#there's enough suffering happening in the house that it's just gonna be. really inconvenient if i get super sick.

[crimeronan]

laying in bed with two other people who also have COVID firmly telling myself meditative affirmations like "you are too calm to spike a high fever" and "we are so strong we can kill this thing without a bunch of inflammation" and "this increased activity does not put me at risk of an autoimmune flare because antibodies aren't real" like some kind of antivax manifestation yoga influencer. i'll keep you guys posted on if it works.

[kurisus]

Chapter 96 thoughts

This chapter made me want to not be alive so uh let’s talk about it, group therapy style. Spoilers under the cut, obviously.

This was easily the worst chapter in a long time, but it was a different type of pain than the last bad chapter I flipped out over (Hagusa’s first appearance in 88-2). This was more like a slow, burning feeling of dread. I’m not quite sure how to describe it but this chapter definitely made me feel no less than 7 new emotions.

Things started off poorly with Yuka seeing Hiyori as being similar to her mom. Which, as we learned a few chapters ago, means the type of person to keep pushing away her pain and inconvenience with a smile. At least I’m glad Yuka decided to make her breakfast anyway.

The comparison isn’t entirely one-for-one though. Yuka and Haru’s mother was also the type of person to completely close herself off from her surroundings, not really doing anything to prevent her kids from being hurt. We know our Hiyori would never let that slide--I’m fondly remembering the multiple times she’s gone after trash dad despite how he keeps finding new ways to hurt her.

On that note, I still don’t think Yukine’s father is alive, but if he was I would love for Hiyori to kick his ass too.

Anyway, the anecdote about Haru forgetting their dad’s birthday was already rough for me. I’d forget too, if I had someone like that holding it against me every time. And of course it shouldn’t surprise me he was cruel enough to force his children to sleep outside at night, but somehow it’s just another horrible, horrible thing we were forced to learn.

Adachitoka’s really pulling no punches with Yukine’s backstory, man. Every time I think we’ve heard the worst of it, they come back with something new and equally horrible.

I’m really not sure what to make of Yuka’s “This isn’t something to talk about just after waking up” statement. What was she implying was happening to Haru? My first thought was that she realized he’s in danger somehow, and is afraid he’s going to die, but if that were true she’d be urging the girls out the door to go look for him. Feel free to tell me if it was obvious, but I was confused.

I still have no idea how Nora and Hiyori are gonna explain what happened to Haru, but I feel like Yuka will just catch a glimpse of him and realize, somehow.

I also feel like when they meet, Yukine will turn his anger on his sister at first, but hopefully Hiyori will be there to mediate things. I can’t wait for her to get some action, provided things don’t go belly-up again (they will).

Okay so I was completely NOT expecting to get the letter revealed this month so I felt blindsided.

I remember speculating the letter would be something normal, like what Yato saw in those fragments when naming Yukine. But boy, was I wrong.

He never got any of her letters, and didn’t Yuka also say she never got any of his?

Anyway, my first thought when I saw that final letter was that their dad forced him to write it, but looking at it again now I’m not so sure. I think the paneling is meant to imply their dad read out all his letters, and that was the one he was holding when the POV switched to a flashback. I also misread “I can’t take it anymore” as a sort of suicide note, but I think it was just frustration.

Either way, there’s a conspiracy going on that their dad was behind. Somehow, he got hold of all Haru’s letters, and likewise prevented Yuka’s from ever reaching him. So the two siblings wrote to each other and never got a response, each believing they had been abandoned.

It’s also horrifying that Yuka wrote about mundane things out of concern for her brother’s life and safety, yet Haru was openly writing about how much he wanted to run away. Perfect fuel for their dad’s story once he went missing, huh?

This also shows he wasn’t, like, handing the letters to his dad to mail off. He was sending them by himself, in secret, yet they all got returned one day. So like, was their mom hoarding his letters to prevent Yuka from getting them? What exactly happened here? I’m wondering if their mom was so committed to putting everything behind them that she kept all of Haru’s arriving letters and hid them away, hoping the siblings would forget about each other. But then, did she send them back? Why would she do such a thing?

I mentioned this a while ago, but nothing about this whole letter business adds up, and now there’s a whole new layer to it.

Anyway, on to what was, for me, the crux of this chapter--the page with just the “thud” and “smack” sfx, followed by an unnerving silence. This was, as is shown later, the final abuse that Haru suffered. His father got hold of the letters, ripped them up in front of his son, then beat him up and dragged him to the mountains where he dumped him in the fridge, already concocting his story about how Haru ran away. Now we know why Haru was barefoot and in his pajamas when it showed the fridge door shutting. Good lord.

This page had a deep impact on me, because though Adachitoka is not one to shy away from direct depictions of abuse (think Father smacking Yuuki against a pole or setting wolves on a crying Yato), everything about this was deeply unpleasant in a new way. I think it’s because we already knew that everyone ignored what was happening at the Tajima house, as well as the consequences of that specific instance of abuse.

I think it was @eerna who said this page goes straight to the compilation of pages that make me feel like I’ll never be happy again? bc yeah.

I gotta stop talking about this before I cry so I’m instead pivoting to taking another break from being mad at Kazuma because he was actually doing good stuff this chapter. Seems like he’s finally come around and agrees they need to get Yukine back, and is offering his help to Yato.

Poor Yato, though, remembering how their last exchange before Father named Yukine was Yukine renouncing that name in a fit of anger. I don’t think calling Sekki would work at the moment, but certainly when Yuka, Hiyori, and Nora help Yukine see reason, I can picture Yato summoning him back and away from Amaterasu.

So, they better all get their butts moving, because Father’s about to do a test run of Hagusa’s fury against those gods unfortunate enough to be in his way. Pleaaaaase let them be in time. I don’t have it in me to go through a box incident again.

If memory serves, Arahabaki is also in the area, meaning Shiigun may face off against Yuuki. But their time is running out, so Yukine’s fractured mental state will likely interfere with that plan.

One last thing before I close out this very long post. Father drew a clear parallel between himself and Yukine with their shared feelings of despair, yet the visual puts him in the same place as Yukine’s father, and Freckles as Yukine. Makes me wonder if she received similar treatment from Father as Yato and Nora did. Was their relationship not quite so “star-crossed lovers” as Father would have us believe? Was he perhaps partially to blame for her death?

In any case, seeing Yukine’s father carrying him to what will be his grave made me feel violent. I really hope that bastard is long dead, because I don’t want Yukine to become a murderer even though it would be completely justified after seeing incident after incident of the environment he grew up in.

Always questions, questions, and more questions. Feel free to send your own thoughts! See yall in October~

[knight-queen]

Black Wolves Saga Bloody Nightmare (Common Plot Part 1)

This game covers 200+ memories and but I were to translate them individually, it will take me forever which no way I want lmao. So I decided to make the whole game into parts, specially the common plot. Each parts hopefully ends with a red-splash thing. I know it may sound inconvenient  but I found it as a best option. The main thing I am worried is the selection things because they are so long and I hope God will help me to arrange the whole story smoothly <3

The sky is weeping. Weeping for grieving over the sorrowful event that is going to happen right away.

Large droplets of rain hit the ground. Some approaching sounds of footsteps mixed with such groaning rain could be heard from far away. Gradually, gradually.

The village which is more likely has sank inside the darkness has yet to notice the impending crisis.

???: ーー...It’s raining...brother.

???: ーー...Hmph. What is wrong, Rath? You are scared?

Rath: No, it’s not….It’s not like that...Brother, it’s raining awfully too much.

???: ーー...Raining? You are wrong, these are tears.

Rath: Tears? …...What do you mean?

???: God of the Weblin is crying. He is feeling sorrow for these humans after all.

Rath: Human...human...HUMAN...I hate them.

???: If so then kill them. Paint your heart with those emotions. Wolves do not need any heart inside them.

Looks like they appeared out of nowhere. Unscared of this rain, two human-looking persons were standing in the middle of the village.

One of them is tall figued. Another one is a young man still in the mid-way of becoming an adult.

Those are the eyes of fellows, ash colored beasts, the eyes which were shining like sparkles, like starving for flames and blood.

???: ーMove forward.

He commanded splitting a single word.

*Wolves howling sounds*

*Village was set to fire*

Female Resident 1: Heeeeehhh…!

Howling wolves are screaming as if they are proceeding by tearing through the rain.

As the people are uproaring in panic, the man’s smile inside the rain deepens.

A beautiful smile that one cannot overlook if the situation would allow you.

???: Kukukuh...Devour it all. These human’s blood, flesh andーーeverything.

Female Resident 1: KYAAAAAAAAAAA!! Wolves!? Why, what are they here....!!

Male Resident 1: Just run…!! Hurry and take our kids to….gh, kyaaa!!

???: ーIt’s pointless.

The howl of wolves that vibrates the dark night. Plus their accumulated screams rise one by one, and the echo disappears in an instant.

The sound that could be heard next was the pulling sound of something heavy. Pulling human bodies one after another.

*BG turns to an wolf eating flesh*

The next sound that could be heard was the chewing sounds of the wolves mixed with rain-water. Those wolves were slicing humans as if they were nothing more than baits.

Female resident 1: Kyaaaaayaaaaaaaaaa!! Stopp….ughuh….!!

*Blood splash*

An awkward chewing sound was resounded from all around by getting mixed with raining sound.

At the same time, the scent of blood which was not getting erased even with incessant rain spread around. It stirs up the instincts of the wolves as well.

???: Fufh...it has a very beautiful timbre. Human’s shierkings are the best comfort. I hope you will not mind letting me hear more. 

From the shadows of the wolves’ flock, someone stretched their hand by appealing for help.

Strengthless, yet that person was shivering and struggling like has gotten twitched.

???: Just die, shameless.

*Blood splash*

That person has stopped moving right away.

From human, to object. To alive, to dead. From a mass of protein, to a piece of flesh. 

All left now is the despicable sound of water that wolves are using to satisfy their hungry stomach, but that could be heard inside of darkness.

???: More, fill your stomach more. Eat them all….

The male’s heart gets filled with screams and frustration. Meanwhile, a villager seemed to run away in sight of that man.

That person is a villager. His destination will probably be the stable. His intention for now is to ask his neighbouring villagers to help him out by riding on a fast horse.

Once he manages to get on the horse, then wolves or something like that will be unable to interfere with him.

???: ...Guillan.

He muttered by calling that name.

Guillan: Hiyaaaaaa~! What’s up, Arles? Isn’t it just a waste of time to kill that ugly jackass?

Arles: ーIt is an order.

Guillan: Tch, how boorish. ...Well then I am gonna kill ‘em in boldly, ‘kay? Just watch me will yaaa’ー?

Along with sliced-through-wind sound, silver light breaks through the dark night. Then he immediately scratched off the man’s head who was trying to reach the horse-stable.

Resident 1: Guggh…!!

*blood splash*

Slashed fresh blood. But that immediately got mixed and soaked with rain and soil respectively.

*Shoots*

Guillan: I hit itー! Wooooooh! Oi, they’re seriously tiny sized fish. Guess it’s worth it to get more of ‘em still alive?

The headless villager trumple down to the ground with a thud. Right there was a flock of wolves. Soon enough, they could be seen devouring by chewing him. 

They slurp down the fresh blood as they apart the flesh. Gushed and overflowed red with rain droplets have become one and they both are ending up being mud. 

Guillan: Ahh, that guy is fukin’ ugly. Me the great don’t wanna see him, so gonna mess him up.

*Shoots*

Guillan: Hiyaaa! Cool, cool. Kindly just pass away, ugly humans. 

*Another shoot*

Guillan: Hiyahahahah! Now it becomes easier to eat, yah? Eat ‘em more, ‘cuz they are merely chunks of “meat” anyways, kay?

*Blood splash*

Guillan: Ooh, It’s damn boring for some reason. It’d be better if they would fight back more. Just hunting isn’t fun though?

Arles: ーShut up. It is my order.

Guillan: Oh goodness, I smash ‘em all just as you wished right? You knoooow, wolves sob if you don’t compliment them.

Arles: ...Alright. 

*Arles pats Guillan*

Guillan: Kukukuh...I like that side of yours. Oi, shall I butcher ‘em more?

*gets ready the spin-blade*

The young man called Guillan, at his fingertips, there is the dangerous weapon that reaped out the life of the villager is rotating making a humming sound.

It is a weapon called chakram, a weird weapon where one has to bag fingers into it and hurl at the distant target by being very concentrative. 

Every single part of it’s external is made out of blade, the users will get hurt if they make an error in holding that.

The perfect owner of that weapon, that young man, was really suited to using that.

*Shoots + Blood flash*

Guillan: Arlesーwhat ‘bout attacking a bigger place? As you can see, It’s been a while since this miny village’s gone hollow.

They aren’t even responding a thing. Darning borin’. They are fukin villagers after all. Seriously trash yeah?

More, more and more, let’s do somethin’ more entertainingー?

*Shoots again*

Guillan: Hiyaaa, hiyaaaaaa, hiyaaaaaaaaahーhhh!!! Blooood, blooood, blood-blood-blood-blood, gotta chop off everything wooo!

Although he seems to have lost his mind, at the same time, the Charkram shoot off from his fingertips and hunts the prey by spinning through the rain and wind. 

*Blood splash + stab sound*

Female Resident 1: KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAー!!

His attitude is potent, and his talent is that not only was he able to master a very difficult weapon, he mastered hunting a target very comfortably and easily. That skill of his is very well-known.

Arles: ...Fufh, you are right. We can begin to prey upon a larger city onward. We must make those humans...suffer, more suffer.

Kill more...we must kill them more. We must erase them entirely.

Guillan: Hiyahah! Sounds great...I can’t wait…

Among the wolves as they run, hunt and howl in the rain, those two’s conversations are like talkings between a child and his corresponding guardian.

Right after, Arles starts gazing on the other side.

Arles: ...What is Rath doing?

Guillan: Rath? Oh...you mean that rookie huh. Wasn’t he just hunting the foolish who were simply trynna escape over there. 

He doesn’t seem to like murder thing that much. Don’t really think he is your younger bro.

Arles: ...Rath is still immature. If he abandons his emotions, he should be able to kill humans. 

Guillan: Abandon emotions? He’d feel more at ease if he’d just do fun stuff and stop thinking about troublesome shits.

*Spins his Chakram*

Guillan: Hiyyaaah! ‘Kay then, I’m gonna rampage a lil’ more.

Arles: Do not let even a single one be alive. Kill everyone except wolves, seize the souls of everyone. Everyone.

Guillan: I’m down for itー! Bossー!

The scent of blood, as well as the screams and everything which is happening gets erased in the rain, doesn’t even reach anyone. 

Now this small village has turned into a hunting ground for wolves.

Arles: ...Rath.

Rath: ……

After shifting places with guillan, the young man has shown up as if he gets out from the dark.

Arles: What were you doing?

Rath: ...Nothing particular. I was killing them. Just as you told me.

Arles: Do not worry, Rath. Set on fire after the rain stops.

Rath: ...Yeah. I know, brother.

Arles: We are doing this in order to let it know what happened. We want the foolish subjects of Weblin to realize the existence of us, the wolves.

Take everything away, their houses, lands, and lives so that they cannot even think about coming to these places again.

Rath: ...Big brother, I know.

Arles: If you know then respond. The leader of this flock is me.

Rath: ...Yeah.

Arles: Rath, do not think about the points that much. Listen to your own insects inside you. Sound yourself more like “kill humans!”

Rath: ...I know, brother. I know!!

Arles: Say it, you will kill them.

Rath: I will kill. I will...kill humans.

Arles: Say it once more. It is an order.

Rath: ...Kill, kill, kill...kill. I will kill...kill...kill. I will kill, kill...kill, kill, kill, kill them.

I must kill them.

Arles: Rath, do not hesitate. You are not allowed to forget what they did to us. 

Rath: Kill, kill, kill, kill. Yeah...I will kill them.

Arles: Alright...time to go. Fire up.

A small nod, then the young man disappeared out of sight just like he faded away in the dark. 

Arles: ...Kukukuh.

The male chuckles as he is glaring at this hellish disaster.

Arles: Other races etc, just devour all of them. Wreck them out and get rid of everything.

Look, the God of Weblin. This is the beginning of the wolves’ revenge. If you say our race is cursed, then I dare you to curse more.

Kukukuh, hahahah, HAAHAAHHAHAHAH!

As the bloody-rain continues, the man who stood in the middle of this tragic place was the king of the wolves.

Weblin Kingdom

It is a small kingdom which is lying at a corner of the continent thronged with great powers.

Garibaldi family of the Cat species rules it. Surrounded by abundant and strict atmosphere, Weblin is undoubtedly standing as an solitary island on the continent.

While wearing armor called “Nature which prevents aggression”, this kingdom was flourishing as an independent civilization on the continent.

The one that holds domination power is the species called ‘Cats’.

In this world the species that exist are ー1) ’Cats’

2) Human

3) Wolves

4) And the rare species are ‘Rat’

5) Lion

6) Dog

7) Rabbit

When wolves and humans hand over the top of the Weblin to the Cats, the races living there including the rare ones were being dominated. 

Hundred of years passed after its founding, although there were clan’s barriers in it, Weblin was still a harmonious and splendid country which existed in a beautiful environment.

Exactly like this, until ten years ago. 

As the history progressed, Cats and other races of Weblin were producing a few number of frictions. 

Exploiting takes place right one after another. The relationship between the tribes finally began to be disputed. 

There was a rebellion that occurred ten years ago.

A wolf guard-knight who used to work for the Weblin kingdom had turned the sword towards one of the members of the royal family.

Cats who ruled Weblin, and the one who ruled on their top of that was the royal family Garibaldi.  Treasoning that family was a very heavy sin.

That guard-knight’s residence was disrupted and so after he was driven out from the country. However一the uproar still was not all over.

That uproar was not only between Wolves and Cats but involved in every other race.

一And thereupon, a big plague had assaulted the country.

A brutal death-disease called “Zodiva” 一 so called this disease by human and it was in trend. 

This may dye the sufferer’s skin into black color and may also end up completely spoiling the brain-tissues. And this unknown caused plague will eventually lead the affected individual into madness.

Wherein a rumour takes place which is “Wolves are the reasons behind the origin of this plague.” This rumour got spread across many regions in no time. 

The people of the villages and towns that wolves attacked were feared, that thoroughly-outbroken disease was the wolves’ curse.

And eventually that ‘Zodiva’ name becomes identified as ‘Madness-disease by Wolves.’

In order to sweep away the fear of such people, the Weblin Kingdom Garibaldi VI had announced a certain rule.

一 “Genociding Wolves Law”

“Behead the wolves who are the origin of the nation-wrecking disease.”

Balanced relationships between the clans that had been preserved for 100 years have decisively collapsed after coming this far.

The decree to protect yourself from the wolf species was warranted as a reason to hunt the wolf species behind anyone’s notices.

In the fear of Zodiva, the other clans started wildly joining in wolves-hunting and had decided to exterminate them. 

ーAnd ten years have passed since then.

Due to the dramatic decrease of wolves, the impact of Zodiva has also descended.

However, the wolves killing law that Garibaldi VI had published still continued to function without undo. 

The wolves species began to decrease so much as if it was an endangered species. 

By changing the wolves’ position to be preyed on, the cats became more and more absolute strength owners.

Weblin, unlike the outer places where the plague was not spreaded, is now belonging to cats…

ーIt was an absolute monarchy.

Place: Weblin Kingdom Castle一 Corridor

Auger: …?

Hm, I just heard a voice. As I was walking leisurely in the hallway, I stopped and brought up my ear to listen to something interesting or not.

(Hmmm? What kind of conversation would they possibly have in such a place like this.)

Waiting Maid 1: Hey tell me, did you two heard a rumour about a witch?

Waiting Maid 2: A witch?

Waiting Maid 3: Yeah, rumour about the witch of Charmessen (Beautiful Forest)? 

Waiting Maid 1: Oh yeah exactly. You know, it’s said that there’s a witch in the Charmessen forest.

Waiting Maid 2: Yes, I have heard about it a little. It was about like the witch from the Charmessen forest is cursing the Weblin by wielding a disaster, right? 

Waiting Maid 3: Exactly, as you see the northward village has been raided up and destroyed by the wolves recently.

Waiting Maid 2: Very miserable indeed… After eating and killing the people regardless of their gender and age, they even set the places on fire.

Waiting Maid 1: Yeah, I talked to a member of knighthood who was dispatched later on…

It was not cool to ask him but, he turned pale after saying it wasn’t something that humans could do.

Waiting Maid 3: Even a brave knight has averted his eyes, it means it was a terrible spectacle indeed…

Waiting Maid 1: Same goes for the impact on the wolves, I heard the witch is manipulating the wolves to attack everyone.

Waiting Maid 2: Eeh? But what the witch would possibly achieve by making the wolves attack down. 

Waiting Maid 3: You know, it’s something that I have heard though...because the witch wants to have an eternal life, she will need so many sacrificial victims. 

Waiting Maid 1: Then she is making the wolves hunt the villages or towns to get so many sacrificed people...I am scared now.

Waiting Maid 2: Talking about being scared...recently the Garibaldi Majesty IV keeps getting in weak condition. I am scared of what if something bad happens.

Waiting Maid 1: You’re right. Majesty’s condition just keeps getting frailed lately…

Waiting Maid 3: Raids by wolves, Zodiva, Witch and so many threatening stuff are going on. So I would like the Majesty to hang on there…

Waiting Maid 2: Rather, isn’t it okay to hand over the royal to His Highness Mejojo really quick?

Waiting Maid 1: Hush…! How can you handle it if it goes to others’ ears…!?

Waiting Maid 3: As she said, no matter how number one royal successor Lord Mejojo is, don’t say so confirmly that he is going to be the next heir. 

Expecting Garibaldi VI is going to pass out is something considered as the crime of treason you know?

Waiting Maid 2: ...R- right...kh. I am so sorry for being careless.

The silence that stares around for a while continues. The three of them are more likely to sweat over what they will do if somebody would hear their conversations.

Auger: (Seriously, you ought to be careful since you don’t know if somebody had a chance to hear you or not.)

That’s right. For example, just like this, there was a possibility that the twin brother of the next royal successor prince Mejojo Von Garibaldi has been taking a peek in your conversations. 

(Everyone likes gossiping about rumours afterall~ I also don’t hate it though)

I like it even more if it comes out handy for me.

Waiting Maid 1: That being said...It just pops up in my mind. The disagreements between the Garibaldi Majesty VI and his twin princess came out pretty much a fact.

Waiting Maid 2: Eh? No kidding?

Waiting Maid 3: Oh, I heard about that too. Let me go back umm...it was about Lady Eleanora and Rayrie, yeah?

Waiting Maid 2: Lady Eleanora and Rayrie…? Who are you talking about? Was there anybody with those names?

Waiting Maid 1: Ohh, you have moved here recently. Both Lady Eleanora and Rayrie are Majesty Garibaldi VI’s wives.

Waiting Maid 2: Oh yes, that’s why...I felt like I heard those names before.

But surely both of them had passed away right?

Waiting Maid 1: ...Yeah. It’s been many years since Lady Eleanora and Rayrie had passed away.

Waiting Maid 2: I see. Guess no matter how newcomer I am or other maidens, you are gonna know those names today or tomorrow.

If that is the case then...it means Majesty Garibaldi VI is very sorry.

Waiting Maid 1: Eh? Why’s that?

Waiting Maid 2: Because both of his wives have passed out pretty early, no?

Waiting Maid 1: ………

Waiting Maid 3: ………

Waiting Maid 2: Eh? What’s wrong with the two of you? Did I just...say something weird?

Waiting Maid 3: ...You say something weird or not, Err well...looks like you still don’t know yet, so I shall inform you about that.

Waiting Maid 2: E- eh?

Waiting Maid 1: Talking about Lady Eleanora and Reyrie are prohibited in the interior of the castle.  Even if you split them accidentally, you are gonna be dismissed.

Waiting Maid 2: Di- dismissed…?

Waiting Maid 3: Told you right? Lady Eleanora and Reyrie contents are the main reason for the bad patches between His Majesty and his princes.

Waiting Maid 2: Eeh? What does that mean?

Waiting Maid 1: Well you see…

Auger: (Looks like the time has arrived)

*Footsteps*

Waiting Maid 1: …!

Waiting Maid 2: …!

Waiting Maid 3: …!!

I purposely straightened my neck up and showed up from the place that I have silently been hiding.

The maidens who were blooming like a flower while ridiculously chattering a minute ago, are instantly turning into pale blue.

That’s not surprising either. Because the rumoured person that was being chased by these ladies’ curious minds has presented his appearance.

Auger: Hey there, what three of you were talking about? Would you please let me join too? I love those kinds of conversations.

With an intentional carefree and light voice, I asked if it would be okay to accompany them.

Obvious enough, they turn around their heads side to side with immense vigor. 

Waiting Maid 1: W- we are terribly sorry, your highness Auger...we are taking our leaves…!

Waiting Maid 2: Kindly excuse our silliness…!

Auger: Eeeh, aren’t you going a bit over? I had already heard every single word of what you just talked about. That being said, you also mentioned something like ‘you will get dismissed’, no?

Waiting Maid 1: N- not at all…! No way…! If I had misunderstood something...kh, I- I am begging your forgiveness…

Auger: Nope, now way I will pardon you right? You are gonna die here.

Waiting Maid 1: Hhhee…!!

*that maiden falls down*

Auger: So, what are you upto? Oh right, you also intended to say that yeaaa.

Waiting Maid 2: W- we are begging...your pardon...gh!

Auger: Oh jeez, do not let out that loud voice. It’s earsore. 

...I am a royal master musician. My ears are very sharp. And you can tell it clearly by looking at those ears, no? Or perhaps you humans can’t possibly get what I meant.

Look carefully, my ears are really great. I may end up hearing every single thing.

Waiting Maid 2: ...R- right.

Auger: That- is- why, if you talk about such things for a second time...I will kill you. 

Waiting Maid 3: ...hhhgh…!!

Auger: Your response, lil’ human girls?

Waiting Maid 3: A- alright!! Your highness Auger!!

Waiting Maid 2: W- we beg our excuse…!

While the three parties fairly raised their voices, the ladies got dismissed from that place in no time.

Auger: Looks like there're so many rumours spreading out...Fufu, rumours are pretty fun I guess…?

I slothly resumed to start wandering while giggling.

Although it has declined, the effect of Zodiva still has not reached zero.

The raids on the towns-villages by the wolves.

The same time when those situations got paired, other threatening rumours also got spread in a blink of an eye.

Auger: (Even the ‘father is passing out’ being a rumour...mhm, pretty interesting indeed)

I was able to hear something very amusing while loitering around looking for cool news.

I’m also telling this great news to my big brother.

I have to set it up since brother has a serious gaze. He may also not be gonna tease about it like me.

Let’s make it more interesting if that’s what the case is, okey?

[v3nusaphr0d1t3]

get you where you wanna go (if you know what i mean)

crossposted on ao3: <3 rating: explicit content warning: BRIEF drug mention, explicit content hornee time, dabixgn!reader, road head reader is not described

dabi paid some of your bills in exchange for you part-time housing him and patching him up, and you always kind of assumed that he was getting his money somewhere illegally.

but it wasn’t as bad as you had initially thought, he was really just dealing. delivery dealing, if he could secure a car from somewhere. it always paid more to deliver. and you had asked to come along to get out of the house, and he had actually let you this time.

so of course, in your shitty little brain, you immediately thought of a way to make it insufferable. and what you came up with wasn’t exactly insufferable. there would be no suffering. just wild, but pleasurable inconvenience.

currently, he was staring off into space as he drove his way through the darker parts of the city. the roads weren’t empty, but they weren’t busy. there was soft music playing on the radio, setting a calm mood as you stared out the window. 

“can i suck you off?” you asked in a simple tone, breaking the silence with a fake innocence to your teasing tone.

he spluttered immediately, eyes widening. he tried to fix his deadpan, as he tried to usually show as little emotion as possible just as a constant defense mechanism (you guessed), but you had caught him off guard. he chuckled a bit, looking over at you. you now had your head in your hands, elbows resting on the armrest console, looking at him with a smug but open look.

