#woke up for some reason with mercury on the mind

[astrobiscuits]

Solar Return obs 1

Before we start...

For the best results, always ALWAYS compare your Solar Return chart with your Natal chart. For pinpointing the exact timing when something will happen in your love life, look up at your upcoming Venus Return chart. When does it start? Now compare it with your next Solar Return. If you have planets in your 7th house in Solar Return, notice if they are proeminent in your current Venus Return chart. Bingo! You've just found out when these planets are going to get activated (around the date of the Venus Return chart)

Without further do, let's roll the SR observations!💗

🦩 Jupiter in 4th house indicates moving abroad that year

🦩 While Uranus in 4th house brings sudden, unexpected changes in your home life. Moving to another house? You bet. Redecorating your whole house because you just woke up with the urge to do so? Could be another possibility

🦩 Jupiter trine Venus in SR brings an easiness to manifesting everything you want that year. If Jupiter/Venus is in 2nd house trining the other planet, then you might also get lots of gifts

🦩 Venus in 2nd house also indicates spending more than usual on material possesions that year (compulsive shopping much)

🦩 Sun conjunct Saturn and Venus in 6th house = becoming "that girl". Your main focus will be on building a solid, stable routine for yourself, that also looks aesthetically pleasing

🦩 Stellium in 10th house/11th house = high chance of becoming (internet) famous. Bonus points is Jupiter is involved (i started my blog while my current SR has a 10th house stellium and i have to thank you guys for showing such big support for this blog🥹 thank you)

🦩 Jupiter in 9th house can indicate travelling abroad for the purpose of experimenting different lifestyles (For ex. you visit Guatemala because you want to experience what is like to be a Guatemalian - you want to try all their traditional dishes, learn their traditional dances and open up your mind to a different culture)

🦩 Another meaning of Jupiter in 9th house is that you might go abroad for college or if you start college in your homecountry, then you're probably going to major in foreign languages, philosophy or religion

🦩 Pluto in 4th house could mean uncovering a family secret. Don't be surprised if you find out that you're adopted or you have family members alive that you didn't know about👀

🦩 Moon in 4th house means that you'll feel much more nostalgic that year. You might spend more time with your mother than usual, reminescence on your childhood memories or look through old photos of you and your family

🦩 If you're in a relationship and you've got Neptune in 7th house in your next SR, then i'm sorry to disappoint you, but expect a year where you might question your partner's loyalty. I'm not saying your partner is going to cheat, but for some reason you might feel more suspicious of them than usual

🦩 Mars in 8th house = expect more sex than usual lol

🦩 If Pluto squares Mars and one of these planets is in the 4th house/5th house/7th house/10th house/11thouse, beware of power plays and toxic dynamics in your family/friendships/relationship (for 4th,5th,7th or 11th house) or at your workplace (for 10th house)

🦩 Moon in 12th house indicates that you're going to be more secretive with your emotions. You won't tell people how you feel and at times you might be confused about your own emotions, because you'll have the tendency to surpress them

🦩 With Jupiter conjuncting Ascendant (doesn't matter if it's in the 12th house or 1st house), expect to be constantly blessed by the Universe without doing anything. One of the most luckiest placements you could have in your SR

🦩 Neptune trine Mercury indicates a high chance of coming up with a creative masterpiece that year (it can be in any domain: arts, music, writing, acting, u name it)

🦩 Saturn in 2nd house can indicate going on a diet that year

🦩 Mars in 3rd house indicates being more argumentative that year than usual. You might speak at a faster pace or speak before thinking twice

🦩 Indicators in SR for meeting your future spouse:

SR Juno conjuncts SR Sun/Moon/Venus

SR Juno conjuncts SR Descendant

SR Juno conjuncts one of your natal, personal planets

Natal Juno conjuncts one of your SR planets

If the 5th house/7th house is involved, then you'll also start dating them/be in a relationship with them that year!!

🦩 If you've been struggling with fear of dying, Sun in 12th house indicates a year when you'll probably overcome this fear. During this year, you're more prone to dive deeper into what happens after death, which will naturally ease your anxiety

🦩 I had Capricorn rising with Pluto and Saturn in 1st house this year and it was ROUGH. Capricorn risings sets the theme for the year as a year with hardships, obstacles and difficulties in achieving happiness. Saturn in 1st house brings a lower than usual sense of self-esteem, while Pluto in 1st house tells us about a major change when it comes to how others perceive us. This change isn't as sudden as the changes Uranus brings, more like something that has been boiling for a while in the dark and now it finally comes up to the surface. This year i decided to pursue astrology as my (future) career and i've also told people in my life about it. I felt like i was truly reborn compared to where i was last year

#regarding venus return #i had uranus in my 7th house in my 2022 SR and it was proeminent in my venus return for 2022 too #i was in a situationship around my birthday and it ended out of nowhere #AROUND MY VENUS RETURN CHART'S DAY (cuz i don't remember the exact date) #if astrology isn't real #then idk what is #astrology #astro #astro community #astro observations #astro placements #astro notes #astrology notes #solar return #astroblr #astrology observations #astrology community #astrologyblr #astrology blog

[primordialsoundmeditation]

This week’s astrology forecast: April 8th to 14th

Message for the week:

The Total Solar Eclipse in Aries, exactly conjunct the wounded healer Chiron, occurs Monday—the Aries hero myth is being eclipsed and wounded. This can bring a healing crisis to a head—will you focus on what you have lost and feelings of loss of potency? Or will you allow the cosmic eraser effect of the eclipse help you clear your energy field of that which is stagnant, no longer vital in your life? The Solar Eclipse is a New Moon, and in Aries, is a time for fresh beginnings—clear what needs to be cleared and get going!

The planets are bundled together within four consecutive signs, Aquarius, Pisces, Aries and Taurus. This compression of the planetary influences intensifies the felt sense of energy. Mars, the planet of initiating action, is conjunct restrictive Saturn this week. Although you may feel like you are driving with the brakes on, this is very supportive of purposful self-discipline.

Some people may wake up with a heavy feeling for no particular reason—Pisces is susceptible to collective emotions and the is a heavy time on our planet for many. I have a practice I call “Feel it, Bless it, Release it” when I feel collective pain and suffering. Compassionate people feel the suffering of others, but it is not healthy to carry it. Crudely said, two drowning people aren’t better than one. Thus, feel the heaviness in your gut, pull it up to your heart and be compassionate for all the suffering in the world—and then release it with a blessing through your crown chakra. Its like being a psychic emotional laundromat for the world!

Monday: The Total Solar Eclipse in Aries occurs at 11:21 AM PST. This Eclipse is exactly conjunct Chiron and Mercury Retrograde. This can bring up old wounds that need to be eclipsed to move forward with the Aries, “just begin again” fresh energy.

Tuesday: The Moon enters strong willed Taurus, and you may feel a stubborn resistance to jumping into the day, with an agitating square to shadowy Pluto in the early morning. However, with no other aspects throughout the day, a smooth day unfolds. You should be able to tend to things at your own comfortable pace.

Wednesday: Mars (action) is conjunct responsible Saturn today, excellent for focused, disciplined activity, but not favorable for pushing at life. The Moon is in determined Taurus sextile to this conjunction, while also forming a triple conjunction with Jupiter and Uranus. This could be a hugely productive and fortunate day.

Thursday: A mentally bright, engaging and stimulating day with the energizing Sun conjunct Mercury (the mind). The Moon also enters mentally active Gemini in harmony to both deep-diving Pluto and friendly Venus, adding magnetism to this day for getting together with others and exchanging ideas.

Friday: You may feel like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed with the Moon in an irritating square to the Mars/Saturn conjunction this morning. However, a lively and engaging day unfolds with the Moon in curiosity-driven Gemini and moving into harmony with the triple conjunction of the Sun, Mercury, and Chiron.

Saturday: You may feel a little dazed, confused, or just plain spacey, with the Moon starting the day in a distracting square to illusionary Neptune. You will settle into yourself by midmorning when the Moon enters deep feeling Cancer—time to drop out of your mind and honor your gut feelings.

Sunday: Your sweet tooth may be activated this morning with the Moon in yummy-loving Cancer activated by sugary Venus. The Moon moves into a supportive trine with the Mars/Saturn conjunction, making for a good day for projects around the house.

May the stars be with you!

David Pond in Reno May 17th - 22nd

For a talk and Astrology consultations

I will be in Reno next month, giving a talk at Laura Benedict's and available for astrology readings while I am in town.

Upcoming Astrology Cycles: 2024 and Beyond Saturday, May 18th 6:00 - 7:30 $20

626 Humbolt Street, Reno

Call Lorna at 775-322-7438 for reservations

Consultations. If you would like to schedule an astrology reading, while I am in Reno, call Laurie at 360-918-8411, or email her at [email protected] and she will help you make the arrangements.

Hope to see you soon!

David

Donations: Although these weekly updates are free, if you would like to support the newsletter with a donation, go to my website and click the “Donate” button on the menu. You can donate in increments of $5. You can also donate through Venmo: David-Pond-17 If you would like to send a check, contact us for our mailing address. Thanks for your support!

Consultations: I am available for consultations if you would like to see how your astrology chart can help you connect with your true self, explore your life’s purpose, better understand relationships, find your right vocation, or to align with current astrological influences. Contact us by email, phone, or through the “Services” tab on our website, to set up a session.

Email: [email protected]

Website: Davidpond.com

Phone: [phone]

[rpgworldcomic]

#745 - A Smasher Darkly

Howdy! I feel super Normal today. And I felt super Normal yesterday! I cannot tell you how groundbreaking that is. I usually feel in some form of chaos one way or the other. Like if emotions or your mind were a ball, mine always has spikes jutting from it. But these past few days it's just been a sphere! A normal ball! I wish I had some reason. Like drugs or adderall or something. But nope. Just woke up like that. Would love it to stick. I don't even mean I've felt "good" necessarily! I've still gotten frustrated at things, or annoyed or angry at things. But I got frustrated in a normal way. Like, how a normal person would experience those things. It just briefly wiffs them and then they keep on with their day like normal. It didn't dominate my entire day. I didn't feel like this is how it's always been forever. Even when I felt good, I recognized the moment was nice, but I returned to my Normal Orb.

These are normal things to say, right? This is the most normal and stable I've ever felt in my life. I wish I could capture this in a memory sphere and show a doctor so they could give me whatever medicine makes me feel Normal forever.

I've been analyzing the variables. I don't really know what they are. I was outside for an excessive amount of time each day prior to the Normal day? I sure hope that's not it. I don't have time to be Outside for an excessive amount of time each day. But dang, if I get back to Chaotic in the next few days I'll know.

Who knows, maybe Mercury's in the gatorade again. Either way, good shit.

This is another page that didn't quite match the tone and expressions I wanted. You might be able to notice my… edits. It's a strange line to walk between wanting something more tonally consistent with your vision, and also praising the Art God that is your artist, without whom you could never express your vision in the first place. (Love you, Atari! <3)

Maybe it's the weather. It is nice weather, but nice weather doesn't TYPICALLY make me feel Normal.. Who knows. I stayed at work for an extra 4 hours to get more things done, then I visited a $16.5 million mansion. Gonna see if they'll let me put it on a credit card. You're all invited.

(There's a pool.)

#rpg world #webcomic #rpgworld #comic #rpgworldcomic #final fantasy #funny #rpg world: fan revival #ff7

[crimsun-n-clover]

just sent an insta dm to someone i met through sugar to beg them to play dnd with me….

help me dude

if she gets pissed or lets it slip that i asked her to join the party i might have one angry swiftie who emotionally traumatized and abandoned me to hold back

i’ll send most of the party to hide out by my car so i can get them out once i hath defeated her, but the dragonborn stays because she bites in combat irl.

okay MAYBE she’ll join. she’s got all my nerd interests. and our party might get our own room considering how much we hate the rest of the club and we’re the sponsor’s favorites for just being dweebs who aren’t bigoted so that’ll be rad

but if this shit goes wrong???

i’m dead.

anyways

band practice went well. the new guitarist fucking SHREDDED on the song we started today so maybe he’s won me over. and he started a battle with us during practice that lasted even after in the group chat, where he beat me at my own star wars reference and our drummer caved and joined his side bc she’s into him. traitor.

last night i had a dream where i found three stray kittens and took them in, but i woke up after naming only two of them. a black one and a brown tabby, the calico went unnamed. i went to waffle house with my sister / hive mind member because i’m all tore up over sugar today for some goddamn reason and told her how i’m sad the third one didn’t get a name. the two i names were ruby and freddie, like rancid’s ruby soho and freddie mercury. when we left we saw two cats in the parking lot that looked like freddie and ruby, so i guess that’s their names now.

anyways

i don’t know why i miss her so damn much. i mean i do. i was fucking in love like the pathetic queer i am. but everything i hear about her is awful. she believes that shifting bullshit on tiktok, and had a big revelation that she told the hive mind about. she’s like woah i’m really disconnected from reality because i want to live in a universe i create on a piece of paper so i can control absolutely everything and nothing is real but it IS because i say so and it’s ruining my life and also i’m no longer vegetarian but i’m hiding it from everyone.

and according to my other best friend, she keeps crying randomly and shit. i do really think she doesn’t know how to be without me. she needs someone who can remind her that it’s okay to need things, and she dropped me in favor of standing by a bigot and now i’m not there to do it.

fucking SUCK IT.

you ruined my goddamn life and somehow i know i’d still accept you back in in a heartbeat if you really needed me. i listened to a song that i like today and just started crying. it was never about you to me, but now i don’t have a choice. everything is about you and i can’t stand it. you abandoned me. you’re a selfish motherfucker who will never have the balls to love someone who loves you back. you get icked out by people being affectionate to you. you just like playing your little game of “ooo this tension reminds me of that one book about the student who fucks her teacher. it’s like really romantic” when there are actual people involved. sorry i’m not on your game board anymore you avoidant and apologistic bastard.

#dreams

[murcuryblack]

mercury doodles

#woke up for some reason with mercury on the mind #rwby #mercury black #how is everyone #*

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Though I Can't Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love For You

Summary: Spencer’s always been ambivalent about his birthday, but self proclaimed lover of birthday’s Y/N attempts to change that.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Spencer’s kind of a sad bitch. Question: Why do I like writing sad Spencer?

Word Count: 2.5 K- ish

Author’s Note: prompts come from here this one is 4,8,25 from @shemarmooresfedora !! please go check out her blog on here and on Ao3!! Also, I’m stilling taking requests for numbers. I’ll update for which ones have been taken 💕

Though I Can’t Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love for You

Birthdays were always hard when all you had to do is go home to an empty house. No sounds of friends crowding the dining room table, no laughter from family members, no well wishes or pats on the back. All there is, is the stillness of silence and the emptiness of solitude. Spencer thought that he was used to it. He remembers the way the sun felt on his face the morning he woke up on his 18th birthday. His first thought wasn’t it’s my day, but it’s the day I put my mom away. The day Spencer became a man, was the first day he really wished he was a little boy again.

Ever since then, birthdays have always been a sore spot for Spencer. They just bring up sour tasting memories of his mother refusing to get out of bed or his father staying late at work to avoid coming home to a wife who doesn’t remember her own husband or a son who he can’t seem to understand. Birthdays, for Spencer, have always been just another day. Or at least, that’s what Spencer tells himself on the long ride up the elevator to the 6th floor of the BAU.

The bullpen is dark when Spencer walks out from the elevator. Paperwork and manila folders clutter the desks. Even Spencer’s workspace seems to reflect himself: frozen in time. He sits at his desk, a photograph of him and his mother placed at the right corner smiles up at him. A newer photograph, one of him and Y/N, sits right next to the one with his mom. There’s one with Derek and Penelope, one with him and Gideon at his Academy graduation, and one with him and JJ, who’s holding Henry. One of him and Luke at a bar, Penelope in the background drunk and singing.

Spencer loves photographs, but recently he’s been obsessed with them. Ever since his mother’s diagnosis, the fear that would ever forget the faces that find a home in his heart paralyzes him. These pictures may very well one day tell a much more older, much more grayer Spencer the story of his life. Today, in his mind, is another day closer to his fate.

His birthday means he’s another day closer to forgetting the way Y/N eyes sparkle when she drinks too much rose, or Henry’s laugh at Spencer’s magic tricks, or feeling when Derek calls him his brother. No one, not even Y/N, knows that Spencer has a drawer filled up of photographs he’s collected over the years. He can’t deal with forgetting the principles of electromagnetism, but forgetting his family? Spencer wouldn’t have anything left, but the smiling faces of familiar strangers, whose names are just out of reach.

Spencer rubs his eyes with the ball of his palm. He knows he’s not going to get work done. Spencer spins in his swivel chair and he’s nearly startled out of his quiet thoughts when his phone rings.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, swallowing his emotions as he shuts the drawer on the shiny faces.

“You really need to start checking your caller ID, Spence,” Y/N says, with a chuckle. Spencer can practically feel the way she’s smiling. For some reason, her teasing never made him feel bad.

“Well, what do I owe this pleasure?” Spencer asks. He drums his fingers on his desk, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“It seems like we have a missing person case,” Y/N starts, “6’2 male, brown hair, some say his eyes are green and some say they’re brown, so we’ll go with hazel, and he’s like ridiculously smart, but also kind of dumb for avoiding his girlfriend on his birthday,”

Spencer sighs as he launches himself into a long spin in his chair. He’s not surprised that Y/N is calling him; she’s always loved birthdays. She’s always been someone to someone. It’s taken some time to adjust to the fact that Spencer is Y/N’s someone.

“Are you coming to rescue me?” Spencer asks sheepishly. He leans back in his chair, watching the elevator. Y/N might think she’s slick, but Spencer’s sure he knows her better than he knows geographical profiling.

“Maybe, can you tell me how fast elevators can travel up to the 6th floor?”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to fire statistics on top of statistics, but is silenced by Y/N’s arrival. Spencer tries to remain neutral, remain ambivalent about this day being something more than any other day, but Y/N makes it difficult.

As soon as her feet leave the elevator she launches herself at Spencer, not caring that he’s less than capable of catching anything. In a tangle of arms and legs, Y/N manages to sit herself on Spencer’s lap. His hand snakes around her waist; he holds her so tight that it’s almost like he’s afraid she’s going to get blown out like birthday candles on a cake.

“I can’t believe you thought you could sneak out and come to work, on your birthday of all days,” Y/N says quietly, she threads her fingers through Spencer’s hair. She likes how long it’s gotten and his curl pattern is almost fully restored to their original health from before he went to prison.

“How’d you find me?” Spencer asks, thinking that birthdays might not be so bad if they all involve Y/N sitting in his lap and trying to braid his hair.

“Do you seriously have to ask that? Only the Oracle of Quantico,” Y/N teases and Spencer rolls his eyes, thinking he should have known that Garcia would be the one to track his location for Y/N.

“It’s vaguely illegal for a federal agent to tap into those databases, especially for a civilian,” Spencer counters. Y/N, smiling at him, dips her head down to press light kisses on his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose.

“So’s an ex-Army Ranger giving me his key card to sneak into the BAU,”

“Luke’s in on this too,” Spencer tries to sound upset, but his heart swells at the thought of Penelope, Luke, and Y/N all instigating for his birthday.

“Of course he is, I had to bring out the big guns for my Spencer’s birthday,” Y/N quips. Her fingers climb up Spencer’s sides, tickling him. She likes the kind of laugh that he lets out when she tickles him. It’s a laugh that’s unguarded and full of life. It’s a laugh that doesn’t hold anything back. It’s a laugh that relieves the pressure that festers deep inside him.

Y/N’s hands may make him laugh, but nothing makes him beam more than hearing Y/N call him “my Spencer”. She says it so simply, like my doesn’t even exist, like it’s an involuntary muscle being flexed. For Y/N, loving Spencer came as easy and effortless as breathing.

“You do love birthdays,” Spencer says, looking up at Y/N. He spins them around in his swivel chair, giggling as she lets out a gleeful squeal. Spencer grows dizzy, but he thinks he’s dizzier from Y/N’s love than from spinning in his chair.

“I love your birthday more than any other day, even my birthday,” Y/N says, getting up from Spencer’s lap to pick up the canvas grocery bags she brought with her.

“I was never one for birthdays,” Spencer says quietly. Y/N, more than anyone, knows Spencer’s challenging past. She knows his fears and she knows his dreams. She haunts his every waking moment; somehow a mercurial threat and a constant promise at the same time.

“I know, but I’m sure I’ll make you grow to love them,” Y/N says, “I wasn’t sure which flavor you wanted so I got all of them. Wawa has a surprisingly good selection of Turkey Hill,”

She takes out three gallon sized cartons of ice cream. One coffee with chocolate chips, one butter pecan, and one Moose Tracks. She hands Spencer a spoon and a napkin before sitting down on the floor and opening a carton of the ice cream.

