#And sometimes I want to think about how in his absence she's much less able to process her emotions at all

[hephaestuscrew]

Pan-Pan, Boléro, and Minkowski's different responses to loss

I want to compare two key lines of Minkowski's which indicate very different responses to grief:

In Ep29 Pan-Pan, Minkowski breaks down and says "Doug Eiffel is gone! There was nothing we could do to save him. It wasn't anyone's fault. It's horrible, and pointless, and it just happened."

In contrast, after arriving at the funeral in Ep46 Boléro, she says "[Lovelace, Hilbert and Maxwell are dead] to make the fact that we're not gone yet important. They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here." 

TL;DR: In Pan-Pan, Minkowski expresses her unprocessed grief through despair and hopelessness. Whereas in Boléro, she is able to find hope in the loss and lead her crew in trying to move forward. I suggest a significant reason of the difference is the presence of Eiffel to force Minkowski to confront and process the sense of loss.

Pan-Pan: "It's horrible, and pointless, and it just happened"

In Pan-Pan, the whole episode is full of anger and despair, but Minkowski speaking about the horrible pointlessness of losing Eiffel is one of the most painful and hopeless moments. It doesn't feel like she's really speaking to the others. She's focused on her internal despair (as suggested by the fact that she goes on to talk about the cracks, which Lovelace and Hilbert aren't supposed to know about).

The only potentially positive thing Minkowski says here is her recognition that "it wasn't anyone's fault". When Hera and Hilbert have been blaming Lovelace, and Minkowski has been blaming herself, it's significant that she acknowledges that sometimes a horrible thing just happens without there being anyone to blame. 

But in this context, and in the tone of voice Minkowski uses, even the lack of blame doesn't really feel like a positive thing. If Eiffel becoming stranded was just pointless and random, if there was nothing any of them could have done to save him, then the next tragedy might be just as unpredictable and unpreventable. Minkowski strikes me as the kind of person who can sometimes fall into the trap of subconsciously wishing that the awful thing is her fault because then at least she'd have control over something. In her train of thought here, the lack of blame is followed by focusing on how horrible and pointless what happened to Eiffel was. The only conclusion she can draw is "it just happened". There's no sense of hope in those lines. Eiffel being stranded just happened, and so do the cracks, and the crew are at the whims of brutal fortune with no meaning to any of it.

Boléro: "They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here"

In Boléro, Minkowski can't even say that the tragedy wasn't anyone's fault. For each of the deaths, someone pulled a trigger. There is blame, and some of it lies at her feet. She didn't want to come to the funeral because at first she didn't know what she could say about the deaths she feels responsible for.

Yet even so, this time she finds something reassuring she can say to her crew, a grain of hope she can provide without attempting to diminish the loss: "[they're gone] to make the fact that we're not gone yet important. They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here."

In another show, or another context, this kind of line might have had an 'everything happens for a reason' tone, which is something I deeply dislike as a response to other people's loss. But it doesn't feel like that's what Minkowski is saying here at all. She isn't trying to make any grand philosophical statement about the ultimate beneficence of the universe, or about how mortality gives meaning to human life. What she says here is working on a much more personal level. It's more about finding something other than despair that the crew can take from what has happened. This tragedy may still be horrible, but it provides a reminder that they are still alive in a context where that's far from guaranteed. Minkowski emphasises that the fact the survivors are alive matters - her crew matters. I'd argue that this contrasts with the 'it just happened' outlook discussed above. 

I don't know how much Minkowski fully feels the importance of them still being there in the moment, but it's something that she can offer her crew, something that she can say in a situation that words can't grasp. I think the moment when she joins the funeral is such a key moment of her leadership. In the end, despite her doubts and struggles, she's there for her crew. Eiffel brought them together for a funeral, but he doesn't know what to say when Hera asks why they have to be gone. Minkowski enters just at the right moment to support her crew and she provides an answer to Hera's question. It's not a perfect answer, but it allows the funeral to move forward. It allows the crew to move forward (even if that emotional movement is somewhat thrown off by a dramatic change in the circumstances). Minkowski starts off the eulogies; she leads her crew in the acknowledgement of what's been lost.

Why such a difference in responses?

There's lots of ways you could interpret the difference between the outlook of these two moments, and there's probably more to say about it though the lens of Minkowski's character development than I'm going to say here. But for me, the main difference between these moments is that, in Pan-Pan, it feels like no processing or recognition of grief has really occurred. When Minkowski says "Doug Eiffel is gone!", it almost feels like the first time that Minkowski has fully confronted and acknowledged the loss. Eiffel has been lost in space for 116 days, but it's only at the end of this episode that Minkowski brings herself to say in her distress calls that he is "presumed dead". Whereas in Boléro, she's already eulogising the dead and thinking about what can be learned from the loss, not even a full day after the mutiny.

