman being very confused meeting someone she's never really seen before in her life to me (or perhaps has seen while drunk at one time, but doesn't much remember).

I mean most of the rest I feel like I can glean from the incidents themselves. Both of them getting relegated to Slough House after Charles' death seems natural- Catherine with her near miss of a treason charge and Lamb with the fact that he literally assassinated First Fucking Desk of MI5. And it's easy to see how the co-dependency came from there. Catherine as an alcoholic going through AA specifically, seems to revolve around structure to keep herself in check- the way she talks about Charles Partner in Season 2 helps with this. The fact that he payed for her treatment and in return- probably partially because of this need for structure- she latched onto her job as a way to compensate so that she doesn't end up in the same dark place again. So, then being Lamb's secretary, it's still the same kind of structure that she needs, even though this time it doesn't feel as rosy as it might have done with Partner.

- And this is a point that I think about a lot. She does view her whole relationship with Partner with rose colored glasses, even though if you listen to what she's actually saying in those flashbacks from season 1, she's done his laundry, is planning his outfits, put out his flowers- she was doing nothing more than some kind of glorified paid house wife kind of shit for him (and in FACT! I was fooled my first go around season 1 like I genuinely thought that she was deadass his WIFE or something. I think that misconception on my part says a LOT). And Lamb in parallel to that is a great come down from that mountaintop-that she sees herself and Partner as this idylic Q and Money Penny type of thing that she's romanticized in her head for the last 20 years- an illusion that Lamb on every level shatters and is - at least to his credit- honest about. As much as he inconveniences her and as much as he's his raw unfiltered self around her (which- he certainly is more of that around Standish than anyone else he knows. River gets a lot of brutal honesty from Jackson, but none to do with emotional sincerity- like the way Lamb tells Standish the half-truth of Partner's death, and why he *chose* slough house), as much as he's a bully he's still doesn't give her any illusion of what their relationship is or isn't, and no one would see that as a mark of respect on account of him being an "utter bastard", but is all of that really worse than Charles pretending to be her best friend and all the while planning to have her take the fall for him behind her back? (Personally? It's a different kind of bad but Charles is definitely the worst). And it's extra funny situationally because then all of the things she says about how Partner treated her is much more close to the mark to what Lamb did for her, and things that weren't superficial either. "I know that unlike you, he respected me" ("christ, Standish was right", always updates her on what he knows when appropriate and always has her sit in on debriefs when it's safe), "he showed me friendship"(he always pours out a drink for her that he ends up drinking himself, always when things are going to come down on her deals with it *himself* rather than relegate it to the fuck-ups, always has her up to date on things -unless it means blowing cover), "and he believed in me" (he gave HER the gun and let her delegate the hijacking of the MI5 car from Duffy and Webb, let HER do the cool agent stuff, also lets her do some of the investigative work- especially in season 2 when he doesn't interrupt her at ALL when she keeps up with the camera trail on- but also knows her limits, especially in the house of hell where he stuffs her in a closet knowing she can't be of more use because *he* knew he could kill Hobbs, but "now I won't shoot you dead, Mr. Webb,"), "and he kept me on, when anyone else would have thrown me to the wolves."(which is exactly what he did when Partner died, and all the information came out that Partner was going to peg it on her. It wouldn't surprise me if he took the hit for that too in some way. If him getting her treason charge dropped might also be part of why he ended up in Slough House - which if the op was sanctioned initially by David Cartwright might hold some weight. Maybe that was David cleaning up and covering arse like Taverner would do. Maybe Catherine *was* supposed to take the fall, but Jackson refused to let that happen? But that's just a theory. A Slough House Theory).

But the bigger question in this is of course: why? Why on god's green earth does Jackson Lamb give a shit, and why is he so dependent on Standish?

The solution to this feels multi-pronged. First: I think that he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder about innocent people getting caught in the cross-fire of the things that MI-5 get up to, and Catherine fits that bill better than anybody he knows. In season 2 when he talks about the women agents whose deaths he was directly responsible for, he describes it as something he "wishes [he] could unsee"- which for Lamb is saying a lot, considering that to most things (heads on tables, faces blown off with shotguns) he doesn't bat an eye, and even says he's seen worse. What happened to those women and the fact that what he said made that happen I think affected him more deeply than he lets on in that scene, because even though Charles Partner didn't know who they were at all outside of a codename, Jackson did, and probably knew them very well. And Charles as their shadowy overlord who was just moving them like pieces on a chessboard never had to pay the emotional price for that, nor did David Cartwright. But Lamb did. Because as much as he denies it to keep people looking the other way, Lamb does have a heart, and it's hard to earn but it's not impossible.

And he always does take the emotional fall for things! He says in season 4 that he "had a heart until he worked for [David Cartwright]" whom he also said "gave [him] a job once". The way those lines conflict in tone but also reveal a lot about how he views his own fall from grace says so much. David Cartwright got him into this business, but under his direction he hardened for it (something that I think connects him to River more than that boy will ever understand. Also is what makes Lamb a better mentor than Peepaw Cartwright, but that's another story) not to mention that for all intents and purposes, Lamb and Partner were actually good friends, and that this betrayal and the fact that he had to do it himself (even though maybe his feelings were mixed on the matter- that maybe he even loved Partner too in a similar way that Standish did at one point in time, but the lives lost from his betrayal weighed on Lamb more- and as we all know, from Catherine's own mouth, he'll do anything to get even for his Joes).