“I do love dairy,” Spencer says, eyeing the ice cream, but considering the consequences of eating the creamy desert. Spencer shoves the statistics about the effects of dairy on a 40 year old with lactose intolerance down and takes his spot next to Y/N on the floor.

He goes to open his carton of ice cream, coffee with chocolate chips, but before he can dig his spoon into the tub, Y/N grabs his wrist.

“No! Spence, wait. Here, take these. And you need to light it,” she says, plopping a couple lactose pills in his hand and digging out a pack of candles and a lighter from her bag.

“Y/N are you out of your mind! We can’t light something in the BAU, god, Emily will kill me,” Spencer says nervously.

“Spence, do you really think Emily Prentiss is going to give me shit for lighting a candle for your birthday in the middle of the office. That woman lives on the edge,” Y/N waves him off and lights a single candle.

Spencer, staring at the lit candle, listens as Y/N sings “Happy Birthday” to him. Sitting criss cross on the floor of the BAU, he watches as the candle light illuminates Y/N’s face. She looks almost ghostly in the dark with the flickering light making her eyes glow. Y/N wishes the song and grasps his hand and squeezes hard.

“Make a wish, baby,” Y/N tells him. She really believes in wishes. Spencer wishes he could believe in wishes. He desperately wants to believe that Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are somehow tying knots in the places where his string has been cut.

But more than anything, Spencer can’t bear to forget the face of the women across from. He can’t bear to one day not recognize the way her hand feels in his. He can’t accept the possibility of Y/N being anything less than the person he knows best in this world. Spencer doesn’t particularly care for the metaphor of the light going out. But his fears are put at bay when Y/N leans over and pecks his cheek. He can feel her grinning against his skin and like some virus contracted through touch, it’s contagious. Y/N breaks apart from Spencer and motions for him to eat some ice cream. They sit, shoulder to shoulder, against the front of Spencer’s desk eating their ice cream.

“Thank you, for making my birthday special. It’s been a hard year,” Spencer says, letting the tension in the air speak for itself, “my mom didn’t remember me the other day. I hate seeing her like that,”

“I know, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much. That’s why you need to tell me these things,” She says, setting down her ice cream. Y/N places her hands on Spencer’s shoulders, guiding him to place his back against her chest. His head rests in the crook of her neck. Spencer can feel her steady heart beat against his back. It’s a constant, patterned drum amidst the chaos of his mind.

“Can we take a picture, you know, just to remember this day,” Spencer asks, his voice laced with trepidation. He can feel Y/N nod, and move to grab her phone from her pocket.

Spencer sits up and scoots over to open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulls out an old camera, one where you have to wait for the picture to appear on the print out. He likes the charm in older things, you really have to work for it. He likes the effort that you have to put into getting the picture made.

“Going old school, I see,” Y/N teases as she catches sight of Spencer’s old camera. He returns to his spot, snuggled against her back. Their legs stick out on the floor, his much longer than Y/N’s. Her arms snake around his torso, holding him tight. Spencer holds the camera out, facing them to capture their faces in some archaic selfie style.

The light flashes before Spencer’s eyes, and Y/N’s kiss on the top of his head burns a hole that instantly leaves him craving more. He’d let her draw any pattern she desires, as long as her kisses are the medium and he is her canvas.

“Can you tell me what you wished for?” Y/N asks, her voice low.

Spencer, looking off into the distance, makes a disgruntled noise. He can feel Y/N’s fingers crawl up his sides and her arms encasing his body. She’s shielding him from his demons, but little does she know that the most menacing foe is his mind.

“You’re really not supposed to, but considering you’re my wish I think you have the right to know,” Spencer offers, “I wished that I’ll never forget you. Never forget this life we made together,” He feels his chest constrict. Mentioning his fear makes it seem more palpable; more real.

“Spencer, have you felt that way for a long time?,”

Spencer takes a deep breath, letting the floodgates open.

“I’ve felt like this my whole life, Y/N. I’m terrified to forget you. To forget our children that I haven’t even met yet. Forget who I am. I’m terrified that I’m going to leave you behind in a murky past that I can never remember,” Spencer says. He chokes back the pain. He doesn’t want Y/N memories of him to be marred by fear and darkness.

“This is about your mom, right. Spencer, listen to me. I’ll love you even if that comes true. I don’t need you to recall my face to know you still got love for me. And you're not leaving me behind. I won’t allow that. I’m not leaving you behind, baby,” Y/N says, her voice the most soothing cure.

She’s a power mixture of biochemicals and neurotransmitters. She heals him at an epigenetic level and restores him piece by piece. Her medicine is love.

Or maybe her love is his medicine.

“I’ve never been this scared of losing something, because I never had someone to lose,” Spencer mumbles, he twists his head so his breath is warm against Y/N’s neck. Somehow in this twisted position, Spencer has never felt safer.

“You can’t lose something that can’t be lost, my Spencer. I’m not going anywhere,”

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn,” Spencer says kissing along Y/N’s collarbones.

Like the pictures in the drawer, Spencer tucks away the fears of the future. He swallows the threat of forgetting everything because the promise of love swallows him whole. He craves a future with Y/N with the possibility of forgetting who she is over the life he’d live if he left her behind.

She said it best, even if one day he can’t recall her face, he’ll still have love for her.

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

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Taglist!

@shemarmooresfedora

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x female reader #criminal minds #samuel de champagne problems 300 followers #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader comfort

[elfwoodfae]

“Nightcall” Harrison Eo Wells x reader

Chapter-13

Author’s note: Author’s note: I actually went out of my comfort zone in this chapter, touching a few points about Eo’s past and focusing on his point of view, I hope you like it, I think there is only 2 to 3 chapters left on this story and I want to know if you all would want me to continue it or to start a new one. Please let me know. I hope you enjoy it.

Gif credits to the owner.

He woke up the next morning before you did, the faint light of the sun hitting his eyes, making him squint them instantly; you were still tangled with him, your legs intertwined together. His eyes studied your face, so peaceful, so beautiful, the events of the previous night flashed through his mind and the guilt returned as the memory of the fear in your eyes came to the forefront of his mind. He was still unsure of why you were here, here with him. He wasn’t a good man, he wasn’t good enough for you, he had hurt people, he had caused pain, destruction, chaos and still here you were, trusting him with your life, with your being like he was some sort of guardian angel. You were making him soft, doubtful, vulnerable.

He recalled the way he had so fervently told you no when you begged him to help Allen and now here he was, wondering how he could actually do it, he owed you that much. He decided that if he was going to give in and bend at your will, he would do it on his own terms. He would map out a plan, he would get his plan executed, the goal completed.

He carefully moved from in between your embrace, being careful not to wake you as he made his way out of the bed. He walked to the bathroom, freshening himself up, he splashed water on his face, looking at the man in the mirror starting back, he didn’t recognize that man. There was no hate in his eyes, for once he could look at himself and feel some kind of relief. He missed his body, he missed who he was, having his mind and his memories all to himself. You liked him like this, you didn’t even know there was more to it than met the eye. You could never find out, find out of what he had had to do to survive, you would never find out that this body, was stolen, that his memories were corrupted. He was sure you wouldn’t be able to look past that, to look behind the mask and be with a man that wasn’t real anymore, that didn’t exist. He wondered for a second if you would have liked his original body more than you liked this one. He hated the answer his brain instantly offered him, of course you would love this one better, it was the only one you knew, and the only one you would ever know. He could feel the sudden fear raise inside of him when he realized where all of this thoughts had originated from. He was scared, he was scared of losing you and why would he be scare of losing anything or anyone? Because he loved you, because he had grown to love you and to need you.

His eyes quickly darted around the room, spotting his pants as he moved towards them, looking in his right pocket for his ring. He always kept it close to him, but lately he hadn’t need it. He grabbed the chain and tangled it in his hand, walking out of the room to the safe he kept hidden on the wall, opening it before placing the ring next to the gun he kept there for emergencies.

Opening the door to his office, he started to ponder on his next move, considering all the variables and movements, he knew Barry and the team had been working on a plan to build a trap to catch the reverse flash. Those plans had been left at pause once he had stopped showing around. He needed to get out there again and make that trap happen, it was the only way he could give you what you wanted, even if it meant giving Allen what he wanted too. He needed to make sure every detail was down to perfection, he had been working on his own side of this idea long before you intersected it. He would create a speed mirage, one to fool everyone while he was at the lab with them, one to run to whatever trap they had settled and hopefully it would be enough for Joe to work off of it to start a case to plead for Henry’s freedom.

He couldn’t say he didn’t understand some of what Barry felt, he knew what it was like to miss your family, to miss the people you cared for, even if they didn’t entirely cared for you in return. Robern’s face quickly flashed through his mind, he hadn’t thought of him in a long time, he wasn’t particularly fond of him, but in a way after being far away for so long, suddenly the despise and wishes to get rid of his little brother he had felt on his years prior to getting stuck on this time were gone. He even missed the bastard.

He shook his head before resting it on his hands, trying to free himself from those memories and thoughts that no longer served him. He wasn’t going back ever, he had given that up for you, for a life by your side. He looked up at the clock, it read half past 7, he should get ready and leave for the labs. He walked over to the room, you were still sound asleep and he had to resist the temptation of getting back in the bed with you.

Once fully clothed in his usual attire he walked towards the bedroom door, he was about to open it when he felt you stirring on the bed, looking back at you lovingly as you woke up. You stared at him, taking a moment to fully get a hold of yourself before speaking.

“What time is it?” Your eyes squinted in the direction of the clock while you sat up, holding the duvet close to your chest.

“Is almost 8, I have to leave to the labs, you can stay here.” He suggested, wanting to give you some rest.

“And miss all the action? I want to go with you.” You added, trying to test the waters and make sure you both were back to normal.

“Will you wait for me?” You asked him at his lack of response to the previous statement.

He simply nodded, walking over to the bed when you started to get up, silently wrapping his arms around you, feeling the warmth of your skin that peaked out of the duvet you were holding.

“I have been thinking,” he began.

“I will do what you want me to,” he continued, marking how this is something you were pushing on him, he didn’t want to do it but he would for you.

“But we will do it on my terms. I have a plan, and you need to trust me.” He finished.

“I trust you Eo,” you added, smiling at the cute nickname you had come up with for him. He internally cringed, remembering that only his brother had called him “Eo” in his whole life and he usually did it in a mocking manner but coming off of your lips it sounded kind, gentle almost loving. Things he didn’t receive or deserve.

You arrived to the lab together, finding it empty, neither of the team members there yet. You sat around the cortex together, checking over some plans and prototypes Cisco had been working on. The elevator door opened, and the sound of heels and chattering announced that Caitlin and Cisco had arrived, you were seated far away from Eo, not really giving away any reason to raise suspicion. You wish you could tell them; share the joy of being together but you knew it was most likely a topic he wouldn’t want to discuss.

With a discreet glance in your direction Harrison cleared his throat before speaking, addressing Caitlin mainly, he informed her that he would be absent from the lab until mid day, having being offered an invitation to speak at a class in Central City University, Caitlin quickly pulled out the invitation she remembered he had asked her to keep for him, he wasn’t really planning to go but now he needed the perfect excuse to execute his plan.

You didn’t know of this event, he hadn’t mention it, your eyes looked for his discreetly and he nodded his head, offering you some peace that this was part of his work. After he left Barry arrived, the whole team was mostly seated around waiting for anything to happen, any meta-humans to appear but it seemed to be a slow day, frankly most days had been slow since the flash made his debut, keeping everyone on check.

You couldn’t help but drift back to the thoughts in your head, all of them rotating around Eobard like the Earth rotating around the Sun, in this case he was you Sun, your star, the only thing you would ever want in life. Your relationship with him was getting serious, too serious, you could feel it, in the way you knew you loved him, wondering if he loved you or at least if he was capable of loving you back. You wondered what plan was this he was working on? He hadn’t told you anything at all about it, it was probably better if you were kept in the dark.

Midday rolled around and so did him, coming back to the labs and into the cortex, commenting how entertaining and informative the lecture had been, if he said this out of truth or sarcasm you had no idea, there was a fine line between both when it came to this man. The day had remained slow and once it was nearing the afternoon you thought for sure that nothing exciting would happen at all, but soon after the satellite picked up movement near Mercury Labs, soon enough Cisco and Barry were hovering over the screen as it read the tag for reverse flash moving about. Your eyes widened in shock as Eo grabbed your hand cautiously and squeezed it fast in reassurance. How could he be in two places at the same time? What was happening? You were puzzled with curiosity, there was more to this man than what you had ever thought possible and you made a mental note to ask him about this thing later. Barry speeded around the room before Eo could scream at him to be careful, he knew Barry would follow him and try to catch him, this was the bait he had thrown for the team to continue working on the trap.

He didn’t need the tachyon enhancer he was trying to steal from Mercury Labs, but it was the perfect excuse to keep going. Once Barry had finally reached him he was about to leave, having only done all of that as a show, or at least his mirage was about to, Barry did the usual speech he liked to perform where he questioned him to no end before he replied with the same, you will never catch me or this is not over flash. This game had been going on for so long he couldn’t remember how many times those words had been uttered.

Once Barry made it back to the labs he was frantic, questioning why reverse flash would want to steal the device or when had he reappeared since he had stayed on the low for a few weeks now, seeming as he was back they decided to keep working on the trap, to finish it faster and try to catch him. He knew they had taken the bait when Barry informed him later that he wanted him to go with him to talk to Christina about lending them the prototype so they could use it to lure reverse flash out. His plan was working, it was near completion and tomorrow would prove to be a success once he managed to trap himself and use that to free Henry, hoping that this would put an end to your torment.

Everyone stayed late at the lab, working on finishing the trap while he and Barry procured the prototype, it had been a tough negotiation, Christina being very wary of himself. Once they made it back to the lab it was late enough that everyone was leaving, he said his goodnight and retreated to look for you. He found you in one of the workshops, finishing the final touches of your part before he informed you that everyone had left, he asked you to go with him, stay the night with him and you didn’t deny him, how could you if that was the moment of the day you looked forward the most.

It was a little past 10 when you walked through the doors, he got up from the chair, making his usual routine of a drink and some relaxing opera to soothe his nerves. An idea popped in your head, you wanted to take a bath and may as well offer him the chance to accompany you. Walking behind him and circling your hands around his middle your chin resting against the muscles of his impressive back, you spoke.

“Why don’t you come with me, and I will show you something nice.” You said, not wanting to give it away. He raised his eyebrows, his curiosity had been picked, he wanted to know more now.

“What would that be?” He whispered in that husky tone he usually spoke, a smirk present on his face.

“Ah ah, you will have to wait and see, while I get it ready why don’t you get me a drink?” You asked him before moving away from him and in the direction of the room, his eyes following your every movement.

Once in the master bathroom you prepared the water, filling the tub and looking around for anything that would create some sort of bubbles, this man honestly had nothing of the kind, opting for stealing his shampoo you set in motion in feeling the tub completely before stripping and walking out to find him. You found him still by the counter, his back turned to you as you walked behind him, completely naked and hugged him from behind, he turned around in your embrace, his eyes trailing up and down your naked skin as his hands moved on their own accord to your waist, moving up and down feeling your skin while he moved down to press a kiss to your neck, humming in agreement at your current state.

His kisses trailed from your neck to your jaw before his mouth devoured yours with so much intensity, like a starve man eating for the first time in the day, this was exactly what he was feeling after not being able to kiss you all day. Your hands found his chest as you pushed him back, smiling at him. Your hands moved to find his and you pulled him to you, silently asking him to follow you, he obeyed, his eyes falling to your butt once you turned around and guided him to the bathroom, once inside your turned back towards him, your hands grabbing the hem of his shirt and while your lips grazed his, you kissed him slowly, passionately, wanting to feel every inch and curve his mouth had to offer. Once his shirt was off his pants followed soon after along with his underwear, you moved to the edge of the tub touching the water before moving to sit inside, looking at him expectingly.

He moved over, getting slowly inside the tub behind you, leaning back against the wall and sighting at the relive the warmth of the water offered him, one of his hands moved flat against your torso, pushing you back to lay on him while he ran it up and down your middle, caressing softly the skin of you breast and closing his eyes in relaxation when he felt your breathing slowing down, your hand caressing his arm.

“Will you tell me more about how you did that?” You asked him, your voice sleepy.

“How I did what?” He teased you, loving to play dumb for you to push.

“Come on you know what I mean, the speedy thing.” You said, tapping his arm lightly to show him how serious you were. His eyebrows raised in amusement at your chose of words.

“I will, but not today, I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He said.

“Do you promise?” You insisted, knowing how easily he liked to avoid subjects.

“I do, why don’t you relax? Take a nap I’ve got you.” he offered.

“Okay,” you replied sleepily, your eyes felt very heavy as the weight of the day suddenly downed on you, the warm water and the dimly lit bathroom lulling you into a comfortable slumber.

“I love you Eo.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, not that you wanted to, you loved him and you weren’t afraid or ashamed of it. He was your love, he was yours. His arms instantly tightened around you, his breath slightly faltering, his heart speeding up to what would be considered abnormal for someone like him. I love you too, he thought to himself, words he was not ready to voice, words he still struggled to wrap his head around, to understand. But the only thing he knew for sure, the only one he understood in this moment was that you were his and he was yours.

@mintchipcupcake

@yetanotherwells

@saltykidcreation

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@babyswan123

@uselesssapphickitten

@lawlerek

@reallystressedhoneybee

@i-dont-care-lol

@tacowells101

@wintersire

#the flash imagines #eobard thawne fanfic #eowells fanfic #eowells x reader #harrison wells x y/n #harrison wells fanfic #eobard thawne x reader #harrison wells fanfiction #the flash fanfiction #harrison wells imagine #eobard thawne x reader fanfic #harribard fanfic #eowells #harribard #reverse flash x reader #eobard thawne #harrison eo wells x reader #harrison eo wells fanfic #harrison eo wells imagine #eobard thawne imagine #fluff

[theimpossiblehologramtree]

Making Queen members flower crowns would include

Pairing: Queen members x reader

Word count: (altogether) 1800+

Warnings: some sickening fluff, oh and swearing but that’s a standard, some slightly suggestive themes in john’s (implied sex) but nothing accually happens except a kiss

A/N: Hello you beautiful people! I’m back (don’t get used to that tho lol) I thought of this two years ago when i first saw Bohemian Rhapsody (SO 2 FUCKING YEARS AGO). Freddie’s is gender neutral. I tried to add a “keep reading” button but I’m not sure it works tbh because this hell of a side never cooperates.

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

🐝masterlist🐝

REQUEST IF YOU WANT MORE

☕buy me a Ko-fi!☕

Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to the owners.

Brian May

You were laying on Brian's lap, the sun hitting your face pleasantly. This week the weather was nice and warm, which was something extremely unusual in England, so the two of you decided to head out to the country and have a little picnic.

After what felt like hours spent in the car ("Brian, for Christ's sake, would you open the bloody window, I can't breathe!" and "Bri, I love you, but if we don't get there in five minutes, I'm going to murder you, I swear") you finally found a nice clearing, where you could relax and forget about the stresses of city life.

Brian put down a blanket on the grass, near a small stream that flew through the forest. He brought the bag with food and drinks (you didn't have a basket, so you had to improvise). 

You quickly put some sunscreen on your face and laid down, keeping your head propped on Brian's lap. He put a hat over his face and fell asleep, his chest rising steadily. 

After some time (that fucking wasp didn't let you sit in one place), you stood up and noticed many beautiful flowers, growing on a nearby bush. You got lost in picking up the most beautiful ones, admiring each one carefully. When you got enough, you sat back down and started tying the stems together.

Suddenly you got an idea. Careful not to wake him up, you began sticking the flowers in Brian's dark curls. 

Your now decorated boyfriend woke up and stretched, not noticing the colourful addition to his hair. This made you chuckle softly, but you decided to see how long it would take him to realize.

+"What is it, babe? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, Bri, I just remembered a funny joke, that's all."

"Oh tell me, then."

"What’s the difference between a lawnmower and an electric guitar?"

"Hm?"

"You can tune a lawnmower!"

You both enjoyed the rest of the day swimming in the stream, sunbathing and eating the snack you brought. And Brian somehow still didn't notice.

Until it was time for you to get home.

You got in the car ("Open the window now, it's like in the oven in here!") and Brian looked into the rear-view mirror.

+"Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck is that? I love it."

Roger Taylor

So honestly it would probably happen during one of his concerts.

You were backstage watching the show, enjoying every second of it. Freddie was in the middle of shouting some (very inappropriate) compliments to Brian's ass, slapping his buttcheeks. The crowd immediately went wild hundreds of fans screamed in unison. You chuckled under your breath, flashing a white smile at your beloved boyfriend Roger and his bandmates. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes meeting Mary's.

+"What's up, kiddo?" she smirked and patted your back.