Obviously there is much less ambiguity to a body bag (or least there would be, if not for alien interference). But I can't help thinking that the difference between the attitudes towards loss which Minkowski displays in these two quotes is less about the difference in the kind of loss, and more about a situation that prompted and enabled the processing of emotions in Boléro: namely, the funeral. After Eiffel was stranded in space, I think Minkowski probably went months without looking her grief in the eye. But after the deaths of Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell, Eiffel's suggestion of a funeral forces Minkowski to confront her complicated emotions and provides a space in which she can offer direction to her grieving crew.

This is a good illustration of how I think Minkowski and Eiffel complement and support each other in a really valuable way. On his own, Eiffel couldn't provide the leadership that the crew needed for the funeral to work. But without Eiffel, and his determination to recognise the emotional weight of the three deaths, the funeral would never have happened and Minkowski would never have been in a position to provide hope and direction to her crew. When Eiffel was the one the Hephaestus crew were grieving, Minkowski couldn't offer much emotional direction to her crew beyond despair. But when Eiffel is beside her in the grief, saying that the grief deserves to be felt, then Minkowski can find a way for them to move forward emotionally. It's not the deaths that remind them how important it is that they are still here. It's the grief. It's the ability to confront that grief together.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

how about for arthur, john, and charles: your hcs on how each would react to a shyer (not naive) reader who has a crush on him and keeps needing his “help” for various things so she can get his attention, and eventually working up the nerve to be more forward and hopefully pique his interest. who would catch on the fastest? would any of them realize before or after she becomes more forward and how would they react from there? smut absolutely welcome 🙏🏻

HC for Shy!Reader ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith

HCs are so easy and fun to write

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

Arthur did not allow you much time to go and ask for help given his repeated and lengthy absences from camp

But when he was around to help, he put his all into it

No matter how mundane or small it may be, he always made sure to help you until satisfaction. Similar to the way he helps random people around the map, he helps you in the same way. 

But the level at which you asked for help was quite baffling to Arthur, but he never made a comment on it. He would never want to make you feel as though you were somehow less competent at doing things than the average person

He liked the way you would try to strike up conversation with him whenever he was helping you, recounting his travels to you in detail upon request

Part of him wondered why the two of you didn’t just talk more often outside of his time helping you. What he didn’t know is that you were unable to come up with a decent, not-too-forthcoming, excuse as to why the two of you should spend more time together alone 

He probably wouldn’t catch onto that fact too quickly, instead thinking you were just a person who wasn’t afraid of asking for help

He’d definitely think something was up when he realizes he’s the only one you ask

Maybe he’s just a dependable guy? He thinks to himself

But when you ask him to help you go fishing, come to find out you didn’t even have a rod, it was too late to back out as the two of you were already alone down the lake at Clemens point

He felt quite touched when you told him you really just wanted to spend time together, and that you weren’t sure how else to ask

Insisted you be more forward with him to establish a level of comfort between you two, but he still found it quite cute when you would shyly ask him for help

Eventually led to you two becoming very close, noticeably sweet on each other. Even the gang was able to catch on.

NSFW

Even though the two of you had been in an established relationship, your bashfulness did not end.

Asking for help for sexual matters was something you subtly hinted at or wordlessly requested, rather than outright saying it

Arthur himself was a man who needed clear permission, and your hints would be met with crudely sexual questions asking for confirmation

“You wanna have sex? Is that what you’re saying? Or am I understanding this all wrong.” 

His forwardness would have you burying your burning face in your shared cot as you nodded

Arthur was a very perceptive man, so when asking if he was rubbing your clit just right or if he needed to slow his thrusts down, you’d squeak out an embarrassed response

When you wanted him to touch you in a certain place, you’d nudge him in the direction, yank on his hand or hair, or simply just bashfully point wordlessly

Makes sure to constantly ask questions because he knows you’re not very vocal when it comes to self advocacy

Extremely tender and very patient with you, just wants to make you feel comfortable in the end to be able to vocalize your needs

John Marston (my pookie)

This man is as dense and stupid as a bag of rocks

The man himself doesn’t even know what he wants, so figuring out what you want is mental gymnastics on its own

He’s around pretty often helping around camp, and he doesn’t mind taking on the brunt of your chores as well

Doesn’t realize what you’re trying to do so sometimes he turns you down, saying he’s too busy

“Are you really that helpless?” 

He’d stand there confused as you stormed off angrily, only to have him follow you around camp begging for forgiveness

“I ain’t mean that, I’m happy to help you. I’m a fool, honest.”

You’d forgive him eventually

If it’s a more tedious task you need help with, he would get into the zone. Honing in all his attention while trying to fulfill his efforts in helping you as competently as he can

Focuses so much, that sometimes if you try to strike up a conversation about his day, he’ll either shut you down, or be so concentrated he won't even register your question

“Hold on, can you stop talking for a sec? I’m tryna concentrate.”

Would be equally as confused when you huff angrily and turn away while crossing your arms

You realize yourself that John isn’t picking up any hints, so you offer your own help as a form of “repayment” for everything he’s done for you

Is also dense about that 

“I appreciate the help, little lady. Though I don’t see why you’d willingly offer to help to fix a wagon wheel.”