“i mean— i’m not gonna say no to road head.” he shrugged, leaning back a bit more to have his back rest all the way against the seat. “go on, if you really want to.” his voice was monotone but you could see the small fire of interest you had lit in his eyes as he gave you a sideways glance.

so you did exactly that, unbuckling your seatbelt, which you didn’t have to do for dabi because he refused to wear one, even after you had made fun of him for it. you fiddled with his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. you moved his pants and boxers to the side to pull his dick out, spitting into your hands to give it a few good pumps. you heard him suck in a breath, eyes narrowing on the road. you ducked your head to be level with his cock, reaching out with your tongue to tease him.

you circled the tip, way too much spit and not enough sensation. you gave small licks back and forth, trying your hardest to piss him off (as you often enjoyed doing). you felt the car speed up a bit at his restlessness as his hands gripped the wheel. your stomach did flips at this, the slight danger aspect turning you on more than it really should.

“c’mon, if you can’t even wait to jump my bones until we get home, can you at least do it right?” he growled out, voice tinged with irritation.

you smirked, getting the exact reaction you had wanted, before deciding to give in. you wrapped your lips around him, bobbing your head a few times, before you felt his hand atop your head. a delicate situation.

you decided to make the most of it, taking as much as you could and swirling your tongue on the way down. his piercings were warming up in your mouth and it felt strange yet familiar. everything about him was strange yet familiar.

when you attempted to go up for air, you felt his hand applying more pressure, essentially trapping you in this… delicate situation, as you had put it. you felt the air in your lungs running out as your face started to heat up. his hand pushed down and you gagged, feeling him groan at the constriction of your throat. finally, he let you go, and this time it was your turn to splutter, taking a few deep breaths. you wanted to hit him, but he was driving. and strangely, you found that hotter than you though you would. he just looked at you with a smug expression.

ok. so thats hot.

you returned your head to where it was previously, burying his cock down your throat again and working it with all you had. you heard his breathing speeding up above you as his hand returned to where it was.

it was only a bit longer before his hips started jutting up to meet your ministrations, and eventually just working you at his own rhythm as he used you like a breathing toy.

“shit, god you’re so good at that. jus’— jus’ takin’ it.” he murmured, one hand tapping erratically on the wheel while the other sat atop your head. at this point, you wanted to pull away to work him with your hand as you watched him fall apart at the wheel, but he seemed content to continue to use your throat as if you didn’t need air.

“shit baby—” his head hit the headrest as his eyes stayed glued to the road. you tapped his thigh and he let you up, taking a few deep breaths as you followed through with your plan to work him until he fell apart.

“how is it baby? is it scary? don’t get lost in your head and flip the car.” you murmured, voice craggly and raspy. you watched his adam’s apple bob as his hips fucked up into your fist.

“i asked you how it was, baby, i want an answer.” you whispered, getting close to his head with a throaty chuckle.

“s’good, s’good— fuck.” he swallowed again.

you worked him like that, watching him practically dissolve into the seat, but as his peak approached, you watched as he slowly arched off the seat again, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

“m’close.” he mumbled, biting his bottom lip to suppress a whine. 

“oh, be careful baby, don’t take your eyes off the road.” your words were honey in his ear, and he wanted to melt. you loved when he got like this, hanging off your words like he depended on it, like he was built just for it. you almost wished you weren’t in the car, to better take advantage of the rare moment, but you still loved the added prospect of danger.

he just nodded, eyes wide open, looking forced. his hips got faster, as did his breathing as you could tell he was approaching.

you suddenly took your hand off him, not wanting to risk anything happening. he let out a loud whine, hips chasing after your hand as you pulled away.

“pull over.” you whispered the command, but he followed almost immediately, and nearly dangerously as he pulled into a parking lot conveniently close. the moment that the car was in park, your mouth was on him again, bringing him right back to the brink, and pulling off to watch his face as you stroked him to completion, features screwing up in long-awaited pleasure. his head fell back against the seat in a silent yell as his brow upturned, breathing in and out heavily as he sprayed his seed all over his jacket. you would laugh if you weren’t so enamoured by him.

and when he met your eyes, there was a hunger already back on the burner.

[chidoroki]

TPN - Isabella one-shot

Okay, so.. I have so many emotions right now it's not even funny. I don't care how many times I've said this since ch169, but I'm gonna say it again: Isabella is a goddamn QUEEN! I thought the side chapter was going to reflect the light novel like Krone's was last week (it was based on that, correct?), so being able to witness Isabella be that dangerous “iron woman” mastermind again was simply fantastic.

As Krone's extra chapter reminded us, every woman in this mother/sister academy is fighting to survive by any means necessary, so seeing these ladies put on a pretty face one moment to praise Isabella on her promotion only to talk shit behind her back the next minute was of no surprise to me. What did make me a little stunned was that these women are unmistakably the same women who stood so proud and confidently behind Isabella once she revealed her wonderful revenge plan to the rest of the facility back in ch170.

So, what changed? Oh, it's quite simple and a complete joy for me to talk about, so allow me. Isabella had a reputation of never making mistakes, as she always received perfect scores on both written and physical tests, so upon learning that she allowed 15 children to escape is a bit jarring, especially to the other ladies. The quality of her loss was such a huge hit to the farm's profit that they couldn't fathom why she of all people would be chosen to become the next Grandma. They believed it to be unfair, that Isabella must have had some sort advantage after working under Grandma Sarah that could've been kept under wraps. They both got rid of Krone with little to no explanation at all, so some rules must have been tweaked. It's no doubt the ladies saw Isabella as a major threat to their own survival, so they kept a close eye on her and waited for the perfect opportunity.. to create a fake lead to raise suspicion on this flawless woman.

Too bad dearest Grandma was already ten steps ahead of them! HAA! Did they honestly think they could take her down? And Jessica, sweetheart, you even spoke about Isabella's training days a couple of pages ago and how “she calmly got revenge on all the girls when they tried to sabotage her.” That literally just happened again so y'all can't really be surprised by this outcome! She knows that Jessica, Sienna, Scarlet & Matilda, are the current top four choices to become mothers, so it was quite easy for Isabella to determine who would go after her and her new position, if anyone were foolish enough to think about such a thing.

Luckily for them, Isabella has no intentions of killing them off. Since they're all quite intelligent and skilled, she decides to recruit them as allies in her pursuit to destroy Grace Field. Their reaction is similar to the other women we see from ch170. Everyone is apprehensive at first, as going against the farm is nothing but a crazy idea, and yet Isabella assures them that there is no bright future if they remain stuck in the system and obey their rules.

They betray each other to give themselves the best chance at surviving, but it'll be an endless hell if you live out your entire life in fear. So if not for each other, what do these ladies have to live for? Oh, just their children they all chose so hard to forget about.

By now it's no secret that Ray is Isabella's son, but ever since ch170 I couldn't help but wonder if any of those women were the biological moms of any of the other kids we know. You can't tell me the lady with that distinguished nose isn't Nat's mother. I also thought the others could be mothers of Rossi, Yvette, Anna and perhaps Don? Sienna might be Emma's, Matilda to Norman's, Scarlet to Phil's, and Jessica.. I'm not sure honestly? I know it could be any of the kids at GF plant #3, not just the 15 that escaped, but it is fun to think about though and I wasn't expecting to learn that their kids were all at the same house.

It's quite convenient that Isabella had the chance to raise their children actually, because after a few more words of encouragement and the knowledge that their children are indeed still alive, the four ladies agree to support Isabella's plan. Well, once she guarantees to not double-cross them, which is reasonable. It's best for them to have some trust in each other in order to work together. Isabella gives them her word and some much better evidence of her mistake in the form of… aaaaahhh Ray's note.

Bro, believe me when I was completely shooketh upon reading this. It's been a question we all had for so long that I was fairly certain we weren't going to get an answer for it after the series ended. Of course the knowledge of Ray being Isabella's true son was the weakness many of us thought the note contained, but I could've sworn I read somewhere, in some interview or whatever it was, that Shirai said it was something else Ray baited Krone with (right? or am I completely going crazy about this trivia). Anyways, I guess a farewell note is different enough but damn.. what a punch to my heart. Not only did he address it as “dear mother,” but the fact that Isabella kept it this entire time. Like wow.. I'm kinda speechless here. No doubt she still loves her son, just look at how fondly she holds it! If anything, I must know the full contents of said note! Shirai, please! I'm begging!

And if that wasn't enough to make me emotional, Isabella's wish certainly had me tearing up. I hope she knows that her precious children are all happy together in a free world living the best life they possibly can. Honestly, if I had any power to change just one thing in this series, it would to let Isabella live. Having Emma keep her memories is a close second, but I've come to accept that inconvenience after seeing how happy she and all the other kids are post-series. Look at this precious family! I love them! (also I wanna see that full photo on top with her and ayshe darn it!)

Seriously though, her death is still something I'm not over. I literally have not listened to her lullaby since ch177 dropped because I'm scared I'll become a tearful mess. Yes, sacrificing herself to protect Emma and that other girl from the demon was very admirable of her and helped with her redemption, but she didn't have to die from it! (hell, if emma could survive being stabbed then so could isabella, right?? damn plot armor! ) To me, I just feel like it wasn't necessary, especially now after learning what we just did from this extra chapter. Not only did she agree to become Grandma to help the children when they eventually returned to GF in two years, but Isabella also decreased the number of shipments in order to produce higher quality goods to make up for those that escaped, which is exactly what Emma believed would happen once she decided to leave the kids four and under behind. I love how Isabella adopted Emma's ideals and spirit in order to go against the system and rally everyone else up to accomplish the impossible. Personally, I forgave this woman the moment she retrieved the ropes in ch37 so the farm wouldn't know exactly where the children escaped from. She didn't have to die to prove she was a good mother who cared and love her children, because she showed that several times over and over again. She literally did everything in her power to help these kids secure a brighter future while remaining in the shadows.

Yeah, it makes me happy that they did at least take her body to to the human world so they all can continue to pay their respects to her, but aaahhh.. how I wish she were still alive. She suffered so much, she deserves to live in peace with her children and love them all normally. Ray especially!! You can't just formally introduce these four brilliant women to me and then be like “oh yeah, they have GF kids too and now they're free in the human world with them” and not have Isabella with Ray! I'm sure their relationship would've been rocky at first, but I still would've love to see them at least give each other a chance to be a real family. Hmmmm.. this chapter, man.. so not good for my heart, but I loved every bit of it. Once again, rest in peace to the iron woman. What a queen.

[jodiereedus22]

The Fated Ones

A/N: This was requested by @kristinesku I hope its what you wanted. I hope you all enjoy it!!!! 

Word Count: 3610

Warnings: Mention of Blood, Slight Violence, Pregnancy

You were never a firm believer in fate – the whole premise of a higher power guiding you to where you needed to be – whether you knew it no not, always baffled you.

But so far there have been two clear times in your life that made you question your beliefs.

The first being Daryl. With everything that had happened, the current state of the world, to find Daryl, to fall in love at the end of the world was something you couldn’t explain.

The second was finding a place like Alexandria. You had found places to call your home over the years, but nothing like Alexandria. After being on the road for so long, going through the things that you all had – a place of safety, comfort and security was something you, Daryl and your family so desperately needed.

Little did you know that a few more ‘acts of fate’ would come along to challenge your beliefs further.

A lot had happened in your time at Alexandria. The years had been a mixture of good, bad and excruciating. The war with the saviours changed all of you, changed your communities – of which there were a few now – a network of communities that fought side by side and support each other.

You had lost a lot of people in the war against the Saviours. You had almost lost Daryl. Your heart breaks every time you thought about what had happened to him at the hands of Negan, but you had put all of that behind you now and started to rebuild and begin a new life.

Negan was imprisoned for the rest of his miserable life and most – if not all – of the saviours were gone as peace now reigned throughout all of the communities.

You and Daryl had a stable life, for once not having to look over your shoulder all of the time.

However, a few months ago, there was something that could have potentially put that stability at risk.

 You sat on the porch of the home you and Daryl shared, waiting for him to come back from a run.

You were terrified, but not just for the normal reason, the test that came back positive – at that moment – was anything but. Now not to say your relationship wasn’t strong – it was – the bond you and Daryl shared was extraordinarily strong, you had grown together, survived together and learned to love together - but children? That was somewhat of a grey area.

You knew all about Daryl's childhood, you knew his opinion of himself. He never thought he was good enough for anyone or anything, let alone being a father. You knew you had to be delicate with the news, but telling Daryl was one of the scariest things you had done.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts and fears that you didn’t notice Daryl climbing the steps.

“(Y/N)?” Daryl called out, and by his tone, not for the first time.

“Hey, you're back,” you realised, standing up to greet him.

Daryl stared at you for a moment, tilting his head slightly trying to work you out.

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked, concerned at your blank expression.

You audibly sighed, finding it hard to look to Daryl.

“We need to talk,” you said ominously.

Daryl's expression changed from one of worry to one of fear as he followed you into the house.

“You might want to sit,” you suggested, pointing to the sofa as you went to sit on the coffee table opposite.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for your admission. You had thought long and hard about what you were going to say to Daryl, how you were going to tell him, but now he was sitting in front of you, you decided just to rip the band aid off.

“I'm pregnant,” you blurted out.

Daryl stared at you in shock, not moving, not blinking, it was only his chest rising and falling did you know that he was still breathing.

“Daryl? Say something,” you pleaded.

But still, he said nothing, instead, he rose from the sofa and headed towards the door.

“Daryl,” you called out, panicking at his reaction.

“I'm okay. It’s okay, jus’ need some air.” Daryl turned around. It was the look in his eyes that told you he was telling you the truth, with that your panic somewhat settling.

Daryl walked through the door as you walked to the window to watch him leave, only to see him take a seat on the steps of your house, taking out a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between his lips as he looked out at the community.

You smiled to yourself, knowing, without words, that this was his answer. He was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

As the day turned to night and Daryl was still having his alone time you retreated to your bed, exhausted from the day's emotions.

During the night you felt the bed dip, and arms wrap around your waist, a hand gently resting on your still flat belly as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck, you let out a contented sigh as you squeezed his arms in a tight embrace.

No words were exchanged, no words were needed. Daryl said all he needed to say with his actions.

And since that night Daryl had always been by your side, loving you, supporting you and your unborn baby.

You were now coming on to six months, you had a clear baby bump now, not as big as you had imagined it being, but Denise said it was because of your physique.

“Please,” you begged Daryl for the hundredth time that day.

All you wanted was a ride outside the walls. You loved Alexandria, you were thankful for its safety and security it provided you – and now your unborn baby. But now, you were suffering from cabin fever seeing only the inside of the walls for god knows how long.

“Just an hour, we don’t even have to leave the car,” you begged, Daryl still stared at you – unwavering.

“Look, I've been stuck inside these walls for too long, I understand why. But once I'm further along I still won't be able to go out, and once the baby is born, I still won't be able to go out. This might be my last chance for a long time. Please Daryl,” you pleaded your case.

“Girl,” Daryl said randomly.

“What?” you asked, confused at his answer to your plea.

“The baby, it’s gonna be a girl,” Daryl explained.

“What? How do you know? Did Denise tell you? I thought we said it would be a surprise,” you argued, finding yourself getting annoyed. You didn’t know if you actually were or if it was the pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc.

“Nah, Denise didn’t tell me, jus’ my guess is all,” Daryl clarified as your mood lifted a bit.

“Daryl Dixon, don’t you try and distract me. What I'm asking still stands,” you demanded.

Daryl audibly sighed, falling back on the sofa, his head leaning back, closing his eyes.

“(Y/N),” Daryl started before you interrupted.

“I know, it’s too dangerous,” you said, mimicking Daryl’s southern drawl, teasing him.

You sat down next to him.

“But…” you started; this time Daryl interrupted you.

“But nothin’, (Y/N), you're pregnant. I can't risk it,” Daryl said softly, real emotion at the thought of you being out there.

“I'll have you, and as I said, we don’t have to leave the car or even stop,” you pursued your cause.

You could see the wheels in Daryl's head turn, but you could see his resolve slipping. So, you looked at him with pleading eyes as he looked back at you, already with regret.

“Fine,” Daryl conceded. “But ya stay in the car, ya don’t step a foot out of it. Ya hear me, I need ya and our baby safe,” Daryl demanded but with a soft tone, not really being able to say no to you.

You knew all Daryl ever wants is to protect you, and you loved him all the more for that, but you couldn’t help the excitement of your upcoming trip.

The day had come, you were going outside the walls. You knew you probably wouldn't be out for long, knowing Daryl wouldn’t want to risk being outside of the walls for a prolonged period of time – more time, more risk. But you didn’t care, you just wanted a sense of freedom – even for a little while.

You made sure you had a couple of bottles of water and a few snacks – maybe you could convince Daryl to stop for a minute to enjoy the moment – stranger things had happened.

“Ya ready?” Daryl called out.

“You don’t have to sound so gruff,” you joked. “Don’t you want to spend some time with me?” you teased him.

Daryl walked up to you, placing a hand either side of your face, looking deep into your eyes.

“Of course I wan’ ta spend time with ya, its jus’ where we’re goin’,” Daryl admitted worry in his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” you reassured him, placing one of your hands over his, closing the gap by placing your forehead on his, closing your eyes, savouring the moment.

Daryl let out a contented sigh as he relished this moment.

“Come on, let's go,” Daryl said, pulling away slightly, creating a small gap between you as his offered out his hand which you took with a smile.

You started your way towards the truck with a slight waddle. Something that everyone else found amusing to watch but you, on the other hand, found incredibly inconvenient.

You looked towards the truck where Daryl was waiting with an open door for you with a smirk on his face as he watched your approach.

“Stop,” you tried to hide your smirk as you gently hit his arm in protest as you climbed into the truck.

Daryl closed the door for you as he got in the driver's side reaching over to take your hand in his, squeezing gently before he drove through the gates.

The freedom you felt as soon as you exited Alexandria cleared your mind instantly, gave you a sense of calm – a breath of fresh air.

You rolled down your window letting the breeze blow through your hair, letting it caress your face as the blur of trees passed you by. You glanced towards Daryl, a contented look on your face, therefore putting a calming, happy look on Daryl's.

“Thank you,” you told Daryl.

“For wha’?” Daryl wondered.

“For this. I know you didn’t really want to do this, but I appreciate it,” you told him.

“Seein’ how happy it makes ya, it's worth it,” Daryl proclaimed.

You smiled and blushed at his words, leaning over to place a kiss on his cheek.

You had no idea how long you were out for, time seemed to disappear out here, something you had loved about being out here – no schedule. No limits.

You glanced around the outside world moving by, taking in as much as you could before you had no choice but to stay behind walls. You knew the next few months were going to be hard, but you knew that when you hold your baby in your arms, it would all be worth it.

Driving down yet another road, something on the verge caught your eye.

“Daryl, stop!” you shouted, getting his attention as he slammed on the breaks.

“Wha’? Are ya okay? The baby?” Daryl quickly asked, panic surging through him.

“No, I'm fine, look, over there,” you comforted Daryl, pointing at the side of the road, where – what looked like an unconscious man – was lying still.

“He looks hurt, we should help,” you told Daryl.

Daryl looked at you, he could see the concern in your eyes, one of the many qualities he loved about you – your compassion – as he sighed.

“Stay here, do no’ leave the car, ya hear?” Daryl ordered and you nodded in understanding.

“I mean it (Y/N), please, please stay here,” a softness to his voice now, showing real concern.

“Okay, Daryl. I promise,” you reassured him as he nodded, climbing out of the truck and approached the stranger.

You watched as he reached the stranger, crouching down to his level.

What happened next you could have never predicted.

As Daryl was crouched down, he glanced back at you as the man made a move towards Daryl.

“Daryl! Watch out!” you screamed as loud as you could to penetrate the glass as you saw the man strike Daryl, causing him to lose his balance, knocking him to the floor.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, four more men appeared – one you recognised as an ‘ex-saviour’- made their way towards Daryl.

The five of them now surrounding Daryl, kicking him, beating him, overwhelming him so he couldn’t get up, couldn't fight back.

You panicked, you didn’t know what to do, you just knew you had to save Daryl, you had to save the love of your life, the father of your unborn baby.

Daryl always kept a spare handgun in the glove compartment. So that was your plan. You grabbed the gun, took the safety off, and steadied yourself.

You watched in horror as the relentless beating continued as you pulled the door handle, getting ready to exit the truck.

Despite all the beatings Daryl was taking he was still very aware of you sitting in the truck. As he tried to get the upper hand, he heard the truck door start to open.

“Don’t! Stay in the car (Y/N)!” Daryl yelled in between beatings.

But you couldn’t, you wouldn’t ever be able to live with yourself, so you did what you had to do, like so many times before. So, you ignored Daryl pleas and stepped out of the vehicle.

You didn’t approach them however, rather used the gun for what it was intended for – long-range fighting – using the truck door as a shield you started shooting towards the men.

You couldn’t really recall what had happened, everything happened so fast – in a blur – gunshots were firing at your hand, people were falling down. Blood blanketing the road, screams of pain and death in the air.

The sudden realisation of your predicament became very clear when your gun clicked – meaning you were out of bullets.

You froze in shock, Daryl’s beaten and bloody body lying in a bundle on the ground, struggling to keep consciousness let alone stand up.

Your eyes rose from Daryl to one last remaining saviour, the smirk on his face enough to turn your blood to ice.

He strode towards you, not knowing what to do you raised your gun once again, trying to shoot him, praying you had one bullet left by some miracle, but you were not so lucky.

The saviour striding closer and closer to you, his smirk and his anger mixed into one, got more menacing the closer he got.

Standing right in front of you he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it flying into the undergrowth.

Daryl couldn't see what was happening as the door blocked most of his view, as he was still trying to gather his strength as quickly as possible.

You didn’t see the knife until it was too late. He plunged the knife into your side. You couldn’t do anything, couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn’t breathe, all there was, was pain, more so when he pulled the knife out, your body jerking as he did so, your hands immediately going to the wound in your side.

Daryl could see the sheer fear and pain in your face as he saw your body unnaturally jerk in pain. He used all the strength he had left to push himself up and made his way over to you where he saw the knife the saviour was holding, covered in blood – your blood.

“No!” Daryl screamed at the top of his lungs, as he came up behind the saviour and snapped his neck with a sickening crunch, rendering him dead instantly.

He rushed to your side before you fell to the ground.

“No, no, no (Y/N)! you're gonna be a’right. It’s gonna be okay,” Daryl kept repeating as he quickly picked you up and placed you back in the truck.

“Stay with me (Y/N),” Daryl begged as he manoeuvred the truck and sped off towards home.

“The baby. Daryl, I can't lose the baby,” you cried in despair and pain as Daryl leaned over to help you put more pressure on the wound.

“I'm gonna save ya both, ya hear me. You're both gonna be okay,” Daryl proclaimed, trying to reassure you and himself.

“Nearly there (Y/N). Please hold on,” Daryl begged once again as he sped through the gates of Alexandria and straight up the infirmary door as people dodged out of the way of the moving truck.

“Help! Please!” Daryl yelled to everyone and anyone who was around as he lifted you out of the vehicle.

He kicked the doors to the infirmary open with force as he placed you gently down on a bed.

“Help. Please,” Daryl barely whispered, tears coming down his face.

“What happened?” Rick and Denise both asked, shock evident on both their faces.

“We were attacked. Saviours. Jus’ help her! Help her and our baby, please,” Daryl implored.

Denise went to work on getting you comfortable, giving you drugs to knock you out so he could perform the procedure.

“Daryl,” you whispered, already feeling drowsy.

“I'm here. I'm not goin’ anywhere. You're both gonna be fine,” Daryl reassured you, one of his hands holding yours, the other caressing your forehead as he leant down to place a kiss on it, your eyes growing heavy, the image of Daryl softened features the last thing you saw before darkness took you.

Once you were out cold, Denise could finally operate on you in the hope of saving you and your baby.

“Well?” Daryl demanded as the operation had finished, and Denise was cleaning you up. The suspense was killing him, he was exhausted, hurting both body and heart.

“Let's take a look at you, fix you up,” Denise diverted.

“Don’ give me tha’ bullshit. Tell me!” Daryl demanded aggressively.

“The knife missed the baby by a quarter of an inch, and it didn’t hit anything vital in (Y/N). they're both very lucky, but they’ll both be okay,” Denise explained to Daryl.

A weight had been lifted from Daryl's heart, he blamed himself for all of this. He should never have agreed to take you out of the walls.

He found himself being dragged away by Denise to be fixed up, but he didn’t feel anything, his sole focus being on you, lying on the infirmary bed, your baby bump lifting the sheets.

Daryl sat by your bedside all the while you were unconscious, holding your hand, making sure you knew he was there, when you finally started to stir.

Your eyes lazily blinked open, the first thing you saw was Daryl looking down at you. You then immediately looked down your body to see if your baby bump was still there as a tear escaped your eye.

“You're okay (Y/N). she's okay,” Daryl revealed.

You closed your eyes in relief as you let out a sob.

“Still think she's a girl?” you gave a light smile.

“I can tell you if you want,” Denise entered the room, having heard your conversation and to check up on you.

You and Daryl peered at each other. The good news was that you were going to be alright, that your baby was going to be alright, but a bit more good news would lift both of your hearts further.

You were going to leave it to be a surprise, but with everything that had just happened, you wanted to know your baby as much as you could before it was born.

So, you turned your head to Denise and nodded.

Denise grabbed a machine as he poured some jelly on your stomach, being wary of your newly dressed wound.

And that's when you heard it. A heartbeat. Your baby's heartbeat.

Daryl squeezed your hand at the sound raising it up to place a kiss on your hand as tears welled up in both of your eyes.

“Well?” you asked Denise.

“This could be dangerous,” Denise suddenly said.

“What?” You said, sudden crippling panic building within you.

“Telling Daryl that he's right. It’s a girl. A strong and healthy girl,” Denise clarified.

You both let out a huge breath as you both giggled. You were having a baby girl. You both couldn't have been happier.

“See. I told ya,” Daryl boasted.

“That you did,” you relented with a smile.

“(Y/N), I'm so sorry,” Daryl admitted.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Denise said, leaving you and Daryl to have a moment together.

“I wanted to go. It's on me,” you confessed.

“Nah, I should’ve protected ya better,” Daryl conceded, his head hanging low.

“You did. You always do. I'm fine, our daughter’s fine. We don’t need to worry about any of that anymore you hear me. We’re together, and going to have a family, we're safe now, that’s all that matters,” you explained to Daryl.

Daryl leaned down and placed a strong kiss on your lips as one hand gently caressed your baby bump.

Fate had intervened once more, helping save you and your baby's lives, with the help of Daryl and Denise.

Fate enabled you to have a family with the love of your life.

And a happy and joyful one it will be too. 

Please leave likes, reblogs, and comments would love to know what you guys think!!!!

Taglist: @crossbowking @seiraswriting @viraloutbreakcontrol @coffee-obsessed-writer @bluesfortheredj @shutupimtryin2write @fearthewalkingbitch  @selenedixon @cbarter @cole-winchester @alyisdead @hopplessdreamer @infinitewcr @blogsporadicartist-blog @mtngirlforever @sassi-luna  @twdsunshine @momc95 @emo-potato-virgil @sourwolf-sterek32 @tatertot1097 @wilhelmjfink @coffeebooksandfandom @twdeadfanfic @cutiepiemimi13 @kickin-with-dixon @feartheendlesssummer @twdeadlysins @apocalypse-haven @baseballbitch116 @trashcanband4 @mblaqi @addiction-surivior25 @mel-2a @spaghettyrogers@xxboesefrauxx @sapphire1727 @little-miss-mischief1 @wontlookaway @bunnymother93 @auntiebyn @saintsisterwriter @theunofficialduke @Lilo-1988 @imaginecrushes 

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

it’s the final jane eyre thoughts! (cue ‘final countdown’ music)

a) I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say what I had done: fully explaining also why I had thus acted. Diana and Mary approved the step unreservedly. Diana announced that she would just give me time to get over the honeymoon, and then she would come and see me.

“She had better not wait till then, Jane,” said Mr. Rochester, when I read her letter to him; “if she does, she will be too late, for our honeymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over your grave or mine.”

like, i don’t even have time to get into all the things wrong with our boy eddy -- and we know them well enough already, seeing as they are deeply hard to forget -- but one thing that i really love is he is ALWAYS ready to be absolutely wild with affection and praise for jane. does he ever imply that she in any way has a single flaw, except inconveniently being a good person in moments of devastating temptation?? he does not! he thinks she’s the best, and he’s gonna give many perplexing speeches on the topic, and honeymoon the rest of his days away with her!!!! (possibly on the literal moon, knowing this dude and his previously-described-to-adele honeymooning plans.)