"Oh, nothing much. Just Freddie being Freddie," you replied, making both of you erupt with laughter.

Suddenly you felt a familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. Out of nowhere, your hands became shaky, your breath shallow and quick. Feeling like you need some fresh air, you excused yourself.

+"Are you sure you're okay, (Y/N)?" Mary watched you carefully, her hand supporting you in case you fainted.

"Yes, Mary, I just need some fresh air. I'm extremely tired, and I haven't eaten anything since this morning" you reassured your friend. "I'm just gonna sit outside for a while."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, still not convinced about your well-being.

"Yes, I wouldn't want to spoil the gig for you. I'll be back before you know it" you squeezed her hand and, after promising her to be careful, you headed outside.

You took a walk alongside the small patch of lawn beside the exit. After taking a couple of deep breaths, you noticed some daisies grow in the green grass. Without thinking much, you sat down and started picking them up and tying their stems together.

Your fingers worked quickly, making a beautiful flower crown, mindlessly.

Meanwhile, on stage, the boys were singing She makes me - a song that reminded Roger of you. He quickly glanced to his right, expecting to see your beautiful figure standing with Mary. But, much to his surprise, he couldn't see you anywhere. It was no secret that his eyesight was shit but, bloody hell, it wasn't that bad. His blue eyes were searching for you, frantically.

When the song ended, he quickly motioned to Freddie to take a quick break, while he went to check up on you. He practically sprinted to Mary, almost knocking down his drumkit and John.

+"You dumb fuck, watch where you're going, Rog!"

Usually, Roger would reply with some snarky comment, but at that moment he really didn't care. When he reached Mary, he didn't even need to ask her about you. 

+"She's outside. Needed some fresh air" the girl shooked her head towards the exit. 

Roger quickly walked outside, knowing that he couldn't stall the audience for too long. But at the same time, he must have made sure you were all right.  

He got out of the building and searched for you. He spotted to sitting on a small patch of grass, holding a pretty flower crown in your hands. His heart ached at this sight. 

+"Hello, love" he whispered, kneeling next to you. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am, Rog" you kissed his cheek. "I just felt a bit off, that's all." 

You felt your boyfriend press a kiss to your hair. You smiled at the feeling, leaning into his touch. 

You finally placed the finished flower crown on his head, brushing away loose strands of sweaty hair from his face, your hand gently brushing his temple. He took your tiny hands in his and kissed your fingers.

+"Do you wanna go back in there, sweetheart?" he asked sweetly, looking deeply into your eyes.

You nodded and pecked his lips, "Of course, Rog, I wouldn't want to miss any more of your show."

He smiled and lead you inside, placing his hand on the small of your back. You returned to Mary and wished your boyfriend good luck. 

Roger kept the flowers on his head throughout the whole gig, sending you a dashing smile and winking at you every now and again.

I just think Roger would look sososo pretty in a flower crown.

John Deacon

It was a lovely afternoon in London. You and your fiancé John decided to take a walk after the whole day in the studio, recording songs.

Taking a walk in a nearby park was a great way to destress and release the tension accumulated during the day. It was something John realized pretty early on in your relationship and took full advantage of it. He loved wandering along the pebbled pathways that swirled around beautiful trees and bushes full of colourful flowers. Being in the presence of nature made him feel at ease and helped him relax.

But the real reason why he enjoyed your walks so much was you. He adored seeing your face light up with joy when you saw a squirrel run up a branch of an old oak or when you spotted a particularly beautiful fish in the small pond. He could watch you pick up fallen leaves for ages and hear you talk to little kids in a playground, showing them the shiny rocks you collected along the way.

To be honest, he always dreamt about starting a family with you and seeing you get along with kids so well only increased that desire.

Often after a walk, he was in the mood™, which, considering his shy nature, always took you by surprise.

Oh man, he just loved taking a walk in the park.

And today was no different.

You were walking hand in hand, admiring the blossoming flowers. Occasionally, you would stop and pick them up, making a small bouquet in the process. White daisies, pink clovers and blue forget-me-nots accumulated with every step you took.

John was telling you about the new idea he had for a song, kissing your cheek every now and again.

Listening to him, you started to fiddle with the flowers, tying them in knots. After a while ("And then, I think, we could include a gong, you know?") you were done with your creation.

You put the flowers on John's head and kissed his temple.

+"What's that, darling?" he asked you, surprised.

"Nothing, but I think you look sensational, my love" you replied, smiling innocently.

You felt John's hand bring you closer to him. He kissed you, entangling his long and incredibly skilled fingers in your hair. The kiss soon turned into more heated one.

+"I'll show you how sensational I really am, pretty girl."

Freddie Mercury

So with Freddie, it was probably at one of his parties.

He invited you along to have a drink with him and his bandmates.

You usually weren't the one for big and loud parties, but he kept asking you and you gave in.

+"Oh okay, Fred, I'll do it," you said after the twentieth time he had asked you.

"Fantastic, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands. "Just remember to wear a costume."

But you didn't really want to dress up in fancy dresses or costumes from different eras. Calling Mary, you asked her for advice and she told you to just wear some accessories.

So before the party, you went to a small flower shop and bought a small bouquet of purple lilacs. At home, you made a flower crown, hoping that dressing up as a nymph would be enough.

When you got to Freddie's house, you were greeted by a crowd of people in colourful skirts and suits with fashionable patterns. That's when you found Freddie, Roger, Brian and John, chilling on a couch with their dates.

+"Oh, (Y/N), you look marvellous, darling!" exclaimed Freddie dressed as a king, while he stood up to embrace you in a warm hug.

"Thank you, Fred, I made it myself" you smiled shyly.

You got some champagne and joined the conversation.

Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder, and, when you turned around, you saw Freddie holding out a hand to you, asking you to dance with him. You gladly accepted and got up. 

+"I really meant it, darling. You do look marvellous tonight" he whispered in your ear.

"Thank you, Freddie, you can have it if you'd like" you sent him a warm smile.

You took off his golden crown and set it aside. Gently taking off the flower crown from your head, you placed it on top of Fred's. He beamed at you and put his own crown on top of your head.

+"Now you rule here, darling."

taglist

#queen #queen x reader #brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #freddie mercury #ben!roger #gwilym!brian #joe mazello!john #majka writes #brian may x reader #roger taylor x reader #john deacon x reader #freddie mercury x reader #ben!roger taylor x reader #gwilym!brian x reader #joe!john deacon x reader #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #gwil!brian may x reader #gwilym lee!brian may x reader #ben hardy x reader #gwilym lee x reader #joe mazello x reader #bohemian rhapsody

[mahesiyah]

A quick and simple headcanon on Ami Mizuno/Sailor Mercury

(CW: anxiety, panic attacks)

I've expressed in an earlier headcanon that Ami becomes a robotic engineer instead of a medical doctor, but she does end up studying to get her PhD in robotics engineering. (So yeah, Ami becomes a doctor, just not a medical doctor.)

She initially tries to earn her doctoral degree in a measly three years (and Google research tells me that six to eight years is the average time it takes). But Ami doesn't want to continue to be in school when she's in her thirties. Not because of money or anything, since her wealthy mother is supporting her financially. In her mind, the sooner she graduates, the better she'll appear to others. Even if it takes a toll on her health.

And in my headcanon, it sure does take a toll on Ami's health. Poor Ami's enrolled in 20 credits per semester, plus she's also working a job at an engineering company (and her company is paying for her to get her PhD). And let's not forget that Ami still has her Sailor Senshi duties. So she really doesn't have time to get enough sleep. Or get any exercise. Or go outside for some sunshine and fresh air. Or eat anything that's not ready-made sandwiches from the convenience store.

This is truly a dark moment in Ami's life, because the water senshi even forgets to take a break from studying to get up from her desk and grab a glass of water when she's thirsty. She doesn't fail to go for the energy drinks, though.

After nearly a year of averaging four hours of sleep a night and 2.5 energy drinks a day, Ami woke up one morning with severe panic attacks. She had never experienced anything quite like this before. She felt like she was dying.

Ami checks herself into the emergency room and is seen by none other than her mother, Dr. Saeko Mizuno. She chides Ami for ending up in this situation in the first place.

"I thought I raised you better than this," Dr. Mizuno sighed. "Don't you know that energy drinks aren't a replacement for sleep?"

"I know that, Mom," Ami responded. "I'm just incredibly busy. I'm working and studying for my PhD. You know, so I can have a doctorate degree like you do."

"It's not a competition, Ami," Dr. Mizuno replied.

"Most people don't get their PhDs until they're in their 30s. In fact, I was 32 when I got my doctorate degree. Nobody's going to think any less of you for taking the time you need to graduate at a reasonable pace."

Tears started to well up in Ami's eyes. "Really?"

"Of course! Everyone in Tokyo, maybe even the country, knows how smart you are! You don't have to prove anything to me or anybody else. I love you and I want all the best things for you in life, Ami. And that includes staying healthy!"

"Yeah, you're right," Ami said softly as a tear gently ran down her cheek.

"Of course I'm right," Dr. Mizuno jokingly boasted. "Now promise me you'll take better care of yourself? I never want to see you as one of my patients ever again."

"Yes, Mom," Ami happily complied.

From that moment on, Ami was committed to taking better care of her health. She stopped drinking energy drinks entirely and switched to low-caffeine white tea. By signing up for less classes each semester, she made time for adequate sleep and easy, calming exercises like yoga/stretching, walking/hiking, biking, etc. She also made a point to go swim at the local indoor pool once a month. She also offers to pay Makoto to make her some healthy home-cooked meals a couple of times a week.

Thanks for reading! I hope all of you have a happy and healthy 2022! 🎆

#sailor moon #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #sailor mercury #ami mizuno #mizuno ami #sailor moon headcanons #sailor mercury headcanon #headcanon #fan thoughts #grad school #phd struggles #happy new year #stay healthy

[sweetnsaltycorn]

Ayooo thanks for the tag Deia!! :) 💚 @novampirebrainrot

A-Age: i do be in my 20s

B-Birthplace: Austin, Texas

C-Current Time: 23:44/11:48pm (fuck I have Orgo at 7:30 tomorrow oops)

D-Last Drink You Had: Seltzer

E-Easiest Person To Talk To: I have a lot of good friends but the easiest to talk to would be Domino (talking in nicknames here) but I’d say all of my close good friends I’m comfortable talking with

F-Favourite Song: back and forth between Mr. Brightside by the Killers, Technicolor Beat by Oh Wonder, Sweaty by Crosa Rosa, and Front Street by Will Wood and the Tapeworms, Killer Tune and—yeah I like a lot of songs oops and it varies from time to time

G-Grossest Memory: (CW: sexual assault/harassment) at the moment either my many nonconsensual sexual moments with guys or my few consensual sexual/romantic moments with guys—I gag at both (for context I just recently realized I’m a lesbian) idk if it counts as this kind of gross but it crosses my mind a lot and I feel gross!!!

H-Horror Yes Or Horror No: OH HORROR YES IM AN ABSOLUTE SLASHER SLUT

I-In Love: platonically, with my close irl friends and my Internet friends (you know who you are) and my many fictional character crushes (currently Lady Dimitrescu like—)

J-Jealous: Yeah I’m with Deia on this one, if I feel jealous I feel sad but Hmm I think my jealousy issues are a lot less than what they used to be. Even so it wasn’t that bad

K-Keepsake: oh of course, I keep old drawings, photos, pretty much everything that I’m sentimental with. And that’s a lot of things.

L-Love At First Sight: I wouldn’t say love but I get flustered very easily @ women in public akdksjcj women are beautiful but I wouldn’t say love at first sight

Except maybe that wicked pretty ginger girl painting in one of the grassy areas on campus with the rly pretty makeup, if I met her again I’d try to ask her on a date ajdjajdj

M-Middle Name: I don’t feel comfortable sharing this publicly

N- Number Of Siblings: 1

O-One Wish: to uh help humans to not destroy the planet

P-Pop or? I like alt pop more, and Japanese City Pop even more. J-pop (different from City Pop) is also good too

Q-Question You Are Always Asked: “why are you like this?” AKDJAJ it’s a running joking question in a couple of my irl friend groups

R-Reasons To Smile: My friends, esp my friend group that’s my true family <3 (and experiencing and learning new things!)

S-Song You Sang Last: (DEIA I LOVE THAT SONG YOU PUT ITS A BOP) and 裏切り者のレクイエム CUZ ITS A FUCKING BOP BUT SO IS GREAT DAYS

T-Time You Woke Up: 7:30am for my goddamb orgo II class

U-Underwear Colour: red lace with a mini bow (ik it didn’t specify the other descriptors but I’m feelin spicy ok and I love lace)

V-Vacation Destination: legit everywhere but right now it’s probably Japan, back to Old Quebec, and yeah just everywhere

W-Worst Habit: I tend to overwork myself a lot but what’s even worse is my stubbornness and the ability to not shut the fuck up sometimes oops

X-X Rays: yeah checkup X-rays but some other stuff for some health complications I’ve had, including an ultrasound for that same health complication

Y-Your Favourite Food: TOMATOES (and udon)

Z-Zodiac Sign: I assume sun sign but I’m an Aquarius

But Ah whatever I’ll give more than that:

Rising: Cancer

Sun: Aquarius

Moon: Aquarius

Mercury: Sagittarius

Venus: Aires

Mars: Aquarius

Lilith: Aquarius (I have too much Aquarius in me help)

ÅÄÖ - The last line of text you wrote in your mother’s tongue? - “bitch ass”

👉(taking this bit from Deia) For the people I’m tagging now, remember to only do this if you want to and feel comfortable doing so :,)

Also don’t forget to tag me I’ll love to read your answers for those questions

@vampiretsuki @vampire-therapy @zaraenia @jardinsdeminuit @minimandies @nam00n

Thanks again for the tag Deia!! Love ya

#tag game

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 29: discussion of Jon’s & Daisy’s restrictive diets & associated physical/mental deterioration (and potential parallels with disordered eating etc.); arguing & relationship disputes (that are not immediately resolved in-chapter); self-harm (burning oneself with a lit cigarette); cigarette smoking; discussion of suicidal ideation; panic & anxiety symptoms; discussions of grief & loss; cyclical mental health issues (post-traumatic anniversary reactions; related self-loathing, internalized victim blaming, & survivor’s guilt; generally speaking, Jon’s relapsing into self-isolating, worse-than-usual headspace, esp towards the end of the chapter); depiction of parental neglect/rejection (Martin's mother). SPOILERS through S5.

There’s also a Hunt-themed statement that contains descriptions of indiscriminate violence & unprovoked warfare against a civilian population. Oh, and a cliffhanger.

Let me know if I missed anything!

_________________

“Statements ends,” Jon says, somewhat breathless as he fumbles to stop the recording.

“You alright?” Daisy asks.

“Fine.” The word is punctuated by a click and a whirr as the recorder resumes spooling.

“Are you, though?”

“Yes.” Scowling, Jon jabs his finger at the stop button – only for it to keep recording.

“It’s the Hunt, isn’t it.” Daisy sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry it’s been so prominent for the last few. I’m… not quite scraping the bottom of the barrel yet, but–”

“It’s fine, Daisy.”

“Still, I–”

“I said it’s fine–!” Jon winces at his sharp tone. “I’m sorry, that was… I’m just – on edge, I suppose.”

Which is an understatement, really.

Because it’s September. It’s September, and after September is October, and October is–

Well. These days, he can’t even look at a calendar – can’t even look at the time and date on his phone – without icy dread coursing through his veins.

Sporadic flashbacks have become an everyday occurrence, set off by the smallest of stimuli: a dropped glass shattering on the breakroom floor becomes a window bursting inward into shards; a thunderstorm heralds a fissuring sky, marred by hundreds upon thousands of greedy, unblinking voyeurs; his own voice is a doomsday harbinger, a key crammed into a lock he can’t keep from unbolting. The memories are too immediate, too vivid to feel past-tense.

It’s to be expected. Studies, common knowledge, and anecdotal evidence all point to the impact of anniversaries on mental health. He knows what a textbook post-traumatic stress response looks like. Monster or not, in this particular sense he remains overwhelmingly human. No matter how much he rationalizes it, though, intellectually understanding a psychological phenomenon does little to soften the lived experience of it.

And it does nothing to temper the chilling knowledge – bordering on conviction – that it may happen again.

“Would be worrisome if you weren’t stressed out, considering… you know. Everything.” Daisy leans back in her chair, stretches her legs out in front of her, and rolls her shoulders. “Speaking of the Hunt. Any new developments?”

“I mean… nothing since yesterday? Everything I know, Basira knows.”

“Basira… isn’t keeping me updated,” Daisy says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ah,” Jon says, with tact to spare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Daisy sighs. “She thinks that I think she’s wasting her time.”

“And do you?”

Daisy gives a jerky shrug. “Don’t you?”

“Not… necessarily,” Jon hedges. Truthfully, his answer to that question is as mercurial as his moods these days, shifting from hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. Daisy gives him an unimpressed look. “I won’t lie and say I’m optimistic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

“You sound like Martin.”

“Well, he spent ample time drilling it into me,” Jon says with a wry smile. “I don’t have the same capacity for hope as he does, but improbable doesn’t mean impossible. If I’d had it my way, I’d have lain down and died ages ago. I’m only here now because of him.”

“Mental health check,” Daisy says automatically.

“Not thinking of hurting myself,” Jon replies, just as rote. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’ve told you, I’m physically incapable of killing myself even if I wanted to.”

“That doesn’t stop you brooding.”

“Anyway, I wasn’t referring to anything recent.”

“Weren’t you, though?” At his blank look, Daisy gives an impatient sigh. “It hasn’t even been a year since you woke up, Sims. Up until six months ago, you were wandering an apocalyptic wasteland–”

“…I found myself utterly alone. Facing down a room full of nothing eyes, willing myself to take action. I never did, though–”

“–I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – my mind had all but seized up, and I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed–”

“–there was nothing I could do to save him – he died – so did any hope I had of – doing good in the world–”

“–there’s a sort of numbness that you adopt after months or years of bombing–”

“–I did spend a lot of time just… slumped in despair – had no reason to think it would help, but I could see no choice but waiting for death–”

“–hoping against hope that – it wouldn’t be forever–”

“Hey!” Daisy’s voice finally breaks through the rush of static. Or perhaps it was the pressure: Jon looks down to see her bony fingers caging his own in a bruising grip.

“Sorry,” he says, catching himself as he starts to list woozily.

“Not to say ‘I told you so,’ but…” Daisy gives his hands another light squeeze. “You sort of just proved my point there.”

“I’m well aware that I’m – traumatized, or whatever–”

“Not ‘or whatever’–”

“–but I’m not a danger to myself, so could we please just move on?” Jon mumbles, averting his eyes. “You wanted a Hunt update.”

Daisy scrutinizes him for a long moment before she allows the conversational pivot to stand.

“Basira said you’ve heard back from that Head Librarian,” she says, “but she blew me off when I started prying.”

“Zhang Xiaoling,” Jon says, his shoulders relaxing. “She was able to confirm some of Jonah’s intel. They do have a statement about a book matching that description in their records, and she agreed to forward a copy once it’s been digitized. They’re further along in their digitization process than we are–”

Daisy snorts. “Probably because they’re actually working on it.”

“That, and they have the benefit of a Head Librarian who actually has a background in archival studies,” Jon says drily. “In any case, they have a large archive, so it’s a work in progress. She’s processed our inquiry, though, and she says she has someone on it. We should hear back by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Huh,” Daisy says. “Sounds…”

“Like a functioning archive?”

“I was going to say ‘streamlined,’ but sure.”

“The wonders of a hiring process that prioritizes job qualifications as opposed to a candidate’s apocalyptic potential.”

“What are the chances their institution is also led by a centuries-old corpse with a god complex?”

“Non-zero, I imagine.”

Daisy wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, don’t say that.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have evidence one way or the other.”

“It doesn’t. Does she know about…” Daisy waves her hand vaguely. “All of this? The Fears, Rituals… Jonah?”

The question gives Jon pause. He thinks back to his meeting with Xiaoling all those years ago – well, last June, from her perspective.

“Some of it, I think,” he says slowly. “She seemed familiar with some of the Archivist’s abilities. There were parts of my visit that struck me as odd at the time. I didn’t realize until later that she had been speaking both Chinese and English at different points in our conversation.”

Daisy frowns. “She didn’t clue you in?”

“She didn’t, no. But…”

Elias made a good choice, the Librarian’s voice echoes in Jon’s mind. I did offer him someone, but he thought the language might be too much for him.

It does tickle me, Jonah’s voice chimes in, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose.

“I don’t know if she’s aware of Elias’ true identity.” Jon swallows with some difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. “Or his intentions.”

“So is it really smart to trust her?”