Kinda laughable how oblivious he is

Eventually you have to muster up all the courage possible to ask him on a date to town

Emphasize the word date. Or else he’ll think you just want help with errands or something

Will accept, but won’t shut up the whole time about how sudden this is and how he would’ve never seen it coming

NSFW

Would get very excited if you even hint at something sexual

Much like Arthur, he’d ask for confirmation, but much more enthusiastically

“So you wanna fuck right? Right?!” 

Kinda desperate but who can blame him, you’re equally as horny

Get so caught up in excitement he gets straight to it, has to be reminded to ask questions and check up on you

The one time where you actually feel compelled to tell him things straight up instead of just hinting at it

“For the love of god, slow down Marston!”

He would for a few minutes, then get back to it

Would still be shy with asking, but you get so frustrated with how dense he is you’re kinda forced to

His excitement rubs off on you, so he doesn’t mind at all when you just shove his face between your thighs, that does all the speaking for you

Says shit like “You like that, don’t you?” without actually waiting for a response

Gets very embarrassed when you say no and ask him to do it another way

Charles Smith

This man's love language is literally acts of service

He’d probably end up falling for you in the process of helping you out so often

Will be more than happy to take you up on every request for help

Not only does it make you happy, but it makes him feel good for being able to help someone

Literally thrives off of it

He would be the one to pick up on it the fastest, but he wouldn’t make a comment. He doesn’t want to scare you off by being too forward and therefore curtailing your requests for help

Would be very intimate while helping you

“Hey, come closer to take a look at how I do it.”

You would lean in incredibly close, so much so that you’d be able to hear his breathing

Would sometimes take your hands and make you do it as well

Hands would linger far longer than necessary while helping you

And you aren’t naive! You knew what he was doing! He was flirting with you!

From an outside perspective, it appeared as though the two of you were just sitting around together and flirting rather than doing something to help you

“Like this?” You’d ask, which was followed by a giggle

It was pure self indulgence

He would often approach you himself and ask if you needed help on anything

Other times, he’d ask if you wanted to learn something new, showing you how to make weapons or how to identify certain plants from one another

Some tasks would be found mundane by others, but it was the most entertaining thing in the world as long as Charles was teaching you

You would feel most comfortable with him with asking him out, your question sounding more like a mutual profession of love from one another

NSFW

So so gentle

Much like in your relationship, you’d feel far more comfortable expressing your wants and desires to him

But you still struggle to maintain eye contact while saying it

If you turn your face away during sex he’ll gently cup your cheek and move your head to face him

Can pick up on your body language if you don’t feel too vocal

Will slow down or pick up the pace based on how your body reacts

Your moans are also a good indicator for him to know

Will also ask you questions before and after sex, like your some sort of food critic and you’re giving him feedback on his dish

You guys will probably sit down and have whole talks about your sex life, as embarrassed as it makes you, but he finds it necessary

Guy is a huge giver, in no time, he’ll know your body and what you do and don’t like like the back of his hand

[last-herondale]

Almost Part 5

Bucky Barnes x FemReader!

Angst, hurt, heartbreak

Warnings: cussing

AN: yall, I love this series so far. It hurts my heart but damn.

Enjoy ❤️

You had been back from your mission for about a month now. Whatever this thing was between you and Steve, was still happening. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to define the relationship, and to be honest you were in no hurry to define anything either. Having fun might have been an acceptable answer, since the two of you certainly had a lot of that since your return. But even despite the physical attraction the two of you clearly felt towards each other, there was also the emotional connection that you two had.

You were surprised to find out just how easy it was to open up to Steve. He was a great listener. You were used to being the listener in situations like these. You had been the listener for Nat whenever she needed to talk and you had been the listener for Bucky on those many nights that he needed someone to vent to. It was nice. Freeing in a way to be able to talk to Steve. He didn’t make you feel ashamed for talking about your feelings, even when those feelings sometimes drifted to his best friend.

You found yourself thinking about Bucky less and less. Not seeing him around as often also helped your heart heal. He would turn up occasionally of course, for briefings or training sessions with Sam, but other than that he had been an anomaly to see at the headquarters. Steve offered little insight into Bucky’s whereabouts, although you wouldn’t dare ask now. Since you and Steve were… together… In some capacity anyway, you did your best to refrain from talking about Bucky Barnes.

But still, your heart ached for him in ways that you couldn't understand. The ache didn’t hurt as much as it had that night on the balcony, but even now the absence of someone who you held so dearly hurt, despite yourself… You decided that it was okay to let go. You were happy being with Steve. He was what you needed and in return you wanted to be the best version of yourself to prove you were worthy of being with him. And you knew that that meant letting go of Bucky.

Of course, fate has a funny sense of humor, because as you were passing through the hallway one late night, a door opened up and a beautiful woman stepped outside. You had been in your sleep wear, a water bottle from the kitchen in your hand, and you damn near ran head first into the woman. Your training kicked in and with the sight of a stranger in the Avenger’s tower made you grab her arm and pin it behind her back. The woman let out a muffled scream and dropped her purse.