“She’ll happen do better for him nor ony o’ t’ grand ladies.” And again, “If she ben’t one o’ th’ handsomest, she’s noan faâl and varry good-natured; and i’ his een she’s fair beautiful, onybody may see that.”

like: awwwwwww!

b) the bit about jane going to rescue adele from her terrible school -- being the guardian angel that she herself didn’t have! :’( -- and then them loving each other forever and being like mother and daughter really GETS TO ME, okay. i also love that jane sneaks in the burn of “don’t worry, we cured her of being french.” okay, ye great british weirdo.

c) i have always wondered why the novel ends on the words of dying st. john being weird about jesus; i think maybe it’s to contrast jane enjoying her earthly life and the people she loves with st. john never being able to enjoy anything about existence because he’s so fixated on his calling and on never being enough until he’s dead? and maybe saying that it is divine to love your time on earth and make a wonderful life for yourself rather than accepting that if you meekly suffer through all your days like everyone always told jane she should, you’ll eventually be rewarded in heaven and that’s enough so don’t kick up a fuss, little girl? idk! what he says kind of echoes how jane and rochester called to each other and heard each other across the distance and that’s what brought them back together, so i guess it’s like ... jesus is to st. john as  jane and rochester are to each other?? and jane and rochester are frankly probably having a lot more fun?????

d) i also kinda liked the idea that rochester accepting religion at the end is -- rather than this book just getting real preachy -- showing that he’s kind of healed from raging against the world and is finally in a place where he can try to live in harmony with it.

e(YRE)) i think there should be a tv adaptation of that spinoff book series where jane and rochester solve murder mysteries together or whatever (this exists, right? i’m not making it up?), and ruth wilson and toby stephens should star in it, and it should be the best thing to ever hit television. rochester can have a hook hand like buster bluth. it will be INCREDIBLE!

f) oh book, i’ll miss you! thanks for being the best pal a girl could have.

[mandelene]

If you feel like filling this: for the first time, Matthew and Alfred are left alone overnight and Alfred feels all grown-up and excited. Pity that Matthew had hidden he wasn't feeling well and he isn't getting any better... Thank you! ❤️

Torture Matthew? Sure thing! Haha. 😁 As usual, I got carried away. You can’t ask me to write a sickfic and not expect the word count to be high lol. I made it a throwback to my “Matthew has asthma” headcanon. Also, did you know many U.S. states don’t have a law for how old a child must be to be left home alone overnight? Same for the UK. Apparently, it’s generally recommended that the child is at least 14 or 16, so I went with Al and Matt being 15 in this one.  

The House Party That Never Was

Word Count: 1924 (I know. I’m sorry!)

10 AM, Friday

“We’ll only be two hours away, so if anything happens or there’s a problem, call and let us know, and we’ll drive back right away.”  

“Okay, Dad. We know,” Alfred groans. They’re not babies anymore—Mattie and he can handle being left alone overnight while their parents go to see the philharmonic orchestra in Philadelphia for their anniversary.

“There are leftovers in the fridge that you can have for dinner tonight. You can order pizza tomorrow if we’re not back by six o’clock,” Papa reminds, just as worried and over-protective as Dad is being. “Make yourselves breakfast and lunch. We have plenty of fruit, cereal, bread, cold cuts, yogurt—” 

“Yes, Papa. We’ll make sure to eat,” Matthew interjects with a soft sniffle. “It’ll be fine.” 

Dad immediately notices said sniffle and flips out. He puts his duffle bag down and presses a hand against Matthew’s forehead, feeling for a fever and not finding one. “Are you all right? You aren’t coming down with something, are you? We can cancel the trip and—”

“No, no. It’s just allergies.” 

“…Okay, take an anti-histamine from the medicine cabinet.”  

“I will.” 

“In case of emergency—"

“Call 911. We know, Dad. We’re fifteen, not five!” Alfred sighs, tempted to physically push his parents out the front door at long last. 

Dad struggles to find something else to lecture them about and pushes his sunglasses farther up his nose before deciding, “All right…Behave and don’t get into any trouble. We love you.”

Dad and Papa exchange hugs with them before they finally cross the driveway, get into the car, and drive off, disappearing down the road. 

“Woo! Freedom! God that took forever!” Alfred exclaims as he locks the door and turns around to look at Matthew, who is standing by the stairs with his hands stuffed in the pocket of his navy-blue hoodie. “Our first time home alone for a whole night! We’ve been living sheltered lives, Mattie, but not anymore. Today, we’re men. So, who’re we inviting over?” 

Matthew clears his scratchy throat and gently rubs at his nose with his sleeve. “Umm…I’m pretty sure Papa and Dad said we’re not supposed to have any friends over…” 

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” 

“Al, they’ll find out.” 

“No, they won’t. Come on, Matt. Don’t be lame.”

“Yeah, they will. If not tomorrow, then eventually, and I don’t wanna break their trust. If we worry them or make them angry, they’ll never leave us home alone for more than a couple of hours again,” Matthew argues, and if this stupid cold would just leave him alone, everything would be peachy. He rubs at his chest, which feels a little tighter than usual, and takes two puffs of his inhaler. 

Alfred glowers and slumps his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We have to prove we can handle it at least once…You okay, bro? Your asthma’s acting up?” 

“It’s just from my allergies,” Matthew repeats because he has to keep up the lie. It’s spring, so it’s believable enough. To be entirely honest, he’s been feeling terrible since last night, but he didn’t want to give their parents a reason to cancel their trip. He doesn’t have a fever, so it can’t be that serious...It’s just a cold, and he doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. Their parents deserve to enjoy their anniversary without interruption. “Wanna play Smash?” he asks, changing the subject. Alfred doesn’t have the greatest attention-span, and he’ll hopefully forget all about this.

“Okay, sure. I’ll set up the Switch and the controllers. You should go and take your allergy medicine.” 

“Cool. Yeah,” Matthew replies. It’s the perfect opportunity to go upstairs, blow his nose without witnesses, and take some cough medicine…And another two puffs of his inhaler.  

He refuses to be a bother. He knows how to take care of himself. 

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

7 PM, Friday

Alfred has eaten enough mesquite barbecue chips to feed their entire block, and Matthew is genuinely astonished that he hasn’t been sick yet. How can so much junk food fit into one stomach? Now that no one is around to stop him, Alfred has devoured half of the fridge, and he still doesn’t seem to be totally full, even after dinner. 

Papa left them blanquette de veau, a French veal stew. It soothes Matthew’s throat and warms his chest, which feels lovely initially, but then the steam breaks up some of the mucus in his lungs and leaves him suffering through several coughing fits. Fortunately, Alfred is in the bathroom for the worst of it, and doesn't hear him hacking. 

They’ve been playing video games for hours now, and Matthew can feel a low-grade fever settle into his body. Every time he inhales, he can hear his lungs give off a tiny wheeze. 

When Alfred goes off to get some juice to drink, Matthew discreetly takes yet another two puffs of his inhaler. 

“This is getting kinda boring. Wanna put on Netflix? We can binge-watch Avatar: The Last Airbender.” 

Matthew would rather lie down in bed with his tablet or phone, but if he doesn’t join Alfred, he might grow suspicious, and then he’ll worry, or he’ll call their parents.

“Sure. Let’s do it…” 

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

1 AM, Saturday

 “Matt...? Matt? You’re falling asleep on me, bro.” 

Matthew is startled awake and fixes his glasses, which must have tilted awkwardly to the left while he was sleeping. He doesn’t know when he dozed off on the couch, but it was sometime during Book Two of Avatar. Dad and Papa called around 9 PM to check on them, and Alfred did all of the talking. He reassured them that they’re both alive and haven’t broken any part of themselves or anything in the house.  

Matthew squints at the clock on the wall. “It’s late…”

“Yeah. We should go to bed,” Alfred agrees, and he must be tired as well if he’s not insisting they pull an all-nighter. 

“I’m gonna brush my teeth.” 

“Okay. Have fun. I’m gonna live on the wild side and not brush ‘em,” Alfred says with a grin and a wink. 

“Wow, so edgy,” Matthew says, poking some fun at him before heading upstairs with a giant yawn. He’s exhausted, and the wheezing is back. He takes the nightly dose of his steroid inhaler and stares longingly at his nebulizer. He could do with a treatment, but it’s so loud, and then, Alfred would know something’s not right.  

So instead, he brushes his teeth, quietly takes some additional puffs of his rescue inhaler, and burrows under the covers of his bed, hoping this will all have blown over by the morning.

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

3 AM, Saturday

He can’t sleep. He can’t breathe. He needs a nebulizer treatment. Now. But it might wake Alfred. 

He risks it. There’s no other choice. 

And sure enough, five minutes into the treatment, Alfred plods into his room with drowsy eyes, and asks, “Mattie, what’s going on? You’re sick, aren’t you? Hang on. I’ll…I’ll call Dad and Papa, don’t worry.”  

“No!” Matthew shouts, surprised by the strength of his voice given the state of his lungs. “You can’t…It’s their anniversary…I’m fine.” 

“Matt, I’m pretty sure this counts as an emergency, bro.” 

“It’s not!”

“It’s the middle of the night and you can’t breathe—that’s an emergency, dude!”

“I’ll be fine after the nebulizer treatment is done,” he assures in a breathless rush around the nebulizer’s mouthpiece, but he’s not so sure he will be. 

“Well, we’ve gotta tell somebody!” Alfred shouts back at him before coming closer and touching his clammy forehead. “Dude, you’re burning up. What the hell? Why didn’t you say anything all night?”

Ignoring Matthew’s protests, Alfred makes the call. 

This isn’t going to be good…

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

5 AM, Saturday

“Matthew!”  

Dad and Papa burst through his bedroom door, and they’re by his side in a flash, fussing over him and acting as though he’s on the verge of death. They’re still dressed in the clothes they probably went to sleep in, and before Matthew can say a single word, Dad has his stethoscope on his chest and is listening to his lungs. He then clamps a pulse oximeter on his right index finger, waits for a reading, and frowns severely. 

While Papa strokes his head and asks him why he didn’t let them know sooner that he wasn’t feeling well, Dad disappears and then returns with three small pills and a glass of orange juice.

“Take these,” Dad instructs. 

Matthew wrinkles his nose as he puts the pills in his mouth and swallows them. The bitter aftertaste makes him shudder—prednisone. 

“Is he going to be all right?” Papa asks, squeezing Matthew’s hand.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. He should feel better once the steroid starts to work. We leave you boys home alone for one day, and you try to hide a medical emergency from us! What were you thinking?”

“It was very irresponsible,” Papa adds. 

And here he thought that Alfred would be the one to ultimately break their parents’ trust. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t want you to have to cancel your trip. You’ve both been looking forward to it for a month,” Matthew timidly explains, breaths still shallow. 

“A trip can always be rescheduled. Your health can’t be,” Dad says sternly. “You had us worried sick. I was debating whether or not to tell Alfred to call for an ambulance. You should know better than to ever allow yourself to silently deteriorate like this!” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Dad sighs and rests a cold compress on his forehead. “We can decide on a punishment when you’re feeling well again.” 

A punishment? Really? Not fair.

Now is not a good time to argue though, so he lets Papa and Dad fret over him some more—they fluff his pillows, and force juice, water, and medicine for his fever down his throat. He feels awful knowing they lost sleep over him and had to hurry home, but at the same time, he’s grateful that they’re here, tending to him and monitoring him in case he gets worse. As much as he’d like to be regarded as an adult, he still wants his parents around when he’s unwell.  

“I’m really, really sorry…I feel terrible for ruining everything.” 

“Stop that,” Dad insists, shaking his head admonishingly at him. “We’re not upset with you for being ill—anyone can fall ill at any time and it’s out of one’s control. We’re upset that you tried to hide it from us, even if you thought you had the right intentions.” 

At that moment, Alfred peeks his head into the room, revealing that he’s been eavesdropping, and says, “I’d just like to point out that I did the responsible, mature thing, and called for help for my dearest, darling brother in his time of need. Very grown-up behavior—totally wise beyond my years. And because of that, I think, I deserve to be able to go to Six Flags next week with my friends.” 

Papa laughs heartily while Dad rolls his eyes. 

“Oui, you did the right thing, Alfred. But the greatest reward for helping your brother should be a sense of pride,” Papa notes.  

“I mean, yeah, but a physical reward would be kinda nice, too.” 

“Alfred,” Dad says with a warning tone. “Not now.” 

“All right, all right. I know. Just food for thought, you know? Glad Mattie’s okay, of course.” 

How in the world did Alfred come out on top? He’s a better adult? There’s no way! 

Okay, next time they’re home alone, they’re definitely throwing a party. 

That’ll show him. 

[deadmomjokes]

First time Stormlight Archives Read-thru: The Way of Kings, Interlude 1

I’m sorry, “interlude 1″? Interlude? One? As in, there are multiple of them. Hoo boy. Why the flip not, I guess we’re doing this.

Ishikk

Stop. Giving. Me. Gods. To. Remember!! I did not become a religious studies major, and there was a reason! Enough!!

Is this yet another freaking unrelated, untethered subplot to keep track of out of nowhere, or is this some of that “You should have read the other Cosmere books first otherwise you’ll miss out on Easter Eggs” stuff people kept warning me about? I just don’t have the time to be reading Brando Sando’s full bibliography, I’m barely carving out time to read these behemoths that are so long that they apparently need INTERLUDES?

Major points for “Grump,” “Blunt,” and “Thinker,” tho. Been there, done that, I feel ya, my guy.

Nan Balat

Freakin... We mentioned this dude earlier with whats-her-bucket, yeah? *flips back to check* Okay, so she didn’t kill him, like I assumed. But he was involved--

OKAY now, hello sadist! Maybe she should have offed him...

Brother? BROTHER? Okay, Shallan, sweetie, maybe you ought to just, you know, let your house fade into obscurity and stick with Jasnah because HONEY. Your family is JACKED. UP. I’m not nearly as attached to you as to my sadboi Kaladin, but babe, you deserve better. Cut your losses while you have some prospects in the world.

Scaly lobster dogs. Thanks. Did not need that!

“Only he and Shallan had escaped unscathed.” Says the man ripping living creatures apart because it soothes him to feel them suffer in his hands. Yes, you’re surely the picture of stability and sanity. I now have SERIOUS concerns about Shallan’s mental health.

Szeth

So it’s obvious to me that Branderson is working ol buddy here around to be a sympathetic character in the future by emphasizing how much he doesn’t want to do these bad things but is forced to. I’m smelling a redemption arc, obvs.

How the heck do I say this man’s name, anyway? This has been bothering me CONSTANTLY.

What would happen if my guy’s “oathstone” were destroyed or lost? Would he be free? Or would he, like, combust?

Also, I’m sure it’s going to come up at some point inconvenient and distracting, but why does Mr. son-son-Vallano link back to, I’m guessing, his grandfather, when the Shin author Jasnah and Shallan both talk about links back to her mother? Why is Szeth skipping identifying with his dad? Does everyone in this book have daddy issues?

Final Verdict

Isn’t the point of an interlude to be kind of a rest break you really don’t need to be paying attention to?

Yes I’m a bit salty, but after a very long day fighting our drywall and its magically-migrating studs to try and put up some shelves that shouldn’t have taken so dang long to wrangle, I have little patience left over for the ever-increasing pile of questions that crop up at highly inconvenient and distracting times.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s good, and I’mma keep reading happily, but I’m gonna be a bit grouchy for a while.

[hollypastl]

the disappearance of [REDACTED] ch.2

miya atsumu/reader

Summary: "MISSING: MIYA Y/N" It reads. Underneath is a picture of yourself. Age, height, weight. Everything important is listed. How embarrassing.

Genre: angst/mystery

Warnings: missing persons, time skip spoilers

Notes: crossposted on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726002/chapters/70468146#workskin

chapter two: you will live and die for them because that’s your way

Osamu is still as a statue as he processes what his brother’s just told him.

It doesn’t seem real.

“That doesn’t make any— No. I know you’re you and she’s her, but you two are…” He trails off and starts wiping down the bar again. It’s a nervous habit Osamu picked up sometime when he wasn’t watching. “I mean... last week she didn’t act like anything was—”

Atsumu is busy reeling from his brother almost(?) complimenting his relationship that he almost misses it. “Last week?”

He nods. “Yeah, the stall was packed at the Friday game… She jumped in and manned the register so the rest of us could work on finishing orders.”

“Last week, though? You’re positive?”

He nodded.

“You saw her?”

From your usual court side seats, you could hear shoes squeaking and players panting. The thirty second row just wasn’t the same. At the same time, watching the game from a birds eye view gave you a new perspective and appreciation.

You leaned forward and locked on to Sakusa for the serve that would start the set. Your cheek sunk into your hand as his serve shot almost straight into the floor if not for a quick save by Komori that he bounced with only a single arm.

Someone across the way whooped and your eyes darted side to side as the ball hopped in the air and the setter shot a quick toss through the air. Your eyes landed on the spiker it was hurtling towards. From this far away, it was impossible to see, but you knew Suna well enough. Right now he was probably thinking something like, ‘There’s a three man block in front of me, is there really any use in jumping? I’m not gonna land a point anyway, so I might as well conserve my energy.” Still, he leaped for all he was worth and dinked it with his freakishly long fingers at the last second.

“Woohoo!” You screeched. Ignoring the fans who turned around to frown at you. Understandable. Why were you sitting in the MSBY Black Jackals section and dressed in black and gold merch if you were gonna cheer for the other damn team? You glare right back at them and slurp on your empty drink. The action only reminds you that you’re kind of hungry.

Inunaki bumps it back up all the same. Not surprising considering how slow and weak dinks are, but you gasp and groan aloud with the rest of the fans when Atsumu immediately tries to dump the ball back over the net. The play is messy and his hands are easy to read. Suna springs back up and spikes it down before the two even have a chance to tussle over it.

The buzzer rings and the EJP Raijin are awarded the point.

“Now that’s a failure of a setter dump if I ever saw one. Not what you usually expect from a player like Miya.”

“He does seem to be off his game today— oh, and there it is. Coach Foster is subbing in another player.”

“It’s only the second set, and the Jackals did take the first. There’s plenty of time for him to cool off and get back on the court to show us some of his monster serves.”

The commentators switch to talking about the serving skills of the various players at today’s game, which you don’t bother to stick around for. You did come to see Atsumu, after all. No point in staying if he’s not on the court.

You gather your hair in a low ponytail and tie it back, put your jacket back on, and make sure you have your wallet and phone still. All secure.

The stadium isn’t one you’re used to, so you refer to the map in the concrete hallway. The exit closest to the station is the north one and you’re at the southeast. It’s only when you turn to go that you realize you don’t know whether to go left or right.

“Well, it is just a giant circle,” You mutter. “Doesn’t really matter which way.”

From further inside, you can hear the buzzer go off one, two three times, signaling the end of the set. “That was quick.” The halls flood immediately and you’re forced to slow down and trudge through, rather than hyperwalk like you usually would. This whole trip is turning out to be one inconvenience after another. Atsumu is off his game. You’re hungry. People in this crowd keep bumping into you.

“Hey lady, get in line like the rest of us.” One asshole grunts and you reflexively scowl at him and the five brats he’s with. It drops from your face. If you had to deal with five kids under the age of ten all by yourself, you’d be grumpy too.

“Sorry, m’bad.” Curious, (and still hungry) you check what it is they’re in line for. Immediately, you’re in a better mood. Skirting the line, you hop over the gate and swipe some onigiri right out of the display box.

“Oi! What the hell are you— Oh, [y/n].”

“Hey there, stranger! Fancy meeting you here.” In two massive, disgusting, and arguably impressive bites, you swallow the onigiri (which is in no way, bite sized) and pluck the baseball cap off his head.

“Hiii, welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can I get for you today?” You ask, pulling your ponytail through the hat and bumping your hip with Osamu’s. The old man isn’t all that disturbed by the abrupt change in cashier and prattles on a list of items long enough to feed a battalion. You’re quick to click it into the POS and nod your head to the order printer that’s situated further back in their makeshift workstation. “I’ve got this. Go do your thing.” He rubs his hat hair sheepishly. He wasn’t planning on taking it off today. "Here's your receipt, sir. Please pick up your order at the station to your left. Good afternoon, it’s lovely to have ya here at Onigiri Miya, whatcha cravin’?”

“That’s it? What else did she say? Where’d she go after? When did she leave?” Atsumu’s hands buried themselves in his hair, practically pulling it out by the roots.

“I don’t know! Um… The rush came after the second set, I think? N’she left right after. I assumed she just went back in ta watch the game!”

“But she didn’t say anything weird?”

“No! We were so busy I barely said two words to ‘er!” Osamu had never seen his brother look so frantic.

“I’m going back to the police.” He rasped out.

— — —

At the station, Detective Kano looks over your file.

CASE: Missing Persons

FULL NAME: Miya [y/n]

BIRTHPLACE: Sapporo

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Osaka

Looking at it plainly, the answer is clear. As much as his subordinate and your husband don’t want to believe it, you’ve left. Nobody took you or forced you. The reason could be anything. You got bored or felt stifled in your marriage, (it did say you two had gotten married at twenty. That’s awfully young to make a lifelong commitment) you met another man, (always a possibility) or it could be that you were running for your life from an abusive piece of shit. Your case wouldn’t be the first like that and nor would it be the last. He didn’t care how ‘worried’ your husband appeared to be. For all he knew, the bastard could just be worried about people finding out and it ending his career.

"Oi, Tanigashi.” He barked. The rookie’s head shot up. “We find any bodies in the past couple days?”

“Time frame?” She asked, already typing away.

“Last seen on Tuesday, the fourteenth”

“Male? Female? What else, ya gotta help me out here.”

“Twenty two year old female.”

She hummed. “Tourist?”

He shook his head.

“Is she a short emo meets Harajuku model typa person?” She sighed, turned the monitor in his direction.

He sighed. “Nope. Sorry fer wastin’ your time. Get back to work.”

“Detective?” The office secretary popped his head in the door. “The statements you ordered just came in. Should I print them out for you?”

“Yeah, thanks kid.” Kano heaved himself out of his seat and cracked his bones. Years on the force and keeping up with full contact Karate were starting to get to him. Maybe he should take his daughters advice and take up Tai Chi or Yoga.

He crinkles open a wrapper and pops the gum in his mouth, reading the evidence as it’s freshly warm off the machine.

The bank statements aren’t anything out of the ordinary. You’ve withdrawn everything from your personal account. The joint account has been left alone. He jots down a note. ‘Set financial alert for suspicious activity.’

This way he’ll know if one of you tries to remove the other from the account. Again, he noted that you hadn’t withdrawn anything from the joint. As his spouse, you were legally entitled to it. And with Atsumu’s fat check from three seasons of pro sports under his belt, it wasn’t like he would miss a little bit all that much.

If anything, it told the detective that you didn’t hate him. Had you wanted him to suffer, it would be easy to empty the accounts and leave him broke.

“Rule’s out abuse.” He mumbles. Unless you were afraid of retribution should he find you. Though with how thorough you were being, (phone left behind. bank account empty. social media untouched) something told him you didn’t have any plans to be found.

Kano sighs, flipping through more pages and organizing them as he goes.

“This just gets more and more complicated.” He stops. “Hey, kid. Where’s the health report?”

He paled, worried he had missed something. “Ummmmmmmmm.” His fingers click across his email. “Looks like the hospital needs a formal report before releasing any information. Sorry, I’ll get right on that.”

— — —

Tucked away behind more wealthy and more flashy neighborhoods, hidden and huddled by a ring of trees, the only way you could ever know the Miya household was there was if you had been there before.

Which you had.

Ducked below a hill off the main road, it’s a modest split level house which seemed a lot smaller when you were younger. Then again, it had been inhabited by both the boys, their mom, and all the people they attracted. Which happened to be a lot. Despite being more than a little rude, Atsumu and Osamu were always surrounded by people wanting to be their friend.

You park in the driveway and enter through the back door on the porch, which has been unlocked since you first started visiting when you were fifteen.

“Toyo! It’s [y/n]. You here?” You called, walking through the door. No answer.

You walked through the kitchen and down the six steps to the main level.

“Toyo? You in there?” Politely soft, but loud enough to be heard, you knocked on her door. Still nothing.

You swung the door open.

“To—” Surrounded by tissues, old bowls of food, and shivering, was Miya Toyo in all her glory. “Gosh.” You whispered. “I knew you were sick, but this is ridiculous.”

Quietly, you grabbed the heating pad in her nightstand drawer and plugged it in, setting it next to her on the bed. Then, gently pulling the covers up and smoothing them out. Not that it mattered. The woman slept like a rock. You wondered if she had always dealt with being sick like this: alone, with no one to care for her.

Then you were headed back towards the kitchen. The door to Toyo’s room was carefully shut. You didn’t want your noise to wake her up. On the way back, you shuddered. No wonder she was sick, she kept the house colder than an icebox.

You made a pit stop at the boy’s room, sliding open a closet door, grabbing a hoodie, and smelling it.

“Hmm… Yeah, that’s Atsumu.” You recognized and quickly pulled it on. The man threw a fit anytime you wore Osamu’s clothes, so you had learned to differentiate the two. You chuckled. That was one of the ways you had figured out he had a thing for you.

A second pair of socks was also stolen. Yours were much too thin to keep your toes from falling off. “Hmm hmmm. Hmm hm, hmmm hm.” You hummed absentmindedly as you switched on the kettle and searched through the pantry and fridge for ideas on what to make.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG177!

- I like that this season, Martin is ready to accept that they not talk about things for a while but is not allowing it to last forever. Same as with Jon earlier, it’s a mix between waiting for others to open up on their terms, when they’re ready, but not letting the situation fester either:

(MAG166) MARTIN: … Ssso, are we going to talk about it…? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Or…? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: What’s to talk about. MARTIN: What happened back there? What you did to Sa– … ARCHIVIST: Go on. Say it. MARTIN: … What you did to “that thing”.

(MAG177) MARTIN: … Look, this is ridiculous, Basira, can we please just talk? BASIRA: No. MARTIN: Why not? ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: [EXASPERATED] No, Jon, enough is enough! It has been hours and not a bloody word! We have been slogging our way through literal nightmares to find you, Basira. There’s been, ‘s been plagues, and wars, and monsters, and I– we’ve been worried sick. It has been awful. […] Christ, I just wanted to talk, that’s all…! BASIRA: So talk! [BAG JOSTLING] MARTIN: I mean stop and talk. […] See, this is exactly the kind of thing that comes up when we talk…! […] O~kay, well, since we’re talking, I, I–I was wondering. I don’t know if, if I missed it, or if you both just assumed that I knew since you knew already but, well, I… BASIRA: Spit it out. MARTIN: What was the deal with Trevor? [A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] Why was he… I mean, I’m not really sure what happened, back there.

It’s interesting that what came spontaneously to Martin’s mind were early bits of the journey: “nightmares” is how Jon had described the domains in MAG163, “plagues” refers to the Corruption village from MAG164, “wars” to the Slaughter Trenches from MAG163 (and “monsters” can cover a lot of things… including Not!Sasha in MAG165). Those were Jon&Martin’s first experiences, and I’m not surprised that they might have shaken Martin in a special way – Martin certainly had a personal fear of the Desolation fire from MAG169, and was personally targeted by the Lonely house in MAG170, but they weren’t the first. They didn’t have that novelty, the discovery of how badly things were out there.

- So far, we had seen Martin not having the codes to understand the new world in contrast to Jon, and relying on Jon to explain things to him. Jon knows about Basira’s circumstances, which once again locked Martin out of the loop; it’s good that Jon has indeed been trying to respect Basira’s privacy (he really showed that he took it into account, as answering Martin would have been easier, and he chose to mention Basira’s situation in only broad strokes), but it’s also understandable that Martin would get so easily frustrated when he’s once again the only one missing the keys and others initially refuse to help him understand until his insistence finally pays off. And even when he tried to change that status quo, he shared some information about Jon’s&his journey, as if inviting Basira to do the same! Part of his frustration might have had to do with dashed hopes, too – Jon had already pointed out, multiple times, that Basira had had it bad, and was still taking that into account:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Is Basira alive? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Is she… in… o–one of these places? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s alive. Out there, not… trapped in a–a hellscape, but… moving. [STATIC DECREASES] Hunting. She’s… she’s looking for Daisy. She’s a few steps behind. […] She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted.

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: Basira and Daisy. We’re close. MARTIN: Wait, what? Wait, really? B– Th–that’s brilliant! What are we waiting for, let’s go! ARCHIVIST: Uh, y–yeah, i–it’s… It’s not… it’s not going to be easy, things aren’t… good.