“If she’s in communication with him, there’s nothing she can tell him that he doesn’t already know. We’re just following up on information he gave us. And he’s likely spying on our correspondence whether she’s in contact with him or not. Not much we can do about that.”

“She could have her own ulterior motives,” Daisy says.

“True enough, but… I got the sense that her primary interest is curation. Studying phenomena, building a knowledge base–”

“In service to cosmic evil,” Daisy says pointedly.

“W-well, yes, but – I don’t think she has delusions of godhood herself, and I don’t think Jonah has tempted her with the idea.” Jon huffs to himself. “He wouldn’t want to share his throne.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not saying we trust her or the Research Centre as a whole. I had reservations about their motives then and I still do. It’s not unthinkable that they’re a front for something more sinister in the same way that the Institute is. But… I don’t think there’s any especial danger in utilizing their library.”

“Sims,” Daisy sighs, “your danger meter is broken beyond repair.”

“In my defense,” Jon says, bracing one arm on the desk to leverage himself to his feet, “at this point, everything is just differing degrees of dangerous.”

As the two of them leave the tunnels, Jon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. When he glances at the screen, he sees a text notification from Naomi – in addition to two missed calls. He frowns to himself. The two of them text regularly, but she rarely calls.

“What’s up?” Daisy asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Naomi,” Jon says distractedly, already returning the call. Naomi picks up on the first ring.

“Jon?” Naomi’s voice sounds thick and tear-clogged.

A cold weight settles in Jon’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“I j-just” – Naomi pauses to clear her throat – “just needed to hear a familiar voice.”

“What happened?” Jon asks – and realizes too late that in his urgency to discover the source of her distress, he’s poured too much of himself into the question.

“Nothing.” What starts out as a self-deprecating little laugh quickly deteriorates into a half-sob. “Nothing new, anyway. It’s always like this, this time of year. Evan and I didn’t have an exact date planned, but we’d talked about an autumn wedding. Thought it would be fitting, since we met in September, you know? Tomorrow is our anniversary, actually. Or – or it would’ve been. A-and then by the time I’ve picked myself back up, the holidays will have crept up on me, and that’s always hard, and – and then before I know it, it’s March, a-and that’s its own kind of anniversary, and it’s just… it’s a lot.”

“Oh, I – Naomi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” she says with a sniff. “Don’t think I would’ve been able to get it all out, otherwise.”

“S-still, I–”

“It’ll be three years this March. And it still feels like it was yesterday. I spend six months out of the year feeling like I’m still stumbling through that cemetery, and I just…”

This time last year, Jon thinks with a lurch, I was still the monster in her nightmares.

And even now, he still pulls her there whenever they’re both asleep.

“When does that stop?” Naomi laughs again, a desperate, pleading thing. “When does the healing come in?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says truthfully. “Anniversaries are… they’re hard enough on their own. It doesn’t help that… well, it’s difficult to heal from something when you’re still living it.”

“What do you mean? Evan’s dead,” Naomi says, her voice breaking on the word. “He’s not coming back. It’s… it’s over.”

“There are still the dreams. The narrative might have changed, but the stage dressing is still the same.” Jon draws his shoulders in, one arm pressed tight to his stomach. “Keeping the memory fresh.”

“It’s not so bad.” Naomi sniffles again. “Better than being alone.”

“‘Alone’ or ‘nightmares’ shouldn’t be your only options.”

“I have my own nightmares, you know,” Naomi counters, sounding slightly annoyed. “When I’m asleep and you’re not. And they’re worse, because in them, I actually am alone. Nothing supernatural about it. It’s just… me.” She sighs. “This time last year – and the year before – I didn’t have anyone. And I just… I didn’t – I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not,” Jon says. “Not anymore.”

“I – I know, but I…” Naomi takes a breath. “I was… I was thinking – maybe tomorrow I could come by.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says gently, “truly I am – but it’s not safe. Especially for you, especially right now. Not with Peter here.”

Naomi is already the equivalent of an unfinished meal to the Lonely. That, together with her association with Jon, is more than enough to mark her as a potential target should Peter take notice of her.

“Feels safer than being alone,” Naomi says. “The Duchess helps – a lot – but I…” She lets out a fond but tearful chuckle. “I can’t expect her to grasp the nuances of… grief, or loneliness, or what have you.”

“How about this,” Jon says. “We tell Georgie what’s going on – as much or as little as you’d like, even if it’s as simple as ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’ I doubt she’d be opposed to having you over.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I mean, I – I’ve not spent much time with her outside of just… spamming the group chat with cat photos. I like her, but she’s your friend. I’m just… a friend of a friend.”

Nestled between the words is a familiar sentiment, unarticulated and nonetheless resounding, echoing all of the earnest conviction it had when first she made such a confession: All my friends had been his friends, and once he was gone it didn’t feel right to see them. I know, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded, they would have said they were my friends too, but I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone…

“People can have more than one friend,” Jon says. “I can’t speak for Georgie, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to talk to you if she didn’t like you.”

Indeed, that might be the reason Jon was able to open up to Georgie in the first place. He observed early on that she had no qualms disengaging from people whom she had no interest in getting to know. Whatever Jon might have felt about himself on any given day, the simple fact of the matter was that Georgie would never have let him get so close if she hadn’t seen something redeeming in him.

And she likely wouldn’t be letting him stay close now if she didn’t still see something worth salvaging.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he says. “I won’t pressure you. But I think Georgie would be more receptive to friendship than you expect. And I think – I think you’d get along with Melanie, too.” Naomi is silent on the other end of the line. “At the risk of overstepping, I… I know being alone feels like the natural state of things, but it doesn’t have to be. If you want, I can talk to Georgie. Lay the groundwork. I won’t give her any of the details – it’s not my story to tell – I’ll just let her know that you’re feeling alone and could use some companionship.”

“Okay,” Naomi whispers. “Just… let her know she’s not obligated.”

“I will. On the extremely off chance she says no, or if she’s busy tomorrow, I can keep you company remotely. We can spend the whole day holding up the office landline if you want.”

“It’s a Friday.”

“And?”

“It’s a work day?”

“Naomi, my job is wholly comprised of monologuing to any tape recorder that manifests within a six-foot radius and doing my utmost to render my department as counterproductive to both the Institute’s professed and clandestine organizational objectives as humanly or inhumanly possible.” Naomi barks out a startled laugh. “I won’t be fired no matter what I do – which is a shame, seeing as it became my foremost professional development goal somewhere between finding out my boss murdered my predecessor and virtually dying in an explosion at a haunted wax museum. Barring a sudden and unexpected apocalyptic threat – which, admittedly, is unlikely but not unthinkable– I’ve already cleared my non-existent schedule for you.”

“Okay.” Naomi makes a sound somewhere between a sniffle and a chuckle. “Thanks. Really.”

“Any time.”

_________________

The statement is an unnerving, circuitous thing: a firsthand account from an unnamed member of the Drake-Norris expedition in 1589. In many ways, it’s eerily similar to the last statement Jon accessed from Pu Songling’s archives: Second Lieutenant Charles Fleming’s shellshocked, guilt-fueled confession of atrocities committed under orders.

The historical record is rife with accounts of Francis Drake’s cruelty, Jon knows: his role in the transatlantic slave trade, the unprovoked massacres committed in his name, the preemptive strikes that incited further bloodshed. The statement giver speaks in awestruck horror of the bloodlust lurking in the man’s eyes, the vitriolic fervor with which he undertook his campaign to seek out and destroy the remnants of the Spanish fleet – and the depths of his rage when his efforts ended in defeat. Humiliated, he turned his vengeful eye to the Galician estuaries.

The writer tells plainly of his own complicity in the sacking of Vigo, razing the town to the ground and slaughtering its inhabitants with indiscriminate zeal. For four days Drake’s men carried out their rampage, retreating only when reinforcements arrived to stem the tide.

“You may ask yourself,” the Archivist reads on, “how it is that a man born into the reign of Good Queen Bess sits before you today, some four centuries past his due?

“You see, as we left the shores of Galicia that day, I heard from behind us a vicious braying, as if someone had set loose a great host of hounds. They were close – close enough for me to sense their stinking breath hot on the back of my neck. Such a thing was impossible, for we were by that time far from shore, having already rowed half the distance between the beach and the waiting armada. That did not stop me dreading the dogs lunging and tearing into me at any moment.

“I am not ashamed to admit that I let out a whimper.

“As the seconds ticked by and the pack failed to descend upon us, my curiosity grew to outweigh my terror. I turned to look – and was thus ensnared. It was, I realize now, the instant at which I became beholden to the blood. My greatest folly.

“Perhaps I oughtn’t have been so surprised to see no hounds surging toward us atop the waves, but you must understand that the proximity of their snarling was far more convincing than their visual absence. In looking behind us, though, I was able to appreciate the havoc we left in our wake: the great plumes of ash rising from the smoldering rubble, backlit by a flickering orange glow, and wails of despair so profound as to combat the noise of the wind, the waves – even the discordant shrieking of the hounds.

“It was a scene of such devastation as I had never seen before or since. Looking back, I think upon the acrid stench of charred flesh on the breeze with horror and… indescribable remorse. It shames me now to admit that at that time, I had never felt such… rapture.

“That was when a motion caught my eye. Between the distance and the billowing smoke, it should have been impossible to discern such detail, yet there he was: quarry I had left for dead, emerging from the debris and staggering away from the ruins of his… wretched life. As he looked out to behold our retreat, I could see the grief playing on his face, the fury, the fear – but what most set my blood to boiling was the spark of relief I saw in his eyes.

“It awakened something in me – a famished and merciless thing, composed of tooth and claw and a mind beginning and ending and utterly encompassed by the call of the pack. With a roaring in my ears and a single-minded violence supplanting my sensibilities, I deserted the rowboat and swam to shore. A chorus of howls carried me forward, and I let them be my wings, steering me down the swiftest, straightest path to my target.

“I slowed for nothing, and I made certain my prey did not live through the night.

“As you can likely guess, the chase did not end there. Those baying devils who had so called me forth continued to hound my steps, nipping at my heels, spurring me ever onward to the next quarry. Those who once knew me would scarcely have recognized what I became. Whenever I dared look into a mirror, I would see in myself a dogged, seething violence so akin to that which had lived in the eyes of my former commander. A cruelty that once had frightened and repulsed me had become the blood and breath of me.

“For a time I sought to refrain from the chase. The longer I refused the call, the weaker I became. The hounds’ breath on my neck grew hotter; their braying swelled louder. I found myself wasting away: always hungry, never sated. Eventually my faculties began to slip. I would lose myself to such… bestialimpulses, and only the stain of blood on my teeth would return to me my reason. It pains me to confess to you now that it did not take long before I ceased my resistance entirely.

“It was at the turn of the sixteenth century that I happened upon the artefacts now in your possession. Their previous owner was a formidable adversary. I spent nearly a fortnight tracking him before I managed to run him down, and he fought like a tempest before he fell.

“Ordinarily I did not linger after a kill, instinct hastening me ever onward to the next great game. As I turned to leave, though, I was overcome by the sense that the hunt was… unfinished. Troubled, I reached down to check the man’s pulse. I was reassured to find him quite dead, but as I drew back, I noticed the brooch.

“It was a simple thing made of tarnished copper, fashioned into an incomplete ring, the ends of which resembled the heads of dogs. The moment my fingers brushed that ornament, I knew it was meant for me. It went into my pocket with nary a conscious thought.

“The itch of the hunt was still crawling down my spine, though; the frantic snuffling of phantom hounds yet filling the air all around me. I continued to search his person until I found what was calling out to me: a thin volume bound in leather. Curiosity ever my folly, I opened it.

“Up until that point, I had never learned to read nor write Latin with any degree of mastery. Yet I could understand the text within with perfect clarity. The script did not transform to English before my eyes, nor did the book render me proficient in the language. No, I simply… beheld the pages, and the meaning flowed into me.

“The story tells of Herla, legendary king of the Britons, who visits the dwarf king’s realm. Upon leaving, he is gifted a hound and warned not to dismount his horse until the dog leaps down. When Herla and his men return to the human world, they discover that not days but centuries have passed: all those they had known have long since perished, and the Saxons have taken possession of the land. In their distress, some of the men dismount, whereupon they turn to dust. Herla warns the survivors to stay in their saddles, to wait until the dog leaps down.

“‘The dog has not yet alighted,’ the author tells us, ‘and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay.’

“The next several pages are unreadable. The language resembles none I have ever encountered, and I have yet to find a soul who can decipher it. I can however attest its hypnotic qualities. I have spent many hours mired in those words, but I could not for the life of me tell you what I saw there. Others to whom I presented the text found themselves either enthralled or agitated, though none could recall such episodes once lucidity returned to them. I expect you mean to unravel its secrets, but you may do well to let its mystery stand.

“The final passage – a single page, this written in English – tells of Herla’s escape: how, weary and driven to despair, he casts the dog from the saddle and into the River Wye. The instant the hound hits the water, Herla and his band crumble into dust, at last meeting the same fate they spent so many hundreds of years trying to outpace.

“I have had hundreds of years of my own since first reading the tale to digest its message, and that is why I come to you today. Although I have killed several times since these items came into my possession – it should come as no surprise that there are those who covet them – I have not sought out a single hunt since I vanquished the man who yielded me these trinkets. The hounds at my heel have not ceased their clamoring, but so long as the brooch is on my person, they cannot sink their teeth in me. I am always hungry, yes – but I am no longer starving.

“But I am also weary. I have come to understand that even as the hounds can never catch me, they will never leave me. In my four hundred years, I have played the role of both the hunter and the hunted, and have learned that they share the same ultimate plight. Whether I be predator or prey, I am trapped in the throes of an endless pursuit. So long as I should live, my blood shall never quiet.

“And that is the key: so long as I should live. Even now, the fervor in my blood insists that the hunt is eternal, but I know now that one cannot outrun one’s end forever. Much like my constant, howling companions, Death will always be nipping at my heels. In that sense, he is perhaps the ultimate hunter. Just as I have delivered to him so many souls, neither can I escape his judgment. If ever I am to rest, I must bow to his supremacy.

“And so, like Herla, I shall cast the dog away from the saddle. I leave it in your care now, and the book. I should be so lucky to exit this life with the dignity I denied so many others, though I fear I shall be found undeserving of such a swift end. I can only hope that, whatever my comeuppance should be, I shall have the grace to accept it without complaint.”

With a heavy exhale, Jon depresses the stop button on the recorder, then puts his head in his hands, putting pressure on his closed eyes.

“You alright?” Basira asks.

“More than I’d like,” Jon mutters.

“If I thought there was any chance this guy was still alive, I wouldn’t have given you the statement to read.”

“I know. Just…” Jon waves his hand vaguely.

“Unpleasant, yeah.”

And rejuvenating, Jon thinks bitterly. It’s only been a few days since his last statement from Daisy, and already he had begun to feel famished.

“They sent along some supplemental records,” Basira says, rifling through printouts. “The statement is cross-referenced with two objects in their Collections Storage – here.”

The document she slides across the desk contains two catalog listings:

Item No. 9820702-1

Description: Pennanular brooch, copper alloy. Geometric and interlace motifs. Confronted zoomorphic terminals (canine profile). Moderate surface oxidization and patination. Dimensions: 5.5cm x 4.5cm body; 12.5cm pin. Artefact dated ca. 500–700 CE.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports mediating effect on the Hunter’s affliction (unverified). Item implicated in subject’s alleged abnormal longevity (unverified). Further study suggests dormancy and/or lack of reactivity to unafflicted subjects (see associated Investigation Log).

Storage: Special Collections – Inorganic Storage, Container Unit No. 982-05. Acid-free board housing, etherfoam packing. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain stable temperature (16-20°C); relative humidity, 32-35%; light levels, <300 lux. Handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §3.5.3: Artefact Preservation – Metals – Copper and Copper Alloys.

Access: Upon request. Curator approval required prior to initial visit. Applicants may submit statement of intent to Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator for clearance. Terms, procedures, and degree of supervision subject to Curator’s discretion.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-2.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-1;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-1.01 through -1.03.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-2;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §3.6.4: Antiquities – Adornments and Jewelry (Inert).

Item No. 9820702-2

Description: Bound manuscript. Front and back covers unembellished leather (source undetermined) stretched over wood board (source undetermined). Leather cord binding (calf, bovine). Paper and parchment leaves. Ink corrosion and paper degradation present but minimal (fair condition inconsistent with age and media). Dimensions: 8.8cm x 14.0cm x 2.5cm. Artefact dated ca. 1190–1450 CE.

Contents: Eighteen (18) pages total, one-sided.

· Title page (1) iron gall ink on parchment (sheepskin): Gualterius Mappus – De nugis curialium – xi. De Herla rege

· Pages two (2) through four (4) iron gall ink on paper (hemp pulp, linen fiber): Medieval Latin (ca. 12th century) script.

· Pages five (5) through sixteen (16) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): alphabetic script (unknown roots); refer to Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.03 for comparative linguistic analysis (inconclusive).

· Page seventeen (17) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): Middle English (ca. 15th century) script.

· Page eighteen (18) parchment (sheepskin): blank.

Transcripts and translations (where possible) provided in Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01*.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports total comprehension of Latin portions of the text despite lack of proficiency. Text alleged to diverge from source material (De nugis curialium – Map, Walter, fl. 1200). Both claims verified upon further examination (see associated Investigation Log). Probable association with the Hunter’s affliction.

Storage: Special Collections – Secure Storage. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain temperature at 20-22°C; relative humidity, 32-36%; light levels, ≤50 lux. Housing and handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §2.5.5: Document Preservation – Premodern Inks – Iron Gall and §9.2: Special Precautions – Occult and Esoteric Texts.

Access: Restricted.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-1.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-2;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-2.01* through -2.07;

· Incident Report No. 9930214.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-1;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §2.1.1: Archival Media – Occult Books (Active);

· Interdepartmental Bulletin No. 9941002, “The Library of Jurgen Leitner: Lessons Learned.”

*Addendum, 16th February, 1993:Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01 reclassified as Restricted Access. Direct all inquiries to Pu Songling Research Library Head Librarian or Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator.

“So?” Basira prods. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, assuming the statement is a reliable account, it seems…”

“Promising, right?” Basira says, her eagerness tinted with relief. “If we can–”

She stops abruptly as the tape recorder on the table clicks back on.

“I think that’s our cue to move this conversation elsewhere,” Jon says.

Not that it will stop the tape recorders from listening in, but he has no desire to make Jonah’s surveillance any easier for him.

_________________

It takes some hemming and hawing, but Jon manages to convince Basira that this really ought to be a group discussion. As she recaps the statement and shares her own remarks, Jon keeps a close eye on the other two people in the room. Martin is listening attentively, leaning forward slightly but otherwise at ease. Daisy, though… she’s all corded muscles and jittery legs, taut and precarious on the edge of her seat.

All the while, Basira appears impervious to the storm brewing in Daisy’s eyes, even as Martin catches on and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek, darting nervous glances between the two of them. By the time Basira finishes her overview, the tension in the air is palpable, nearly electric.

For several seconds, no one speaks.

“So,” Martin says, his voice a bit pitchy. He clears his throat before continuing. “Magical, Fear-resistant brooch, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be unheard of,” Jon says. “Remember what I told you about Mikaele Salesa?”

“The apocalypse-proof bubble? Yeah.”

“That camera of his didn’t just protect him from the Eye, it hid him from the Powers in general.”

“What was the catch?” Daisy asks pointedly. “Got to be a catch.”

“Does there?” Martin asks. His hesitant smile falls at Daisy’s blank stare, and he tilts his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, alright.”

“It’s… not entirely benign, no,” Jon says. “In Salesa’s statement, he called it a ‘battery’–”

“–charging itself on all the quiet worries that come from living in hiding, and then when the sanctuary collapses, all that fear flows out at once. No doubt, if my oasis breaks before I die, the Eye will get quite the feast from me, but in this new world–”

“That’s enough of that, I think,” Martin says, resting a hand on Jon’s arm.

Jon bites his tongue, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath in, only daring to speak once the tingling on his lips subsides. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Martin offers him a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t want you getting bogged down.”

“That’s one term for it,” Jon says, not quite under his breath. It’s true enough, though. Sometimes it feels like the Archive is pressed up against the door, watching for the tiniest crack, waiting for any opportunity to surge through and drag him under. Lately, Martin has grown uncannily adept at sensing when to interrupt these lapses before they spiral out of control – likely because they’ve been growing more frequent.

“That’s what I thought,” Daisy says. Puzzled at the apparent non-sequitur, Jon glances at her, but she isn’t looking at him. All of her attention is focused on Basira. “This thing is probably the same. It’s not some… some harmless miracle solution. If we mess around with it, it’s bound to blow up in our faces sooner or later.”