“I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt me!” She squealed as you pinned her against the wall.

“Who are–”

Before you could finish your question, the same door burst open and out came a shirtless, wild eyed Bucky. He had a small pistol in his hand as he scanned the hallway.

“Nadia what the hell-” his words fell away as his eyes settled on you. He lowered his weapon immediately.

“James, help me,” she whimpered.

You and Bucky locked eyes for a moment and then it suddenly hit you all at once. You hadn’t realized that you had gone down the wrong hallway, and that you were in front of Bucky’s apartment. The route used to be a familiar trek for you, but now… This girl had been leaving his company in the late hours of the night…

You dropped her arm immediately and watched as she stumbled back over to Bucky.

Right. The girlfriend.

You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you quickly bent down to pick up the purse and hand it to her.

“I’m sorry, I thought–”

“What the hell?” Bucky asked angrily, holding Nadia and soothing her hyperventilation.

The anger in Bucky’s voice hit a nerve with you. It didn’t make you emotional, like you thought seeing him, and his girlfriend together, would. Instead, you found yourself clenching your jaw in frustration.

“I said sorry, didn’t I?” You snapped, “Maybe next time get your girl here an escort out the door, before someone far scarier than myself finds her in the halls. I think Tony has a special pass for late night visitors.”

Nadia scoffed at the inflection of your tone, and your allusion to her being a hooker. She looked to Bucky for some sort of help, but he just stared daggers at you. You gave her slight smirk and you put your hands on your hips.

Nadia just snatched her purse from me and stormed off down the hallway. You watched as she huffed away, and you felt a small smirk creep up on your face as you turned to look at Bucky. At first, the only thing you could see on his face was anger, his face was a bit flushed and his eyebrows were furrowed. But you swore you could have seen a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes as he stared you down.

“What the hell is your problem?” he demanded, shoving his pistol in the waistband of his sweats.

“I don’t have one,” you said between your clenched teeth, “Like I said, it was an accident, I didn’t realize this was your hallway.”

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and you just gave out an angry huff of breath. You knew it didn’t look good for you to be so cross. Just because you had bumped into the woman that he chose over you. It was crass and unprofessional… but you didn’t care.

“Whatever, I don’t have to put up with this shit,” you muttered as you turned around to leave.

A cool metal hand caught the back of your arm, not hurting you, but gripping tight enough to stop you from leaving.

“Wait, I–”

You spun around on him, anger flashing in your eyes as you faced him.

“Oh! Are you finally going to talk to me, James? Or yell at me some more for scaring your girlfriend?”

Bucky frowned at you, clearly getting worked up as you were. You knew you needed to be careful. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing in front of Bucky, but he knew exactly how to work you up into a fit.

“You haven’t exactly been a conversationalist with me either, you know,” his voice dripped with sarcasm as he spoke. “You run away for a month and a half, not telling anyone where you’re going.”

“That’s not fair, I was on a mission…”

“Don’t use that as a fucking excuse. We all go on missions, but that was different and we both know it,” Bucky snapped, his temper rising as he was losing control of himself.

“Do you know how worried I’ve been? You, Steve, and Sam disappear after the party and fuck off to some place that no one knows where? What the hell was I supposed to think when Tony said you three had a snag in the mission. I thought you were dead. All of you.”

“We were busy…”

“Oh yeah, I know. You’ve been really busy lately, haven’t you?”

You felt your blood freeze. He obviously was referring to Steve. You weren’t sure how he knew, since you and Steve had made sure not to tell anyone anything yet. You didn’t want to announce a relationship if there wasn’t one. So how did Bucky find out? Did Steve crack and tell him? Had he been lying to you?

Heat quickly found your stomach again. You clenched your fists and met his icy gaze.

“I don’t see what business of that is yours,” you said sharply.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky said tensely.

For a moment it looked like Bucky would continue talking, but he tightened his mouth into a line and just kept a steady gaze on you. You crossed your arms, mimicking him. You felt your temper rising to dangerous levels.

“Whatever you want to say, just fucking say it.”

Bucky scoffed out a laugh. But you weren’t laughing. You took a step towards him, willing your eyes to be sharp as daggers as you stared at him

“Say it.”

You saw the fire burning in Bucky’s eyes and he clenched his jaw before opening his mouth.

“There were other ways to get back at me, you know,” Bucky said in a deadly low voice, “But fucking my best friend is an all time low.”

You flinched as if he had slapped you.

Your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as you tried not to cry in front of him. You wanted to yell at him, scream at him. How dare he accuse you of using Steve as a weapon against him. How dare he get mad at you for trying to move on, when he didn’t want you. Rather than curse him up and down the hallway, you just took a step back from him, feeling oddly hollow and cold.

“I didn’t know you thought so little of me,” you said in a small voice, “but I guess that checks out doesn’t it? I guess you never thought much of me… ever.”