(MAG176) MARTIN: How… How are we even gonna approach Basira? [TRILL OF A BIRD] ARCHIVIST: It’s tricky. She’s… [INHALE] She’s had a bad time. MARTIN: [HUFF] I mean… Haven’t we all? ARCHIVIST: No. [TRILL OF A BIRD] No, we haven’t. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Right. ARCHIVIST: If we approach her directly, she’s likely to bolt. [SQUAWKING OF A BIRD] And she can move a lot quicker than we can.

(MAG177) BASIRA: Can’t have been that bad. MARTIN: I– … What? BASIRA: You look fine to me. MARTIN: [INDIGNANT] Excuse me?! BASIRA: Whole and healthy with a shoulder to lean on every step of the way! MARTIN: Basira… ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] Martin. Leave it. Trust me, she’s been through a lot more than we have.

… But Martin had been hoping and trying to improve Things for a while. First, it was through the idea of killing avatars (MAG171: “Jon. We are… doing good, right? Making things better?” / MAG174: “You’re removing evil from the world!”); now, the next hope was to find old familiar faces/allies back… and it’s been another cold shower, although with sprinkles of hope.

(And it is true that so far… Martin&Jon haven’t had the worst fate in this apocalypse. Other avatars can’t touch Jon, and he extends that protection to Martin. Unless you count the whole world as The Eye’s domain, they’re not trapped inside of one like other victims. They’re together, able to have fluffy moments and forms of intimacy, while others are subjected to constant torture. Jon isn’t even hungry anymore or feeling withdrawal symptoms, compared to season 4. They didn’t want that form of privilege, but it is true that they’ve been… mostly fine so far. I’m curious about Jon’s understanding of Basira’s situation: what horrors did she experience on her way? Will she describe them a bit more?)

- I love that Basira’s bitterness immediately came out as an unfair, unwarranted attack… about the fact that Jon&Martin were together. Basira, meanwhile, had been alone, tracking Daisy but without Daisy. She is without her partner, and we know how deeply she identified as a team with Daisy:

(MAG117) ARCHIVIST: I think Basira is the same, she’s coming along to back-up Daisy, or so she says. I–I, I don’t quite get those two, I suppose. What they’ve done, seeing what they’ve seen… It’s a hell of a bond. The sort of thing I’ve mostly done alone. […] BASIRA: But at least Daisy’s coming along. I mean… I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But… she’s solid. She’s a fixed point. And if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing relative to her. She has no doubts. […] Despite everything she’s done, she’s… she’s still the best partner I ever had.

(MAG128) BREEKON: Dunno. ‘t’s not right… on my own… not right… No point in doing it on my own. Don’t know what happens now… Thought I might kill you. Missed my chance. Thought I might just… deliver something. So here’s a coffin. [RATTLING SOUND] In case you want… to join your friend. BASIRA: Get out. ARCHIVIST: Basira… BASIRA: Get. Out. […] (Breekon) “I am without him, now. I. am. I can feel myself fading. Weak. No reason to move. Nothing to deliver. But I am no longer tied to the casket; so you can have it. You can stare at it, knowing how your feral friend suffers, knowing how powerless you are to help. And when you can’t bear it any longer, knowing that you can climb in and join her…”

(MAG131) MELANIE: Basira’s not going to be happy that you let him out. ARCHIVIST: Basira isn’t here. [INHALE] And if this works… I’ll have Daisy waiting for her when she gets back, so I don’t think she’ll be thinking too much about Jared.

(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: You’re not happy she is back. BASIRA: I didn’t say that, Jon. I would never abandon Daisy and, having her back is… [SIGH] But right now, she’s dead weight. And I need to be able to travel light.

(MAG155) ARCHIVIST: Have you… thought any more about what I said? BASIRA: Yeah. I don’t think I can. Daisy wouldn’t come if I didn’t, and… I’m not leaving her behind. Besides, both of us being blind would be… [PAUSE] Anyway, being stuck here isn’t exactly her main problem right now.

Of course she would be especially on edge, to see Jon&Martin together and… functioning.

- Super happy about Martin’s point that:

(MAG177) MARTIN: I–it’s not a competition! Christ, I just wanted to talk, that’s all…!

Because YEP. He’s right! But Basira might be also right that she isn’t in the mindset to hear about how hard it’s been for Jon&Martin. As usual: complicated situations for everyone involved, where their sharp edges end up hurting the others around. (And we’ve seen way worse, as far as recriminations and conflict in the successive Archival teams have gone: since the episode began with the three of them traveling together, we were already in a set-up in which they had tacitly agreed to work together on some level. That’s… rare enough to be noticeable.)

- … To be fair for Jon, he did mention right away that he knew “everything” – but Martin had trouble understanding the scope of that at first, so Basira has to experience the same clarifications:

(MAG176) BASIRA: … What about you? ARCHIVIST: I mean… I can know literally anything, so…! Ask away, I guess. BASIRA: … You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identities. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry to be an inconvenience!

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: I told you, I know everything now, more or less. I can see her. With my, uh… BASIRA: … Magic horrorvision? ARCHIVIST: Sure. MARTIN: It’s actually been amazingly useful so far. BASIRA: So you can control it now? ARCHIVIST: … Yes. BASIRA: Hmm.

… From Basira’s point of view, Jon confirming that he had more power, and specifically “control” of it now, might have been gigantic red flags already. In season 4, Jon had told her multiple times that he couldn’t really control them, and that trying to purposefully use them came with huge drawbacks:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: No, I suppose you didn’t. BASIRA: Don’t snoop in my head. ARCHIVIST: I’m not… “snooping”, I’m not looking – it-that’s not… how this works. BASIRA: Explain it, then.

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Yesterday, I tried something, I… [GLASS PUT DOWN ON THE TABLE] [INHALE] I–I deliberately tried to… Know something, like I did in the Coffin, but… there was a lot. Too much. [SIGH] And I… BASIRA: What did you find out? ARCHIVIST: [SNORT] Nothing. There was too much. BASIRA: You don’t remember any of it? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] You drink the whole contents of a bar in three seconds, you don’t remember what the merlot tasted like. [SIGH] It just… hurt.

(MAG148) BASIRA: Any luck finding [Annabelle]? ARCHIVIST: I haven’t really been trying. Doing that sort of thing consciously, it… makes me hungry.

So what could it possibly mean, if Jon quickly explains that in this horrific transformed world, he can control his powers and that they don’t cost him much? It hurts to see her like this, but I understand that the current circumstances led to her only showing her sharp edges (her impatience, her implacability turned against people who would be supposed to be her allies, her accusatory tones, the overall impression that people around her are only worsening the situation).

- Special appreciation for Basira being so casually derisive about Beholding and everything Beholding-related:

(MAG123) BASIRA: [SIGH] Alright. Best I can understand it, Beholding, or… The Eye, or whatever you wanna call it, we’re one of the only powers that hasn’t actually taken a shot at our ritual.

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: … Why am I always the last to know about these things? BASIRA: By this point, I just assume the Eyeball tells you.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: I told you, I know everything now, more or less. I can see her. With my, uh… BASIRA: … Magic horrorvision? ARCHIVIST: Sure.

(And Martin had already described Jon’s Archivist Corner Time as “vomit your horrors” and “puke your terrors” (MAG168), but I’m delighted that he also joined Basira in the casual roasting of Beholding powers with “magic Eye stuff” when discussing with her. Basira and Martin kind of have the same method of making fun of concepts: exaggerating imaginary scenarios to point out their ridiculousness (MAG125: “No, I just popped down Superdrug. Yes it was hard to come by.”, MAG140: “You know, we’ve actually got a group chat going called ‘British Cops Who Love To Do Extrajudicial Spook-Killings On Foreign Soil’. I’ll just see if they’re free this Saturday.” / MAG175: “Oh my goodness, really? And here was me thinking the apocalypse was going oh-so-swimmingly!”), but Basira tends to have a sharper tongue and use particularly acerbic vocabulary too… So they could mix well and Basira could have a wonderfully horrible influence on Martin, I’m so ready for this.)

- Oh, Martin… He had shown enthusiasm at the prospect of seeing Basira, even considering her a “friend”:

(MAG170) MARTIN: I want to have friends, I… no, I have friends. I’m… I’m in love, eh! I am in love, and I will not forget that, I will – not – forget. I am Martin Black–

(MAG175) MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True. MARTIN: Besides, we can help them now.

(MAG176) BASIRA: Don’t move. Either of you. MARTIN: H–hey, whoa! Whoa, Basira, it’s us…! BASIRA: I said don’t move. This place plays tricks.

(MAG177) MARTIN: You might not care but it is good to see you, Basira. It has been a long time since we saw a friendly face. BASIRA: Friendly wasn’t what I was going for. MARTIN: All I’m saying is, it’s nice to find someone we can trust again. [INHALE] Ever since everything went to hell, it’s just been–

(And it’s true that he had gone for drinks with her and Melanie in season 3! And that Basira was understanding of the pain caused by his grief when his mother died in season 4…)

So no wonder that he’s put off by the “friendly face” being so stern while he’s pushing for cooperation. But once again, circumstances not ideal, and it’s only the beginning of them working together again – they might mellow down after a while – and Basira might have been deceived a few times before meeting with them, as she mentioned the place playing “tricks”. (Although that might also be a lasting trauma from the Unknowing: Basira already experienced it, and was only able to get out of it by grounding herself. She had asked Jon, when he woke up from his coma in MAG122, to prove that he was himself, and wasn’t able to fully trust it for a while. It might be Basira expressing the same cautiousness again.)

- I was expecting Basira (and potentially Georgie) to directly accuse Jon about the apocalypse, and I get her point of view (though it’s still sad!) given how Jon… seems oddly at peace in the new universe, and had just repeated to her that his powers have increased?

(MAG177) BASIRA: Yeah, about that. [POINTEDLY TO THE ARCHIVIST] You caused this, didn’t you? ARCHIVIST: [HEAVY BREATH] BASIRA: Don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Did you mess up the world? Yes or no. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. BASIRA: Goddamn it! I knew it was you, I knew it! MARTIN: Basira… ARCHIVIST: I didn’t mean to, Elias was… We were all playing out this big ritual for him. With me as the lynchpin, the gate. BASIRA: [EXPLOSIVE SIGH] Oh you didn’t mean to! Oh that’s all right then. Christ! I should’ve known, I… I should’ve just let Daisy take you out at the start. MARTIN: … You don’t mean that.

And! Once again: of course, it’s not Jon’s fault. Jonah schemed and caused the apocalypse. … But it’s also true that Jon has not been really good at explaining what had happened, or at defending himself: for someone who doesn’t know how the apocalypse was unleashed, meeting someone presenting himself as the “gate” doesn’t… tell much. It’s different from “Jonah ensured that I would be marked by the Fears, then hijacked my body to recite an incantation that unleashed the Fears into the world”. It’s still hard to hear Basira expressing regrets for not having allowed Jon to be killed back in season 3, when he was still scrambling around and discovering how Elias had roped him into the Fears’ business – but it’s also, probably, part of Basira’s guilt resurfacing. She had less emotional ties to Jon than to Daisy: she thought she was doing the right thing back when she had prevented Daisy from killing him in MAG091, it’s natural that she would re-evaluate that particular act. But it’s also saying a lot about her (and her relationship to Daisy) given her refusal to face and re-evaluate the “fairness” of Daisy’s actions, during the last part of season 4 and in this episode.

And it’s additionally interesting that Basira set that hinging moment that could have made things better (/would have prevented the apocalypse)… back in MAG091. The day when the group went to confront Elias, which led to Basira herself getting tied to the Institute and becoming a prisoner of it. Is that when Basira feels like her whole life derailed, when she began the process of losing Daisy? Objectively, things weren’t perfect before that already: the Fears were still around, Daisy was already a Hunter killing people, whether they were involved with the Fears or not (and although Jon hasn’t explained that part to her yet, we know that Jonah would likely have just used another Archivist for his plans); but I feel like it’s telling a lot that Basira didn’t tell Jon that she regrets not having killed him back in season 4, when he had been hurting people. She longs for a time when she was still mostly uninvolved, when she could have just kept going with her life.

- Interesting that all the other avatars/monsters, so far, seem to share the spontaneous knowledge that Jon was the one who caused the apocalypse and is all-powerful… yet Basira didn’t, and had to ask. (Or did she know about it, but refused to accept it and wanted Jon to confirm it himself?) It might be an indicator that she’s not a full-blown avatar?

- SOB for Martin trying to appease things and obviously disagreeing where Jon is concerned – without being overly defensive either, and letting Jon say his piece.

- Jon has already changed and made peace with a few aspects of what happened, I feel? Comparing him to early season:

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: Can you imagine…? If we’d had this… MARTIN: [SHARP] But we didn’t, though, did we. [CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: No… MARTIN: So there’s no point in dwelling. ARCHIVIST: [HUFF] MARTIN: Jon, I… This isn’t healthy.

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: You could’ve–! … You knew what was happening. HELEN: I suspected. But all I really did was refuse to help! And that is hardly a unique quality. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: If that makes it my fault, then surely, this is Georgie’s fault as well, and Melanie’s! ARCHIVIST: Leave them out of this, they didn’t know…! HELEN: There it is again! Knowledge! It’s so very important to you, isn’t it? These fossilised nuggets of pretend comprehension, weighing you down, stopping you thinking or feeling! What about… hypotheticals? If they had known, what would they have done? Is that something you can see?

(MAG167) MARTIN: [EXHALE] So, what? Without assistants, [Gertrude]’d be bad at the apocalypse? [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] ARCHIVIST: Wi–without… trust, without a, a reason… Gertrude needed both the purpose her mission gave her, and the control her position allowed. To be here, like us, without a, [INHALE] a reason, without someone to ground her, she… She’d have power but… no control. No real… purpose. Perhaps she’d dedicate herself to a, a doomed quest like us, but– … [QUIET] No… I think this would have broken her. And she’d have resigned herself to… ruling her domain. […] MARTIN: [INHALE] [SNORT] Ssso. If you say Gertrude wouldn’t have been able to go on without a reason… ARCHIVIST: Yes, Martin, you are my reason. MARTIN: Just wanted to make you say it…!

(MAG175) MARTIN: I mean… Right, if none, if none of this had happened, if the world had just… carried on? [WET SQUEAK] What would have happened, was… was all that fear justified? [SHUFFLING] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I can’t know the future, Martin, not even a hypothetical one. MARTIN: But… you know what was going on, what was happening.

(MAG177) MARTIN: … You don’t mean that. BASIRA: No? [EXHALE] I don’t know. Maybe. If I had… it would have stopped all this, wouldn’t it? ARCHIVIST: Perhaps. Perhaps not. BASIRA: I thought you knew everything? MARTIN: He can’t do hypotheticals. BASIRA: And if I killed you now? MARTIN: What did I just say? ARCHIVIST: You couldn’t. [PAUSE] And even if you could, it wouldn’t be enough to undo what’s happened to the world.

Since Gertrude’s story, and the realisation that she actually would have fared worse in the apocalypse, it feels like Jon has stopped clinging to these “hypotheticals” and how the apocalypse-could-have-been-oh-so-easily-avoided, like he has decided that they don’t matter that much if the point is to only claim and assign guilt through them. It happened, and it happened because Jonah(/The Web?) did everything for it to happen. Even if Jon didn’t explain it well in this episode, he also immediately pointed out that Jonah was the cause of it, even using “lynchpin” to describe himself, a word that we hadn’t heard since… Jonah’s own letter in MAG160:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: the Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s… ill-timed retirement plans.”

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: I didn’t mean to, Elias was… We were all playing out this big ritual for him. With me as the lynchpin, the gate.

(Interesting that he said “gate” instead of “door”, though!)

- … What is absolutely new is that Jon pointed out that killing him wouldn’t fix the world:

(MAG177) BASIRA: And if I killed you now? MARTIN: What did I just say? ARCHIVIST: You couldn’t. [PAUSE] And even if you could, it wouldn’t be enough to undo what’s happened to the world. BASIRA: So… what? You’re the immortal god of this messed up little hellscape now? ARCHIVIST: “God” might be stretching it. [DEEP INHALE] But I am more powerful now, yes.

Which is new information! I’m (positively) surprised that this option is already crossed out as a “solution”, since I thought it might be brought up or carried out way later in the season! (… But which might mean that Jon could ultimately have to bear a fate worse than death, or to seek death as a liberation. Woops.)

- Yay for Martin asking for clarifications about Trevor, and it was really reminiscent of him asking Helen what had happened with Not!Sasha:

(MAG166) MARTIN: Will you tell me how he did it? ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: He just keeps going all vague about it! HELEN: Oh, goodness. You see what you’ve done to the poor boy, Jon? He’s coming to me for clear answers.

(MAG177) MARTIN: … O~kay, well, since we’re talking, I, I–I was wondering. I don’t know if, if I missed it, or if you both just assumed that I knew since you knew already but, well, I… BASIRA: Spit it out. MARTIN: What was the deal with Trevor? [A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] Why was he… I mean, I’m not really sure what happened, back there. BASIRA: Seriously? You brought him here and you didn’t brief him, Mr All-Seeing-Eye? ARCHIVIST: … Oh, I just… MARTIN: He just keeps being vague and ominous. BASIRA: Well, some things don’t change then! ARCHIVIST: It was a courtesy. I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable with me sharing. BASIRA: Oh, how generous!

(The phone ringing now and then, throughout the episode? CHILLING, with how it occasionally timed with the content, I kept wondering whether it was Annabelle trying to call Martin again =D)

* “Well, some things don’t change then!” savage but fair, Basira.

* Again: I’m glad that Jon was trying to respect Basira’s privacy! It’s not a lot, it feels very mundane, but it’s also Jon… trying to do the right thing and to respect others. (I feel like it conveys a lot about the fact that he’s aware of her flaws, is now even more ready to call her out on them, but also fundamentally likes/cares about Basira…)

* I love how Martin’s main word this season, when talking about Jon talking, is “ominous”:

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: No, I don’t need to. “It” can see us here, and… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] And I can see out as well. MARTIN: O–kay, we’ll just file that under… ominous, for now.

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between. MARTIN: … You’re being ominous again! ARCHIVIST: Sorry.

(MAG169) MARTIN: You sure there isn’t another way? [ANXIOUS BREATHING] … Yeah, yeah, I know, “the journey will be the journey”, blah blah, ominous blah…! ARCHIVIST: … I’m sorry. MARTIN: ‘T’s fine. I know you wouldn’t take us through if we didn’t actually need to go through, so…

(MAG177) MARTIN: He just keeps being vague and ominous.

Martin has One Word and is using it.

- GODS for the way Julia ended… Addition/Confirmation that it was indeed Daisy who killed her (it wasn’t 100% clear whether it had been her or Basira, in the previous episode):

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: And Julia? [SILENCE] TREVOR: Dead. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. TREVOR: Shut it! Should’ve been me. [TRILL OF A BIRD] I’m old… slow… It’s not fair, outliving her…! But that dog of yours, that rabid bitch, she…! Killed her first, so she could see me limp away! [PANTS] It’s a game to her.

(MAG177) BASIRA: … So, when everything went sideways at the institute, I lost track of Daisy and Julia Montauk. I know Daisy managed to kill her, but I don’t know the details. Didn’t find any sign of them in the Archives, at least. ARCHIVIST: It was about a week later. They’d been stalking each other through the tunnels beneath the city. Daisy managed to corner her in an old subway access and tore out her throat. MARTIN: [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: Trevor found the body three hours later. BASIRA: [IRRITATED] Do you want to tell it? ARCHIVIST: Sorry. [INHALE] I thought you’d want me to fill in on the missing details. BASIRA: I don’t.

It’s not an exact parallel, but… there is still something to be said about Robert Montauk getting torn to pieces by a (Dark) Beast in prison, and Julia getting butchered by a (Hunt) Beast in a cramped/dark place. ;;

(Jon and Martin didn’t mention anything about Daisy’s whereabouts in the segment of MAG160 just before Jon read Jonah’s letter: did Jon already know about this? Or did that bit of knowledge come with everything else, after the apocalypse? Julia was already dead by then for around two weeks, if she was called one week after the attack on the Institute…)

- BIG AOUCH for the way Basira described her discovery of the apocalypse:

(MAG177) BASIRA: Anyway, seems like since then, Trevor was tracking Daisy. Wanted revenge, you heard him. I was still in the Institute when everything went to hell outside, so I guess that protected me from the first wave. … Once I saw what’d happened… that we’d… lost… [INHALE] Didn’t feel like there was anything left worth doing, except keeping my promise to Daisy – so I went looking. I’ve found Trevor’s trail eventually and started tailing him. I hoped I could follow him as he tracked Daisy, but… then you had to blunder your way in as always, and I had to step in.

She was basically alone in the Institute when the apocalypse happened… although it was the place she initially got forcibly tied to as “collateral”/a hostage.

* I wonder what protected her from getting imprisoned by a domain: was it the building itself? Her connection to it as an employee? Her connection to the Archives/to Jon? (Or: is she actually trapped in a “domain” on her own, with her never-ending hunt of Daisy?)

* I’m very curious about her mention of a “first wave”, which seems to imply that there have been others? Or at least, that London wasn’t entirely touched and transformed in one go?

* Sobbing a bit about the vocabulary she used: “that we’d… lost…” feels like a fight, a war (one side against another), and that is the siege mentality she had carried all through season 4.

* Aaand Jon had already mentioned that Basira was trying to fulfil her promise to Daisy:

(MAG158) DAISY: [PANTING] Basira… promise me something. BASIRA: What? … No, Daisy, no. DAISY: [PANTING] Mm, Basira… When this is over, you need to find me… and kill me. Promise me. BASIRA: No. No, Daisy, we’ll figure something out! NOT!SASHA: [IN THE DISTANCE] You can’t hide forever, Jon. DAISY: [PANTING] These last months, I… it was always borrowed time. Can’t outrun it forever. BASIRA: Daisy… DAISY: [PANTING] Promise me. BASIRA: … I promise. DAISY: Thanks. [BREATHLESS] Now, run…!

(MAG164) MARTIN: What’s Basira going to do? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted. MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see.

But sob that it seems to have come as a Last Thing On Earth To Do… Before, Basira was still trying to prevent the Institute from being burned down, and was helping Jon&Martin from afar (telling them what was happening in London, sending statements to Jon). I wonder if before the apocalypse, Basira still had some hope that they could find a way to get Daisy back?

* … I feel like there is a big misunderstanding re:Trevor, since Jon had explained that he was “prey”:

(MAG176) MARTIN: [HIGH-PITCHED AND SLOW] Jon? I know you keep saying we’re safe, and I am feeling very calm. But just so I know, can he… Can he kill me? ARCHIVIST: … He could, yes– MARTIN: Right… ARCHIVIST: –if he were still a Hunter. TREVOR: … Shut it! ‘Course I’m still a Hunter! MARTIN: [GRUNT] Mm-mm-mm! TREVOR: [BESTIAL PANTS] MARTIN: Gotta go with Trevor on that one, Jon! ARCHIVIST: … No. [HUFF] Right now, he’s prey. [TRILL OF A BIRD] How long have you been running now, Trevor? [CREAKING SOUNDS] TREVOR: [PANTING] Don’t know… Too long…!

He was running away from Daisy and/or Basira, when Basira was tracking him, not hunting Daisy. Typical dumb Hunters things, where Basira was apparently following Daisy through someone… who was actually running away from her.

- Cat is out the bag and a o u c h. Jon’s plan worked, at least? Woops.

(MAG177) MARTIN: Sorry…! BASIRA: It’s his fault. He used you to bait Trevor, to bait me. [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: Wait, I’m–I’m sorry, you used me as bait? ARCHIVIST: I used us as bait, I didn’t know which one he’d go for. MARTIN: I mean, yeah, sure, but… only one of us was aware of the plan! ARCHIVIST: I, I’m sorry, I was going to tell you, but then I–I, I got distracted and… then we were within earshot of him, and I couldn't say anything and I… I–I mean… You would have agreed, right? MARTIN: That’s not the point, Jon!

So one of them was bait, to use Trevor as bait, to catch Basira.

It’s usual with Basira, but I love how her words and reasoning imply way more than what her behaviour lets on: she saved Jon&Martin. She is acerbic and bitter and accusatory towards them, but she did save them, when she had an opportunity to see them get killed (well, as far as she knew; she wasn’t aware that Trevor couldn’t have killed Jon). Even if it’s to use Jon as a resource… I feel like it does say something that she made the quick decision to save them instead of allowing Trevor to end them?

REALLY glad that Jon apologised and seemed to acknowledge that it hadn’t been a Great Move towards Martin because, indeed – Martin had mentioned that he would understand Basira in that situation, but it was throwing Martin into the arena without warning and while Jon was in control of the situation, knowing that it was likely to cause Martin distress. I really love how, this season, they’ve not been absolutely perfect but also able to acknowledge when they have hurt the other, reaching an understanding.

- And once again, the FABRIC RUSTLED!

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: … I’m sorry. [SILENCE] MARTIN: [SIGH] It’s okay. I understand. [BAG JOSTLING] [FABRIC RUSTLES] BASIRA: Urgh… [SILENCE] You done? ARCHIVIST: Can we not have a moment? BASIRA: No, Jon, we can’t. This is a chase, remember? Time is a factor.

Still cackling so hard at Basira’s dejected sound. She saw them dancing around each other back in season 3 and got glimpses of Jon’s wallowing in season 4:

(MAG088) BASIRA: I just, I mean he was good company. Y’know, when he wasn’t being a paranoia machine. He was funny, you know? MARTIN: What, Jon? BASIRA: Yeah. MARTIN: I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a joke. BASIRA: Maybe you weren’t listening. MARTIN: Right. Well, I’m sure it’ll get sorted out when DAISY brings him in and you can probably talk to him then. Oh! Sorry, I forgot you’re not actually with the police any more, are you.

(MAG106) MELANIE: [CHUCKLE] And anyway, Martin’s always been lovely to you. BASIRA: Hm. I dunno, I mean, you should have seen him when I turned up last year. I think he thought I was trying to steal his precious Archivist. MELANIE: Aaah…! I got the exact same, when Jon was hiding out and came to me with his “source on the inside” stuff. Martin was not impressed. BASIRA: Huff. That boy needs to relax. MELANIE: Or at least find someone else to fuss over. BASIRA: Yeah, he’s got it bad. … Do you know if he and Jon ever…?

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: Just you and me. … And– Melanie and M–Martin, I–I guess. Honestly, I’m surprised Martin isn’t– BASIRA: [SHARP INHALE] ARCHIVIST: What? Oh God! The, their plan, it’s– Martin i–is…! Is he okay, wh– … What did Elias do?

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: Haven’t seen Martin about yet? BASIRA: Yeah, he comes and goes. He’s busy. Well, he seems it. ARCHIVIST: Working for Peter Lukas. BASIRA: Don’t be too hard on him, Jon. Your, uh… “situation”, it hit him. Hard.

(MAG127) BASIRA: [EXHALE] … Yeah. People keep saying that. ARCHIVIST: Do they? … W–w–who else– [SHORT SHARP EXHALE] Did Martin say something?

(MAG148) ARCHIVIST: I’ve been meaning to ask. The… tape. The one of the, uh… my victim. You said Martin gave it to you. BASIRA: [EXHALE] Yeah. ARCHIVIST: How was he? H–how did he look, was he, uh… BASIRA: I don’t know. I didn’t… see him. He just left it on my desk with a note.

(MAG151) BASIRA: Jon may be going through a whole “we have to trust Martin” thing, but I’m not. As far as I can see, you’re either compromised, or you’re being played. And I want to know which. MARTIN: … I didn’t know Jon had listened to them already! BASIRA: Well, he has. He seems to think you’ll come to him when you need him. I think you’re feeding him what he needs to hear so he doesn’t bother you.

So now, she has to deal with them as a couple. (And it might sting EXTRA HARD… given how she’s Daisy-less. Basira and Daisy aren’t canonically romantically, but they were partners anyway: it’s still rubbing her loss in her face. Helen’s dig about her being the “third wheel” later… was spot-on.)

- I’m glad that Jon’s shitty sense of humour has resurfaced, too! <3 We saw some of it already this season, but I’m glad that he’s using it with Basira again (she had mentioned that she thought he was funny, in MAG088 – they used to share the same sense of humour!)

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: I hope you’re not suggesting that Santa works for the People’s Church. BASIRA: [SIGH] Jon.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: When did I become everyone’s satnav? BASIRA&MARTIN: Jon…!

Martin and Basira, same struggle.

- The background sounds were already dreadful and putting you on edge, so YIPS when Jon explained where they were:

(MAG177) MARTIN: Yyyeah, speaking of… Wh–where actually are we, anyway? I mean… I’m happy to be out of the woods, but I don’t– ARCHIVIST: Wonderland House. A, uh… mental “health” facility. MARTIN: … Oh. Oh, dear. ARCHIVIST: Mm-hm.