“I’m… not sure about that, actually,” Jon says. “The brooch didn’t free the Hunter, it just made it so he couldn’t be caught. I think that’s what it was feeding on – the Hunter’s gradual awareness that he was no different from the hunted, that sensation of being perpetually stalked from the shadows by a greater predator. It spent centuries charging itself on that fear, and it culminated in the realization that he would never escape it. He would always be waiting for the axe to fall, and Hunt was happy to keep him as perpetual prey. If he wanted the chase to end, he had to give up the artefact – and once it was no longer keeping him in stasis, he had a choice to make.”

“Go back to hunting, or let it catch him.” Daisy breathes a humorless laugh. “The Hunt, or the End.”

“But it would keep you alive,” Basira says. “It would buy us time to find a way to free you for real.”

“What about the Leitner?” Martin asks. “That’s what Jonah sent us after in the first place.”

“Turns out it’s not actually from Leitner’s library,” Jon says. “No bookplate, and it seems the statement giver had it in his possession since the 1500s. It’s… difficult to tell from the statement whether it had any significant effect on him. He called it ‘hypnotic,’ but he was already a Hunter by the time he found it. I imagine it might have different effects on someone not already under the Hunt’s influence.”

“He sort of alluded to that.” Basira takes a moment to peruse the statement, running her finger along the page until she finds the relevant line. “Here – they ‘found themselves either enthralled or agitated.’ A bit obscure, but… he says it like it’s an afterthought. If it outright turned anyone into a Hunter, he probably would’ve said so.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous,” Daisy says.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Basira replies coolly. “The record references a transcript, so I assume they had someone read it at some point. And it also mentions an incident report.”

“What was the incident?” Martin asks.

“Don’t know,” Basira says. “They didn’t provide any of the supplemental documentation, just the catalogue listing and the statement itself. But they acquired the book in ‘82 and didn’t make the transcript restricted until ‘93, so… either it was dormant when they first studied it and became active later, or they didn’t study it closely enough to activate its effects, or it doesn’t affect everyone the same way, or – or maybe their workplace safety guidelines just changed and they decided not to risk studying it anymore.”

“Jonah did say something about its effects varying depending on how much of it a person reads, right?” Martin asks. “Though who knows where he got that from.”

“There might be some truth to that,” Basira says. “The catalogue entry does describe what’s on the title page, so I’m assuming that part at least is safe. I’m most curious about the untranslated chunk in the middle.”

And I’m a universal translator, Jon thinks, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. Basira’s eyes flick to him, as if reading his mind.

“I… suppose I could–”

“No,” Martin and Daisy say simultaneously.

Jon scowls. “You didn’t even let me finish the–”

“You threw yourself into the Buried – twice – to save me,” Daisy says severely. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself at every opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t be–”

“What, re-traumatizing yourself by reading a Leitner?” Jon shuts his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together. “It’s not worth it, Sims.”

“Daisy,” Basira begins, but Daisy cuts her off.

“No. I’m not having him throw himself to the wolves just because you’re curious.”

Basira flinches, hurt momentarily crossing her face before her expression goes stony.

“You really think that’s what this is about?” she says, her voice shaking. “Knowledge for knowledge’s sake? Me being curious?”

“You can’t tell me you’re not,” Daisy says, and then her expression softens. “And I love that about you, I do – you’re brilliant, Basira – and driven, and passionate, and…” She sighs. “But sometimes… sometimes you need to let things go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon notices Martin cross and uncross his legs, his lower lip captured between his teeth. When Jon catches his eye, Martin jerks his chin minutely at Basira and Daisy, a grimace on his face. All Jon can offer is a helpless, equally awkward shrug. Near as he can tell, Basira and Daisy seem to have momentarily forgotten that they have an audience, and judging from their locked eyes and thunderous expressions, he doubts either of them would appreciate a reminder right this second.

“Let you go, you mean,” Basira says tersely. “When you say ‘it’s not worth it,’ what you really mean is that you’re not worth it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

The cavalier tone is the last straw, it seems.

“Why won’t you just let me help you?” Basira slams her hand down on the rickety table, straining its wobbly legs. “You’re just so ready to–” She lets out a frustrated groan. “You never used to give up this easily.”

“Maybe should’ve done,” Daisy says flatly. “Might’ve lowered my body count.”

“Giving up Hunting doesn’t have to mean giving up on living,” Basira says. “I might have finally found an alternative, and you won’t even consider–”

“I’m not doing anything that’s going to hurt someone, and that includes exposing Jon to a fucking Leitner.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jon mutters testily, the friction finally getting the better of his nerves. “Don’t I get a say?”

“No, you don’t,” Daisy says, rounding on him. Now that all of her brimming agitation is funneled in his direction, he regrets saying anything at all. “Because lately, whenever I ask you if you want to hurt yourself, the best you can give me is ‘it doesn’t matter because I can’t die anyway.’”

“Jon?” Martin says urgently, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Th-that’s not what I–”

“You’re not thinking rationally,” Daisy speaks over Jon’s stammering. “You’re thinking like a condemned man with a rope around his neck and something to prove, and I’m not going to be the noose you use to hang yourself with.”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Basira says heatedly. “You get on my case about double standards–”

“That’s enough!” Martin bursts out. “This isn’t helping. Daisy’s right, Jon. You’re not going anywhere near that book – I don’t want to hear it,” he adds before Jon can retort. “Not now, anyway. We’ll talk later. But Basira’s right, too,” Martin says, turning his attention to Daisy. “You can’t make amends by dying, and you can’t do better going forward if you’re not alive to try.”

“Who says I deserve a chance?” Daisy says.

“Whatever you think you ‘deserve’” – Martin gives Jon a meaningful glance as he says it – “you’ve got a chance, and people who want to help you through it, and you ought to consider that before you assume you’d do more good dead than alive.” He exhales a sharp breath. “Anyway, forget the Leitner, and forget what Jonah said about it. The brooch seems like the more promising option here.”

“I agree,” Jon says, cowed. “Between the book and the brooch, the statement giver credited the latter with keeping the Hunt at bay. And perhaps my bias is showing, but truthfully I – I’m not inclined to see those books as anything but tragedies waiting to happen.”

“What’s the difference?” Daisy says flatly. “It took a decade for something bad enough to happen for them to make the Leitner’s transcript restricted. The brooch could be just as much of a time bomb. Just because it doesn’t have any ‘incidents’ connected with it now doesn’t mean it never will.”

She isn’t wrong. Looking back, Jon had found it infuriating that Leitner would continue meddling with the books even after he witnessed the horror they wrought, all while claiming to have learned from his hubris. Just because this particular artefact isn’t a book doesn’t make it any less ominous.

And yet…

“I think it’s already shown its more sinister side,” Jon says slowly.

“You think,” Daisy scoffs.

“It doesn’t give a Hunter strength, it makes them perpetual prey. It… won’t be pleasant for you, I’m sure,” Jon admits, “but Basira’s right – it could keep you alive while we search for a better solution.”

“There might not be a better solution,” Daisy says stubbornly.

“Which is what I said before you browbeat me into taking statements from you,” Jon counters.

“I didn’t browbeat–” Jon raises his eyebrows. Daisy gives a flustered groan. “It’s just – it’s different, okay?”

Much as Jon wants to disagree, he knows better than to argue. They’d only end up talking in circles.

“I think it’s an avenue worth pursuing,” he says. “Given the alternatives.”

“Please, Daisy,” Basira says. “Just… consider it, at least.”

The for me remains unspoken, but Jon can hear it loud and clear. As can Daisy, it seems – the defiant set to her jaw falters for a moment before she tenses again.

“Fine,” she says grudgingly. “But if it starts to go south–”

“If it manifests any new properties, we’ll prioritize containing it over interacting with it,” Jon says.

“You promise?” Daisy asks, but she looks at Basira when she says it. It takes a moment, but Basira does nod.

“Do you think Pu Songling will let us have it?” Martin asks. “Seems like their protocols are…”

“Rigorous?” Jon supplies.

“You’d almost think they were running an academic institution or something,” Basira says drily.

“Yeah, but treating the artefacts like museum pieces, it’s… it’s weird, isn’t it?” Martin says. “It’s not as if they’re fragile, right? They’re held together by… nightmare alchemy, or whatever.”

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” Jon says. “I know the Librarian has a degree in information science. And I recall her telling me that the Curator is an historian with a background in museology. But you’re right – it would be nice if Leitners were as delicate as the average old manuscript.”

“At least they’re flammable,” Daisy mutters.

“We spoke with the Head Curator,” Basira says. “She’s willing to work out a trade.”

“A trade?” Martin asks.

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Jon says. “An artefact for an artefact. I get the impression that the Librarian and the Curator are both very… collections-oriented. True to their titles, I suppose.”

“Hold up,” Daisy says. “‘The Librarian,’ ‘the Curator’ – are those just job titles, or are they, like… Beholding Avatar titles?” Jon blinks at her, perplexed. “I mean – the way you keep saying them, it’s sort of like…”

“What, ‘Archivist’?” Jon gnaws on his thumbnail as he pauses to consider. “I… don’t know, actually. I wasn’t really doing it consciously? It just…” He shrugs helplessly. “It felt right.”

“Is it coming from the Eye, then?”

“I have no idea, Basira.” Jon leans forward, props his elbows on his knees, and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hm.”

“In any case…” Jon exhales slowly, forcing himself to sit up straight again. “They seem to take the research and curation aspects of their roles to heart. They aren’t reckless with their pursuits, they take ample precautions, but the scholars at Pu Songling do study the items that come into their possession. And from what I understand, the Curator takes avid interest in adding to their collection. Same as the Archivist’s role is to record stories. To what extent her efforts are driven by her connection to the Eye versus her own innate curiosity, I couldn’t tell you, no more than I can make that distinction in myself.”

“Sort of a chicken-or-egg situation, then,” Daisy says.

“From an evolutionary perspective, the egg came first,” Jon says automatically. “Amniotic eggs have been around for over three hundred million years. Birds originated in the Jurassic, true galliforms didn’t evolve until at least the Late Cretaceous, phasianids don’t appear in the fossil record until about thirty million years ago, and chickens as we know them were only domesticated about eight thousand years ago–”

“Oh my god,” Daisy groans, putting her head in her hands.

“What?” Jon says, heat rising in his cheeks as Martin muffles a snicker beneath his hand. “I’m not wrong.”

“Pu Songling’s Collections Department is larger than our Artefact Storage,” Basira interjects, “but the, uh… Curator has a shortlist of artefacts she’s been on the lookout for. I checked our records and found a match. A ring – probably belongs to the Vast, based on the reports surrounding it. Looks like the Institute purchased it from Salesa in 2014, shortly before his disappearance. The Curator considers it an ‘equitable exchange,’ but she still wants to assess the ring in person before making the trade.”

“And we still have to talk to Sonja,” Jon adds. “On the one hand, she likely wouldn’t object to being rid of an artefact, but on the other hand… I imagine she won’t be keen on letting it out into the world.”

“I think it would be a harder sell if you were just going to swap it out for another artefact – something unfamiliar that they’d have to develop all new protocols for,” Martin says. “But yeah, even if you won’t be making the brooch her problem, she’ll probably still want to know what we want with it. And I can see her pressing the Curator on why she wants the ring when she gets here.”

“The Curator won’t be coming here,” Basira says evenly, casting a surreptitious glance at Daisy to gauge her reaction. “Says she’s too busy to travel.”

“So you have to haul the ring up to her,” Daisy says.

“I mean” – Basira breathes an uneasy laugh – “it’s a ring. Not much hauling involved–”

“Oh, don’t start–”

“–and there are precautions I can take. Looks like Artefact Storage has relatively thorough documentation for this one.”

“‘Relatively’?” Daisy repeats, unimpressed. “You were just complaining about how sparse their records are. ‘Relatively’ isn’t saying much.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Basira rubs at her face. “I have to do this. Just… trust me.”

“You know I do–”

“Then let me have your back,” Basira says, practically pleading. “Let me help you.”

“Fine,” Daisy mutters, her posture going slack. “Do what you want.”

It’s not exactly a resounding endorsement, but it’s as good as they’re likely to get.

_________________

Despite Daisy’s lack of enthusiasm, Basira immediately throws herself into making arrangements. The Curator at Pu Songling is more than accommodating, seemingly as eager as Basira to make the trade. The real challenge is the Head of Artefact Storage.

It takes over a week of cajoling, lengthy justifications, and a concerted, collaborative effort from Basira, Jon, and Martin before Sonja finally, albeit reluctantly, agrees to discuss the matter with the Curator. Over the following days, Basira and Jon facilitate negotiations between the two: mediating a fair amount of (professional, but nevertheless pointed) verbal sparring early on, and later arbitrating the terms and conditions of the trade.

“You’d think that in the course of dealing with literal supernatural evil on a daily basis,” Basira gripes at one point, “bureaucracy wouldn’t be the biggest priority.”

“I’ve found that the bureaucratic process gives me ample time to make assessments,” Sonja says, unruffled. “Red tape has a way of bringing out the worst in people. Sometimes that’s a procrastinating student who woke up this morning, realized their deadline is next week, and ‘needs access to our materials, like, yesterday,’” she says, complete with finger quotes and a mocking tone. “And sometimes it’s some shady rich snob who’s been consistently cagey about his motives, and eventually he starts to go from impatient and entitled to desperate and frustrated, and that’s when the red flags start popping up crimson. After a while, you learn to distinguish the mundane sort of desperation from the more sinister sort.”

“Huh,” Jon says, smiling to himself. He knew Sonja was clever, but he never knew she was so calculating. It seems Jonah made the same mistake with Sonja as he did with Gertrude – overestimating a person’s curiosity and malleability, underestimating their prudence and pragmatism, and then promoting them to a position where they were free to act in a decidedly un-Beholding-like manner.

Once Sonja is sufficiently assured that the Curator has no intentions of utilizing the artefact or allowing it to venture beyond the secure confines of Pu Songling’s Collections Storage, the process starts to go a bit more smoothly. As expected, Sonja is amenable to the prospect of having one less piece of malignant costume jewelry, as she puts it, provided the Archival staff take full responsibility – both for the ring once Basira signs it out and for the artefact they receive in exchange.

“The ring has a compulsion effect,” Sonja tells them. “Makes people want to put it on – and once it’s on your finger, it’s not coming off until you hit the ground. Luckily it’s not a particularly active artefact, at least not compared to some of the other things we have here. I wouldn’t call it safe, obviously, but” – she raps her knuckles on the wooden beads of the bracelet on her opposite wrist – “it’s never breached containment.”

The how and why become abundantly clear upon seeing the closed ring box, so caked in earth and grime that it’s impossible to make out the color or material underneath.

“Buried, I take it,” Basira murmurs, giving Jon a sidelong glance.

“Yeah.” Jon grimaces at the phantom taste of soil on his tongue. “An artefact to contain an artefact.”

“Looks like the Curator is getting a twofer,” Basira says.

“Fine by me,” Sonja says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s the box it came in, actually. Don’t know why it works, but it does, and that’s all I care about. So long as you keep it closed, the worst you’ll get is vertigo. As far as we’ve observed, anyway. There’s always a chance that an artefact has more secrets than it lets on at first glance. Assuming you know everything there is to know is a good way to end up in a casket.”

“We’re well aware,” Jon says. “Believe me.”

“Seriously, though – if this goes tits up, I don’t want to hear it,” Sonja says sternly, all but wagging a finger. “And if you call up here a few months from now to tell me that you’ve got a rogue artefact wreaking havoc in the Archives, and I’ve got to put my people at risk to contain it, I will unleash unholy hell.”

The funny thing is, Jon believes her.

_________________

Despite the progress they’re making on obtaining the Hunter’s brooch, dissent continues to simmer within the group – particularly where Daisy is concerned. As the escalating tension in the Archives becomes ever more tangible, Martin begins to feel claustrophobic under the weight of all the things left unspoken.

Daisy is consistently ill-tempered: bellicose in one moment and taciturn in the next, frequently seeking out solitude whenever her agitation gets the best of her. Martin suspects that her volatile mood has as much to do with her deteriorating condition as it does to do with her lingering aversion to the rest of the group’s efforts. Although she and Basira haven’t had another row – so far as Martin is aware, anyway – there’s been an undeniable friction between them. On the worst days, Basira keeps to herself, burying her head in her research while Daisy slinks off to some dark corner of the Archives to brood until Jon comes to drag her away from her thoughts.

Not that Jon is much better. He’s been sullen lately, growing more withdrawn, sleeping less and jumping at shadows even more than usual. Martin often catches him in a trance, staring vacantly into space and droning horrors under his breath. More and more he lapses into statement clips mid-sentence, regardless of how recently he’s had a statement. Sometimes, all it takes is a momentary slip for Jon to lose his footing and devolve into a frenzied litany of back-to-back, fragmentary horror stories. On a few recent occasions he’s lost his voice entirely, though luckily it’s only been for an hour or two at a time.

(So far, Jon says morosely after each episode.)

Most unsettling, though, is the chronic faraway look in his eye, like he’s seeing something else. Like he’s somewhere else, lost across an unbridgeable divide.

Martin is well-acquainted with the sensation of feeling alone in the presence of others. That doesn’t make it any less distressing. It’s not that Jon intends to be distant. He might not even be aware of it; would likely be mortified if he knew just how much that detachment stirred Martin’s longstanding fears of isolation and abandonment. Jon’s still affectionate, after all. Although he seems reluctant to actively seek out comfort these days, he’s still prompt to take an outstretched hand, to lean into a kind touch, to accept a proffered embrace. Still makes a concerted effort to muster, however feebly, a soft smile whenever Martin enters a room. Still attempts to be present and attentive and open.

But sometimes it feels like Jon is out of reach, separated from the rest of the world, watching it pass him by through layers of frosted glass. Martin knows the feeling. What he doesn’t know is how to fix it.

Before long, Basira is set to leave for Beijing, an artefact of the Vast nestled away in her luggage amidst assurances to Sonja that, yes, under no circumstances will Basira attempt to take it on a plane or into the open ocean because, no, Basira does not have a death wish, thank you very much.

Martin half-expects another quarrel to break out on the eve of Basira’s departure, but Daisy is oddly subdued. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to part ways with angry words and unresolved arguments, or perhaps she’s simply come to accept the rest of the group’s decision to move forward with the plan. Considering the dark circles under her eyes, though, it’s just as likely that she’s simply too fatigued to start a fight.

A few days later, Martin descends the ladder into the tunnels to find Jon standing at his makeshift desk, staring down at the map unfurled across its surface – the product of the group’s ongoing efforts to survey the sprawling tunnel system of the former Millbank Prison. The blueprint-in-progress is an equally sprawling thing: sheets of mismatched paper layered one atop the next and taped together, its irregular borders comprised of haphazard angles and dog-eared edges.

The hand-drawn map on its surface is chaotic, reflecting the penmanship of four different authors. Jon’s contributions might be the messiest – the burn scar contracture on his dominant hand renders his lines shaky at best, and his handwriting has always been a tad chickenscratch. Daisy’s isn’t much better. Conversely, Basira’s additions are the neatest, her strokes as steady as the persona she tries to project to the world. Martin’s are passable, if only because, unlike Jon or Daisy, he actually has the patience to use rulers and book edges to trace straight paths.

To be fair, it would probably look a mess no matter how painstaking they were in constructing it. The tunnels are as labyrinthine as expected: a vast network of arterial corridors with offshoots along their lengths, branching into three- or four-way forks, most of which lead to dead ends. Occasionally, they find a path that loops back around and connects other parts of the maze, creating a series of meandering, convoluted closed circuits. It’s difficult to tell just by looking, but they are (Martin hopes) making progress. At the rate they’re going, they have to be on track to find the Panopticon before the winter solstice.

In any case, as Martin approaches the desk, he sees that familiar vacant look on Jon’s face, as if he isn’t actually seeing what’s in front of him. The effect is underscored by the cigarette burning away in his hand, hanging limp and forgotten at his side. Martin clears his throat lightly, in deference to Jon’s hair-trigger startle reflex. He doesn’t count the fact that Jon doesn’t jump at all as a success. If anything, it’s cause for concern.

“Jon?” Martin tries. There’s a slight delay before Jon glances over, giving Martin no acknowledgment aside from a sluggish blink before lowering his head again.

“I, uh…” Martin offers a weak smile, attempting to keep his tone light. He gestures at the cigarette. “I thought you quit?”

Jon shrugs, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes. “Not like it’ll kill me.”

“Might catch up with you later, though,” Martin says, scratching at his neck. “You know, once we find a way out of here.”

“There is no ‘out’ for me,” Jon says mulishly.

“You don’t know that. Or Know it.” Jon’s only reaction is to press his lips tightly together, like he’s biting back a retort. “Look, I’m not trying to nag you, I just wor– Jon!” Martin yelps as he watches Jon put his cigarette out on the back of his hand.