Bucky’s anger seemed to fall away instantly. He uncrossed his arms and opened his mouth to say something, but you were gone. You were running down the hall, tears blurring your vision as you ran. You didn’t stop to listen if he was following you. You flung open your door and slammed it shut as you slid down against the door immediately. Tears poured down your face as you sobbed. You wrapped your arms around your knees, feeling like that was the only thing you could do to keep yourself together.

You sat there, the rest of the night and early into the morning feeling so empty that if a breeze were to come into the apartment, you knew you would float away. Part of you wished that you would. You wondered how many times your heart could break before it was useless. You wondered why you continued to let James Buchanan Barnes break your heart, if you really had any control over that at all. You had hoped that being with Steve would help. Maybe Bucky was right? Were you using Steve to get over him? The thought made you want to vomit.

All you could be certain of was the pain. You felt it everywhere and nowhere all at once. It lived in you. Consumed you. What you hated the most was that you couldn’t distinguish love from the pain anymore. All you knew was that whenever you thought of Bucky, the pain returned with a vengeance. Now it had settled deep in your bones and it made you want to die.

Part 6

[toast-idk]

Ty sat by the shore next to his shoes, his socks tucked into the toes.

The tide had only just come in, meaning the still damp sand wouldn’t get into his clothes and shoes, instead it clumped around rocks and shifted into little rivulets that reminded Ty of a network of fast flowing rapids.

He’d made a point, since leaving to the scholomance, of not visiting the beaches when he returned to Los Angeles. But the institute was empty now, Helen and Aline on holiday and the rest of the Blackthorns scattered.

Alone, the past seemed more bearable to Ty. The memories less painful.

It was strange to Ty, and sometimes a little unnerving, how different his family was now: since the cohort had taken Idris.

No more pancakes in the morning or movie nights with Dru or reading stories to Tavvy.

There was still Livvy though. There would always be Livvy.

She sat beside him now, or as close to sitting as a ghost could get, her pale form shifting and shivering in the tentative morning light. It almost looked as if she were cold.

The water brushed his toes and he smiled at the icy wash, looking to Livvy, forgetting, for a moment, that she wouldn’t be able to feel it.

Ty had family. Ty had friends- a friend, anyway, Anush. He had Livvy.

He knew, rationally, that he shouldn’t feel so lonely, that was for the isolated, the missing. He knew Mark had sometimes felt terribly lonely in the hunt.

As he thought, his fingers found- as they always did- the graceful swoop of a herons wings around his neck, the chain icy in the frigid morning air.

At first the gift had sickened him, not the usual kind of illness but a twisting in his stomach and a dizziness so intense he’d had to sit down. He was sure there were a million words for what he’d felt holding the necklace. Regret, sorrow, perhaps even heartbreak, but only one thought had really struck Ty in that moment. He was lonely.

He missed Kit.

He could remember with unfortunate clarity the moment he had raised Livvy. The desperation and the heat of the fire and Kit beside him, somehow burning his skin more than even the flames could.

Hearing “I love you” shouted like a plea and Livvy, not quite there but close enough.

He had thought, foolishly it had turned out, that Kit would want Livvy back as much as he did. He had seen them kissing that day, and knew that they understood each other perhaps better than he could either of them.

“To never being parted” Kit had said across a campfire. Ty knew it wasn’t right to label him a liar but he’d left without even saying goodbye.

Livvy shifted beside him.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked him, her voice more quiet, more introspective than it had been when she was alive.

He never lied to Livvy.

“Kit.”

She didn’t reply, but moved a shimmering hand over his.

“I miss him.”

And he did, he could feel Kits absence under his ribs, a sort of hungry ache.

“I’m sure he misses you.”

Ty closed his eyes and lay back on the sand. He could hear the rustle of Livvy joining him.

The waves were loud in the silence between them, thunderous and unrelenting.

“I loved him.” He whispered, half hoping Livvy wouldn’t hear.

He knew that really, at 15, he had been too young for love, to understand the complexity of his own thoughts and emotions, too surrounded by loss to let himself think too hard about them.

It was a very sad thought that if he and Kit met today, if they had between them what had been there 3 years ago, Ty would know.

Perhaps now he would have told Kit that he loved him too. That he didn’t know how relationships and romance should go but that he would learn for him, with him.

But more likely, the two of them would barely speak at all, the desperation and fear that had driven them together missing. The bond broken before, in this alternate world, it had formed.

[sabweenie]

so its the middle of the night and i'm rereading one of the earlier sections of the yuri zine and i come back to this quote, "sometimes when looking at my self is as painful as staring directly into the sun, my solution has typically been to study the reflection in the moon" and it all just sort of hit me. holy hell. inside mari. to study yourself through another pair of eyes, in her case. this language unlocked so many different ways of understanding inside mari that i just started scribbling on my ipad until next thing i knew an hour had passed and i ran out of white space and how did i even get here? anyways. here is the batshit insane looking page where i dumped all the thoughts i'm going to attempt to organize them here? this image is just so funny to me now i thought i should include it.

the horror of Looking at your own self.