Martin’s reaction… He already guessed how awful it could be, uh. As feared, it echoed what Helen had told Jon in her first appearance this season (MAG164: “Look at this place, look at this… [DEEP INHALE] wonderland! This is the world now, and we are strong and free”) – it was a Spiral domain, and Helen appeared – and Jon&Basira are on “Alice”’s trail.

- I’m still laughing very hard that Martin and Basira’s conversation, with the music in the background, the awkwardness, the small talk while waiting (for Jon to come back)… was literally an Elevator Music scene:

(MAG177) BASIRA: So… Did you actually walk all the way down here from Scotland? [A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] MARTIN: Hm… Kind of? Scotland’s not really a thing anymore. BASIRA: Huh. London’s still there. Sort of. MARTIN: Yeah, that’s where we’re heading. Eventually.

* Curious about London’s status, since Basira had also said that “” – it seems to have taken less damage than Scotland, is it because it’s close to the new centre of the world (the Panopstitute)? Is all of London considered an Eye domain, now?

* Martin’s “eventually” is… mmm. Does he think they’re still far from London? Jon hadn’t mentioned when they would arrive – just that the journey had to be done, and this is the 14th Fear domain they’ve encountered. The only one potentially “missing” is Beholding, which might just be the goal. What do they need to travel through to reach London, now? Is it because their journey needs to be done on another level, like emotionally or decision-wise, and that they haven’t fulfilled the condition yet?

- The way Martin described Jon going Kill Bill on avatars, as Martin had requested, was absolutely hilarious because of how quickly summarised it was:

(MAG177) MARTIN: He’s been destroying other avatars on the way. BASIRA: Oh. That’s… good, I guess. How’s he doing it? MARTIN: [INHALE] He’s getting The Eye to, like… like, look at them? He–he just kind of drinks up all their fear and they, uh… just sort of… implode? BASIRA: … Sounds satisfying. MARTIN: Myeah… Not sure how much good it does, though. And one of them was a kid. BASIRA: Jon killed a kid? MARTIN: What? No. No! No, I just mean, one of the avatars that we saw was, like, thirteen or so. BASIRA: That’s… messed up. MARTIN: Yeah. We had to let him go, ‘cause… Uh, well, I mean… [A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] BASIRA: Yeah. MARTIN: Mm, yeah.

I’m noting that Martin understood that “drink your fill” meant that Jon was feeding from their fears (it sure sounded like Jon was feasting when killing them)! I’m still snickering SO HARD at Martin’s shortcuts leading to Basira’s surprised disgust over the idea of Jon killing a kid (but at the same time: the fact that she was surprised over the concept means… that she wasn’t expecting Jon to do these kind of things, naturally). It’s interesting that Martin hadn’t mentioned who that kid was, although he had connected him to Basira in MAG173…

- I’ll roll in my fluffy covers over how we have canon footage of Martin saying that:

(MAG177) BASIRA: … So what’s your plan? MARTIN: Long-term? Elias.

Elias is a long-term plan uwu Geddim, Martin.

I’m… still delighted that Jon and Martin both had problems regarding whether to call him “Jonah” or “Elias”, tried “Jonah” for a while, and yet it persistently doesn’t work and they end up spontaneously going with “Elias”, because SAME HAT:

(MAG161) MARTIN: Elias won, and there were some tapes he’d kept for himself, and he wanted to gloat. So, he sent them! ARCHIVIST: He’s not… MARTIN: I–I don’t see– ARCHIVIST: … “Elias”. MARTIN: Jonah, then. I don’t know, I find it hard to think of him as… I don’t really like to think of him!

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… […] Do you think it’ll do anything? Confronting Elias?

(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: He’s inside the Panopticon; the tower, far above the world.

(MAG167) ARCHIVIST: Help us with what? MARTIN: ‘xcuse me? ARCHIVIST: Annabelle, help us with “what”? Our–our, our journey, killing Elias, vanishing the Entities – what?

(MAG174) MARTIN: Thanks for that. … Hang on, you’re still down to kill Elias, right? Uh, oh, Jonah, whatever. ARCHIVIST: I’m still going to confront him. [INHALE] I don’t know if killing him is something I’m even… capable of, but if I can and I have to, I will.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: I didn’t mean to, Elias was… We were all playing out this big ritual for him. […] MARTIN: Long-term? Elias. He’s up in that that… “Panopticon” tower thing.

I love how they’ve basically given up on trying to call him “Jonah”.

- … To be fair with Basira:

(MAG164) MARTIN: How is he? ARCHIVIST: Hard to say. The, the way this works, this… “new sight”, the knowledge is, is… [SIGH] It’s somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? An eye can’t… see inside itself.

(MAG177) BASIRA: Figured as much. What’s he up to? MARTIN: Jon doesn’t know. He says it’s a “blind spot”. BASIRA: A blind spot. MARTIN: A–apparently. BASIRA: Convenient.

From the outside, it indeed sounds very convenient. (Jon was a bit more talkative about it, described it as the fact that an “eye can’t see inside itself” which, ewww, but also, oh alright, indeed.)

- I’m glad that Basira asked about Melanie!! ;w;

(MAG177) BASIRA: What about Melanie? MARTIN: He’s… not sure about her either? He can’t see her or Georgie. BASIRA: Dead, then. [STATIC INCREASES, THEN FADES] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] No. Uh, not dead. Just… hidden, somehow.

She sounded stone-cold, but still asked… Their relationship in season 4 had been extremely harsh on Melanie’s end, but they did use to get along in season 3 and, post-Hill Top Road expedition, it had seemed like things were a bit pacified in the Archives…

- I hadn’t gotten that feeling in MAG164, when Jon had asked Martin to ask him questions for him to use his powers, but this time… it really felt like Jon was immersing and then resurfacing from the sea of knowledge that he had mentioned in season 4?

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] It’s… hard. It’s like there’s a–a–a door, in my mind. And behind it, is… i–is the entire ocean. Before, I didn’t notice it, but now, I–I know it’s there, and I can’t forget it, and I can feel the pressure of the water on it. I–I–I, I can keep it closed… but sometimes, when I’m around p–people, or–or places, or… ideas… a drop or two will push through the cracks, at the edges of the door. And I’ll… know something. BASIRA: … What happens, if you open the door? [PAUSE] ARCHIVIST: I drown.

(Season 5 trailer) MARTIN: Are you still… [SIGH] “feeling it”? Seeing everything? ARCHIVIST: Yes, I, I’m trying not to, but… all of the fear, th–the anguish, i–it just… [INHALE] It keeps coming at me in waves, rolling over me, filling my head with such… awful sights.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Right. Daisy. Give me a moment. [INHALE] [STATIC RISES] […] BASIRA: Dead, then. [STATIC INCREASES, THEN FADES] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] No. Uh, not dead. Just… hidden, somehow. BASIRA: Hm, back with us, then. ARCHIVIST: I know the route.

He inhaled before using his powers (and before the static kicked in) and then almost gasped when coming back to them.

- REALLY INTERESTING that Martin described Jon’s need to stop as him needing to “make a statement”:

(MAG177) MARTIN: Really? Now? ARCHIVIST: I’ll try to be quick. BASIRA: What’s going on? MARTIN: [SIGH] It’s… It… He needs to make a statement.

Not read, or spit, or “vomit”/“puke” but “make”. Like statement-givers had been doing at the Institute, putting their stories down onto paper or getting them recorded. It’s true that Jon is creating them in his own way, but it’s still an extremely interesting shift…

And once again: where are these tapes going? Why does Jon need to “pour out” into them?

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: This cabin. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It’s not right. And, when I thought that, I–I felt… It, it all poured out of me down… into the tape.

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: [QUIET] I… I know. [SILENCE] I–I’ll use the tape recorder…! [PLASTIC OF A TAPE] I just… [INHALE] You probably want to wait outside.

They’re still presented as a necessary part of that new process, I wonder what their purpose is…

- F for Jon, Basira&Martin teaming up against him now:

(MAG177) BASIRA: Is that like a euphemism, or…? MARTIN: Ew, no! It’s, hum… He sort of describes the place he’s in to the recorder and… Look, it’s–it’s, it’s magic Eye stuff, he can’t help it. He needs to do it, and if he doesn’t… ARCHIVIST: [FAINT GRUNT] BASIRA: He gets constipated? ARCHIVIST: Hardly! MARTIN: Actually, yeah, basically. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] BASIRA: Right.

- Martin had been keeping lookout around Jon since MAG171, but not necessarily listening to the whole thing:

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: Look, if you can both just give me some space, I would appreciate it. MARTIN: … Fine. I’ll keep lookout. [MARTIN MOVES AWAY] BASIRA: No. If it’s information about this domain, I think I’d better hear it. ARCHIVIST: [SIGHING] If you say so…! [INHALE]

It’s curious that Basira now wanted to hear about it – she was refusing to listen to him read statements, back in season 4. Why did she need “information about this domain”, since Daisy had already left? Was it pure curiosity, did she want to understand what Jon is currently doing and how he operatesnow? (… Was she trying to imitate Daisy, since Daisy sometimes stayed with Jon when he was reading a statement?)

I wonder if Basira got stuck, absolutely unable to interrupt like Martin had been in MAG167…

- … Alright, that was a very intense statement, both from the concept of the domain and how it was conveyed – Jon impersonating the Bad Therapist, and either pantomiming/recreating a scene which had happened there, either encapsulating various experiences in one demonstration, either directly communicating with a victim from the domain and directly being responsible for their pain, terror and anguish?

Jon’s narration tends to follow the victims in third-person internal focalisation, with a few exceptions (MAG172 being a theatre script meant that the voices, both from the Spider tormenting Francis, and Francis themself, were heard without a narrative filter; Oliver added another narrative layer since he was describing one of his victims; same thing with Jon knowing about Gertrude’s life in the Archives, which had traces of his own judgement). It was absolutely chilling that, for once, all we would hear would be the tormentor’s own words, and that we would only be able to get a glimpse of the victim through the former’s commentaries. It was plain scary (Jon was TERRIFYING) and really conveyed a sense of helplessness – we, the audience, were put in the victim’s place, as helpless as them to do anything while “Dr David”/Jon controlled absolutely everything.

All the little tricks were terrible! Negating one’s identity and experiences, the use of derogatory phrases (“people like you”, “meaningless little brat”, “unlikeable waste of air”, “hysterical little creep”), the threats, the absolutely improper airiness given the situation, the medical mistreatment and incompetence, the accusations, the plain meanness, the utter denial of control. Jon presented the domain as belonging to The Spiral, but I felt that this one had some Web-vibes embedded into it, given how it was also about being trapped and at the mercy of someone else, being unable to fight a situation and utterly manhandled?

(I have my own favourite references, but with “Another of your lies, is it, as though we haven’t heard enough of them in the, what, five years I’ve been treating you now? No matter. … Yes, five years, can we please not start that again?”, my brain still screamed about García Lorca’s play. The Spiral could have a day with that one, too.)

Amongst the terrible things: the fact that we could hear the domain so directly now, and especially the sounds originating from Doctor David’s consultation, the motions, the snaps, the pills? Even the pills getting swallowed? What was up with that? It was already a curious thing in MAG175: how the panting and the footsteps of the chase were audible although Jon was staying in a fixed spot. Is reality bending around him in the domains, creating a small bubble in which what he describes doesn’t exactly happen but happens anyway? (My main question is: who or what swallowed the pills we heard? Was Jon really terrorising someone, or was he “alone” in front of Basira, pantomiming everything?)

What is clearer is about the overall sounds of the scenery: we could hear the screams and the wails in the background, and the clock ticking in that room… as long as the statement lasted. But both stopped when the statement was finished (and the static disappeared), while the faint muzak was audible again:

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHING] If you say so…! [INHALE] [STATIC RISES] [DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES] [FOOTSTEPS, A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] [CLOCK TICKING IN THE BACKGROUND] [STATIC FADES] ARCHIVIST: “Hi. How are we doing? You can call me Doctor David. […] Like I say: we have all the time in the world! [STATIC RISES] And good old Doctor David isn’t – going – anywhere.” [STATIC FADES] [THE SCREAMS AND THE CLOCK STOP, THE TINNY MUZAK RESUMES] [SILENCE]

So… there really is a little bubble transforming around Jon, and I wonder whether Basira was pulled into it or remained exterior? At least, the tape recorder caught these sounds…

- Basira, Sayer Of Fuck, thank you for your services:

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [DEEP EXHALATION] … Satisfied? BASIRA: Ff… Fuck.

Fuck The Spiral, indeed.

(It was Basira’s second “Fuck” of the series! First one had been in MAG148, she’s now on equal stand with Jon.)

- ;_; I feel for Jon, who had trouble explaining exactly what this domain was about:

(MAG177) BASIRA: No, I get that bit, it’s just… So the guy was mad, or…? ARCHIVIST: No, it–it… I–I mean, yes. It’s sort of, like… gaslighting but in reverse? [A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] Uh, this place, it’s built on the fear that your mental health problems aren’t actually real. BASIRA: … Wouldn’t that be a good thing? ARCHIVIST: N–no, I– Hum, I’m not explaining it very well. Uh, it’s, it’s the worry that everything is, is awful, and it’s actually… your fault. That, that you made it up, that, hum… that you’re… BASIRA: What? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Bad therapists. Let’s just say it’s the fear of bad therapists, filtered through The Spiral.

It’s a very understandable fear; until Jon cleared it up, I thought it was “that little voice in some people’s head”, because woops. The statement did feel familiar on a lot of levels, for me, and I’m still so occasionally impressed at this series’ ability to give a mirror to so many people in such different ways.

- Was Jon already trying to warn Basira about Helen, before she appeared?

(MAG177) BASIRA: That’s… a lot more nuance than I’ve gotten used to since everything went wrong. ARCHIVIST: Yes, well. The Spiral is nothing if not insidious.

With the way Basira arrived, she screamed “potentially vulnerable to Helen” given that Helen can track her (Basira went through her corridors, after the end of MAG143) and that Helen had already offered Jon&Martin to drop them wherever they wanted…

Regarding Basira’s answer: I wonder if what she had faced in the apocalypse so far really did lack much nuance, or if she was just… plainly unable to see it. We saw with Noah Thomson that her reflex is to refuse to see it when it’s too heavy to bear, and she already knew that Daisy had been killing on her way; if this one’s case wasn’t as straightforward as she wanted to believe (if he’s just a “nasty piece of work”, therefore it’s not a heavy loss if he dies, it doesn’t make Daisy absolutely monstrous, it doesn’t mean that she has to feel empathy for a victim), it… was probably the same for Daisy’s other victims, and perhaps also for the other horrors Basira has witnessed.

- CONGRATULATION, MARTIN! You’ve already run into your ~(almost)corpse of the season~!

(MAG040) ARCHIVIST: That’s where you found her? MARTIN: Yes. She was sat in a wooden chair in the middle of the room. No worms. No cobwebs. Just… an old corpse. Gertrude Robinson. She was slumped forward, but I could see her mouth hanging open.

(MAG080) TIM: Try his office. MARTIN: Yeah. Right. [DOOR OPENS TO THE SOUND OF DRIPPING] MARTIN: Jon? Oh. Oh no. TIM: I told you he was going to do something like this. MARTIN: Oh, no, no… Who is it?

(Season 4 trailer) MARTIN: Hi Jon. [PAUSE] H–how are you? [LIGHT CHUCKLE] … Yeah. Yeah, same here.

(MAG158) PETER: There is… of course… just one other complication? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] You’ll have to dispose of the current occupant. MARTIN: Curren–… [QUICK FOOTSTEPS] [SHARP BREATHING] … Who is that? PETER: Jonah Magnus! His… body, at least. Sitting here; watching; binding it all together; growing ever older. If you want to take his place, well…

(MAG177) MARTIN: [NERVOUSLY] Uh… Is that door meant to be open, heh? And… dripping blood? [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: We’re here. [DOOR CREAKS] MARTIN: … Oh! Jesus… [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: Yes. Horrible way to go…!

Now, there might be hope that he won’t be discovering Jon’s corpse at the end of season 5 since this tradition is done already.

- ;; Jon’s description of what Daisy did was incredibly chilling, because it felt more like a predator waiting. It felt like someone calculating and planning for the best moment.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: I know the route. [BAG JOSTLING] Come on. [FOOTSTEPS START AGAIN] It… will take us past Daisy’s victim, though. MARTIN: Victim? BASIRA: She’s been killing. MARTIN: What? No – no, that can’t be right. I–I thought people weren’t even allowed to die any more. ARCHIVIST: Not permanently, but, uh… Ah. […] BASIRA: You’re sure this is Daisy’s handiwork? ARCHIVIST: Positive. [STATIC RISES] She’d been prowling around for a long time, waiting for a gap in the “treatments”. And when she got one, she carved through the door like it was paper. He tried to run but she was so fast. She took his legs first, slicing through the tendons so that he could– […] MARTIN: Wait. Wait, so… so, she’s hunting down criminals? People who she… thinks got away with stuff? BASIRA: … Sure.

I still wonder if there is a bit of Daisy, right now, within the beast, aware of what it is doing? Knowing that she’s back to being a “sadistic predator”, witnessing her actions, aware of their monstrosity yet unable to stop them, would probably be season4!Daisy’s worst nightmare…

If Daisy is following a personal list of people who (she, as a Hunter, felt) had “gotten away with stuff”… Jon and Elias might be on that list? Daisy had explained to Jon, in MAG132, that she had been planning to kill him after The Unknowing. And she had wished for Elias’s death for a long time (MAG082: “One day, someone is going to kill you. I really hope it’s me.”): could she go after Jon? After Elias in the Panopticon?

- I’m still curious about the “death” status: Jon mentioned that people getting killed wouldn’t stay “permanently” dead. Are they meant to respawn at some point? Go to another domain? Does it also apply to Trevor, since Jon wasn’t the one to kill him? (Julia, however, apparently died before the apocalypse if it was only one week after the attack on the Institute – that’s two weeks before the apocalypse – so… bye.)

- Basira’s attempt to avoid the subject huuuuurts, and I like how Jon, as he is now, is able to carry much more “nuance”, precisely, and to point out… well, how things are rarely dichotomic, and how it’s easy to completely ignore someone’s circumstances and own problems as soon as you label them as “the bad guy”:

(MAG177) BASIRA: [SIGH] Noah Thomson. That… nasty piece of work. Crossed him a few times when we weren’t doing sectioned work. Last I heard, he’d dodged a GBH charge Daisy brought him in on. Blinded a guy during a robbery. I guess she didn’t forget. MARTIN: Wait. Wait, so… so, she’s hunting down criminals? People who she… thinks got away with stuff? BASIRA: … Sure. ARCHIVIST: Really? As simple as that? BASIRA: What’s your point? ARCHIVIST: What, you think he ended up in Wonderland House at random? We’re just going to ignore it, and write him off as a “nasty piece of work”? BASIRA: We don’t have time for this. ARCHIVIST: Then we should make time. You want to hear how he ended up blinding that man? Because it wasn’t a robbery. He was running away from Daisy, lashing out in a panic. The court believed it. But you believed her… BASIRA: [ANGRY] I told you not to look in my head! ARCHIVIST: I didn’t. And I won’t. But you can’t hunt a monster that you refuse to see.

* Not only did Daisy try to charge him with lies, not only did Basira believe her (while justice had sided with him!); it is indeed especially relevant that he was encountered in this domain, where people are denied the help that they would require. When it came to Daisy, Basira simplified things a lot and created another “us” vs. “them” separation… which wasn’t fair and didn’t work. 

* I like that Jon’s understanding of Basira is not entirely provided by his powers: by now, it feels like he’s learned to know her, her flaws and weaknesses, but also to keep in mind how things are more complicated than he would have liked to believe. In season 1, Jane Prentiss had been a monster terrorising them; by season 4, Jon had read enough stories about avatars to know that they tended to be, initially, vulnerable and/or isolated people lured in by a deceptive comfort, power, or their will to survive. It still means something that he wants to talk Basira out of her mindset, is still trying to help her to understand unpleasant bits of reality (even if it hurts her, since it requires her to change… a big portion of how she had grown to conceptualise the world).

* It’s almost verbatim another scene from the series:

(MAG118) ELIAS: Martin, I do not have time for this. MARTIN: Then maybe you should make time.

(MAG177) BASIRA: We don’t have time for this. ARCHIVIST: Then we should make time.

How bad does it have to be, for her to be “Elias” in a verbal squabble?

- Jon’s “You can’t hunt a monster that you refuse to see” is SUCH a powerful line, and I feel like it’s really summarising Basira’s main flaw… and potentially what might be literally happening. Basira can’t manage to catch up to Daisy: I had wondered whether it was because Basira was holding back, unsure that she would be able to kill her… but maybe it’s, plainly, because she’s never be able to directly see Daisy’s actions for what they were, to understand Daisy’s guilt and who was Daisy in season 4. Basira, through her silence, complacency and willing ignorance/denial, both enabled and was complicit in Daisy’s monstrosity; maybe now, in this universe working on dream-logic, Basira can’t reach her because the concept of Daisy has always escaped her.

- It’s interesting that in the episode, different terms were used to describe Martin’s and Basira’s feelings towards respectively Jon and Daisy: Martin “trusts” Jon (to not look into his head), Basira “believed” Daisy’s words. In a lot of ways, Basira and Martin’s situations share similarities (caring for someone powerful, who has the capacity to do a lot of harm). But Martin was able to draw clear lines and get critical of Jon’s behaviours when it was getting monstrous (attacking people in season 4), without being absolutely perfect either – he did push Jon to “smite” avatars this season without taking into consideration the harm it could do to Jon and what it meant on an ethical level, but he also ended up accepting Jon’s reluctance and agree that if Jon didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do, then it wasn’t. They’re anchors in that regard, too, grounding each other to prevent them from drifting away.

Meanwhile, Basira… was ready to tolerate Daisy’s actions, as long as it didn’t happen in front of her or to someone she liked a bit (MAG091: “I know what you do here. […] You’re not that subtle. But I… I always thought you just killed monsters.”). Daisy’s actions as a Hunter in the police were both atrocious in themselves, but also through the complacency of her superiors and colleagues, including Basira:

(MAG082) ELIAS: I was wondering. Is it worth it? Operating the way that you do? DAISY: Just answer the question. ELIAS: Does the lack of oversight make up for the lack of support? […] Please, Detective Tonner. You don’t want this to happen in the police station any more than I do. Your superiors, exactly how aware are they of what you’re doing right now? DAISY: They know enough. They got a call and sent me down here. That’s how it works. ELIAS: And then they don’t ask any questions, as long as you keep it far away from official police channels. Except your partner leaving has made you sloppy. […] Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make a statement. Your statement. To prove to you what I know, and because I want John to hear it someday. And when it’s over, you are going to leave. Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure your superiors know all about every nasty little thing you’ve done in the name of peace and order, and I’ll make sure they are subject to the scrutiny they so desperately want to avoid. More importantly, I’ll make sure they know it has all been exposed because of you. Is that clear? […] Feel free to see yourself out. If you take any action against myself or this Institute, I will ensure the police become aware of your crimes in a way that cannot ignored or covered up.

(MAG092) ELIAS: Allow me. She rightly suspected that I held evidence of various murders she had committed, and that I sent this to her superiors. DAISY: … ELIAS: She’s quite the killer, your partner. All in the public good, of course. And she was correct, I spent some time acquiring that evidence. Or creating it. And while your superiors don’t much care about the killings, the fact there is proof… They’re not happy. And they want you brought in. […] You think you’re the only police officer eager to do violence and call it justice? No, there are plenty of other rabid dogs out there, mad with the Hunt.

(MAG132) DAISY: I hurt… a l–lot of people… and some who… who I shouldn’t have. Did you ever hear the, the story Elias told me? About what I did. How I am… He, he didn’t get a detail wrong. The Hunt… Hunger was in me all my life. Telling me who to chase, how to hurt them. I never needed to think… who I was outside of that. But down here, where I… I can’t hear the… blood anymore, I d–, I don’t… I don’t know who I am without, without the chase… I just know… that I… I don’t like who I was back outside. I don’t want to be her again. I want… to be… better… [PANTS] Y–you know what I thought wh–when I woke up here? I thought this was hell; I wa–, I was dead, and within hell. And I… eh, I–I knew I deserved it… I don’t want t–to be a s–sadistic predator again… I–I don’t want to… hobble around, like some pathetic, wounded prey either… I don’t know which would be worse. And I’m sc–scared, now, that I’ll never get the choice…

(MAG142) MARTIN: Not nice being interrogated, is it? DAISY: I… [EXHALE] Oh. MARTIN: Yeah. [SILENCE] DAISY: [INHALE] I’m sorry, Martin. MARTIN: It’s alright. Wasn’t you. [INHALE] Not really. DAISY: No, it was. I hate… a lot of what I did back then; doesn’t mean I’m not… responsible for it, doesn’t mean it… wasn’t me.

(MAG153) DAISY: They’re not gone yet. We could still get them. [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] ARCHIVIST: Daisy, no. It’s like you say. “Don’t listen to the blood.” DAISY: [SLOWER BREATHES] … “Listen to the quiet”… ARCHIVIST: Even so, if it’s having this much of an effect on you– DAISY: I’m not going back. I can’t let it in again. ARCHIVIST: But it– … What if it kills you? DAISY: [CHORTLE] Always said I was dedicated to justice…! ARCHIVIST: Daisy! It’s not… You can’t think like that. DAISY: Jon. Do you have any idea how much damage you can do if you’re a police officer who wants to hurt people? How much the system will protect you? ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INHALE] DAISY: I managed to keep most of it from Basira, but… ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t you, that was The Hunt! DAISY: … [SIGH] We were the same. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … You’d never known anything different. [SILENCE] DAISY: Because I never wanted to. All that time trapped was good for one thing: thinking. And I did a lot of it. I’ve made my choice.

(MAG155) BASIRA: I’m trying to convince her to go after them. To, er… “Hunt” them. ARCHIVIST: Why? BASIRA: Because I’m not going to lose her. ARCHIVIST: She goes Hunting again, you might anyway. BASIRA: And if she doesn’t, she might die. ARCHIVIST: Something you’re fine with in certain other cases. And something she’s made peace with. BASIRA: Because of the guilt she feels over the stuff The Hunt made her do…! It’s not her fault. ARCHIVIST: Earlier, when she was still out of it, I, uh… I “saw” some of the things she was talking about, some of the things she did, while she was police. I’m not convinced I disagree with her assessment. [PAUSE] Do you want me to tell you? BASIRA: No. No, I don’t. ARCHIVIST: … You knew, didn’t you? You knew the sort of things she did, and you let her. BASIRA: No, not exactly. I thought… [PAUSE] It’s not that simple. ARCHIVIST: It never is. But that doesn’t make it okay. [SILENCE] BASIRA: None of us are who we were, Jon. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: No. I suppose not. In many ways, it’s simpler now, isn’t it? At least now, our demons have names. BASIRA: Mm.

Basira felt harsh, in this episode, but the episode was equally harsh on her, with Jon trying to push her to change her mindset and to realise what wrongs had been committed, what the situation truly had been. It feels like we might be getting there, though? Basira had spiralled for the worse in season 4, but didn’t really get an arc of her own so far, and everything has been laid out for it now. (It also… helps me to make peace with Daisy’s likely fate, if the promise is fulfilled and she is killed as part of Basira’s acceptance of what Daisy had done and what Basira had allowed to happen?)

(- Regarding Basira’s harshness and the fact that she tends to throw herself into trying to do something without thinking it through:

(MAG117) BASIRA: I don’t want to be here. But by the end, I didn’t want to be police either, so… guess I don’t really know what I do want, which… maybe that’s just as well. My options… they’ve gotten a lot narrower over the last year. […] And if it’s anything like when we went after Rayner, it’s going to get bad. The sort of bad you can only get through if you stay focused and keep a clear head. You choke down the fear, and not because it’s feeding some weird horrible god like Jon thinks, but because that’s how you keep going.

(MAG119) BASIRA: Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Just close your… Ignore it. ignore the, uh… don’t listen. Focus. Think. This is a place. You are you and you’re in a place now. If… if it’s a place, and it’s now, then… then… then it has an end. The other things, the… […] Good! Then… then keep moving. Keep moving until you find another place. A place you know… just keep moving. Keep moving.