Martin lunges forward, grabbing Jon’s hand and yanking it close to inspect the damage. It’s the same hand that Jude shook, already textured and pitted with webs of hypertrophic scarring. Somehow, Jon managed to plant this newest burn on a patch of previously-undamaged skin, sandwiched between two bands of knotted tissue.

The contours of her fingers, Martin recognizes with a queasy lurch – followed by another when he thinks to wonder whether Jon sought out that scrap of healthy skin on purpose just now.

Jon barely reacts, staring into space with wide eyes and dilated pupils. Martin looks down again to see the circular singe mark already knitting itself back together, leaving only a small, shiny patch of discoloration ringed with a dusting of ash. In all likelihood, even that will be gone by morning.

If only all wounds would heal so easily.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Martin hisses, fighting to keep his voice even. He brushes a soothing thumb over the spot, as if to apologize to the abused skin on Jon’s behalf.

Jogged out of his reverie by Martin’s sharp tone, Jon stares daggers at him, his mouth open as if to unleash a scathing reprimand, the set of his jaw so reminiscent of those early days in the Archives. An instant later, though, he withers, cringing away and fixing his eyes on the floor.

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles, at least having the decency to sound contrite. “Wasn’t really paying attention.”

It’s not the first time Martin’s witnessed a self-inflicted injury. When pressed, Jon always claims that it’s not a deliberate, planned form of self-punishment, but rather a reflex reaction that kicks in when he starts feeling adrift in time. Somewhere along the line, it seems, he convinced himself that physical pain is as good a shortcut as any – a sort of panic button to bring him back to the present when he needs grounding.

Whatever his intentions, though, and no matter what rationalizations Jon wants to dole out, it’s not a healthy coping mechanism. And it’s difficult for Martin to believe that self-punishment doesn’t factor at all, considering Jon’s obsessive guilt spirals and his blasé attitude towards being hurt.

“‘S already healed,” Jon says with a spiritless shrug. He drops the snuffed-out remainder of his cigarette on the floor and unnecessarily grinds it under his heel.

“That’s not the point.” Martin doesn’t realize how tightly he’s grasping Jon’s hand until Jon winces. Although Martin relaxes his grip somewhat, he doesn’t let go. “It doesn’t matter how quickly your body heals, or that you’ve had worse, or whatever other justifications you want to make. You’re still getting hurt. That’s not okay, and – and if it were me in your shoes, you’d be telling me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon’s hair falls to cover his face as he ducks his head.

It’s fine, Martin almost says – except it’s not, is it?

“Come on,” he says instead, guiding Jon to sit in the nearest chair before taking a seat next to him. Where before Jon was all stiff limbs and rigid spine, now he looks like he’s given up the ghost, drooping like a wilting flower.

Though he allows Martin to keep hold of his hand, Jon doesn’t return the pressure. And Jon’s skin is freezing – no doubt partly due to the damp chill of the tunnels, and partly because he has, by his own admission, always had shit circulation. Combined with his limp fingers and loose grip, though, the overall effect is far too reminiscent of those months spent keeping vigil over Jon’s hospital bed, his hand nothing but cold, dead weight in Martin’s.

It took too long for Martin to admit that he had been foolish to hope that Jon was still in there somewhere, aware of Martin’s presence, fighting to regain consciousness. The whole time, Martin was just keeping his own company. Jon wasn’t just unreachable – he wasn’t there at all.

(Martin had been wrong about that in the end. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever forgive himself for not being there when Jon woke up.)

Martin bites his lip as he formulates a response. He’s learned over the years that when Jon is like this, it’s best to strike a careful balance between docility and defiance. Push too hard too fast, and Jon will dig his heels in; approach him too tentatively, and he’s liable to interpret concern as pity; force him to talk about his feelings, and he’ll bolt; smother him with tenderness, and he’ll balk.

Granted, Jon has become much more receptive to tenderness over the years. Most of the time, anyway. When his skewed self-worth and convictions about what he does and doesn’t deserve don’t get in the way.

“At the risk of being a nag–”

“You’re not a nag,” Jon says softly.

“When’s the last time you had a statement?”

“A few days ago.” The response is too quick, too automatic.

“A few days ago,” Martin repeats, allowing a bit of disbelief to seep into his voice.

Jon nods stiffly. “Monday, I think.”

“Today is Tuesday.”

“I–” Jon cuts off his own retort, turning to blink owlishly at Martin. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, his heart sinking. Jon must be losing time again. “So you had a statement yesterday?”

“No, I – I don’t…” Jon squints up at the ceiling, wracking his brain. “I don’t think so? It’s – I think I would recall if it had been shorter than one day.”

“So, last Monday?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” Jon says, growing testy. “I suppose. Must’ve been.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” The admission is devoid of all the simmering agitation that had been there only moments before. Now, he just sounds tired.

“Well… I think you might be due for one.” Although Martin had been striving for gentle suggestion, there’s a harsh edge to the words. Rather than get Jon’s hackles up again, though, he seems to crumple under what he doubtless reads as an accusation.

“You’re right,” he says hoarsely. “And I’m sorry. I know lately I’ve been…”

“Tetchy,” Martin offers, just as Jon says, “a bit of a prick.”

“Your words, not mine,” Martin says with a tentative grin. Jon returns his own feeble half-smile, but it quickly falters.

“I’ve almost exhausted Daisy’s catalogue,” he confesses. “Only a handful left now. I’ve got to make them last until the solstice.”

An apprehensive chill runs down Martin’s spine at that. “And then what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

There’s virtually no chance that Jon, prone to rumination as he is, hasn’t been dwelling on it.

“Basira said she has a few statements, right?” Martin asks. “Which… if you already have a statement about an encounter, can you still get nourishment from other statements about it, so long as it’s coming from someone else’s point of view?”

“Probably.” Jon shrugs one shoulder. “The factual details of the encounter are less important than the subject’s emotional response. Different perspective, different story, different lived experience of fear.”

“Then… you have my statement about the Flesh attack, but there’s still Basira’s. And – and maybe Melanie–”

“I’m not taking another statement from Melanie,” Jon says tersely. “She’s been tethered to me for too long without say, and I’m not dragging her back in.”

“But if it’s consensual–”

“It won’t be, because I don’t consent.”

“If the alternative is literally starving–”

“I’ll find another alternative. Or I won’t. But I’m not asking Melanie for a statement.” Jon keeps his head bowed, but he looks up at Martin through his lashes. “The first time she quit, I was worried that she might show up in my nightmares again, but she didn’t. I don’t know if her severance from the Eye will keepher out of my nightmares if she gives me a new statement, and… I can’t risk it. I can’t do that to her. Even if the nightmares weren’t an issue… I’m not going to ask her to relive yet another traumatic experience for my benefit–”

“–I shall choose to die rather than take part in such an unholy meal–”

Jon claps a hand over his mouth, a panicked look in his eye.

“…nor shall I take my own life, whatever extremity my suffering may reach,” he tacks on, too much of an afterthought for comfort.

“Which means we need to plan for the future,” Martin says, forcing calm into his voice despite the way his heart picks up its pace.

“But it can’t involve Melanie,” Jon says – gentler than before, but still firm.

“No, you’re – you’re right,” Martin relents. “It wouldn’t be fair to her. But we could still ask Basira.”

Jon makes a noncommittal noise, his expression rapidly going pinched and closed off again.

“Lately,” Martin says, licking his lips nervously, “lately it feels like you’ve been shutting everyone out again. It isn’t healthy–”

“Healthy?” Jon’s glare could burn a hole in the floor. “I don’t need to be healthy, I just need to be whatever it wants.”

Once, Martin might have been daunted by Jon’s scathing tone. By now, he knows that Jon is all bluster – and that the brunt of it is turned inward, against his own self.

“Please, Jon. Tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

Those, apparently, are the magic words, because Jon finally capitulates.

“It’s October,” he tells the floor.

“It… is October, yeah.” Bewildered, Martin waits for elaboration. When a minute passes with no response forthcoming, he prompts, “Is that… bad…?”

“Historically, yes, it has been,” Jon says with a tired, frayed-sounding chuckle.

“I… Jon, I need you to help me out here,” Martin says helplessly. “I can’t read your mind.”

“October is when it happens, Martin.” Jon glances at Martin once, quickly, before returning his gaze to the ground. He’s twisting one hand around the opposite wrist now, fingers curled tightly enough to blanch his knuckles. “The eighteenth. When everything goes wrong.”

“You mean…”

Jon’s sharp inhale becomes a choked exhale, which in turn abruptly cuts off as the Archive takes its cue.

“…what settled over me wasn’t dread; there wasn’t enough uncertainty for that. It was doom. I was certain that some sort of disaster was on the horizon–”

“–something bad. Something unspeakable. And I would have helped make it happen–”

“–the fear never really went away. I’ve heard that being exposed to the source of your terror over and over again can help break its power over you, numb you to it, but in my experience it just teaches you to hide from it. Sometimes that might mean hiding in a quiet corner of your mind, but–”

“–soon enough, I could no longer fool myself–”

“–the calm I had been getting accustomed to had been torn away completely, and where it had been was just this horrible, ice-cold terror–”

“–that – we can’t escape the ruins of our own future–”

“–a future where – humanity was violently and utterly supplanted, and wiped out by a new category of being–”

“–there are terrible things coming – things that, if we knew them, would leave us weak and trembling, with shuddering terror at the knowledge that they are coming for all of us–”

“–I think in my heart, I have been waiting for this moment. For the final axe to fall–”

“–we create the world in a lot of ways. I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that, when we’re not being careful, we can change it–”

There’s a breathless pause before Jon continues, in a nearly inaudible whisper: “What could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible?”

“It is,” Martin says firmly, “and we’re on it. What happened last time won’t happen again. We won’t let it.”

Jon doesn’t acknowledge the reassurance.

“I should’ve known,” he says with a quiet ferocity, in his own voice this time. “It was too peaceful. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to last. And – and on some level I did know – I knew it wasn’t over – but I just… I didn’t want to be the one to shatter the illusion, I suppose.” His expression goes taut. “Didn’t much matter what I wanted, in the end. But I still should’ve seen it coming. Can’t let my guard down again.”

“How could you have known?” Martin doesn’t intend for it to come out as exasperated. He tries to reel it back, to gentle his tone. “You’ve said yourself that you can’t predict the future–”

“No, but I knew Jonah had plans for me. And I knew nothing good could come of feeding the Eye, but I kept on anyway.”

“It’s not like you were doing it for fun, Jon! You needed it to survive, and Jonah took advantage of that. Or…” No – that makes it sound purely opportunistic, doesn’t it? In reality, it was all part of Jonah’s long game from the start. “He made you dependent on statements specifically becausehe wanted to take advantage of that.”

“I made choices,” Jon says tonelessly. “I can’t absolve myself of responsibility just because Jonah was nudging me in a particular direction.”

“You were manipulated,” Martin insists, “and I’m not having you apologize for surviving it. For not starving to death.”

“You don’t understand,” Jon says, growing more distressed, reaching up with both hands and tangling his fingers in his hair. “When that box of statements finally arrived, I… I couldn’t shoo you away fast enough. I was hungry, yes, but I wasn’t starving yet. I could’ve waited longer, but I just… I wanted one–”

“–should have fought harder against the temptation – but my curiosity was too strong–”

“You shouldn’t have to wait until you’re literally on death’s doorstep before you fulfill a basic need,” Martin interrupts.

“I should when that ‘basic need’ entails serving the Beholding,” Jon says heatedly. “And I – I should’ve known better – should’ve known not to jump headlong into the first statement that caught my eye. I’d known for a while that the Beholding leads me away from statements it doesn’t want me to know. It logically follows that it would lead me towards statements that would strengthen it. If I’d had any sense, I would’ve been suspicious of anything in that box that called out to me. It didn’t… it didn’t feel any different, but I – I suppose that somewhere along the line I just got used to… to wandering down whatever path I was led. I didn’t think, I never stop to think–”

“If anything, Jon, you overthink. You’re overthinking right now.”

Martin has known for a long time now that Jon will latch onto the smallest details, allow his thoughts to branch into an impossible number of routes and tangents, tie together loose threads in countless permutations in the interest of considering all possible conclusions, no matter how outlandish. He will apply Occam's razor in one moment before tossing it into the bin, only to fish it out again: lather, rinse, repeat. His mind is a noisy, cluttered conspiracy corkboard, and he’ll hang himself with red string if given half a chance, just to feel like he’s in control of something.

“It’s easy to look back and criticize your past self,” Martin says, “but he didn’t know what you do. If we knew the outcome to every action, maybe we wouldn’t make mistakes, but we’re only human–”

“Not all of us.”

“–so we just have to do the best with what we have in the moment,” Martin continues, paying no heed to Jon’s grumbled comment. No good will come of guiding him down that rabbit trail right now. Anyway, Martin has a more pressing concern–

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this sooner?” he blurts out, immediately wincing at his lack of tact. “That came out wrong–”

“Why didn’t I tell you how quick I was to chase you out of the house and sink my teeth into a statement the moment temptation presented itself?” Jon scoffs. “Because I’m ashamed. Why else?”

“No, not–” Martin scrubs a hand over his face. It’s a struggle, sometimes, not to grab Jon by the shoulders and shake him until all of that stubborn self-loathing falls away. “About the fact that you’ve got a – a post-traumatic anniversary event coming up, I mean. You haven’t been well, and I thought I understood why – thought it was just… all of it, in general. But here I come to find you’ve been agonizing over the upcoming date of the single worse day of your life–”

“One of the worst,” Jon says quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t lose you until much later.”

Martin’s breath catches in his throat at that, a sharp pang shooting through his chest.

“Well… you’ve got me now,” he says meekly. “So – so you don’t have to suffer in silence, is what I’m saying. What happened to you – no, what was done to you – it was horrible, and it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.”

“Either I’ve always been caught up in someone else’s web, passively having things happen to me with no control over my life–”

“–the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear – so acute that I could later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis–”

Jon bites down on one knuckle, eyes shut tight as he waits for the compulsion to subside.

“Or,” he says after a minute, “or I do have control, and I can change the outcome, which makes me culpable. I don’t know which prospect I hate more. Which probably says some unflattering things about me.”

“It’s not that simple–”

“It is,” Jon says viciously. “If there is another path, then I should’ve found it last time!” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a steadying breath. When he speaks again, he’s no longer bordering on shouting, but there’s a quaver in his voice, a fragility that Martin finds more disconcerting than any flash of anger. “The way I see it, there are two options. One, what happened in my future was inevitable and nothing I could’ve done would’ve changed it – which certainly doesn’t bode well for this timeline. Or, the outcome can be changed, in which case my choices matter, and had I just made better choices, maybe I could have prevented all of this from ever happening in the first place.”

“You’re not being fair,” Martin says, his hands clenching into fists – but Jon isn’t listening.

“Doesn’t make much difference, I suppose. The consequences are the same either way–”

“–billions of – people making their way through life who had no idea what was right above their heads–”

“–would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters–”

“–minds so strange and colossal that we would never know they were minds at all–”

“–idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing–”

“–there, caught up in a series of events that I didn’t understand but that terrified me – I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done–”

“–running was pointless. To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do–”

“–I don’t know if you have ever drowned, but it’s the most painful thing I have ever experienced–”

“–I do not suppose I need to dwell on the pain, but please know that I would sooner die than endure it again–”

“Would you?” Martin says abruptly. Jon won’t look at him. “Jon, I need to know if you’re feeling like hurting yourself.”

“What would it matter if I was?” Jon still won’t look at him. “I’m categorically incapable of hurting myself in any way that matters.”

Martin blinks in disbelief. “Okay, that’s blatantly untrue.”

Jon has been a glaring portrait of self-neglect for as long as Martin has known him. That simple lack of consideration for himself, together with compounding survivor’s guilt, was the perfect stepping stone to active self-endangerment. Now that Jon’s convinced himself he’s invulnerable to a normal human death, he’s all the more careless with himself.

“I don’t want to die,” Jon whispers. “That’s the problem.”

“What—?”

“Before, I was unknowingly putting the entire world at risk by – by waking up after the Unknowing, by crawling out of the Buried, by escaping the Hunters, by continuing to read statements like it was – like it was something routine, as unremarkable as – as taking tea. Now, though – now I know better. I know what Jonah is planning, I saw what I’m capable of, and still I… I don’t want to die.”

“Well… good,” Martin says. “You should want to live–”

“It doesn’t much matter what I want–”

“–I never wanted to weigh up the value of a life, to set it on the scales against my own, but that’s a choice that I am forced into–”

“–doesn’t get to die for that – gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever – powerless–”

“–a lynchpin for this new ritual – a record of fear–”

Shit, Martin thinks the instant he recognizes the statement. It’s the worst of them all, virtually guaranteed to send Jon spiraling.

“–both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you – a living chronicle of terror – a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom–”

“Okay, okay, stay with me–”

“–the Chosen one is simply that: someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck–”

“Jon, can you hear me? Jon–”

“–I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but my god, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was–”

Martin reaches over, taking both of Jon’s hands in his own and squeezing tightly. The pressure seems to do the trick: lucidity sparks in Jon’s eyes and he takes a deep, ragged breath, as if coming up for air.

“There you are. Are you okay?” Martin rubs both thumbs over the backs of Jon’s hands in rhythmic, soothing motions. “Hey, it’s–”

“I don’t want your kindness!” Jon snaps, jerking backwards and snatching his hands out from Martin’s grip.

Both of them lapse into a stunned silence. As mortification dawns on Jon’s face, Martin can feel the color rising in his cheeks. It only takes a few seconds for the blood rushing in his ears to be drowned out by another voice.

Martin can remember with cutting clarity the days prior to his mother’s departure to the nursing home. She had been in (somewhat) rare form, her already-short fuse dwindled down to nothing, sniping at him around the clock, full of caustic observations and spiteful accusations.

I don’t want your help, she had sneered as she entered the cab, swatting his hand away.

It was one of the last things she ever said to him.

“Well, tough,” Martin bites out, “because you deserve it, and you never should’ve had to go without it, and you’re not going to change my mind about that, so you may as well stop trying!”

“Martin, I – I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

He saw, Martin realizes all at once, his skin crawling with humiliation.

“I’m going to go make some tea,” Martin says, rising to his feet.

Jon reaches out a hand. “Martin–”

“I just need a breather, okay?” Martin says, a pleading note to his voice. His lungs are constricting, his chest is tightening, there’s a lump in his throat, and he really doesn’t want to have a panic attack in the tunnels – or in front of Jon. “I’m not – I’m not angry, okay, I just need some air.”

Jon opens his mouth, then immediately closes it, clutches his hands to his chest, and gives a tiny nod that Martin just barely glimpses before turning to flee.

_________________

“Stop crying,” Jon hisses at himself, furiously scrubbing at his face as the tears slide down his cheeks. “Stop it.”

He plasters the heels of his hands over his closed eyelids. It does nothing to stem the flow, only brings to mind images of pressing himself bodily against a door to hold it closed, only for the crack to continue widening, millimeter after millimeter, the flood on the other side trickling through the gap, rivulets swelling into rivers, frigid eddies biting at his ankles, a whitewater undertow threatening to drag him below the waves–

“Enjoying our own company, are we?”

Once, Jon might have been humiliated to be caught mid-breakdown, raw-voiced and puffy-eyed, especially by Peter Lukas of all people. Several lifetimes spent in thrall to cosmic horrors have a way of putting things in perspective.

“What do you want?” Jon says with as much ire as he can muster.

Peter hums to himself, starting a slow, back-and-forth pace in front of Jon. “It occurred to me that I’ve been derelict in my duties as far as the Archives are concerned–”

“That’s just now occurring to you?”

“–and, as such, I thought it was high time that I met the infamous Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

“Well,” Jon scoffs, gesturing at himself, “you’ve met him.”

“I must admit, I was expecting something a bit more… hm.” Peter taps a finger against his lips. “Formidable.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” The scathing sarcasm is rendered pitiful by an ill-timed, involuntary sniffle. Jon can’t bring himself to care.

“The state you’re in, you hardly seem fit to work.” A pause. “Have you ever considered taking some time off?”

“A six-months hospital stay has a way of eating up your PTO, oddly enough. I’m told that payroll already has already had to make special exceptions for my ‘unprecedented’ circumstances.” Jon chuckles to himself. “On multiple occasions. Did you know the Institute considers a kidnapping in the line of duty to be an ‘unexcused absence?’”

“I think you’ll find that Elias and I have different management styles,” Peter says mildly. “I’m open to making allowances – particularly since your department can function so smoothly in your absence. Your assistants have proven themselves to be quite capable of working independently – and seeing as your approach to supervision borders on fraternization, I imagine they would be more productive without excess drama to distract them.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Jon says acerbically.

“No need.” Jon squints at him, and Peter stare him down. “It’s not a request, Archivist. It’s an order.”