a lot of yuri zine talked about reading and interacting with yuri as a form of self identification. and how those bring up both good feelings (gender validating) and bad feelings (confronting yourself and your regret and your shame for whatever reasons you may have). both as a consumer of this media but also found within the characters themselves in the stories we read. considering how the big reveal of the entire story is about how. in an attempt to identify herself, mari was forced to truly look at herself. something she literally couldn't handle. throughout the zine, the authors all in one way or another touch upon the idea of how uncomfortable it is to confront yourself. to look at yourself. its shown through jennifer and needy's relationship in jennifer's body, which i hadn't thought about but one of the essays in this zine explains it so well. it's shown through when readers see too much of themselves in certain characters. this feeling of discomfort exists both in and out of the texts we talk about. and how this sort of leads into the understanding that yuri is "the relationship to absence, to projection." the yuri that of inside mari is how she absents herself as a way to allow herself to love Yori (to love girls in general). (i want to emphasize how in allowing herself, it implying the norm for her was denying herself, stopping herself, punishing herself for feeling the way she did) because the whole time, the mari we see is just mari the whole time. not komori body swapped into mari's body. the mind warping mental gymnastics she goes through to live this sort of delusion allows her to be a boy who's just trapped in a girl's body. it allows her own self to love girls and accept this because. it's not mari thinking these things, it's komori who is a boy so. it's allowed. this also speaks to Shuzo Oshimi’s thoughts on being a girl. the ways mari goes about identifying her self while at the same time struggling with the mere act of Looking at her self is so yuri. i'm going to come back to this after i talk about Identity for a little bit hold on.

what is it that mari yearns for? what is it about gender?

mari's fragmented identity splits into three parts: fumiko, mari, and komori. her attachment to komori, the male identity she takes on stems from her hetero-patriarchal understanding of the world. she envies him for being able to experience sexuality and love girls in ways she feels she can't. but she ultimately abandons this identity too and exists as something separate from all three. or something that combines them all? the story ends with her alive and finally happy with herself. her attachment to komori's identity is less about his masculinity or maleness so to speak, but what she really desires is to love other girls in the specific (romantic, sexual) way he is allowed to in this society. her yearning is lesbian. i read her experience playing with gender not as her struggling with her own gender identity, but instead i felt that her beef was with the social performance of it all. i think she's a girl who doesn't feel connected to the daily practices and rituals that signal femininity. explaining why she sort of.. forgets how to do makeup and dress herself when she exists as the clueless komori inside mari's body. she uses him to liberate herself from these expectations. maybe i'm just full of shit. maybe her gender is just lesbian after all. another essay in the yuri zine talks about how yearning is gay. yearning is queer and yearning is lesbian. that yearning isn't limited to wanting to be with someone, but wanting to be someone. to live life the way they do. which hey. is literally what mari ends up doing in this story. what she yearns for is a reality that cannot exist (or rather, one that she cannot confront/reconcile with yet) she cannot look at herself, so she absents herself in order to allow herself to pursue her own desire. she felt like she couldn't pursue her desire in her current self, in her current standing as a girl in society.

what does it mean to feel like a person? to feel human?

i need to watch that interview everyone talks about "yuri made me human" because i already feel that truth in my core but i don't even know what the hell they're talking about in that interview. from the zine, "is the fantasy of yuri about finding a way to become a person. when you don't feel like one?" yes. but. what does it mean to feel like a person? in mari's case, which person? her First person? the one that died with her grandmother and replaced with a new name and identity by a mother she cannot understand or bond with? her Second person? mari? the person she grows to hate? the one that is forced to perform these ritualistic practices that signal femininity but is never allowed to desire it for herself? her Third person? komori? the depressed pathetic sexually frustrated hikikomori who is too stupid to see how good he has it* that he doesn't have to fend off boys who only objectify her? that he can have a girlfriend and kiss her and hold her hand in public without punishment? the komori that ultimately broke under the heavy weight of the truth that is not her. she is not him. she is no one for a while. yuri is everything and yuri is nothing. in fact, when mari is in that coma or whatever, yori desperately wants her back again, wants her awake, and she begs “don’t disappear” until she wakes up into someone again. someone for yori. but most importantly, someone for herself (the first time i read this, i felt sort of disappointed? that yori and mari didn’t get to live together forever but those feelings didn’t last long... i don’t actually want that for them. in fact i actually really love that they were able to reconcile their feelings for each other and also end on a note where yori goes to school and mari seems to actually be happy and secure with her own self) anyways. she struggles to connect to her fractured identities until through her growth as a character she not only starts feeling like a person but becoming one, probably for the first time.

inside mari is fascinating to look at and unpack from a yuri pov. i loved thinking about how this too was yuri, that she envies komori for his ability to pursue and love women. the way she projected onto him. the way she wanted something nonexistent and intangible. the way she yearned through imagining she existed as something other than herself. the way she shattered when faced with herself. the way she existed not as a participant, nor an observer. the way she loved yori so much she became everyone and no one.

in conclusion please read yuri zine and please also read yaoi zine 1 and 2 they are genuinely so good. bless the minds of everyone who worked on these.. the yaoi yuri theorists i look up to.... there's no real conclusion to this ramble. i hate conclusions. i'm done. good night...