(MAG128) BASIRA: Do you know how I survived the… The Unknowing? ARCHIVIST: I… No. No, I don’t. BASIRA: No powers, no… magic or… help. I was trapped in that place, and so I tried to figure it out. And I did. A little. So I kept doing it. I kept going through until I got out. I… reasoned my way out of that nightmare. ARCHIVIST: Good lord… BASIRA: Then everything ended, and Daisy was gone. And you were gone. And Tim. And then I got back to the Institute, and Martin send me to meet the new boss. Then I stood alone in an empty office for more than one hour. I can trust me, Jon. That’s it.

(MAG142) MARTIN: Would have thought Basira would’ve had more sense, though. DAISY: When Basira and I were partners, I’d see this happen sometimes. She can read a… situation like no one I know, always seems to know the right move, but for all her research, she never wants to put a plan together. I think she just hates all the unknowns, the… variables. [SIGH] Contingencies. If she spots an advantage, she’ll… grab it, and trust herself to figure out the details as she goes. MARTIN: Hm. DAISY: It’s worked so far.

(MAG146) BASIRA: No. No, if he is being controlled, we need to know. And we need to know now. Do you know where she is? ARCHIVIST: H… Not… not properly, I, I think she has some connection to Hill Top Road. BASIRA: Then we go. Now. [SHUFFLING] Unless anyone has any objections? […] Daisy? DAISY: … Be better if we could prepare. MELANIE: I–I just think that… we shouldn’t be exposing ourselves like this until we have a little bit more than a hunch…! ARCHIVIST: She does have a point. MELANIE: I didn’t ask you. BASIRA: ‘Kay, fine. I’ll go, then. I’ll do some recon on my own and update you.

(MAG155) BASIRA: No sign of Annabelle either. ARCHIVIST: You’re still on that? BASIRA: You’re not? ARCHIVIST: … I–I mean, I don’t know how much she can predict or manipulate the future, but I think she’s proven she can at least avoid us finding her. BASIRA: Yeah, well. It makes me feel better. ARCHIVIST: I suppose that’s something.

Given how that’s also what she did upon discovering that the world had “ended”, it sounds more and more like a coping mechanism to not have to deal with everything else, and/or to get back a semblance of control… I’m remembering what she had said about her father’s life-lessons:

(MAG117) BASIRA: I don’t know. I feel kind of bad. Everyone seems to be having a much worse time of it than me, and I was meant to be the hostage. It’s amazing, how much you can ignore when you keep your head in a book. Mf! My dad would hate me talking like this. He couldn’t stand people who just passively moaned about their problems. He always said: “If you don’t like something, you accept it and you adapt; or your fight and you change it. Whining doesn’t help.” I’ve always tried to live like that, but I think sometimes… you feel like you’re adapting, but… it’s just denial. But not anymore. I’m going to fight and change it. I just hope I’m not heading into the wrong battle.

… And back then, it hadn’t really struck me as a potentially toxic mindset. I mean, it’s supposed to be inspiring, but it’s also… so dichotomic. Either you shut up and accept, either you actively fight: there always will be cases where it’s more complicated than this, where you can’t really do either. And it feels like Basira tried really hard to live through these words, without accepting that they weren’t really working because the world is a way more complex place than this…

I’m really/curious excited, because with the way Jon kept pushing for her to understand how keeping her eyes closed and following a pure binarism had been her fatal flaws, it really seems like we’re heading towards something. Crossing fingers for a Basira mini-arc/inner-journey before everything bursts into flames!)

- … On another note, Helen, your entrance, please.

(MAG177) [TENSE SILENCE] [SOUND OF AN ELEVATOR ARRIVING WITH A SUDDEN, SHRILL “BING”] MARTIN: [SURPRISED GASP] [DISTORTION SOUNDS] HELEN: Not interrupting anything, am I? MARTIN: Christ, Helen, you scared the life out of me! HELEN: [INSINCERE] Sorry darling. ARCHIVIST: Not now, Helen.

Best and Worst entrance at the same time.

I didn’t really hear static, this time around? Like, the usual distortion sounds were there, but not the fuzzy static? Is it because they were already in a Spiral domain?

Her playfulness was off the charts this time, and OOFT:

(MAG177) BASIRA: Can’t have been that bad. MARTIN: I– … What? BASIRA: You look fine to me. MARTIN: [INDIGNANT] Excuse me?! BASIRA: Whole and healthy with a shoulder to lean on every step of the way!

[…] BASIRA: Really don’t need your opinion on this. HELEN: Good to see you too, Basira! You’re looking well.

She felt absolutely untrustworthy, in such a cartoonish way… that actually, it probably would have been fine to take her on her offer right now, if expecting to be deceived?

(MAG177) HELEN: I can offer a shortcut. Take you right to that murder machine you call a partner. MARTIN: Basira… Jon can’t go through Helen’s doors, we, we couldn’t come with you. HELEN: Basira is a strong, independent woman. She doesn’t need you two holding her hand. Anyway, it’ll be dead quick. Two minutes, door-to-door, quick shot to the back of Daisy’s head, and we’ll be home before you know it! ARCHIVIST: … You just heard what The Spiral does to people, you can’t… trust her. HELEN: Urgh, nonsense! Martin can vouch for me. You and– what’s-his-name went through Michael’s door, right? And he was rubbish compared to me. MARTIN: … We were in there for two weeks…! HELEN: Exactly! And you’re just fine! Better than fine, flourishing! MARTIN: … You really don’t care, do you? HELEN: Alright, be like that. [FOOTSTEPS] Under new management, anyway. [EXHALE] So what’s it going to be, Basira darling? Quick and easy? Or are you looking to take the long way round as the third wheel?

* It’s… suspicious that Martin ended up explaining/reminding to the audience the Jon Problem about him being unable to go through Helen’s door without likely destroying her in the process. It feels like someone will end up inside soon…? (Also yay for Martin once again stating that if Jon can’t go, it means that they can’t go!)

* Helen’s “dead quick” is awful, I hate it.

* Martin, forgiving and forgetting? NO AHAHAHA RESENT AND REMEMBER:

(MAG080) MARTIN: Sorry? Sorry, what? How can you not care!? TIM: Because this is us now. Worms. Monsters. Corridors. They’ll keep happening until one of them kills us and we’ve just got to deal with it. [SIGH] … Any sign of the woman…? MARTIN: I don’t think so. [PAUSE] We should have helped her.

(MAG082) MARTIN: I told you that there was someone else there. It may… DAISY: Which one should we be asking, by the way? The man with the knife hands or the woman trapped in your “magic corridors”? MARTIN: It happened.

(MAG117) MARTIN: Hey, hey, I mean what’s normal, right? Is living in an old document storage normal? Is losing a friend and not even noticing normal? Corridors? Evil all-seeing managers? I suppose you can get used to anything, but…

(MAG118) MARTIN: [DRY LAUGHTER] Dignity? Alright, yeah; like the dignity of being trapped in your flat by worms, or sleeping in the Archives, clutching a corkscrew! Or– or fetching drinks for the thing that murdered your friend without you even noticing…! Laughing at all their little jokes, then being left to wander impossible corridors for weeks!

… Helen’s lack of respect for Tim, though :w (Peter had also shown some trouble with remembering his name, in MAG158…)

* Squinting hard at Helen saying that Martin is “flourishing” and adding that “Under new management, anyway”: was it referring to herself (as The Distortion’s new management, since she just mentioned Michael having been “rubbish”)? To Martin’s own Fear alignment…?

I’m glad and relieved that Basira refused her offer, even if it’s purely motivated by strategy ;; (And I’m amazed that Martin hadn’t noticed how much fun she’d been having until now – she… doesn’t seem to be getting worse? She’s just consistently casually awful.)

(- I’m wondering if Helen’s “Especially now you’ve got… someone else to do the intense, driven thing. I think you might need to get a new schtick!” was purely gratuitous or a very direct jab… Right now, Jon&Martin’s quest to the Panopticon feels like it has been put to a stop, to allow them to focus on Daisy. The way Helen put it, it seemed as if it was convenient for Jon to not have to handle the “driven thing” anymore at the moment…? Is Jon actually reluctant to reach the Panoptitute, just like Basira might be sabotaging herself from reaching Daisy through nightmare logic…?)

- Once again, the episode ends with Jon leading the way, which he’s done a lot since coming out from The Lonely with Martin in MAG159. It makes sense, since he has the knowledge and a better understanding of the domains compared to the others, but I wonder if there will be a point, this season, when Jon will have to follow someone else instead of taking the lead?

- Amongst the things which were not mentioned this episode and had involved Basira:

* The fact that the “kid” avatar that Jon&Martin encountered was Callum Brodie. Basira had been involved in the mission to rescue him from the kidnapping orchestrated by The Dark, and Martin was aware of that when they met Callum in MAG172. Yet, he didn’t namedrop him in front of her, in this episode.

* Jon mentioned that Elias had manipulated them, but not how it had been done, and that it had required to get him marked by the Fears. Basira was directly pushed by Elias to go to Svalbard, where Elias knew that the Dark Sun resided, on the pretext that they might be attempting a ritual there. If Basira hadn’t listened to Elias, or had shared who was her source with the others… maybe they could have averted that mark for a little while longer.

* They didn’t mention that Jonah launched the apocalypse through a letter which had been hidden amongst the statements that Basira had sent to Jon. (No mention of the tapes either: though Jon&Martin had already understood that Basira wasn’t behind them by the beginning of season 5, Basira might have confirmed that it indeed wasn’t her).

=> That’s a few instances where Basira’s actions had “complicated” consequences and made her an (unwilling) contributor to the Fear business and Jonah’s plans. I wonder if these little details and pieces of information will be revealed to her soon? They… could hurt her a lot, while still helping her to see how the situation is not as simple as she wanted to believe (the victim she had helped to save was a bully and turned into an avatar torturing other kids; her fear of another ritual led to Jon’s second-to-last mark; either she didn’t pay enough attention to the statements she was sending, either the package was compromised before reaching its destination, leading to Jonah’s letter trapping Jon).

MAG178’s title is hard! It makes me think of something Gerry had told Jon, but also possibly of administration-stuff. Elias and/or Rosie stuff? Something about Daisy’s list of preys? Domain with a “minor” fear to show, like with the Extinction, how Smirke’s categorisation didn’t work all that well? Something about the deaths not being permanent? Beholding domain or statement, demonstrating the way it’s a bit more important than the other Fears in this new world?

[britishassistant]

Too Many Bridges (I Dig Canals) 1

He was twenty-two when he died.

His mama hadn’t wanted him to move out to West Texas, crying that it wasn’t safe. His dad had soothed that he’d be fine at UTEP, the first one in the family to go to university, a business major, doing them all so proud.

His little sister had said they’d all dealt with much worse in high school, where the teachers screamed at you for speaking Spanish until you could barely remember a word.

His short older sister just snuck a dumb Homestuck backpack into his luggage, filled with the latest volumes of Boruto. He’d liked to read them while eating shitty convenience store ramen at 2AM.

Then he’d run out of cup ramen in his senior year, gone to the 7-11 at 1AM to grab some more, and made the mistake of glancing at a cracker junkie shaking from withdrawal.

Last thing he knew, he was bleeding out around a knife while the druggie tore through his groceries, crooning, “C’mon, c’mon where’s the hit, where is it, I know you’re hiding it.”

He’d only had the strength left to flip the racist fucker off before he finally drifted away.

He wakes as a baby.

The only natural response to this is to begin screaming.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! Why the fuck is he a baby?! Is everyone a baby when they go to Heaven?! Or wait, his butt’s kinda damp, is this Heaven at all?! Is he in Hell?! Was him flipping off that cracker enough to get him sent to Hell, after all he’s done?! All the masses he’s been to?! For the love of Christ, what’s going on—

A woman with white-blond hair and a tired face leans over him, muttering something harsh-sounding in a foreign language.

A loud and angry sounding man’s voice shouts something from somewhere he can’t see, which startles him into crying harder.

Then a large and callused hand slams down over his mouth, practically smothering him.

The woman’s face looms over him, wrinkled and shadowed like the face of the devil himself, poisonous green eyes glaring at him.

“Damare, kuso gaki.” The devil-woman hisses.

He whimpers.

His hair is green now.

Like a dehydrated shrub left too long in the heat, spiky-dry and almost yellowing at the edges.

And his eyes are purple. As if the green spiky anime hair wasn’t enough to humiliate him.

He misses his mama and his dad and his sisters but thank Jesus they’ll never see him like this.

At least his skin color’s pretty much the same as his last life. If he ended up resembling that fucking junkie who murdered him in any way, shape or form...

Well. All he knows is it wouldn't be pretty.

His new name is Meiun Nobuo.

The devil-woman who would rather smother him in his crib than let him cry apparently gave birth to him.

The deadbeat who cursed him with this eye and hair color and returns most nights stinking of alcohol and rotting fish is the sperm donor.

He misses his real family.

They live in a dock town.

Their house is farthest from the shore, so the scent of rotting fish guts and seagull shit is vaguely bearable. It’s bigger than the fishermen and farmer’s huts and market stalls that make up the rest of the village, with a curved asian roof.

He thinks the sperm donor is in a relatively high position in the village, perhaps an official of some sort. Probably inherited, because he seriously doubts anyone with a brain would elect that drunk deadbeat to any position of authority, but who knows.

He used to think the same thing about the government in his past life, and look what happened there.

Ragged official looking people buzz in and out of the rooms he’s not supposed to enter all day every day. Some of them smile at him if they notice him, lips spread sickeningly wide and eyes sycophantically crinkled.

Others look at him like he’s a nuisance, worthy of only their ire.

As if he asked to be reborn to this fucking paltry excuse for family when he had a perfectly good one back home

The devil-woman isn’t from around here.

That much is obvious in the way she’s constantly ill at ease, snapping at the slightest inconvenience, acting like everyone’s out to get her.

To be fair, a lot of them probably are just for the chance to have some peace and quiet again.

He privately counts himself among that number.

She’s always grumbling about how much better it is in rain, but regardless of the weather her shitty attitude never seems to improve.

She also starts trying to poison him when he turns four.

When his rice tastes weirdly bitter he spits it back into the bowl.

The devil-woman slaps him across the face.

“Eat.” She hisses, forcing his head into the bowl. “I didn’t destroy my body for you to bring shame to the Dokuso name like this. Your great uncle was already immune to neurotoxins by the time he was your age. The least you can do is eat.”

He tries to struggle, to scream for someone to help him, but the devil-woman just forces his head down farther until he swallows every last grain of tainted rice.

His body won’t stop shaking for the rest of the day, every gasp of air feeling like it’s scraping his lungs raw.

It becomes some kind of demented pattern.

He’s poisoned, he suffers, his body adjusts, he’s poisoned again in a new way, rinse and repeat until he seriously finds himself contemplating whether his last death was better than this.

The look of dissatisfaction the devil-woman always wears, as though he’s somehow not doing this (or dying) fast enough for her liking, weighs the argument a lot.

On the days where he’s in less danger of throwing up his guts, he has lessons with a tutor, because of course he fucking does.

Death, taxes and homework: the three constants of existence.

The tutor calls him a prodigy with mathematics, even if his grasp of kanji is shaky.

The deadbeat uses this as an excuse to push some of his work onto a five year old with some garbled line about “carrying on the work of our forefathers”.

He hates this.

He hates it so fucking much.

He prays every night, asking Christ why he’s being tormented like this. He hasn’t got an answer back yet.

He’s gonna make a break for it as soon as he’s old enough to do so. He’s still too young to be allowed out of the house, even for festivals. He also doesn’t receive anything like an allowance yet either, though he suspects that’s more due to the fact that the sperm donor is a cheapskate.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. He’s already got access to some of the accounts, has proven himself to be a dedicated worker beneath suspicion.

Nobody’ll suspect the kid “carrying on the work of his forefathers” if money begins disappearing, not when there are so many greedy adults around. It’s foolproof.

He’s just gotta wait until he learns where he is and how he can get away.

He can do that. It’ll be fine.

“The daimyō has declared dōjutsu users enemies of the state.” His sperm donor complains one evening. “The Mizukage has authorized the use of deadly force to subdue them.”

The devil-woman sniffs, says something nasally and contrarian back but he can’t hear her over the blood rushing in his ears.

Dōjutsu.

Mizukage.

His mouth is dry. He can’t breathe.

There’s no way—there’s absolutely no fucking way—the tech here is way too primitive, he must be hallucinating, going through withdrawal from not reading his favorite manga for so long.

There’s no way this place could be the same world as Boruto. Besides, Chojuro would never authorize a-a genocide like that, Kagura-kun would be so disappointed in him—

But Kagura-kun’s grandfather wouldn’t have had any problems with it, would he?

It’s not until the devil-woman whacks him over the head and screams at him to get up that he realizes he’s on the floor.

He climbs shakily to his feet.

He endures the scolding quietly.

He goes to his room when dismissed.

He shuts the door behind him and slides down it, trying to muffle the sounds escaping his throat. They could be hysterical laughter or sobs. He really isn’t sure.

Because of course he’s been reborn years before any of the good characters of this series or plot developments that he can clearly remember will make their appearance.

That’s just his fucking luck.

He presses his forehead to his knees and screams.

This revelation helps along his plans, at least.

If he’s in Kiri, then he knows he’s probably on one of the many islands that make up the...peninsula? Archipelago? Fuck, geography was never his strong suit.

But yeah, he’ll need to charter a boat to get to the mainland so he can disappear.

He briefly entertains the idea of becoming a ninja for Kiri, maybe growing up to become one of Chojuro’s aides and Kagura-kun’s mentors. Getting to meet Boruto when that arc comes around.

But no. Or at least, not yet.

Going there before Terumi Mei has had the chance to overthrow Yagura isn’t a good idea, what with the whole “kill everyone else you studied with to become a genin” thing they’ve got going on. Also the people claiming to be his parents might track him down and have him sent back.

Fire Country is probably his best bet to vanish. The ninja there actually care about the populace.

He might even be able to go to Konoha. See Boruto and Sarada and Mitsuki grow up firsthand.

The thought leaves a warm feeling in his chest even as his limbs tremble from the effects of the latest venom for the rest of the week.

It doesn’t last.

Of course it doesn’t.

It’s one thing to know that certain people in the community are slated for death.

It’s a different ballgame entirely to see a mob barge into the sperm donor’s office, howling for blood.

He can only hear the words “kekkai genkai filth” chanted like a curse before the deadbeat is nodding his head and rising, grabbing a huge ass sword from where it’s been gathering dust on the wall.

He tries to shrink back, tries to let the throng pass him without drawing their attention, but a hand grabs his collar and yanks him away from his little table, away from his calculations, and drags him along with the frothing crowd of people with hate in their eyes.

He’s squashed near the back of the herd, but every time he tries to get away there are hands and arms to yank him back into line, hands of men or women or—Jesus, or other kids.

He’s eventually funneled through the doorway of a tiny farmer’s hut, pushed into one of the walls by the crush of people, and he looks up and there’s—

There’s—

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh Jesus in Heaven have mercy.

He can’t look.

It’s awful, it’s too much, he can’t look, he can’t, he gags, averts his eyes—

He sees the girl in the corner of the room.

She’s crying, mouthing “Mama” to herself over and over.

One of those murderers has seen her too.

The man takes a step towards the girl—

“Stay the fuck away from her!” He yells.

He can’t remember moving. All he knows is he’s now in between the girl and the mob, knees trembling and adrenaline pounding in his ears.

His voice is all shaky and squeaky, not intimidating at all.

He’s scared.

Jesus Christ, he’s so scared.

These monsters just killed that innocent lady for their dumb fucking witch hunt.

What’ll they do to this girl if they get their hands on her?

One of the villagers steps forward and growls, “Outta the way, boy. You don’t wanna get hurt for that thing.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” He screams back.

“Meiun, discipline your fucking brat before we do it for you!” Someone else in the mob shouts.

The sperm donor is pushed to the front and begrudgingly holds out a hand. “Don’t be stupid Nobuo. Get your ass over here, now.”

“Listen to your father!” The demon-woman shrieks from the safety of several people away.

He laughs. He can’t help it. “My father?! You want me to acknowledge that drunken excuse of a sperm donor as a father?! Get real, you fucking hag!! You and him wouldn’t know what real fucking parenting looked like if you fucking murdered it in cold fucking blood!!”

He points at what’s left of the lady. “Because guess what? Looks like ya did!”

“How dare you—” The deadbeat’s gone dark purple.

“No, how dare you?!” His hands are shaking and Christ, there’s no way this can end well, but his mouth won’t stop running. “That lady was a perfectly fucking nice lady, a loving wife and a good mom and you assholes think you can just come out here and murder her for what?! Having something that you don’t?! Being a genuinely good person, like you aren’t?! You’re all just JEALOUS FU—”

Pain explodes in his temple.

A man’s screaming, “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, YOU KNOW NOTHING YOU LITTLE BASTARD, SHUT UP—”

He tries to raise his arms, tries to fight back, but the man’s swinging too wildly, he can’t stop the blow to the gut that knocks the air out of him.

More arms appear from nowhere, shoving him to the ground, pinning him down, jeers and taunts about how if he loves kekkai genkai filth that much he can join them, see what happens to them.

The knife glints evilly in the light.

He doesn’t wanna die again.

Jesus Christ, he doesn’t wanna die again.

There’s cold for a moment behind his right ear.

And then there’s nothing but agony, red and sharp and pounding pounding pounding and Nobuo is screaming screaming screaming.

Until his throat feels like it’s going to give out.

Until he knows he’ll die like this.

He doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die Christ—

The sensation is sudden and painful.

Like he’s been punched in the chest again, but in reverse.

Something erupts from him, with enough force to leave him breathless.

The jeers and ugly laughter become screams as pained as his own.

“Shit, he’s one t—?!” is the last thing he hears before a sound like glass shattering over and over overwhelms all other noise, even the terrified shrieks for mercy.

Nobuo’s eyes roll back into his head.

He blacks out.

The right side of his head throbs.

He whimpers in pain, curling in on himself.

“A-are you alright? Are you hurting? I tried to patch you up as best I could...” A soft, sweet voice murmurs.

He cracks open his eyes a sliver to see a dark-haired head with a pretty face hovering over him. The pretty face looks worried, almost scared.

“What...?” He tries to ask, voice croaky as hell. “Where...?”

“Ah, I, uh, took you and ran away after you got those guys off you.” The pretty face explains, averting their eyes for some reason. Their kimono is torn in places. “You-your e-head was bleeding really bad, so I tried to fix it, but I don’t think I did a very good job...”

What?

His hand lifts to the side of his head, feeling cloth sticky with what he can only assume is blood.

And feeling nothing beneath it.

His breathing hitches. He tries to stop it, tries to gulp the panic and fear back down, he can’t cry, he’ll get hit again if he cries, he can’t—

He lets out a sound that can only be described as a wail, shoulders shaking.

There’s movement and he flinches, oh god, he doesn’t want a hit, not now, not when he’s already dealing with this—

Small, thin arms wrap around him, trembling. A head of soft hair buries itself in his other shoulder, and a low voice begins sobbing “I-I’m so-sorry, I-I didn’t, I co-couldn’t stop them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” in his remaining ear.

A small part of his brain notes that this is the first time he’s been hugged since he woke up as a baby.

They cry for a long, long time.

Finally, when it feels like he’s gonna have a head cold for a week at least, he shrugs his shoulder minutely.

The girl looks up, face blotchy and red.

“You’re that girl, right? What’s your name?” He croaks.

The girl tenses and pulls away a little. “I’m Haku. I’m eight. A-and I-I’m a b-boy.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks flush. Where does he feel like he’s heard that name before...?

“And you are?” Haku prompts.

“M-Meiun Nobuo.” He states with a grimace. “M’ six.”

“Ah...then Official Meiun was...” Haku’s eyes begin to fill with tears again. “Y-your father, and, and your m-mother—”

“God no.” He snaps. “That man impregnated that woman to make me, but father and mother are the last things they can be called. Real parents don’t pull the shit they do on their kids.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “This may’ve sped up my plans, but you did me a favor, taking me with you. I was planning on running away anyway.”

Haku lets out a confused sniffle.“Where were you planning on running away to?”

“Fire Country.” He might puff out his chest a little. “Their ninja actually care about people, and they don’t hate kekkai genkai there.”

“Kekkai genkai...th-that’s what they kept calling me and m-mama...” Fat tears begin rolling Haku’s pretty face.

He shakily slides an arm around the older boy’s shoulders. “Y-you can come with me. If you want. I-I don’t exactly know the way, I was hoping to get some more geography and funds first, b-but I’ll figure something out, I swear.”

Haku takes a few deep, shuddery breaths. “I-I don’t either, but I know how to get to the next village, if that’s okay?”

“That’s great! That’s way better than what I can do!” He assures, giving his traveling companion’s shoulder a pat. “...d’you, like, wanna start going now, or...?”

“Can we stay here for a moment?” Haku asks. “J-just until I can check your head’s okay?”

Meiun Nobuo nods carefully, leaning more against the older boy. “Sure. No rush.”

[nattikay]

.

Just trying to sort out some thoughts, came here cuz not sure where else to do it. Might delete later.

So we’ve had Maisie for almost a week now an honestly, it’s...caused me a lot more stress than I’d expected it to. Don’t get me wrong, I like her, and I don’t plan to give her back to the shelter or anything, good gracious, no--but tbh I feel a little guilty for not being ~euphoric~ over the whole scenario, and I’m just trying to work out why.

Don’t worry she is being well taken care of! This is an emotional issue, not an ability-to-care-for issue.

I think some of it may have its roots in our old cat, Harry Pawter. We got Harry when I was around 9 years old and I loved him. However, being a child when we got him, I was never really super good at taking care of him; most of the animal care wound up falling on my parents. 

Harry, for the most part, was a pretty good cat most of his life, but he started developing health problems around his last two years or so. By this point I was in high school, and for all intents and purposes should’ve been old enough and responsible enough to step in and help take proper care of him. But by that point, I hadn’t really formed those habits and...I never really did. Not as much as I should have. And looking back...tbh I feel really bad about it, and wonder if I didn’t love him as much as I should have, or as much as I thought I did. My dad would certainly imply at much when he got frustrated with the cat, and that...kinda sunk its way into my brain, I guess.

I’ve mentioned before that we lost Harry my freshman year of college, my very first semester. But I haven’t told the whole story, because well...I feel really bad about it. But maybe it’ll be good to get it off my chest.

See, Harry’s health had been declining for a while at that point (he was now 9 years old btw). He was struggling to keep himself clean and having more and more accidents outside the litterbox. My dad took him to the vet, and the vet suspected he may have had a brain tumor. All this was happening recently after I started my first semester of college, so I wasn’t home at the time, only getting this info via phone calls. 

My dad didn’t want to pay for expensive tests and surgeries for a cat, so was considering putting him down. I was obviously not in favor of that idea, so we decided that we’d wait until I came home for Christmas and then discuss what to do about the Harry situation.

But we never got the chance. Around November, there was some sort of leak under the fridge or something (I don’t remember the details; again I wasn’t home at the time) and we had to get a lot of work done in there to fix it, which included having all the tiles completely removed and huge fans placed in the kitchen to blow away the ensuing dust. In order to keep Harry out of the way of the construction, we wound up regulating him to the screened-in back patio (and for further context: Harry had always been an indoor-only cat, and never showed much interest in going outside). Needless to say, on top of his health concerns, this construction and jarring change in environment was probably really stressful for him. One day, he found his way out of the patio...and never came back. 

We...don’t really know for sure what happened to him after that. I like to say that he passed away rather than ran away, partly because he didn’t really have great survival skills and between that and his already-present health issues, well...I don’t think he would’ve survived long as a stray, and I prefer to imagine that his suffering ended as quickly and painlessly as possible. Even if he did manage to survive for a while then, he’s almost certainly gone now, given that he’d be nearly 15 by this point...but I digress.

All that said...idk, I guess I never really got any proper closure with Harry. And the more I learn about how to properly care for a cat, especially doing all the research I’ve been doing for Maisie...well, the worse I feel for him.

It’s not that we were bad owners, per se, and we certainly weren’t malicious in any way...but man, we could’ve done so much better. Harry was definitely overfed and undergroomed and we didn’t really know how to deal with his issues later in life...again, we weren’t malicious, but I think we were ignorant. I can’t really blame myself in the early years given that I was a literal child but by the time I reached high school and the like...idk I just feel like I could have and should have done so much better. I wonder how many issues could’ve been resolved if we’d been more attentive, more vigilant. Had been willing to put in more effort than just “meh fill up his food bowl twice a day and have Dad change the litter once in a while”.