There was a time, not long ago, that sneaking up on the Archivist would have been difficult. Only Helen had consistently managed to ambush him, and that was because she didn’t waste time sneaking – she manifested and launched the jump scare in the same instant, giving him no chance to See her approach. Readjusting to a binocular point of view had been a process, but rarely does he find himself yearning for the panoramic field of vision that had been foisted upon him during the apocalypse.

Occasionally, though, there are moments when 360° sight would come in handy. Too late, Jon realizes this is one of those moments.

By the time he notices the tendrils of encroaching fog, they’re already curling around from behind him, pooling at his feet, ghosting across the back of his neck, affixing themselves around his wrists.

“It’s alright,” Peter says placidly, almost soothingly. “You can let go now.”

Jon shivers as his heart pumps ice through his veins, fingers and toes going numb as he struggles for breath.

No. No, no, no, no, no–

“I am not Lonely anymore,” Jon gasps out through chattering teeth.

“No,” Peter says with an air of nonchalance. Then he smiles, sharp and cold and cruel and the only detail Jon can still discern through the fog. “But you will be.”

___

End Notes:

Daisy: hey siri, google what to do if i suspect my bff has been possessed by the ghost of a fussy paleornithologist Jon: why are you booing me????? i’m right

Pretty sure this is the longest chapter yet? Probably bc of the statement. I could’ve split it into two, but, uh. I like that cliffhanger where it is. >:3c (Sorry for that, btw.)

Quite a bit of Archive-speak this chapter. Citations as follows: Section 1: 122/124/011/007/047/155. The Xiaoling quote is from MAG 105; the Jonah quote is ofc from 160; the Naomi quote is from 013. Section 3: 181. Section 5: 058 x2; 144/130/086/143/121/149/134/144/143/069; 147; 017; 147; 057/160/106/111/067/121/129/098; 155/128/160; 160 x3. Section 6: 170, of course.

I’m taking wild liberties with Pu Songling Research Centre’s whole deal. I’m conceptualizing their spookier departments as being like… actually academia-oriented, instead of “local Victorian corpse with illusions of godhood throws a bunch of traumatized nerds with no relevant archival experience into a basement, what happens next will shock you”. Xiaoling is out here like “our digitization is still a work in progress, I’m sure you know how it is” and Jon Sims is like “digitization who? i don’t know her”. (Listen, he tried once. Tape recorder was haunted, he got kidnapped a bunch, there were worms and things, he died (he got better), his boss used him as a battering ram to open a door to Fearpocalypse Hell – it was a lot.)

Likewise, we didn’t get much info about Sonja in canon, so I’m having fun envisioning her as a certified Force To Be Reckoned With (and a bit of a Mama Bear wrt her assistants). Most of the Institute is leery of the Archives (& especially Jon) but Sonja’s seen a lot of shit and Jon Sims doesn’t even rank on her list of Top Spooky Scary Things.

re: the statement – it’s not clear in-text, but I want to clarify that I’m not conceptualizing Francis Drake as being influenced by the Hunt. Fictionalizing aspects of history is tricky, and I’d feel personally uncomfortable chalking up Drake’s real life atrocities to supernatural influence, even in fiction. In the case of this particular fictional member of his crew, he was (like Drake’s real-life crew) complicit in following Drake’s orders for entirely mundane reasons and was only marked by the Hunt at the point in his statement where he first recounts hearing the Hunt chasing after him.

At some point in writing this chapter, I had 137 tabs open in my browser for Research Purposes and like 20 of those were bc my dumb ass seriously considered writing that statement in Elizabethan English before going “what are you DOING, actually.” If I’d tried, it would have come off as inauthentic at best, if not ridiculous, bc I’m unfamiliar with English linguistic trends of the 1500s, and I’d basically be badly mimicking Shakespearean English, which isn’t necessarily indicative of how everyone spoke at the time, and I don’t know what colloquial speech would look like for this particular unnamed character I trotted out as exposition fodder, and it was probably unnecessary to formulate a whole-ass personal history for him for the sake of Historical Realism for a single section of a single chapter of a fanfic, and… In the end, I decided that this pseudo-immortal rando can tell his life story in modernized English, as a treat (to me) (and also to those of you who don’t think of slogging through bastardized Elizabethan prose as a fun endeavor).

Speaking of research – shoutout to this dissertation that had an English translation of the Herla story in Walter Map’s De nugis curialium, and if you want to read the whole story, you can find it on pages 16-18 of that paper. I feel it’s important for you all to know that IMMEDIATELY after Map dramatically proclaims, “the dog has not yet alighted, and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay,” he goes on to say in the next breath “buuuut some people say they all jumped into the River Wye and died, so ymmv. ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ anyways, can I interest you in more Fucked Up If True tales?” (Herla throwing the dog into the river wasn’t in the original story though. I made that part up.)

Thank you so much for reading! <3

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #long post #tma spoilers #magnuspod

[the-terminal-show]

i lucid dreamed today, i was super aware for some reason. I even began to wake up and i said ''no get back in there!!!'' & 5 sec later i immediately began dreaming again lmao.

I was falling endlessly in the dark while i passed duplicated green silk wallpaper fleur patterened walls with a single scalloped glass lantern that hung from a twisted gold spoke.

When i stopped falling i was deposited into a huge dimly lit room full of random stuff like an antique store, but if the antique store came from an I Spy book. The windows were pitch black and the walls alternated between white stucco and corrugated sheet metal. I was amused with how lucid I was and wouldn't stop laughing about 'hey i'm dreaming yeaaaa ha ha' , and looking at my hands...although, they weren't my hands. I had thick sausagey fingers & no nails.

Then I chose to look inside a white diorama of a huge wood slatten house, almost like a doll house, but the walls were illuminated neon or contained their own sun, nature and weather. It was full of tiny little pieces of multicolored furniture that all kept shifting. Most of it's height came to a peak on the right side with 3 stories of vertical stairs leading to an outlook balcony and steeple.

I moved to look at a round plastic table, out of everything i picked up a gold oblong beveled...coin? It was thick and had engravings, i held it up to my face to read it but it's surface was glitching like VR iridescent mercury, it had impressions of multiple letters and characters blending into one another, as well as an inconsistent faint outline of a moth, bat or butterfly.

I gave up on that and went to look at the wood counter that wrapped around the room just left of the doll house, i picked up a loose torn magazine page, on it was a black & white picture of trent reznor, similar to some meme i scrolled past the day before, except now he had his hands on his hips and was looking accusingly at the reader through a bright spotlight almost like a 90s anti-drug ad lol, you know what i mean.

I was like.....ok.....not really what i wanted, I was trying to will my meditation partner/ego/w/e in. But instead when i tried the 'close your eyes & spin in place' thing, there behind me was Mr. Reznor looking incredulous instead lmao. So i expressed annoyance & started asking where are you?? In other languages, then i got greedy and thought surely if i embrace mr. R then it will change. Well instead all I got was a face full of black denim jacket like grabbing onto a rock mannequin, and then the simulation fell apart cause well, that was a lot of shit to render continuously. That or the stupid bird outside suddenly chirping incessantly woke me up.

My head hurt for 5 hours. But let'sa go back!!! Why not a familiar room i've rendered hundreds of times in my head instead of some random chaos zone.. I'm doing reality checks every 30-40 min now, here's hoping. On god i'm gonna redacted redacted and eat your heart, calea zacatechichi, don't know her, who needs it, my mind is strong as is.

I realize, it's not really any different or necessary, since real life memories, fabrications, meditations, dreams and even memories from being inside VR are all equally vivid and 'real' to each other for me. Thank fuck to whoever I inherited extreme hyperphantasia from, I can do anything while not existing. Bye+ sleepy time

#dreamD

[randomoranges]

sometimes fights happen. the last of the relationship arch and technically the first. would come before Jello and Relationship Status: conjoint you don’t need to have read the others.

Apology [Accepted]

20XX

They’re out and about, Étienne bringing him on his usual whirlwind visit of the city, not wanting him to miss out on anything going on during his time here. It’s been an overall pleasant day and they’ve taken a small break to enjoy a treat on one of the many terasses the city has to offer. They’re sitting close, Étienne having no real notion of what personal space is, and Edward finds he doesn’t mind. It’s nice and he likes that Étienne hasn’t put up his usual guard. His boyfriend has been regaling him with some bodacious tale, when he is interrupted, halfway through, when another person comes up to them.

 “Étienne?!” The person says, astounded and surprised to find him here.

 Étienne automatically puts some space between them, as if suddenly aware of where he is and Edward watches as his boyfriend’s eyes grow wide and a grin etches itself on his face, “Oh mon Dieu, Malik, allô! Ça fait longtemps!”

 There’s the usual exchange of kisses on cheeks and pats on the back, followed by catching up on the latest. Edward watches, from the corner of his eyes, as Étienne once more seems to know everyone he runs into and something starts stirring inside of him that he can’t quite name.

 “Aye, scuse, j’avais pas vu qu’t’étais avec quelqu’un.” Malik says and both of them turn towards him and Edward offers a polite smile and wave.

 “Oui, c’est mon ami, Édouard, yé-t-en visite pour encore une semaine!” Étienne beams and Edward – Edward stills, that one word ringing and repeating itself over and over and over again as an ugly, long forgotten voice returns to whisper fears in his mind, feeding off the feeling from before.

 He tries to ignore it, makes polite chit-chat with Malik until they leave, but the word festers and colours his mood. He remains quiet as Étienne picks up their previous conversation and his mood only sours as the rest of the afternoon progresses.

 He thought – he had dared to think that things were different now.

 He supposes he’d been very wrong.

 Étienne would never change. He isn’t sure why he’s surprised.

 Of course, despite everything Étienne had told him – the confessions and the promises and the affirmations – it had meant nothing. They were only words. Étienne didn’t really like him. They were only words to make him feel better. To dupe him into a lie. He was and is just Some Friend. Some idiot Étienne keeps around for when he’s bored. A simple ami. Not a boyfriend. Not even a vulgar chum.

 Un ami. A friend. Nothing fucking more.

 Étienne probably is ashamed of him. Humours him by having him over. Even now, after all these years. He doesn’t know why he thought otherwise – why he believed Étienne when he’d told him the contrary.

 How stupid of him. How utterly naïve.

 He deserves this, really. Deserves to be mocked when the signs had all been there, really. Everyone had told him that Étienne only played games. He’d been blind to them is all.

 Eventually, Étienne quiets down himself, realising that Edward’s enthusiasm has withered and the rest of the afternoon is a quiet sullen thing. They head back to Étienne’s place afterwards and Étienne lets him be for a moment, while he tends to Mercury and it’s only later, that he goes out of his way to find him and sits beside him.

 “Alright, are you going to tell me what’s eating you or are you going to be a miserable old sack for the rest of the evening?” Étienne sounds a little annoyed and Edward thinks it’s a good thing. He wants him to be annoyed. Wants him to stew and be miserable. Just like he feels now.

 “It’s fine. It’s nothing you should concern yourself with. I’m just a friend, after all. No one important.”

 Étienne gives him a look as though he’s been slapped in the face, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hell, he even sounds insulted.

 Edward sighs, annoyed and frustrated because why would Étienne have the decency of understanding? “I don’t know, you tell me!”

 Étienne blinks, clearly confused, “What are you talking about?”

 “Can’t believe I have to spell it out for you, but then again, I suppose I also shouldn’t be surprised about this either. After all, you’re the one who dismissed me as your friend earlier, when your friend came to chat you up.”

 “You mean Malik? What the hell else was I supposed to call you? Was that too much?” Now, even Étienne sounds annoyed and it’s evident from the way his eyebrows are knit close together and the tightness of his mouth.

 “Your boyfriend! Or are you that ashamed of me?!” He finally near yells.

 Étienne looks at him, surprised. He remains quiet and simply looks. Edward is a little unnerved, but even more so when Étienne lets out a dark and bitter sounding laugh.

 “Oh this is fucking rich coming from you, Murphy.”

 “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

 “You’ve gotta be kidding me, clearly. How the fuck was I supposed to know I could call you that to others when you’ve spent decades avoiding anyone seeing us even walk down a street together in broad daylight!”

 There’s a small voice – very small and very annoying – at the back of his head that tells him Étienne has a point, however Edward ignores it and instead charges on, politeness be damned.

 “Well maybe if you had given me some inkling of a sign that you were into me I would have let you!”

 “Please, you were so far buried into your closet that even your precious Gretzky coming out and fucking you wouldn’t have been enough.”

 He’s aware they’re both going for where it hurts. That they’re using their own deep and buried hurt as a weapon and that they should stop. However, there is something raw that has been unearthed and there seems to be no going back at this point.

 “Of course it’s my fucking fault! You’re too perfect and self-centered to have any flaws.”

 “What does that have to do with the fact that I didn’t know you were okay with me telling people you’re my boyfriend? You never let me know! You’re still not comfortable with PDA! I was trying to be nice, for Christ’s sake!”

 “Yeah, well, it looked more like you were ashamed to be seen in public with me!”

 Étienne scoffs loudly and rolls his eyes at him, “Me? Ashamed of you? Please, it’s always felt like the other way around! I’ve been trying to reach out for you for decades. You’re the one who pushed back and would swat my hand away. And I figured, fine, you weren’t out, whatever. So I kept my hands to myself and didn’t say anything. And even now. I don’t know what you’re comfortable with, so excuse me for fucking wanting to give you space and not knowing what the fuck was actually going on in your head.” Étienne makes to get up and most likely get some air, but Edward isn’t done. He’s not letting Étienne walk away.

 “What the hell?! You can’t honestly believe I was ashamed of you! Why the fuck else would I keep coming back here to see you?”

 “Because I was convenient! An easy escape! You said so yourself! It was easy for you to come here and be whomever. I could have been literally anyone else and it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

 Edward wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all and nearly does. “Of course it was convenient,” He starts and cuts Étienne off before he can go on again, “You were-are my friend so it made it easier. But not because of the reasons you believe.”

 They both fall quiet and stare at each other, an impasse being more or less reached. Eventually, Étienne runs a hand over his face, after removing his glasses and cleans them off his shirt before putting them back on. He takes a deep breath and then sags a little against the couch.

 “So, are you telling me that we both got worked up over some giant misunderstanding and you actually don’t mind me telling people you’re my boyfriend now?” He sounds a little tired, as if this issues has been plaguing his mind for years and Edward feels, for the first time since this whole debacle has started, that they might finally be back on the same page.

 “Something like that... And yes, I don’t mind. I should have told you.” He says a little quieter, a little calmer.

 “And I should’ve asked.”

 They look at each other, hazel meeting green, and it’s a timid understanding that is reached. One formed over embarrassment and apology.

 “I think there are still things we need to discuss.” He doesn’t want this to happen again. For as much as he doesn’t mind clearing the air, he also doesn’t want to hurt Étienne.

 “You mean there are still issues we’re carrying around that could blow up at any time in some toxic way and threaten the foundation of what we have?” Étienne says, mock surprised as he brings a hand to his chest, feigning shock. Edward lets out a puff of air that forms into a little laugh.

 “Yeah, something like that.” He reaches over for Étienne’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “I was never ashamed of you. Honestly and I’m sorry if you thought that.”

 Étienne twines their fingers together and if his grip is a little tight, Edward doesn’t mention it.

 “I know. Logically, I know that. I guess, hearing you say that woke up some old fear inside of me... an old insecurity. We do need to discuss this. I’m sorry – for what I said and hurting your feelings. I’m not ashamed of you. I’ve never been ashamed of you either.” Étienne tentatively scoots closer and Edward carefully places an arm around him, letting Étienne put his head down on his shoulder. He notices a bit of tension ebb away from Étienne’s face and finally, he feels that this too will come to be solved with time.

 FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projocanondoko

[bismillah-nooo]

How Freddie Mercury (and Queen in general) has changed my life

I know my story might not interest anyone, but I feel like this has always been a safe place for me to express myself, so anyway

We all know them. We have all blasted their music in our headphones, sang along to their songs while wishing we could turn back time so that we could go to one of their concerts. We've all been there. Because Queen isn't any rock band. For many of us, is the band of the bands, the eternal number one for numerous reasons.

As a member of the queen fandom, in time I've seen a lot of posts about how unique they all were. I've truly adored these four misfits that, surprisingly, could fit so well together and created masterpieces. The way they devoted their lives to music has always been inspiring to me. It actually makes me believe that there's always a way to achieve our dreams, no matter the circumstances. It gives me hope. Especially, when it comes to being queer. To begin with, I'm a 19 year-old bi female and I've been out of the closet for less than a year. I know that my love for this band has helped me a lot with accepting myself when I was figuring out my orientation. Especially, having Freddie as my idol and watching him be always original and true to himself, like he had nothing to be afraid of, has given me courage and confidence. In a way, this even helped me decide to come out.

So, why am I saying that they changed my life?

Some time ago, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, and I had to undergo a tumor removal surgery, that thankfully was successful. I've been really down during this period, cause this was the first serious medical issue I've ever experienced. The day after the surgery, I watched BoRhap again, on the TV, and then, it happened.

It goes without saying that I always enjoy watching this movie. Really, it's such a pleasure. So, there was this one specific scene where Freddie finds out he has AIDS. Having just gotten out of the hospital, this hit me differently. Before I was diagnosed with my cancer, there had been some crazy weeks of me constantly worrying about being ill and going to medical appointments. So while I was watching Rami Malek as Freddie, listening to the bad news, it felt just like I was watching myself. I wanted to cry my eyes out for the rest of the movie. Not only because I was already overwhelmed by my medical adventure, but also cause I was kinda mourning his loss in my mind. Generally, last days my mood has been crazy.

Then, it was the scene of Freddie telling the rest of the band about his health, before Live Aid. And this was the part that hit me the most. We already know from Brian and Roger's (and not only) interviews over the years, that Freddie was so strong that he'd never give up on living because of his illness. On the contrary, he wanted to continue living to the fullest, make even more music, spend the rest of his time creating, doing exactly what he loved more. And he still lived for the moment. And, believe me, while I watched this being portrayed in the movie so beautifully, I couldn't help but cry again.

Because it was when I re-realised that life is beautiful only when we decide to make it so. Difficulties will come and go forever but the meaning of life is learning to overcome them, or even getting along with them in our own special way. These last months I've really been so anxious that I've forgotten all these. And it was this one moment that helped me remember. So, one thought led to another and the next day I woke up with faith. I woke up feeling like a fighter.

So, Queen did change my life. Maybe not literally, but surely they did change the way I see it. Because, some times, when we lose hope, we have our idols to bring it back to us, and I think it's beautiful.

#queen #queen band #freddiemercury #bohemian rapsody movie #brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #music #saved me #emotional post #don't mind me

[arofili]

HCs about Elemmírë?

Oh man, for a character we have next to no information about other than “Vanya” and “sang a really sad song about the Trees,” I have a lot of headcanons for Elemmírë!

First of all, Elemmírë is named after a heavenly body (possibly Arda’s version of Mercury?) and the name is not given in either a masculine or feminine form, so we don’t know Elemmírë’s canon gender. This of course means that Elemmírë is trans, you can’t change my mind! I’ve seen depictions of them as nonbinary, which I love, but personally my Elemmírë is a trans woman!

All the rest of my headcanons are pretty much made up whole cloth :)

I intended to make like, a bullet point list of headcanons, but I ended up referencing my recently created personal timeline of the Years of the Trees and the First Age, and...it kind of expanded into an essay on Elemmírë’s role in the larger story of that verse of mine. So, under the cut is a roughly 2,000 word essay on my take on this blank slate of a character!

~

Elemmírë is one of the Unbegotten elves who awoke at Cuiviénen. When she awoke, everyone assumed she was a male elf, which didn’t really sit right with her but she didn’t know how to express herself at the time. For the first part of her life she lived as a nér.

Elemmírë has a sister*, Calima (one of my OCs). Calima marries an Avar, who she manages to drag with her on the Great Journey despite his reluctance to go West. Right before Ulmo takes the Vanyar and the Noldor to Aman, Calima’s husband leaves her and disappears into Taur-im-Duinath...but not before Calima becomes pregnant. Elemmírë comforts her and supports her through the birth of her child, Elenwë - the first child to be born in Aman.

*(My headcanon around Unbegotten siblings is that some elves woke with soul bonds that connected them to other elves, which while they aren’t genetically related, they consider to be siblings of their fëa. This is the case for Elwë, Olwë, and Elmo; I also gave Nowë (Círdan) and Ingwë OC siblings. Finwë is a loner, which is part of why he’s so concerned about creating and keeping a marriage bond...)

While Ingwë is busy building Tirion with Finwë, his sister-in-law Alcariniel (the mother of Indis; her spouse died on the Great Journey and has yet to be reborn) leads some of the Vanyar to the foot of Taniquetil and founds what will become Valmar. Calima, Elenwë, and Elemmírë go with Alcariniel.