[askthe-r-m-au]

Oh golly gee willakerz! It's that time again!!

I can't write for shi-

Also finally this is the part where Voz is introduced so I can answer some things about his existence-

[The Ring-Misstress | Chapter 3: The project]

There was about 1 more day until the big launch of The Amazing Digital Circus computer game. The recently promoted Co-Ringmaster had lay awake in her bed the night before. All this combined with the constant looming need of an exit was a whole lotta pressure. It's probably the exact opposite on Caine's end...

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

Within the circus walls, outside of bounds was Caine. He, too, had been up all night (but for a few more reasons). They had much less time than he thought they would. He may have to continue adding the finishing touches throughout the week. Hopefully, it shouldn't be too much trouble. I mean, he does have Pomni to help him and- POMNI! HE'D NEARLY FORGOTTEN TO WAKE HER UP!

The ringmaster quickly pulled out his WackyWatch.

☆Ah, it's only been 5 minutes...☆

☆5 MINUTES!?!☆

Gadzooks, he'd better hurry if they wanted time to prepare for tomorrow.

Making his way towards her door, he couldn't help but realize. After the other day, he'd felt awfully strange. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of Bubble not being there. He'd never thought that he could ever let a virus in under his watchful eyes. How long had Bubble been like that? Had he just gotten infected by something sometime before or something else? Something about his absence made him uneasy...

Buuuuut now was not a good time to think about all that! He couldn't spend time thinking about such silly things when they had such important matters!! He had such to to and- Okayy... get ahold of yourself, Caine! What is wrong with you today??

He took a quick breath and reached his hand to the door (witch was very shaky when did that happen???).

Okay... you can do this...

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

☆GOOD MORNING, POMNI!!☆

Pomni jumped from her bed, startled at the fact that Caine actually used the door for once. Not that she minded.

♧Oh- uh- morning, Caine... wh-♧

The ringmaster cut her off impatiently.

☆COME NOW MY DEAR FRIEND! WE HAVE LOTS TO DO TODAY!! WE HAVE A VERY BIG DAY TOMORROW!! NO TIME TO WASTE!☆

♧Huh? Hold on, what're you-♧

She looked up at Caine and back down at herself, recalling the last few days' events.

♧Oh... alright, one sec.♧

☆Great!! Meet me out here. I have something I wanna show you!!☆

She grabbed her hat and cane, sitting on a small shelf next to her bed, and headed out to where Caine said he'd be.

♧Alright... what's up?♧

☆I'm glad you asked!! See, I've been working on this for a while now, and I thought it'd be great if we could work together to finish up on my most recent project!!☆

He snapped his fingers, and in front of Pomni stood a little model. Closely resembling her old jester outfit, but more green instead of red, except for the additional party hat. Which was also lined with teeth?? Eh, it makes sense if Caine designed it.

Other than that, he looked... rather adorable. The little guy opened his eyes, taking in his new surroundings as Caine began to speak.

☆This little Fella is Voz. Or a V.irtual O.ffspring Z.imulation!☆

♧Wait, doesn't that start with a- nevermind...♧

☆I know, I know, it just rolled off the tongue more. Aaaaanyway, this little guy will be able to get along with the other players, as well as help the rest of us with minor tasks! Or, yaknow, just do other kid stuff.☆

♧Such as..?♧

☆A- well, let's ask him!! Cmon, little buddy, say hello!☆

Voz took a big gasp of air before attempting to speak. Except his words came out all glitchy and distorted. You could hardly make out what he was saying.

[H- h- ɛl·l -o¿ -lo-?]

Voz covered his mouth, and another tiny gasp escaped. Pomni looked at Caine in confusion.

☆Heheh... so maybe he can't speak... b-but that's where YOU come in!! Your job is to help program him, you can start by giving him a voice!☆

Pomni looked down at Voz then back up at Caine.

♧Well how? I don't even know what he's supposed to sound like.♧

☆Well... what do YOU think he sounds like??☆

Pomni thought for a second. She thought long and hard. She hardly remembered anything about children herself. She turned to look at Voz one more time.

[...hello?]

Out came the voice of a little boy, around 6 or 7.

He gasped and covered his mouth again. But this time in surprise rather than shame.

Pomni's eyes lit up. It actually worked.

♧Hey-♧

Caine flew in right beside Pomni, nearly shoving into her.

☆Welcome to the circus, little fella!! I'm your creator Caine, and this is your Co-creator, Pomni!☆

Caine gestured towards himself, and then his Co-host.

Voz Looked at the two standing together. First Caine, then Pomni. Caine, then Pomni. Caine, Pomni. He softly spoke up once again.

[...Papa? Mama?]

The pair looked awkwardly at each other then back at the child infront of them.

☆Oh my stars how could I forget? These things adapt to the first thing they see.☆

♧Huh??♧

☆I'm pretty sure that's a kid thing, just go with it.☆

She looked back down at Voz, who stared back, anticipating an answer.