Which brings me to my second point: Jackson Lamb wants to be the hero just as much as his protege River Cartwright does, but the reality of their whole line of work is that there are very few instances in which anyone gets to be, but Catherine is one of the rare exceptions where he did, and all told, it doesn't feel good. Because there's a couple things at play here right? On the one hand yeah- he did save her from being thrown to the wolves after Partner died and framed her for his crimes! Yes he kept her from facing a treason charge, yes he covers her arse time and time again. But she still is the person who had to find the body. And as we know with Lamb, he knows how bad it is to have found the body better than anyone (I mean- I point to how he reacts to Min's death, and then to Bad Sam's in season 4- so enraged he storms out but also so depressed he steals his last bottle of booze). He didn't get to spare her from that, but he is trying to spare her from the rest of it too(an impulse he couldn't help but let go in the last episode of season 3- while still not incriminating himself, mind you), and that's hard! Because he's not supposed to have a heart ("What goodness? What heart?", "Oh have a heart, Jackson!") but he DOES! And he's taken it upon himself to break it time and time again just so he can keep himself at the top of his game- even though, and here's the secret: it's his heart that makes him the best at what he does! Because he does get involved! "I think your attention has been split between finding [Hassan Ahmed] and burning me!"- he does on some level actually give a shit about lives lost! Something Lady Di and Tearney and Duffy and even Cartwright Sr. don't consider when THEY play the game. And he cares about the kind of people that have everything to lose from the actions of the people at the top! And he'll martyr himself about it over and over again because he's got the skill better than anyone to do it and he knows it! And to make sure Standish stays right where she is- out of harms way- he'll fucking go to the ends of... idk England. Probably. To make sure she stays out of harms way where she belongs. And as a thread running co-current to that: I think he understands how much having found Partner's body haunts her every waking moment more than she knows- from his own experience, though he's definitely got a higher body count. They all weigh on him just the same ("By the time I was your age, I'd lost a baker's dozen. It was bad enough when the wall was up, but once they reduced it to bricks and rubble, everything went to shit. Whole networks of Joes, rounded up, blown. I haven't forgotten any of them. And I won't forget Sid.")

And then, on the other side of the dice, I think there's also a bit of a self-torture mixed with sadism that's a part of why he keeps her around too. I mean in a lot of ways it seems that it is absolute torture to him to keep Catherine around, considering she's always harping on about cHaRlEs PaRtNeR (who as we have established- it grates on Jackson that in Catherine's mind Partner is a knight in shining armor when really *he* did all of that way more than Partner ever did for her- though I don't even think Lamb would give himself the credit for that he can't stand that she sees him that way when he was disenchanted and knew all these horrible truths about what he did to his own people for money), and part of that co-dependency is (and I hate to say it) is that he needs to torture SOMEONE other than himself externally for his own friendship with Partner and literally Catherine is the only person with a shred of shared history that he can really do that to. And at the same time, she gets to do it to him. He gets to let her torture him also just a little bit ("What did your last servant die of?" "What did your last boss die of?"). He thrives off of that push and pull of torturing others while actually torturing himself. It's his own fucked up emotional bdsm basically.

Now of course to the biggest question of all: Is it love? Who's to say? Can Lamb ever cut the bullshit and admit to himself that his feelings about the whole Partner situation haunt him like his own shadow? Forever attached to his being? Can Standish ever see beyond her rose-colored glasses about Partner and give Jackson some forgiveness before he farts himself into an early grave for it? I don't know but they're on the fucking clock and I tend to swing back and forth like a pendulum on the notion (like I wouldn't say I ship them, but I wouldn't say that I don't either. Secret third thing: they're just really narratively fucking interesting and that gets me off just as well as anything else so? Yeah I guess).

[thealdersgateoffice]

Saskia Reeves playing someone who is not Catherine Standish, but immediately reminding me of Catherine Standish when she said this 🍷

[fenharel]

not me obsessively replaying the second inky convo im 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💜💜💜💜💜💜

[markrosewater]

Hello! Last time I wrote, I asked about Planar Chaos, and whether design might go back to something like that with the color pie. Thank you for your response. I can appreciate how it was a novel idea back then, but you do it more now in small ways over time. My next question also has to do with color. Like a lot of people, I love commander. I've created a challenge for myself. I'm trying to build a deck in every color combination. I finally finished colorless, which was a challenge I've been afraid of since I started playing in Alara. Now I'm looking at four color commanders. I have Omnath. I love Omnath. Landfall's been a favorite, since Zendikar is close to my heart. And oh. There's Atraxa. Atraxa excites me. I think I'll focus her on poison counters. But then there's the other combinations. After the Nephilim in Guildpact, most call them Glint, (no white) Dune, (no blue) and Witch (no red). I see Breya, Saskia, and Yidris. They're awesome cards, and Yidris excites me somewhat. But it feels like a very tiny box that's been built many, many times before. And those three cards are really it for those three color groupings. There's a whole bunch of representation for WURG especially with Doctor Who UB, and WUBG has the two Atraxa. But the other three don't get much. Partner is an option I've considered. But at a glance, it seems a bit forced. Do you think design will do more with the quad-color groupings? Would a set like Alara or Tarkir be possible, but with quad-color tribes? Or does that overcomplicate design too much?

Four-color legendary cards are in a weird place. We don't want to make them such that people are just using them to play more colors in Commander, so it means we have to be very focused in what they're doing, and finding a home for such a design is tricky.