And with all that considered, well...let’s just say I have doubts as to my prowess as a cat guardian. I want to make sure what went wrong with Harry goes right with Maisie and I just...idk. It’s just been a lot more emotional pressure than I expected it to be, even more so considering I haven’t yet quite formed the emotional bond with Maisie that I felt with Harry (not that I necessarily should have expected to at this point, given that we’ve only had Maisie for less than a week whereas we had Harry for nine years). But still.

And I mean, it’s not like taking care of Maisie has been difficult from an objective standpoint. It boils down to just feeding her (and making sure it’s the right amount of food), cleaning her litterbox, and playing with her, all of which are pretty simple and straightforward (well actually trying to figure out the right amount of food for her age and size has been a bit of a chore but I digress). 

Again, it’s not the tasks themselves that are an issue...it’s, I guess, the emotional baggage, or something. Knowing that as my cat the responsibility rests squarely on my shoulders (as opposed to having Harry where my parents took up most of the tasks) probably contributes as well.

Probably doesn’t help that this was a rather sudden development as well. It was only a week ago that we even seriously entertained the possibility of getting a new cat, and now here we are. It all happened so fast, it...almost doesn’t seem real.

Then again, not much has been feeling “real” to me lately. But that’s a separate issue and one for my therapist. :P

I also, despite all objective evidence to the contrary, feel almost like I’m being a burden my bringing Maisie into the house. I know that I shouldn’t...it wasn’t even my idea. My brother made the suggestion, my mom endorsed it, my dad ultimately agreed. The whole family seems to like her, even my dad who is by far the least of a cat-person out of all of us has pet her and talked soft to her (I expected him to mostly ignore her).

But...well, ok, another (shorter) storytime. My parents, while they don’t dislike pets, have had enough of them to last their lives, especially after Harry’s troubled final years, which we kids (regrettably) did not do much to help with despite being older by then. About a year or two after we lost Harry, a family in our church was giving away a bunny for adoption after their two dogs didn’t take well to it. My sister, who has always loved bunnies, begged and begged and begged to adopt it, and after promising and promising to take care of it, my parents finally relented. Alas, the bunny did not wind up being as friendly and cuddly as my sister expected, and after a few weeks she lost interest in it, leaving the bulk of the care responsibilities to our youngest brother (who, to his credit, did pretty well...honestly he’s just pretty good with animals in general, of all types...dogs are his top preference but he’ll happily work with just about anything). Not long later, the poor bunny injured itself, and upon doing some research my parents found that bunnies rarely heal properly from that type of injury (I forget what it was exactly, again I was away in college at the time so don’t recall all the details) and that the most humane option was to put it down. We only had that bunny for a few months.

After that, my dad was (understandably) hesitant to bring another pet into the house, however hard we promise to care for it, cuz last time he relented he got burned and a poor bunny had to suffer. When he agreed to let us get a new cat, he included the (reasonable) stipulation that if it ever seems like we’re not taking proper care of kitty, he’s allowed to make the call to give her up back to the shelter.

Now, I have absolutely zero intentions of pulling a sister-and-the-bunny on Maisie, and I very much plan to take as good care of her as possible. But...you can see how there’s some emotional pressure there, yeah? ^^; 

I feel like I have to be an absolutely flawless owner else I’ve let everyone down and proven that my promises to care for her were just talk. I’m afraid people will get mad at Maisie for doing Cat Things and I’ll take the fall and it’ll be assumed I’m not taking proper care of her because I can’t train her well enough. I’m afraid any inconvenience that naturally comes from owning and animal will by default get pinned on me, that I’ll be at fault because I’m the one who technically owns her, I brought her into the house, were it not for me we wouldn’t be dealing with Animal Inconvenience. 

And yes I know that’s irrational...I know my brain is exaggerating and none of them really expect an 8 month old kitten to have flawless behavior or blame me for it and as long as I’m keeping her happy and healthy it’s fine...and yet...

I don't know.

Pressure, I guess. A big life change that happened pretty suddenly and it’s gonna take a little while for it to become the new normal...I’ve just gotta hang on until it does, I guess...

anyways...

R.I.P. Harry Pawter, 2005-2014

(last picture we ever got of him)

Maisie, I will do my best ;_;

(first picture I ever got of her...which, I am just now realizing, is similar to the last pic of Harry ;n;)

[bisquett]

Make Me Suffer

      Wc: 3,397

Warning: Intense choking 

Enjoy :)

     The first time I met David, he said I wasn’t his type. I still like to hold that over him as I hover over him with my hand around his throat. He’s definitely hiding from the world but I get a front row viewing of who David Dobrik truly is.

“Harder.” He chokes out, closing his eyes tightly.

     I put a little more pressure as I try to support myself without falling over. My knees are on either side of his thighs while both hands are wrapped securely around his throat. He’s wriggling beneath me, leaving me to stabilize myself with the strength of my thighs. His adams apple bobs against my thumbs, sending shivers down my spine. I lower myself just a little on his covered crotch, his grunt vibrating against my fingers. My arms are cramping but I won’t dare stop. His shallow breaths are barely visible through his black shirt but it’s just enough to keep me going. He lifts his neck slightly in a weak attempt to get some release but lowers it almost as quickly. His balled fists lay at his sides, now beginning to grasp feverishly at the sheets. It’s his way of not breaking the rules. He’s not allowed to touch me or even attempt to touch me. It’s his rule, but him and I must abide by it.

     Rough swallows are becoming more frequent, leading him to what I like to call stage three.

     While boring into his scrunched eyes, I’m left to wonder what’s in his head. Is he all over the place, or is he calm and collected? Obviously this has proven to be his solace but how can he kick his feet uncontrollably, gasp for air, and still be wanting, no, needing to go longer? It amazes me and it’s what keeps bringing me back to do this again and again. Maybe I need it just as much as he does.

     He’s getting quiet now. The ‘hiccups’ emitting from his mouth are lessening in volume. It’s almost time for me to release him. But I can’t seem to pull my eyes away. His eyes, once clenched, are now softening and his body, stilling. This is stage four. There are so many words to describe it and yet beautiful seems to be the most fitting. I’m tempted to play with the little strands of hair that are stuck to his forehead but instead I release him.

     He gasps loudly as I pull back, sitting on my haunches. His sharp inhales continue as he reaches for his throat. His fingers delicately envelop the sore area, easing their touch and dragging down to his collarbone. The back of his head hits the headboard while his heavy breathing turns from erratic to steady. He blinks rapidly, regaining his vision before landing his eyes on me. I smile in return and lift myself off the bed to retrieve his water bottle on the nightstand.

“Drink up.”

     He hesitates somewhat before grabbing it out of my hand and taking a few swigs. He stares off at nothing in particular and lightly palms at his jeans, easing some of the tension, I presume.

“One more time?” he asks, staring up at me.

    “David, I don’t think you have time.” I reply, checking my phone. I show him the clock and he sighs frustratingly in return.

     “Let me see.” I say, bringing my hand to his neck, assessing the damage. He’s red, but no visible finger marks yet. I think we’ve gotten this down by now. The color will probably normalize soon. “You’re good, I would just wait ten minutes or so to leave. What time do you have to be there again?”

“Um, two roughly.” He strains, coughing to clear his throat. “Thank you.”

     I smile at his appreciation and lower my hands into his soft curls. “Of course.” I then proceed to straddle him again, the bulge in his pants very evident.

“Please just…” He gestures to his jeans.

     I roll my eyes with mock annoyance and reach in between my legs to alleviate his growing problem.

     He closes his eyes before opening them again and grabbing my left hand. He brings it up to his throat but I don’t apply any pressure.

“What, that wasn’t enough for you, you masochist?”

 He smiles at my satiric question. “Never is.”

“Well unfortunately I can’t let you cum.”

“Well I’m telling you to let me cum.” He says imperiously, once again bringing my hand to his throat.

     His eyes are pleading and normally he doesn’t have to ask. But we’re on a time crunch and he’s in a state of euphoria that I know he’d snap out of if he were late to his meeting.

“Do you have extra underwear? Or pants?” I question, knowing he doesn’t.

He doesn’t reply and rolls his eyes after a second, groaning into my chest.

     I unwrap my legs and refuse him the pleasure, knowing he’ll either cum anyway or get too frustrated that he can’t. He follows me off the bed, unhappily sauntering to the bathroom. He checks himself out, running a hand through his hair multiple times before letting out an exasperated sigh and meeting me by my apartment door. I glance down to see his erection slowly disappearing.

“Here.” I hand him his keys and wallet.

“Will you be home later? Like tonight?” He asks.

     I believe I’ve only been to his house twice in the couple of months we’ve been seeing each other and that was in the dead of night. Most of the time it’s my apartment at different times of day. Usually at night when he has awhile to sneak away and completely let loose. In this case, however, he just really wanted something quick and was hoping I was home. We’re not dating but we have a special relationship to say the least.

“Probably. It just depends. Call me.” I smile and open the door for him.

     He takes his cue and heads out, walking to the end of the hall before turning back to look at me.

     It’s past midnight and although I’m on my tenth yawn, I’m still waiting up. David texted me around seven, making sure I was still up for tonight but hasn’t replied since. He does this often and just kinda shows up after awhile, so I’m expecting it to be no different tonight.

     I switch through multiple channels, getting antsy and more tired as time ticks by. I contemplate just going to bed but with my luck, as soon as I hit the pillow he’ll knock on my door. You’d think this kid would take advantage of a cellphone. I guess he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea that I’ll say no. oh no, I forgot tomorrow was a posting day. Guess I’m going to bed.

Me: Hey, I’m going to bed. Text me tomorrow.

     It’s now 12:45 as I slip into the covers, releasing my fifteenth yawn. My phone vibrates immediately.

David: I’m on my way.

     I sigh obnoxiously, my eyes permanently glued to the ceiling. How did I know this would happen. Although I’m annoyed by the inconvenience and timing, I’d way rather be fucking David than sleeping. Ten minutes later, I’m letting a very cute and horny boy into my room.

“Shouldn’t you be editing?” I ask as he slides his shoes off.

     My tv, now off, brings attention to the only lit corner of my room; where David is. He checks his phone before fluffing his hair. “You know I won’t post till like noon tomorrow so I have time.”

     I slowly approach him, laying a hand on his chest. “A lot of time.”

     My flirtatiously playful remark makes him chuckle, him proceeding to grab the back of my neck and kiss me.

“Fuck me.” He spits, staring me down.

      I’m allowed only a moment to collect my thoughts before he’s pulling me to the bed, sitting me roughly on top to straddle him.

“Who’s in control?” I demand rhetorically.

“You know that’s a loaded quest-”

     I slap him hard across the cheek, ending his sentence. He lets out a muffled noise, shifting underneath me, but giving me his full attention.

“That’s right.” I say. “Unless you want a recap of earlier, than I would shut up and listen.”

He nods, gulping. “Please fuck me.”

     I begin to lift his shirt over his head and then my own. His eyes are locked on my breasts before I reach for his throat, him smiling under my touch.

“Please.” He chokes out.

I laugh and let go, getting off his lap.

     “Y/N.” He whines, still in his position on the bed; Head resting on the headboard, legs outstretched.

     “Don’t worry, you’re gonna have fun but so am I.” I mischievously remark. I remove the rest of my clothing, staring him down as he stares me up and down. His arms never leave his sides, his goal of torturing himself still intact. His words replay in my head; Don’t let me touch myself. Make me suffer.

     I lick my lips as I begin massaging my clit. His eyebrows furrow slightly, the fact that he can’t do anything about it undeniably on his mind. I watch his nervous swallows as I continue my own assault, getting wetter by the minute.

     Crawling up to him once more, I grab at his bulge, making him sigh in relief. I gently rub him, careful not to go beyond teasing.

“I don’t think this is what you want, is it?”

He nods furiously. “Oh yes, it is.”

“Then prove it. Get yourself hard.”

     His eyebrows begin to knit together, trying to understand what I mean. He looks at me, hoping for some clarification, in which I don’t give.

“I can’t.” He finally says, defeated.

     Looking to his hands grasping the sheets, I smirk and begin to unbutton his jeans, sliding them off as well as his underwear. I proudly stare at his half erection as I lift his own hand to his throat, his gaze following my movement.

“Sure you can.”

     Resting his hand where I left it, he’s battling with himself, unsure if he’s breaking the rules or not.

“Think of it as a loophole.” I state, backing away to watch him in full view.

     He hesitates, looking at me every couple of seconds for further instruction. When I don’t give any, he applies some pressure, closing his eyes. He grunts under his hand, tightening it. I begin to touch myself again, soaked by now. I know he’s wishing he had more leverage as he repositions his hand and cranes his neck. His body shifts every couple of seconds, completely at a loss of what to do. He tightens his hand once again, letting out a muffled choke. I smile in amazement as he begins to get harder under his own touch.

     “Mmm.” I let out, reassuring him to keep going. After a few more seconds, I say “Stop.” To which he obeys, dropping his hand back at his side. He lets out a couple coughs as I walk around the bed to his side.

“How was that?” He smirks at me, knowing he did well.

I return his sly remark with a sharp slap to the face. “Don’t get cocky.”

He bows his head a little in embarrassment but looks back up at me. “You do it way better.”

I caress his cheek with my thumb and give him a lingering kiss. “I know.”

I’m hovering over him now, ready to ease myself onto him when he grabs at my waist. “Wait.”

     He drops his hand almost as quickly, realizing what he’s just done. I stare down at his hand, now harshly clutching the sheet as he stares at me wide eyed, wondering If I’ll do anything.

“Your rule and you broke it.” I say shocked, anger beginning to fuel me.

He stutters before sighing in defeat. “I was just gonna say…a condom.”

My face twists at his words and I leap off of him, his breathing audible from behind me.

“Are you under the impression that you’ll get to cum inside me? Or at all?” I spit, searching the floor for the item I know is nearby.

     He doesn’t respond, instead lays as obediently as possible, searching the floor with me unknowingly what for. I lift his jeans and tear the belt out of the loops, marching toward him. He lets out a mix of a grunt and a moan as I pin him to the bed on his stomach, roughly grabbing his hands and forcing them behind his back.

     “Maybe this will teach you not to touch because you clearly have no self control.” I bite, securely wrapping the leather around his hands and pulling as hard as it’ll go. He lets out a cry, a lustful grin lighting his face as I push him back against the headboard. Without warning, I push down onto him, both of us moaning from the contact. His eyes are as black as night as I ride him, momentarily leaving me feeling vulnerable. I almost expect him to reach out and choke me. But then I remember his arms tied behind his back and I’m moaning again. I grip his hair and yank his head sideways, earning a whimper in return before I bite down harshly on his neck, sucking the swollen area. His eyes flutter from my assault, his face permanently in ecstasy. I pull my hair to the side and out of my way as I continue to bounce, feeling him deep inside me. Now comes the fun part.

     My thumb reaches out to massage his adams apple, while he leans into me, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want.” I breathlessly demand.

“I want you to choke me. Fucking hard.” He revels, grunting after I rotate my hips.

“How hard?” I innocently ask, wanting him to say exactly what’s on his mind.

“Until I can’t take it anymore.”

     At that, both my hands wrap tightly around his throat, leaving no room for error. He chokes in response, his head falling back. My lips are bitten to hell with the external force I’m giving. He’s loudly hiccuping under my grasp but I don’t ease up. If I continue like this, he’ll be cumming within seconds. We know from experience. I stop my movement, him still inside me.

     “Mmm.” I moan out, the feeling being too good to concentrate. He gasps inaudibly, bringing his attention back to me, keeping his eyes open the best he can. I begin to move again, just barely rocking my hips. He’s so deep. I don’t even realize my hands are loosening until he bucks up into me, causing me to yelp. I unwrap my hands and entangle them in his hair, yanking him toward me until I’m inches from his ear.

“That’s not the way for you to get what you want sweetheart and you know it.”

“I’m sorry.” He says innocently. “Maybe you should teach me a lesson.”

     I bring his face back into view with the grip of his chin. Daring eyes and a cocky grin meet me, awaiting their torment. Maybe I should.

     Lifting off of him, I reach to retrieve his boxers from the ground. The corner light of my room casts David in a silhouette, his sweat glistening in the shadows. His torturous breaths prompt chills to cascade down my arms, momentarily distracting me. He’s so beautiful. His dark brown eyes shimmering with lust and adoration. Whether that’s for me or the pain, I’m not sure. For me on the other hand, I think it might be both.

     Snapping out of my trance, I grip his chin roughly, his boxers balled in my fist. “Maybe you should keep your mouth shut once and for all.” I suggest bitterly, prying his mouth open. I’m met with widened eyes as I stuff his underwear into his mouth, instantly backhanding him. He loses balance, a muffled moan escaping his lips. Before giving him time to recoup, I’m on top of him again, sliding down on his rock hard cock. I bounce up and down feverishly, placing my hand first on his chest and then bringing it to his throat. The pure ecstasy he’s exuding in his expression drives me to position both hands firmly around his neck, squeezing with my upmost strength. Suppressed moans and whimpers emit from his mouth, propelling me to release my own.

     I wish I had the strength to deny him his orgasm but then I’d be torturing myself. We’re both close and fuck I want him to cum so badly. But ladies first.

     I muster the energy to use my voice over his muffled cries and say, “You don’t get to cum, do you understand that? Until I cum, pretty boy.”

     He nods aggressively under my touch. I throw my head back, nearly cumming at his strangled sobs, devoured by the fabric.

“Rock into me.” I demand. “Now.”

     He complies and thrusts deeply, giving me more leverage to choke him. He’s trying his hardest but is slowing down due to stage three, quickly turning into stage four. I’m so close. I stare deeply into his eyes, mesmerized. He’s completely at my mercy. I could stop at any moment and he’d beg me to continue. Tears form at the corners of his eyes, pushing me over the edge. I’m cumming all over him, moaning his name loudly over and over again. Without warning, he finishes inside me, causing a second wave of pleasure to rip through my body as I feel the contents of his orgasm.

     I release my hands and quickly extract his underwear so I can hear him unrestricted. He falls on his side, hands still tightly bound behind his back, gasping harshly. I unclasp the belt and throw it to the side. He immediately reaches for his throat, coughing and sputtering. He finds his dick and pumps a few times, savoring his orgasm. I watch intensely as he moans in pleasure, breathing erratic.

     It takes a few minutes before he’s coherent, breathing on the low end of ragged. He blinks several times, swallowing every few seconds. Again, he lifts a hand to his throat, delicately tracing where my fingers once were.

“Mm.” he lets out, closing his eyes.

     It’s like I’m not even here. He’ll remember in just a second. For now I’m just a silent watcher and I’m more than okay with that.

     He’s on his back now, staring at the ceiling before his attention turns to me. I give him a dainty wave and a smile. He returns the smile, letting out a chuckle. Slowly he sits up, moving his arm in a circular motion, alleviating the ache of the belt.

“I uh-” He brings his fist to his mouth and lets out a few strangled coughs. “I made a mess.” He gestures to the sheets.

“So did I.”

     I grab my shirt off the floor and hastily throw it over my head. He makes no move to get up as I sit closer to him. I thread my fingers through his hair and gently brush through it, his eyes not leaving mine. I turn my attention to his wrists, bringing them into view.

“Oof.” I cringe at the swollen, red skin. “This will take awhile to heal.” I say turning toward him.

     He rotates them, mesmerized from all angles, a small smile on his lips.

“You love it, don’t you?” I whisper, poking him teasingly.

“You don’t?” He asks, as if to remind me I’m the one who put them there.

     I bring my fingers to my lips in thought, before answering. “I do love it.”

     He kisses me sweetly before climbing out of the bed, dressing himself. I throw him his underwear with a smirk, feeling the saliva. He hesitates but puts them on anyway.

“I need to start bringing back ups apparently.”

     I laugh in response and kiss him again, lingering this time. He lays a hand on the small of my back and pushes me into his lips before releasing me.

“Thank you so very much for your service.” He quips.

“You’re not the only one enjoying yourself, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” he responds, reaching for the door.

“Happy editing!” I enthuse sarcastically while watching him walk out my door for the second time today.

~Amanda :)

[hollenka99]

The One Where Jackie Nearly Dies

Summary: Chapter 2. Anti has another victim but may need to improvise with his methods.

Warnings: Attempted murder, blood, kidnapping, knives

@badlypostedeverything @bupine

A young man reluctantly stands by as the serial killer lures his next victim. He witnesses their conversation, safely out of their view. As they disappear towards Anti's vehicle, the observer forms a portal. On the other side, he steps into a house full of chatter. Raucous laughter can be heard coming from the living room. The culprits are four men, all planning on getting progressively drunk over the course of the night. The host is the one due to celebrate his 34th birthday the following week. Fortunately for Joel, the evening has only recently gotten under way. The hero he is searching for will have barely affected his blood alcohol levels. Henrik is taken aback when he spots him. The collective surprise leads to Marvin turning his head to check what the fuss was about. "Joel? Way to crash a party, dude." The teleporter stands behind Marvin. Hands on his friend's shoulders, he leans close to his ear. "Go home and suit up. It's Anti." "Are you fucking kidding me? Can that prick not let me have one night to hang out with friends? Fine. Can you get me home?" Marvin mutters back. "Of course." Chase initially protests the departure, claiming no supermarket would ask an employee to work a shift with no prior notice, let alone do so after 8pm. Marvin insists he really does have to leave the party early. As easily as walking through a door, the duo finds themselves in Marvin's flat. Rapid changes have become a mastered skill for the superhero. He tucks all his curls out of his face, kept hidden by the top of his costume. One of these days, he'll stop reminding himself at the most inconvenient time to get a more practical haircut and actually do it. His companion hops back from Ontario in a hoodie and jogging bottoms. Hop may not be the right verb. It looks moments away from being closer to 'stumbles' or 'trips'. Still, Joel keeps his composure and gives Marvin a thumbs up. He's right. Time doubting Joel is simply time wasted. He hasn't let him down in the past. In the appropriate attire, the Magnificent Cat and Warper set off into action. ---- The door won't budge. All attempts to escape prove fruitless. This is where having powers would really come in handy. Jackie would kill for- Okay, maybe he should pick a better choice of phrase. Either way, having enhanced strength would be highly appreciated right now. He won't stop fighting against the locked car door. "Could you please cut that out? If you break something, I'm the one footing the bill." "Good. Should have thought about that before kidnapping someone." "Listen, it's nothing personal. You're just a random guy, you know. The only people who will realise you've vanished are me and possibly that superhero." "That's not as reassuring as you probably think." His head was really suffering now. It kept throbbing severely, causing him to suppress a groan. "Why does my head hurt so much? All you did was trick me." "Ah, yeah, sorry about that. Side effect for people not used to my power when I focus it on them." "I'm about to be killed by a shapeshifter?" "Shapeshifter." The driver clearly finds this humourous. "That's where the police go wrong. I respect their efforts but I can't help but laugh at them. Trust me, I can do so much more than make myself look different. Do you have any powers? Clearly not anything strength-related." Jackie refuses to answer. Anti takes this as legitimate response and continues driving. Anything that most people would likely see as a landmark was lost on him. The most he would be able to comment if he somehow managed to call for help was 'I think it was right at the Sainsbury's and we passed a church sometime after that'. However they get to the office building, Jackie wishes this was where the journey could end. He'd happily walk all the way back to his spot near the high street if it meant keeping his life. With encouragements such as 'I'm sure you would prefer this to be private', Jackie is lead inside. Several floors up, Anti disables security by simply looking at them. Okay, maybe a bit more than a non-shapeshifter then. The killer faces him. "Listen, I'm usually a reasonable guy, you know? I have a job and have a bunch of good interpersonal relationships. But sometimes shit happens. Unfortunately, not everything in life can go smoothly. Everyone has their release. I can smell that you use cigarettes as your method. And me? Well, for some fucking reason, this. Don't ask. Even I'm not entirely sure why I feel so accomplished afterwards." Anti will have to try harder to get a reaction other than a scowl out of him. "Have you ever had someone cheat on you? Because that is probably the one of the shittiest things someone can do to their partner, second only to well, actually abusing them. You ever been through that?" Okay, he has to admit, that threw him off guard. "Uh..." "No, don't deny it. I can see it on your face." Anti smiles. "You stuck around after finding out, didn't you? Wow, I gotta say, I admire you for not confronting her ass the first chance you got." "My personal life is none of your business." "No. No, you're right. I'm sorry. Still..." The murderer admires the knife in his hand. "You seem to have drawn numerous short straws lately. I'll do you the courtesy of not beating around the bush any longer." The trajectory of the knife appears to directed at Jackie's chest. He dodges it enough so the blade only slices his arm. He gets no time to reflect. Anti kicks him in the chest. Stumbling back, Jackie loses his footing and falls to the floor. There's the knife again. Scrambling to rise isn't performed quick enough. Hand around his throat to help secure him, Anti makes the first blow. The knife twists upon departure. The killer acts as if he struggles to retrieve it. All to accentuate the agony. The sequel follows swiftly. With it, the process is repeated. All the while, Jackie's biggest distraction is making himself focus on anything but Anti's hovering face. Then he sits. Nothing more, nothing less. Jackie convinces himself he has a chance of escape. Any attempt he makes to leave is squashed. Pushing his protesting body up with his arms results in a sharp jab of a foot. His second attempt fails with more aggression. Okay, he gets the message. Fuck moving then, except for curling in on himself. He doesn't even notice his face getting damp. "Shh, it's okay. I'll speed things up in a few minutes. Promise. Even get your own stone that I painted myself." Anti stays there, sitting, waiting, observing. He watches as his latest victim steadily grows closer to a point of no return. Something unforeseen halts this activity. Jackie swears he spots a pot plant ignite. A face he's seen before appears. The stranger begins helping him to his feet before promptly abandoning him. Another person lends him their hand in the chaotic midst of a battle. His gratefulness ends as soon as he's upright. A left arm wraps around his front. It pins Jackie's arms to his body and keeps him pressed against Anti. He does his best to focus on how awkward he'd feel this physically close to a stranger in any other situation. Anything to distract from the fact the killer's other arm is busy aiming a knife at his throat. Cat directs a forceful gust at multiple panes of glass. Some shatter from this attack. Threats to introduce fire to Anti's clothes are heard. Anti laughs as he calls the superhero's bluff. As if he was willing to purposefully endanger one life, let alone two. A branch reaches out to the criminal and his hostage. The knife is easily stolen. Anti counts his losses and lets Jackie fall unceremoniously to the floor. "There's an exit there. You should get out if you can." He hears Cat declare as he recovers, pointing the way. Jackie could have sworn he and Anti entered from the other side of the room. However, a lot had occurred in the time since. He hobbles towards the door while grasping his wounds. A hand against the wall assists in guiding him to his destination. The illusion breaks and reforms in such quick succession, it flickers like sunlight while driving past a fence. In the span of a blink the world corrects itself. There's that door again. The heroes are busy. He'll help them out by giving them less to worry about. Anti somehow causes the vigilante duo to stop attacking him. He approaches Jackie, standing a little too close for comfort. Not that there was anything comforting about a serial killer. Please just stop tormenting him. The remaining shards of glass poke him in the back. If he leans back any more, he may receive a third stab wound. The man determined to see him die tonight grips him by the top. Grinning at the two heroes, he tells them "Catch him if you can." and... And oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. There is nothing surrounding him expect air. No amount of flailing is going to conjure a last minute object he can grab to save his life. He's really done for now. During all those times he worried if he wouldn't see 25, he hadn't planned for this to be how. He shuts his eyes. What else can he do? Heights have never particularly fazed him. Watching the street grow closer, however, would make anyone fearful. He guesses he should be grateful it's ending like this. This is certainly a faster and less painful method than he expects some people he knew got. He tries to imagine the reunion. Just one of them saying "Slept with the wrong person", to which he'd reply "Got thrown off a building with stab wounds" before they'd all shrug and agree "Well, that's life. What are you gonna do?" He makes impact. It's more dizzying than he thought. The ground groans beneath him. After a few moments of catching their breath, the person below him speaks. Arms have been embracing Jackie since landing. "You hanging in there? Things are going to be alright now." A pause as a head turns. "Of course he'd send us here. Should probably sort out those wounds before anything else. Better go grab my first aid kit." "'M fine. Not the first time I've been attacked." "Buddy, you were stabbed and thrown off a building. Like hell I'm going to let you bleed out in my home. Wait here." Jackie is gently pushed off of Cat and positioned to sit with his back against the wall. The hero is careful not to treat his friend's wounds incorrectly. Jackie doesn't pay much attention as bandages are applied to his arm and torso. His face occasionally gets splashed with water to keep him alert. He's certainly brought back to the here and now whenever Cat applies disinfectant and stitches. "Alright, I get that after all that's happened tonight, you might be wary of me. Do you want me to do the 'say something only you'd know' bit? I'm fine with that." "If you want." "We first met when I offered you a sandwich. Ham, right? Wait no, hang on, that's too generic. Um..." Cat ponders for a second. "How about the time you told me... about your little brother Spencer? He was learning to read the last time you saw him, right?" "Yes." He rewards Cat with a weary thumbs up. He guesses Anti wouldn't know about that. Anti stalking Jackie for weeks seemed doubtful. Cat sighs with a hint of exhaustion escaping unmasked. "There's also the fact I trust you with my secret." He removes the mask to reveal a man with familiar curly brown hair. "Hey, Jackie. Congrats on becoming the 3rd person to know." The two of them sit on the floor, backs against the wall. Tonight had been eventful and they needed a moment. A grey cat missing one of its front legs heads towards them. Marvin's face lights up as he holds his hand out to the cat. "Well, hello there madam. Finally decided to grace us with your presence?" He laughs. "You have a cat?" "Yep. Indie, this is Jackie. He's going to be staying with us for a while. Please be nice to him, okay?" "St- Sorry, staying with you? No, I can't. I-" "I insist. You just went from being on the streets to nearly being murdered. This place has two bedrooms and I'd rather the spare room gets used the way it was meant to. Right now it's just somewhere for dumping clutter or for Joel to crash when he wants to annoy me. All I need to do is change the covers which will take 10 minutes maximum. How long has it even been since you last slept in an actual bed?" "Alright, if you really want me to then thank you, I appreciate it." A hand carefully places itself of Jackie's shoulder. "No problem. I'll get right on that then. Help yourself to water or squash while you wait." Marvin disappears, still wearing his blood stained Magnificent Cat outfit. It is now that Jackie realises how foreign a bed seems after almost 2 months without one. He'd sleep well tonight. If only Marvin had stronger painkillers than Ibuprofen.