At this time, Elemmírë enters into the service of Varda. She develops a close relationship with her Vala, and feels more comfortable in the beautiful starry robes and among the company of mostly priestesses than she ever did in the more gendered Vanyarin society. She sings and composes hymns to Varda and the heavens.

About a century later, Elemmírë is an established and well-renowned musician in Valmar. It is then that she meets Findis, daughter of Indis, when Findis is visiting Taniquetil with her grandmother Alcariniel. Findis greatly admires Elemmírë’s songs and engages her in a discussion about poetry; the two quickly become friends.

After another hundred years or so, Findis’ half-brother Fëanáro has his fourth child. Finwë invites his whole family to the celebration; Findis now lives in Valmar and does not always attend these begetting day parties, but she happens to be in Tirion for the occasion - with Elemmírë, who tags along to the party.

At the celebration, Makalaurë (a young teen in Elf Years) sings a piece he wrote for his new baby brother, and Elemmírë is greatly impressed by his talent and offers to teach him personally. He’s had music tutors before, but none so renowned, and he is absolutely star-struck. Fëanáro has an inherent distrust of the Vanyar, but he cannot deny his son anything, especially when it comes to furthering his craft, so he agrees to let Elemmírë teach Makalaurë, on the condition that she move to Tirion. Findis offers to move back as well, so her friend won’t be alone; they move in together.

A few years later, Elemmírë takes her star student Makalaurë to Valmar so he can perform at her niece’s 200th begetting day party. This is, of course, Elenwë; Makalaurë is immediately besotted with her, and does his best to impress her. Of course, Elenwë is well into adulthood and Makalaurë is still an awkward adolescent, so nothing ever comes of this, but they do eventually become friends.

All this time, everyone has assumed that Elemmírë is a nér, but with every passing year she becomes more and more certain that is not actually the case. At last she confesses to her dear friend Findis that she thinks she might be a nís, and while Findis isn’t quite sure what that means at first, she’s very supportive and encourages Elemmírë to go to Varda with this revelation.

I do operate in a verse where some homophobia and transphobia exist in Aman, kind of accidently put into place by a well-meaning but ultimately harmful decision by Manwë, but Varda is significantly more chill than her husband. She doesn’t really get what Elemmírë is saying, but she supports her servant’s change in expression. Elven gender roles are pretty loose, so it’s not really that much of a difference, and with Varda’s support Elemmírë feels more confident in herself and comes out to the public.

Most elves, especially the Vanyar, likewise don’t really get it, and privately they still see her as a nér, but there is a firm taboo against rudeness which means they will refer to Elemmírë with the correct pronouns and honorifics and such because it would be incredibly rude not to. The discomfort with someone else’s non-normative expression is easier to deal with than the social impropriety of deliberately refusing to respect someone’s wishes about their personal identity.

This, along with Varda’s kind-of-confused-but-she’s-still-got-the-spirit support of  Elemmírë means it’s a pretty smooth transition process for her. Since her name isn’t gendered, she decides to keep it, and she is much happier now that she can express her true self. She also has a staunch ally in Findis, who she has recently begun courting.

Again, there is some homophobia in my verse, and two níssi in a relationship is generally frowned upon, but the half-acceptance of Elemmírë’s gender allows them to exploit a loophole in that particular Law/Custom. Manwë, at least, still sees Elemmírë as a nér, and so doesn’t see anything wrong with her dating Findis. It’s not the ideal situation, but Elemmírë and Findis aren’t really the “fight the system” type, so they’re content to live with the happiness they’ve been allowed.

Eventually, Makalaurë reaches his first coming of age** and Elemmírë takes her student on a tour of all Eldamar to show off how exceptional a musician he has become. He is declared a master singer, and leaves Elemmírë’s side to pursue mastery in instruments, beginning with the harp. His teacher couldn’t be more proud.

**(In my headcanon, elves have two coming-of-age ceremonies: one when they reach age 50, and are considered physically mature and old enough to be given more freedoms in their decisions, including now being of a socially acceptable age to start dating; and the other at age 100, where they are considered a Full Adult and able to marry. Sometimes elves marry younger than that, but it isn’t super common. Age pretty much stops mattering, especially when it comes to age gaps in relationships, when an elf is about 150.)

Not long after this, Elemmírë and Findis get married! Makalaurë performs his then-masterpiece at their wedding. Also at the wedding, Findekáno is caught up in all the glorious romance, and the possibilities of same-gender marriage now that two níssi (one a princess!) can be wed, and confesses the depth of his love for Maitimo. Maitimo...immediately panics and brings up all the reasons why their love is doomed, how their aunts are the exception and not the rule and besides there’s that loophole they’re taking advantage of that doesn’t really work for néri like us - but notably does not deny that he feels the same way. Findekáno is heartbroken by the rejection; Maitimo is terrified of his feelings and distances himself from his beloved cousin for a time.

But of course that doesn’t last long - and it’s at the celebration of the birth of Laurefindil, Findis and Elemmírë’s son, that Maitimo brings himself to reconcile with Findekáno...platonically. Of course. Until a few months later where he just can’t take it anymore and breaks down and confesses he can’t deny his feelings any longer, and they get together at long last.

Findis, Elemmírë, and Laurefindil return to Valmar and settle down there. Laurefindil is buds with both his Vanyarin cousin Elenwë and his oodles of Noldorin cousins. At his first coming of age celebration, he introduces his cousin Elenwë (on Elemmírë’s side) to his cousin Turukáno (on Findis’ side), and Turukáno immediately falls madly in love and begins some intense pining that will rival even his older brother’s romantic dramatics.

As strife grows among the Noldor, Findis and Elemmírë distance themselves from Tirion as much as they can; Makalaurë is pretty much the only Finwëan who is allowed to visit them. However, Laurefindil misses his Noldorin cousins and, after his second coming of age, chooses to move to Tirion and join his grandfather Finwë’s court. He becomes even closer to Turukáno (who has by now married Elenwë) and is very loyal to his older cousin.

At the Darkening, Elemmírë is deeply grieved at the destruction of the Two Trees, and it is then that she composes her most famous song, the Aldudénië, “Lament for the Trees.” Her grief is compounded when her son chooses to go into exile with his Noldorin kin - and, almost worse, when her niece Elenwë chooses to leave as well.

Elenwë is the only Vanya who leaves (well, the only Vanya who is fully culturally Vanyarin without any Noldorin ancestry), mostly because she cannot bear to be separated from her husband and young daughter, but also because she knows the story of her Avarin father who stayed behind in Endórë and hopes that she will meet him on the hither shore. (Unfortunately, she perishes crossing the Ice. Idril will eventually meet her maternal grandfather, but not until just before she and Tuor sail West. Elenwë is reborn in Aman shortly after the founding of Gondolin; she reunites with her Vanyarin family and with her good friend Amárië.)

I don’t have a whole lot of headcanons for Elemmírë and Findis during the events of the First Age; they live mostly a quiet life. I think Elemmírë rededicates herself to the service of Varda, and pleads with her Vala to show mercy for the Noldor in their need. (Perhaps that helped to convince Varda’s husband to send an eagle to Thangorodrim?)

When they hear of Laurefindil’s death in the Fall of Gondolin (because of course Glorfindel followed his favorite cousin Turgon to his hidden city, and got a noble house out of it!), Elemmírë and Findis grieve his loss all over again. They don’t know how long it will be before his rebirth, and they soon decide to have another child together. This is their daughter, Faniel, who grows up on stories about her brother’s bravery.

Eventually Glorfindel is reborn, and he has a few good centuries in Aman with his family (and his husband Ecthelion, who he finally gets to marry; they had gotten betrothed the day before Gondolin fell, RIP) before the Valar send him back to Middle-earth to play the hero again. Elemmírë and Findis are once again heartbroken to lose him, but they are at the same time incredibly proud of their son for his bravery and dedication to all things good in the world. This time, he leaves with the blessing of Varda, his mother’s patron Vala, and a promise that he will return when his task is complete. He does, but not until the Fourth Age, when he sails back to Valinor with Elladan and Elrohir!

#silm #silmarillion #headcanons #elemmire #findis #findimmire #trans tolkien #glorfindel #elenwe #oc calima #maglor #varda #ataquenta #tefain nin #my writing #anon #answers #oc alcariniel #comings and goings #stage fright #this got long WOW #also! some background russingon :)

[iloveakindofmagic]

PLEASE STAY AWHILE

One shot

Relationship: Deacury (John Deacon x Freddie Mercury)

Words:  2.7k

Summary:

If the death of Freddie Mercury had not happened and it was only a dream that a bassist had...

... would life give Freddie a second chance to be loved?

November 27, 1991

It was a day more cloudy than normal, large gray clouds covered the London sky with threats that it was going to rain.

The world of rock and music were in mourning ...

...Freddie Mercury died ...

~ • ~

Days before the vocalist, pianist and showman of the famous band Queen had left this world due to complicated pneumonia by AIDS, which he had acquired in 1987. Freddie, however, he kept it quiet, to avoid scandals and harassment by the press, although the latter was impossible, since the paparazzi had surrounded his house since the rumors began that he had this terrible disease.

But despite everything, he denied such rumors. Until the condition worsened and the end of Freddie approached. He decided that it was time to reveal to the world his true state of health. All the media reported the new declaration of the QUEEN’s vocalist

The day after the news, Freddie Mercury passed away ...

Thousands of QUEEN fans gathered outside the singer's house to say goodbye, singing songs, leaving messages of farewell to the singer who had become a Rock legend...

~ • ~

Now, Freddie's funeral was going to take place this day. Family, friends and the members of QUEEN were present to say goodbye to him.

For the band, Freddie's death was the most painful, they had lost an essential member of the band, an excellent singer and above all a good friend with whom they shared thousands of anecdotes.

The remaining members of QUEEN were completely devastated, especially the bassist John Deacon, who for him, the vocalist was his best friend, protector and motivation. He was deeply affected by this terrible loss, to such a degree that he was crying throughout the funeral.

After the funeral, Brian went to take a vacation with Anita so he could take in everything that was going on, Roger went home with Debbie and their children. John for his part went home to be with Veronica and spend time with his children to get through this.

The bassist came home, he was still devastated. He climbed the stairs and came to his room and then locked the door, he did not want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to be alone and let his tears flow freely. His wife understood that the death of his best friend affected him. She preferred to leave him alone for that day and the next morning she would talk to him.

John was sitting on the bed, he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand, he was drinking and letting the tears and sadness wash over him.

He couldn't believe what was happening, his heart was in pieces. He had lost one of the most important people in his life. He had a strange mix of sadness, hatred, anger, and guilt.

He felt guilty and hated himself for two strong reasons: on the one hand it was for not having been able to protect Freddie from fucking Paul Prenter, that bastard led Freddie to the world of debauchery and total perdition, which was the cause of that he got AIDS.

But he also hated himself for not expressing his feelings ...

John loved Freddie. At first he believed that it was a kind of affection and admiration for the Persian for protecting him and motivating him to write songs, however, one day he realized that he was more than a friend.

However, it was slow for John to realize that he was bisexual. He always hid these feelings because he had a wife and children. It did not mean that he did not feel love towards Veronica, he loved her, but not intensely as he did with Freddie.

But now John was broken inside. The love of his life was forever gone from this world and Freddie would never return.

He wished this was all just a bad dream and that Freddie was alive.

He lay back on the bed and he kept crying. The memories of Freddie are on the bassist's mind, he remembered the beautiful brown eyes that he had, his lips, that energy that made him unattainable.

How could he be so stupid? Why did he never confess his love to her? He wondered over and over as he took another sip from the whiskey bottle.

John was a mixture of sadness and drunkenness. His eyelids began to feel heavy, he let himself be carried away by Morpheus's arms, falling deeply asleep.

~ ☆ ~

~ ☆ ~

~ ☆ ~

John woke up with a severe headache, he had a huge hangover. It was already night, he had slept most of the day, his family must be worried about him.

Before getting up he realized something: He was not sleeping in his room, he was not even at home, but he was sleeping on a sofa that was in the main living room of Freddie's old house.

The bass player was puzzled. How the hell had he gotten there? Was he too drunk and traveled to Freddie's house? Everything was very confusing.

He got up and went to a bathroom that was close to him. He wiped his face with water and turned his gaze to a mirror. It was observed carefully, her hair was completely brown, there was no whiteness in her hair; his face was free of wrinkles, his appearance was as if he had turned when he was 28 years old, the age he was in 1979. He was confused.

"What the hell is happening here?" Thought John.

Suddenly, John heard a melody provided by a piano, then John out of his thoughts, it meant that he was not alone in that house. It was a melody so harmonious and powerful at the same time began to be heard. John could recognize him from thousands of miles away.

Quickly, he got out of the bathroom and walked around the house in search of the origin of that beautiful melody. The house was practically dark. Meanwhile, he finds a lighted room in the shadows, slowly he approached and leaned out to then find a surprise that left him in shock.

He was there, he was alive ...

... Freddie was alive ...

And there was Freddie, playing the piano. He looked so handsome, jovial, full of energy. He had short hair, however, he did not have the characteristic mustache of the 80s. Meanwhile, the brunette turned his back to the bassist as he focused on playing the piano while singing "You and I".

"Laughter ringing in the darkness

People drinking for days gone by

Time don't mean a thing

When you're by my side

Please stay awhile ..."

John had written that song to Freddie so that he could indirectly realize his feelings and an invitation to have something more than a simple friendship. John wanted to cry, he couldn't believe his eyes, he was seeing Freddie again, he was hearing his melodious and beautiful voice again.

Was he dreaming? Did he go back to 1979? o Was Freddie's death just a bad dream? Whatever it is, he wanted to keep the brown-eyed there forever.

"You know I never could

foresee the future years

You know I never could see

Where life was leading me

But will we be together forever?

What will be my love?

Can't you see that I just don't know"

The bassist listened carefully the song performed by the vocalist.

"I can hear the music in the darkness

Floating softly to

where we lie

No more questions now

Let's enjoy tonight

Just you and I

Can't you see that we've gotta be together

Be together just you and I just you and I

No more questions just you and I "

...

When Freddie finished the song, he turned to look towards the door, finding John standing on the threshold of it, he gave him a smile

“Finally, You had woken up, Deaky” Freddie said, approaching where John was standing “You had drunk too much and fell asleep. Brian and Roger left, so …” He was interrupted by a sudden hug provided by John, taking the persian by surprise. Freddie responded quickly to this act.

“Don't go …” John said and began to cry in the arms of the vocalist “I don't want to lose you again” John whispered in the Persian's ear deepening the hug, he blushed.

"W-What are you talking about, John?" He said, he was puzzled “I am here... I'm not going anywhere” He separated a little to see the child's eyes and meet his beautiful green eyes full of tears, which worried Freddie. "What's wrong, John?" He asked as he caressed the minor's pale face causing him to shudder.

If this was just a game of his mind and he was only dreaming, he didn't want to wake up anymore. This felt more than a dream, it felt so real, Freddie's touch was so warm and comfortable.

The Persian took him to the kitchen and invited him to sit down.

"Do you want some tea?" He offered with a small smile, John just nodded.

He made and poured the tea into two cups. They were both silent for a long time as they took small sips of the drink.

“I had a dream, Fred" The youngest began to speak “In that dream you contracted a terrible disease and …” He stopped to take a breath “... You died young” John burst into tears again. “You left me alone, Freddie …” The Persian was shocked by such words, he worried about forJohn, he didn't like to see the bassist cry.

If there was one thing Freddie hated, it was someone or something hurting John, because these hurt him too. They were hurting the most important person in his life and the person he loved. That I did not forgive anyone.

Freddie had loved John since he had joined the band, he was different from the other men he had known. His way of being with him, his sweetness and innocence; Those green eyes which tore when he laughed, he was perfect for Freddie. He had always silenced his feelings because he knew that he loved Veronica, his wife with whom he had procreated beautiful children.

That is why he only limited himself to protecting and supporting him as a kind of minor brother.

“Oh, darling…” Freddie hugged John and he responded by hugging him tighter, letting his tears flow “I will never leave this world soon ... Brian, Roger and especially you will have Freddie for many  years, I promise " He whispered sweetly. They continued hugging, enjoying the warmth.

John separated a bit from the older one

“Freddie, you must stay away from Paul Prenter” He changed his tone of voice to a serious voice, surprising the vocalist.

“John I …”

“He's not a good guy …” John interrupted Freddie letting go of the hug “He will make you fall into bad steps and that bad dream can come true” his hands held the vocalist's face and staring at him “ Please, let me protect you like you have always done”

“O-Okay John” Freddie blushed at John's words “Tomorrow morning I’m going to fire Paul”

A satisfied smile appeared on John's face, he felt that he had saved from a dark fate to Freddie.

They stared in silence, a slight blush appeared on their faces. Suddenly they both began to draw their faces closer, their hearts were beating fast, they could both feel their breaths.

They finally closed the distance when their lips met in a loving kiss. They both enjoyed that kiss, they transmitted thousands of emotions and feelings that they had saved for a long time.

Before they could deepen the kiss, Freddie reacted and separated of John quickly

“J-John, I'm sorry …” The vocalist got up from his chair, he felt that he had ruined a great friendship “I shouldn't have done it …”

“ Freddie, wait …” the brunette grabbed his wrist before he left “Haven't you realized?” He got up from the chair and grabbed the brunette's hands “I love you, Freddie. I've always loved you”

Freddie blushed when he heard those words, he was surprised.

“B-But Veronica …”

“The love I feel for her doesn't compare with the great love I feel for you” John got closer to Freddie, being inches away from him. They could see the difference in stature between them, John was taller than Freddie and the older man liked that difference.

The bassist hugged the older man's waist and brought him closer to him, blushing Freddie more

“I love you from the first day I saw you and I will always love you, Fred”

Freddie started to cry, he was very happy to hear those words

“Deaky, darling ... “ his hands held John's neck “I love you too much and I will love you forever”  

John blushed, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, he was very happy. Freddie stood on tiptoe and approached John’s face.

"You don't know how much I wanted this feeling to be mutual, John."

They both joined their lips in a sweet kiss, they felt that nothing else mattered but just the two of them. Now they could finally be happy together.

They deepened the kiss, now their tongues danced between them, exploring her oral cavities. The bassist’s lips traveled to Freddie's neck and he kissed his neck, drawing moans from the vocalist.

Freddie took John to his room and there they continued with the passionate kissing session ...

Finally, they made love with passion. Freddie was very happy, he had felt John inside of him and it was so special. It was the best sex Freddie had ever had in his life, it was so romantic and so passionate at the same time. Besides he was very happy to have made love to the person he most loved.

John was happy to finally be with the love of his life. For John it was not just sex , it was the beginning of a relationship and a new path in Freddie's life.

Both of them finally fell asleep hugging each other.

~ • ~

John woke up the next morning, he was naked and he was covered only with a sheet. Slowly he opened his eyes and found that the vocalist was not at his side.

A fear seized him when he saw that Freddie was not in bed.

Was it all a dream? Was Freddie really dead? He thought.

I was about to cry, when suddenly, Freddie came in holding a tray with a plate full of toast with cheese and orange juice. John immediately changed his face.

“Good morning, Deaky” He left the tray on the nightstand and approached the bassist to kiss his lips.

“Good morning, Fred” He said without stopping to see his new boyfriend.

The singer wore a kimono that he had gotten on one of the many tours to Japan. John was stunned to see him in that garment.

"Do you like what you see?" The old man modeled. John was able to see her naked and well turned thighs, she looked so fucking sexy with that.

“Y-Yes" He blushed "You look beautiful, Freddie" He confessed with a slight smile. Freddie's face  turned red when he heard those words.

"Thanks, Deaky" She sat on the bed and leaned over to kiss him sweetly. "I love you"

“I love you more, Fred ... And I will love you always” John whispered and then gave him a deep kiss full of love and passion ...

~ • ~

Freddie fired Paul without saying any reason that same day . His ex assistant threatened to divulge everything he knew about him, however, the vocalist gave it little importance, since he had already found that person to love and he didn’t care about anything else.

While John asked for a divorce from Veronica, she understood John’s feelings towards Freddie and she didn’t oppose his decision, the woman promised that she would be discreet with the relationship he had with Freddie. He said to her that his children wouldn’t lack anything and every weekend he would spend time with the children.

A new story full of love and mutual affection began. John didn’t know if life had given them a second chance to be happy together and Freddie could live without having contracted that damn disease or it was just a very real nightmare. The only thing he was sure of was that he was going to do everything possible to make him happy and be that somebody to love that Freddie had always sought. He was going to protect and love him forever so that the dream he had was just it ...

... Just a dream ...

*THE END*

Hi! This is my first story that I post in Tumblr. I hope you liked it. I love write fanfics about Deacury relationship!

Please visit my ao3, Instagram and Wattpadñ. You can find me under the same name: ILoveAKindOfMagic

Greetings! 💞

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