[bigsnzstanacct]

Kn/ives Out - Ran/som fic part 2

Lmao this is like three times longer than I intended for it to be and I REALLY don’t know if the character dynamics will read or not (and I fear the last part was much better written) but... here be sneezing. Lots of it. Part one is here, fic under the cut! (also please note there is an abundance of very important sneeze related italics and bolding currently missing which I will add back in... eventually.)

Oh and obviously I have not the foggiest idea how medicine works. Just... suspend your disbelief, ok?

Marta was in the middle of cooking breakfast for her mother when her phone rang.

For a moment, when Marta saw the name pop up on her phone, her heart raced. Was she late for Harlan’s? She looked at the time for a second before she answered. No, she wasn’t late so… why was he calling nearly two hours before she was due to arrive?

“Good morn—” Marta began, but Harlan cut in before she could finish.

“I’m so sorry to trouble you dear but—oh gods—”

His voice suddenly cut off, as though he’d taken the phone from his ear. And then she heard over the line something that sounded like a cross between an extremely violent exorcism and the wildly enthuiastic mating call of some exotic mammal.

“Will you cut out that racket for twelve seconds? Maybe then I could get you some relief but…”

And there it was again, an unearthly roar. Only this time it didn’t come alone. There were two, three, four, five. Marta pulled her phone away from her ear. What on earth was hapening at Harlan’s house? At last, the roaring ceased, and she put the phone back to her ear as she heard Harlan.

“Dear, if you could, can you come by earlier than your usual time? And… does that nurses’ bag contain any sort of antihisti—no, no don’t come over here…”

And then another of those terrible eruptions, clearly closer to the reciever this time, so loud Marta yanked the phone away from her ears as a great rush of static and sound came through, came thorugh so loudly she was surprised she didn’t see sparks exploding from her phone. And all at once, she realized she could make out what was happening, although it hardly seemed possible…

“HOOOOOOOORRRRSSSHHHHH!!”

Was it… a sneeze?

“Harlan… is that… is that your grandson…?”

And it wasn’t Harlan who answered, with a weary sniff and a clearly stuffed nose, but Ransom who commanded. “Come here. Now. Bring some a-ahhh.. ahhhhhh… allergahhhhh… hHAHHHHHH…”

She had the good sense to pull the phone from her ear before the eruption this time:

“HHHHAATTCCHHHAAAAAAAA!!”

But unfortunately, she brought the phone back to her ear just in time for a shorter but still impossibly louder:

“HHAAEESSHHH!! Fuck. Come now. Bring allergy mehhhhh…hehhHHHH…HEHHHHHHHH….”

And then she the first screaming start of another “EEYYY—” before the phone clicked silent.

Well, apparently she was heading to Harlan’s. Antihistimines in tow.

—

“Oh thank God, finally. Just… please get him some meds and get him…”

“AAARRRRSSSSHHHHHHOOOOO!!”

“Please shut him—”

“EEYYYSSSSHHHH!!”

“Oh god—”

“AAEEESSSHHHH!! HAAEEEESSSSHHHHH!!”

Walt made some sort of wordless throat sound then, but Marta was very clear that it was intended to convey frustration.

“EERRRRRSSSHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!! FUCK!”

Marta took a moment to make a mental note that apparently Ransom couldn’t yell fuck nearly as loudly as he could sneeze, though he still yelled fuck quite loudly.

“Please, please get him doped up on something. We’re trying to have a meeting about the damn company and every three seconds he’s doing that. Please. I’m on my last nerve and I didn’t have that many to start with, eh? You’re such a lifesaver.” Walt said, and Marta took a moment to wonder how his speech could sound simultaneously so laconic and so hurried, and how he ensured she could get not a single word in edgewise, such that before she could so much as agree to his request, he was heading back towards Harlan’s study. But before he could, Ransom came swaggering down the stairs.

Of course he was gearing up for a sneeze.

“I’m sorry if I’m an inconvenience t-to you… to… huhh… HAARRSSHHHH!! But you have no idea what this is like, no idea, and I’m not going to try to h-hold back and be puhhh… poliiihhhhh… sneeze! AAARRRSSSSHHHHHOOO!! Damnit! That one hurt…”

To Marta, it seemed as though it must hurt

“If I’m gonna sneeze, I’m gonna do it hard enough to get the fucking itch out at least for a goddamned second, and if you don’t like that Uncle Walt then fuhhhh… fuuhhhHHUUHHHH… HUUUUUUUSSSHHHHH-HHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

He could have finished the “fuck you” he was obviously headed towards, but Marta thought the death metal scream he let out with that sneeze served much the same purpose.

“You,” he said, pointing at Marta. “Upstairs with me, n-nahhh… now.” For a moment it seemed Ransom was going to sneeze again, but he reached up with a wrist and scrubbed at his nose viciously, pulling his thumb across the left nostril harshly before returning to knuckle at the right nostril, as though he were trying to wrestle the sneeze into submission. Still, as they ascended the stairs, clearly headed towards Harlan’s study, it seemed it was a losing battle.

“Guhhh… so fucking sick of sneehh…” Ransom muttered to himself. Marta had to resist the urge to reach up and pat his shoulder. They weren’t close, weren’t friends even. But it sure seemed like he was suffering.

And then all at once he gave up the struggle.

“Ah, fuck.” Ransom said, before stopping on the stairs so abruptly that Marta nearly bumped into him. “huhhhh.. HUUUUuhhh…” he panted towards the next sneeze. Marta was just glad she stopped in time, as she probably would have run smack-dab into his rear end when he doubled over with another bellowing: “HHHAAAAAA-CCHHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

“Bless—” Marta started, but she was cut off.

“HUH! HUURRRSSSSHHHHAAaaaahhhh!”

“Bless—”

“EEEYYYASSSSHHHH!!”

“Oh, my bless—”

“St-stop trying to blehh… HEEEYYYYYSSSHHHHhhhoooo!!”

Marta just stood, uncertain of what to say or do.

“Is that it? I think… or… oh fuck, oh fuck. oh fuck I gottaaaaahhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAARRRRRRSSSSSHHHHHH-OOOOOOHHH!!”

He absolutely blasted out what was the loudest sneeze Marta had heard from him yet, very nearly as loud as the “augmented” sneezes he delivered at that dinner.

“God DAMN it!” Ransom exclaimed, and flung his fist out against the wall, very nearly hitting Marta behind him.

“Hey!” she exclaimed.

“What.” He said, whirling on her, face thunderous. But by degrees he seemed to come to himself, his usual grin slowly spreading across his face, though it seemed stretched and thin. “Sorry, I just. Hate these fucking allergies. And sorry if I… spray you or something else disgusting like that just… just do me a favor and don’t say anything, huh? If I do anything really gross I’ll buy you a car or something.”

Marta wasn’t sure how seriously to take that; he probably didn’t have the funds to buy a car on his own. But she was familiar with the noblesse oblige of this family. If he did sneeze on her, which, by the fact that he mentioned it suggested he’d done such a thing before, he probably would at the least send her a very nice poorly explained fruit basket, or some concert tickets. The latter might not be bad. At least she could resell them.

“And stop trying to bless me.” He further instructed, though he was obviously trying for jocular or conspiratorial. The gruffness of his voice meant that he missed it by a mile, but he tried.

“Trust me you’ll run out of bless yous before I run out of snehh… oh fuck not agaahhhh… again… AAASSSSHHHHHhhhuuhhhh!!”

“Bless—”

Ransom just looked at her, and raised a weary eyebrow.

They had reached Harlan’s study, and he even opened the door for her as she entered. “Thanks.” she said quietly.

“Don’t worry about it. Just… get me those shots as quick as you can.”

“I thought we’d start with tablets, I have something prescription—”

“Shots. Now.” He interrupted as he flung himself down on Harlan’s couch, limbs akimbo, one leg on the coffee table, one arm slung over the back of the couch. Marta couldn’t help but notice the bulk of him. He wasn’t remarkably tall, and he didn’t immediately read as the body builder type but… he had very broad shoulders, and a broad chest. A body probably built by years of expensive personal trainers. Ransom was the type of man who probably always wanted to be the most beautiful person in the room. If muscles were part of that, he’d get muscles. If it was fashion, he’d buy fashion. Attention, without asking for it, was the goal.

“AAASSSHHHHHOOOOO!! Fuck, hurry up, hurry I feel more comin… hehhh… damb dogs…”

“Of course.” Marta said, rifling through her bag.

“So I take it you use a strong antihistimine on a regular basis? I’m not—”

“HEEEAASSSHHHHH!! EEEEASSSSSHHHH!! aahhhhhh… HHAAEESSSHHH! Jesus, y-yes I tahh… take allergy shots, yes I kn-know this isn’t a suhhh… substitute for my prescription, I juhhh… huhhhh…. just n-need somethihhhh… somethiihhHHHHH… something NOW…” he said, knuckling and pressing under his nose again, scrubbing so hard Marta almost thought to tell him to move his hand and just let himself sneeze, she didn’t mind, she’d seen plenty of sneezing, but something told her that for all he talked about his allergies, he’d much prefer she keep her commentary to herself.

“hhheeeeyyYYYYAAAAAAAASSSHHOOOOOO!!” he erupted, with a huge sneeze that made his limbs all fly forward, keeping his seat on the couch while the rest of him stretched out and nearly collapsed into a ball before he unwound from the sneeze, letting his head fall back onto the couch arm with a heavy sigh.

“God. Damn.” He grouched. “ARGH.” He huffed. “Stupid fucking…” he cursed.

Clearly he needed a sympathetic ear. Marta honestly wasn’t sure that she really wanted to listen to Ransom whine—poor little rich kid, acting like allergies were the worst thing ever to happen to a person—but she took one look at him, looking pissed, petulant and pitiful on the couch, and she couldn’t help but take some pity.

“Sounds like you’re really suffering over there.” Marta said gently.

As expected, this opened the floodgates: “God, you have no fucking idea, pardon my French. this is why I take the damn shots in the first place, I’ve just been… I’ve been busy and I haven’t had time to go to damn doctor and… I thought I had more time, I really did. But the damn allergies just go from zero to fucking sixty, and it’s worse at Harlan’s… of all the times for my fucking allergies to go nutso, it has to be while I’m here, when I crash overnight at my grandfather’s, cause it was close to… well it doesn’t matter what it was close to, but… listen, uh uh… don’t tell me…”

Was he… was he asking for her name?

“Marta?” she said, almost incredulous that after all this time, years, that he’d been around her, he didn’t know her name?

“Yeah, listen, Marta,” he plowed on, as though he hadn’t just asked for the name of a person he’d known for years, “I… like sneezing, you know? Who doesn’t like an excuse to randomly shout. Plus, you saw, the way my family reacts, it’s funny… oh shit, I shouldn’t have talked about… I’m gonna… I… HHEEESSSHHHHHHOOOoooo! Ah, fuck. Big one.” He pawed around in his pockets, pulling out a clearly bedraggled set of tissues and blowing his nose before he continued. “Sneezing is fine. But this… I’m a fucking mess. And it doesn’t help that Walt is down there bitching about some damn meeting… like I can help it! So I’m a little loud when I sneeze! My fucking face is staging a rebellion, my goddamn nose wants to fall…”

Marta turned towards him then, as he trailed off suddenly, and then wished he’d provided his usual warning when he screamed out a surprisingly high pitched “AAAHHHHHHHSSHHHTTCHHHH! God damn it, it just… it fucking itches…” He set to his nose again, squishing and rubbing and pressing and downright attacking it as though that would prevent further sneezes, when on present evidence it was clear it wouldn’t. He pulled out the tissues again and gave a loud, honking nose blow into one that almost rivaled his sneezes in volume.

“Jesus. I can’t stop sneezing, Marta. And it sucks.”

“Well,” Marta cut in, syringe in the solution she needed, “this should help. Just roll up your sleeve, I’ll inject your right arm.”

“Ah, fuck, thank you. You’re my hero.” He said, and even with his red nose rubbed raw and red-rimmed eyes, she could see how he could be a hell of a charmer, when he wanted to be.

“Just uh… I need you to not sneeze while the needle’s in your arm, so… do you feel one coming now?”

“I always ‘feel one coming’.” He said, a little gruff. But his tone softened a bit as he added, “I can usually fight it off, don’t worry.” He sat up on the couch and rolled up his sleeve as he spoke, revealing a slightly tanned, extremely toned bicep.

“Alright, here we go then.” Marta said, giving it a second, just to make sure his face didn’t scrunch with a sneeze. She cleaned the arm quickly with an alcohol swab and then inserted the needle.

It seemed as soon as she did his face scrunched, and she was surprised he didn’t jerk his arm. His left hand came up to his nose, and he went into his routine of itching and rubbing. Marta quickly wrapped up the shot, and even had time to apply a bandaid before he shot forward to his feet with a huge “HHHEEEEAAAATTSSSCCCHHHHooooo! Ah fuck, you have no idea how bad I needed that.”

Whether he was talking about the shot or the sneeze Marta wasn’t sure, but before she could ask he was already sneezing again.

“EEEEYYYASSHHH! AAAAAIIISSSHHH! AAASSSSSHHH!”

“Are you okay? You’re sneezing more now than you were before?”

“No I always sn-sneeze for a while right… s-sorry—HAAAEESSHHH! YEASSSHHHH! hhaahhhh… HOOOOOOSSSHHHH! Fuck. -sniff- I always sneeze a ton right after the shot, just on and off. I’m sure it’s working.” He was outright panting now, and she could barely tell the difference between how his chest heaved in the aftermath of a sneeze and how it heaved in preparation for one.

They sat in silence for a bit, Ransom having pulled out his cell phone, Marta going through her bag, setting up for Harlan. They didn’t talk anyway, though any silence they might have had was punctured by Ransom’s sneezes. But they already seemed to be getting further apart, Ransom a bit more respite in between sneezes, though he seemed to sneeze more in a row when they did hit.

At length, he looked over at Marta and spoke: “It’s Harlan’s fault I sneeze so loud, you know.”

“Hm?” She was curious how exactly this could be blamed on Harlan. She’d heard him sneeze before and it wasn’t the quietest thing in the world, but Marta didn’t know if all the heritability in the world could explain Ransom’s one-man-orchestra of a sneeze.

He must have noticed her skepticism, because he rolled his eyes and straightened up on the couch a bit, having spread out again. He made eye contact, sniffed heavily and knuckled at his nose again, but when he spoke he had a warm, engaging tone. “No, really. It’s Harlan. When I was younger, I had these really bad allergies. And my nose would get so bunged up with snot—I know that’s gross, sorry—but the point is, it would run and shit and then I would sneeze and it would make a huge mess and my dad would complain and my mother would try to make apologies for me but that was worse because it was so obvious I’d shamed her just cause I couldn’t control my stupid nose. Well, anyway long story short Harlan doesn’t exactly have the world’s quietest sneeze either, and one day he took me aside and told me how when you sneeze, you can kinda just… push it through your mouth? And it’s really loud but it doesn’t make nearly as much mess. Plus,” he flashed a classic Ransom smirk, “like I said, it’s an excuse to yell in public. And nobody can even get mad because aller… shit. A-allergehhhh.. hehhhhh… fuck, it’s cuhh… huhhhhh… HUUUUUUHHH…

HAAHH-HHOOOOOOOOOOOOORRSSHH!!”

It was a full on cartoon sneeze buildup, Ransom’s shoulder’s hiking up higher as his breath hitched in more and more air, his face contorting into a desperate grimace before he blasted out the sneeze, true to his word mostly just a roar of air out of his mouth, though he couldn’t help a bit of messy-sounding splash from escaping his nose at the end. His allergy sneezes really were nearly as loud as the ones he screamed out on purpose. Sometimes he exaggerated them, but Ransom clearly was in possession of a truly violent sneeze reflex. Maybe they didn’t have to be so rocketingly loud and there was certainly a lot of performance that attended his sneeze, but it did seem like trying to stifle or choke back one of those monsters would be painful.

“I get it. I had allergies too.” Marta surprised herself by saying. “I uh… obviously didn’t find the same solution as you but. When I first moved up here—”

“To America?” Ransom asked, without looking at her.

Marta couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “To Massachusetts!” she barely restrained herself from adding “you idiot” on the end there, but she caught herself at the last moment. “I was born in California.” He just shrugged in response. “And the pollen is different there,” she continued, “I came up here and for the first few years, every spring, it drove me crazy.”

“I’m allergic to basically everything. Pollen, dander, dust, you name it. I get heavy duty antihistimines on top of my monthly shots, but they haven’t renewed my ‘scrip. Hey, can you help me? I bet I got the name of the medicine on my phone somewhere…”

As he said that, Harlan came through the door, smiling.

“Well, our little miracle worker. I think we went ten minutes without the air raid siren going off.”

Ransom just waved off Harlan, still stretched out across the couch, while Harlan took a seat in a large chair. Marta noticed he was smiling.”

“I’m just up here to check on you two. And to get away from your uncle,” Harlan added winkingly. “I don’t think he could make those meetings duller if he were actively trying. Plus he’s on edge because of… this morning.”

“Ah fuck him,” Ransom chimed in.

“I’m not blaming you Ransom. It’s not your fault you have allergies.”

“Yeah, it’s not.”

“But Walt certainly blames him. I can’t say I’m glad per se,” Harlan continued, looking at Marta now, “But it was certainly the least boring that damnable meeting has been in months. Mabye years!”

Ransom sniffed, “Harlan, did you—” he sniffed again, hard, and shot up straight. “Fuck, were you playing with the d-dogs?”

“Oh, yes the dogs were with us downstairs…”

“Dammit, you’re probably c-covered in… fuck I’m gonna sneeze… I… HHAAEEEEESSSHHH!! You’re probably covered in dog fur, oh geez that’s really gonna make me sneeze…”

“Ah, sorry, I can leave—”

“No point now. Shit.” Ransom was sitting up now, looking anxious. “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen til I left, or I could avoid the little bastards.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, that antihistimine shot I gave you is pretty strong…”

“No, you don’t understand, it never works, it takes like two hours before it stops and that whole time it’s like… there’s not as much but when I do sneeze…”

“He’s likely to blow your ears out.” Harlan intervened.

“Maybe getting out of the house would help? I don’t know if your outdoor allergies are as severe…”

“What the fuck? What are you gonna do kick me out of the house for sneezing? It’s not even your house.” Ransom groused.

“That’s not what I meant at all—” Marta began, but she was stopped short by Ransom raising a hand.

“Ah fuck,” he said, and though his voice didn’t quaver, the sudden scrunch of his nose and the sharp breath he snatched in told Marta what he was going to say before he could. “Here it comes. I’m gonna sneeze, I mean really…” his voice started to shake then with the oncoming sneeze, “gonna fuuuhhcckin… sneeehheeze…” he said, breath curling in his voice as he launched into a wild, gasping buildup.

“Warning, Marta,” Harlan said, finally seeming to enjoy himself somewhat, if only because now at least he had a fellow-sufferer in Ransom’s allergic bombardments, “I’d listen if I were you: when he says he’s really gonna fucking sneeze, he’s *really* going to fucking sneeze.” Despite the chortle in Harlan’s voice, Marta decided to take his advice more seriously than his tone. She clearly didn’t want to be in the blast zone for this one.

“YEEEASSSSSHHHHHH!!!” the first sneeze was a wild, raucous thunderclap that sent Ransom diving double so hard that he nearly stumbled off the couch, catching himself to stand at the last moment before he fell, only to double back over with another roar: “AAARRRRSSCCHHH! hehhhh… HHEEEEASSSSHHHHHOOOooooo! eeeEEYYYAASSSHHHHHHHOOOooooo… HEEEIIISSHHH! EIIISSHH! ESSHHH! ESSSHH! ESHHH! ESSHHH! yyyyEESHHHH! ha… HHAA-EESSHHH! EIIISSHHH! AEEESSHH! AEESSHHHHuuuhhh! AEESSHHHhhuuhhh! hhh-hhAAAAAAEESSSHHHHHH-OOO! aaaaAAEEESSHHHH! huhhh… huhhh… h-holy ffuuuuuhhHHHHHHAAEEEESSSHHHHH! yyYYEESSHHHaaaaa… eeEEEYYYEEASHHHHhhhhhhaaa… YYAAAIIIISSSSHHHHHHH!! Goddammihhhhh… I st-still gotta… gottahhHHHEEEHHHH…” The sneezes veered between the splashy, desperate roars of the first few to tight, sharp, painful-sounding barks that surely must have scraped his throat coming out,. The barks were quieter, perhaps because he didn’t have time to get a full breath in before they tumbled out, on each others heels, practically blended together. And then when he had a second to take a breath in… well, Marta was glad she’d gotten the warning. She certainly had never heard such an expressive allergic reaction, Ransom’s sneezes seeming to communicate his frustration, anger, even rage. She couldn’t imagine he enjoyed being at the mercy of his allergies like this. Marta couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying that, including anyone within a hundred feet of the Thrombey house.

“Don’t try to talk Ransom, just sneeze it out.” Harlan offered, though the end of what he said was lost as the fit resumed with a sneeze that even Ransom seemed frightened of, if the look of utter, hangdog dread on his face as he wound up to the almighty release was any indication.

“HUHH-HHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!” That one was pure, desperate scream, a gnarled, throaty sound that sounded as though it were ripped directly out of his broad chest. Marta could imagine that chest cartoonishly swollen with air, deflating as the sneeze went on, with a visible rush of air as he pushed the sneeze out. She half thought if there were any magazines or papers on the coffee table—he bent over so far his face nearly smacked it—he would have blown them off with the sheer power behind that sneeze. Of course that couldn’t be true, but if any sneeze could have such an impact, it would be one with the vigor and violence of Ransom’s.

Of course, even such a masterpiece of a sneeze, if such a thing could be said to exist, couldn’t be sufficient to purge the allergic demands made upon Ransom’s overloaded sinuses. He went into another round of those itchy, violent barks: “AASSHHH!! ESSHHH! HESHHH-EESHHH-ESHSHHH… huhhhh HESSHH! EEESHHH! YyyEESHHHH! YYAAASSSHHH-ASSHHH1-EEYYYYEESSHHHH!!” the sneezes ran together now, tumbling out one behind the other without so much as a breath or a pause… “hhhhAASSHHHOOOO! ehhhhhHHH… EEYYYYYYYAASSSSSHHHOOoooo! ASSSHHHOOO! AIIIISSHHH!! YIIIISSHHH! IISSHHHH! HIISSSHHHHHHUuuuuhhh!” The sneezes slid higher and higher in pitch, though they lost nothing in volume for that, if anything growing louder, great hollering screams, though after a moment it seemed the attack was finally starting to taper off, with long, drawn-out sneezes that seemed to take everything out of Ransom, so that Marta couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy. “hhhhhhhHHHHAASSHHHHHOOOoooo… AAASSSHHHHHHHHHHOOoooo… huhhhh… ohno… huhHHHHH… HHEEEAAASSSHHHHH-HHOOOOOO!! HUH! HUUURRRRRSCCHHOOOOoooo! URRRRSSSHHHHHOOOOOoooooo… f-fuuhhhh… fuckwhywon’tit… ihhhhhh… hiiiieeehhhh… iiieegghhhh… iiieeeeeEEAAAAAAYYYYYYAAAASSSHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! huuuuhhh… HHHHAAAADDDDSSDDDHHHUUUUHHH!! FUCK! HUUUHHhhh… HHHATTSSCCHHHHUuuuhh! HAAADDDDSSHHHUUuuhhh! AAAAAHHHHTTTSSSSHHHHUUUUHhhh… hhhaaDDDDIIISSSHHHHHOOOO!! GGGGGGIIISSSHHHHhhhooooo… ahhh… ahhhhhhh… AHHHHHHHH…. HHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH… HAHT-CCCCHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAA-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSHH!!!”

Clealry she was wrong about his allergy sneezes being nearly as bad as his performance sneezes. When he really sneezed, they were worse.

Though that last one seemed a bit put on. Maybe it was the only way he knew to cap off a fit. Drama seemed to be in the guy’s blood after all. The way he collapsed back down onto the couch, spread out and panting, suggested much the same.

“Think you sneezed for seven minutes straight, kiddo. Might be a new personal best!” Harlan said cheerily, obviously trying to cheer his grandson up. He reached out to pat him on the shoulder, but Ransom roughly pushed him off, expression stormy.

“Fuck off old man. It’s your fault and those fucking dogs with their fucking hair all over the place, that’s why I’m… why…” his voice again, and Marta thought she saw in his eyes genuine fear that he’d start sneezing again. But luckily he purged the urge in a lusty, “hheEEEUUUURRRSSHHHHHHhhhoooo!”

“Fuck. I gotta get the fuck out of here before it fucking starts again.” He said, face red and puffy with allergies and anger alike. His movements sharp, his eyes darting angrily, he roughly grabbed his jacket and stalked off towards the stairs, muttering under his breath, “damned old man and his maid—” Then Harlan’s face grew stormy as well, and Marta was reminded he could match Ransom hot spark for spark. “Now you get back here Ransom and stop acting like a spoiled child. At the very least say thank you to Marta, my nurse, for—”

Ransom stood stock still in the doorway, then swayed side to side for a moment, as though rolling his eyes required his whole frame to sway with it, but then he didn’t move, didn’t speak for a second until again… his shoulders suddenly raised, he took a great breath in, and released: “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH-SSSHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAYY!!” Back to the big performance sneezes. Well, clealry Ransom had recovered sufficiently from his colossal allergy attack to respond to his family with sneezes instead of words again. He stalked off downstairs without another word.

Of course, they still heard him sneezing until he was out of the door, and beyond, AAAYYYYY-SHHOOOOOOO!s echoing up the stairs.

“Well,” Harlan said after a while, “thank you, Marta, for seeing to my grandson. He can…” he took a moment to choose his words, “he can be a bit sensitive about his allergies. Especially when he gets out of control like that.” Marta nodded, and Harlan beckoned her over to sit at the couch with him. “Still, I apologize for his rudeness. You helped him, he ought to show some gratitude.”

“HHHEEIIISHHOOOO!” It was faint still, but still audible as she heard the racket of his ostentatious sports car starting.

“It’s fine, Harlan.” Marta said.

“No, it’s not, but. Well, take my apologies for him.” Harlan smiled a bit. “In any case, perhaps a game of Go?”

“EEEEIIISSHHHOOOO!!” Perhaps Marta was deceiving herself that she’d heard that one over the sound of the engine as he drove off. Perhaps not.

“Of course, Harlan.” Marta said simply, and after the disruption of Ransom, they fell back into their routine, Harlan getting out the pieces for Go, Marta pulling supplies from her bag, the day continuing as usual.