♧I... yaknow what? Sure. Just- you can call us that.♧

He looked up at his "Parents" with huge eyes. His smile almost stretched all across his face. He didn't need to say anything for the two to know he meant "thank you".

♧Heh, you're very welcome-♧

Before she could finish, Voz ran up to the both of them and hugged their legs.

Pomni and Caine accepted his embrace. Looking down at their new project, all that dead from before? Was gone.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hectic after all.

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

RAH OMAIGOSH IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO GET BACK INTO WRITING THIS-

I procrastinated alot-

Expect chapter 4 in like...

20 years

Anyway yall know the drill, ask them stuff, ask ME stuff, and... uh-

Bye-bye

[saybiwithme]

Hiiiiiiii!!!!!! 🤯 and 🧛 please?? 💞🦛

Adding these here too @monsterrae1, @eddiebabygirldiaz & @spotsandsocks

Shannon and Alexis fic first it is!

Why was it then that now every time Shannon woke up she was thinking about Alexis? It wasn’t like they had met, she just saw her come into the vet sometimes and saw her kiss Ted. An immediate feeling even now when lying in her own bed made her uncomfortable, why did it bother her so much?

Lots of vampire buck sentences

Eddie’s eyes looked over to Hen, there was even more concern on his face now “Can you message me when you get there?”, he asked, unsure that Buck would be able to with the state he was in Hen nodded her head, she couldn’t help her own concern about Buck too. If his eyes weren’t still closed she was sure she would be checking them “I will”, she answered before she pulled on the seatbelt for herself. Buck didn’t stop groaning, when Eddie’s absence was felt it was worse but knowing that his car was moving did give him some kind of comfort “Why do I feel like this?”, he whispered to himself. Hen wasn’t driving quickly, not when almost every turn she took Buck’s head would shake and his eyes would open. She was noticing something though, he had this glazed over look that felt very unusual to her “Buck, can you see?”, she asked. Buck didn’t want to keep his eyes open for long but he nodded his head at the question “Yeah but it feels… I don’t know… off”, he answered. Hen took the answer for what it was but it did not make her less concerned, it just seemed to add to the concern she was already feeling “You’ll be home soon, promise”, she said. Maybe trying to distract him from whatever he was feeling. Buck felt that strangeness again when he was looking at Hen for too long or maybe a time he felt was too long. He was becoming aware somewhat of the way her heartbeat changed when she was concerned, he didn’t understand how he could even hear it “Hen”, he said, sounding almost scared. Hen moved the car so it was parking outside of Buck’s building, her head turned “It’s okay. You’re home”, she assured him. Buck smiled for a second, relief was there but then he fell face forward, his seatbelt stopping him from falling straight onto the floor of his car

[bubblespalace]

What would the sakamaki brothers think of kianna komori

Just a little more info since in this timeline she's in the sakamaki mansion

She is mostly by Yui's side if she has nothing to do

Very quiet and obedient for her age

That doesn't mean she isn't afraid to break the rules if necessary and talk back

Very intelligent often helps her older sister with studying

Surprisingly a very independent girl

Was raised mostly by Yui do the absence of their father most of the time

Is a sister's girl if that makes sense

Odd but has a petite and weak body

But isn't it afraid to get hurt if necessary

Is often silent and wears a blank space and most of the time it barely utters a word

Often flies under the radar

Has a weird habit of staring at people she likes and knows she can trust with dilated pupils

That signal she's happy

How they react to Kianna Komori Headcannons:

Shu:

💕-Thinks of her as bothersome, like every other girl in the mansion.

💕-Probably likes how quiet she is though.

💕-I can see him finding her cute. He wants to ruin that innocence though.

💕-Overall, he wouldn't care very much.

Reiji:

💕-I have the weirdest feeling he would like her.

💕 -Probably because of her intelligence and the fact that she is on the quiet side.

💕-Imagine he will expect a lot of her though. If she brings home less than an A, expect some discipline.

💕-As long as she stays out of his way, he'll be fine with her.

Ayato:

💕- Oh my God, he would dote on her in my opinion. I headcanon he wanted a little sister to tease so he might just take advantage of having her with them!

💕- Don't expect him to be nice 24/7 though. He'll definitely use her as a bargaining chip with Yui.

💕- He would like messing with her, teasing her or holding things over her head. Or even just being plain mean sometimes to get a reaction.

💕- Although, if she insults him or does anything he doesn't like, Ayato will give her something to have a nightmare about.

Kanato:

💕- LOVES HER FASHION. Kanato would dress her up alot.

💕- Kanato would force her to have a tea party with him, she wouldn't be able to talk to Teddy though.

💕- Likes that she's quiet, he finds her almost like a doll already. And he loves that.

💕- If anything is off about her appearance, trust that he'll dive in and fix it as soon as he notices.

Laito:

💕- Wants to ruin her innocence. He probably will still make sexual remarks, but he'll also show her R rated movies. This son of a bitch.

💕- He will try to suck her blood in front of Yui a lot. Like a lot. So much that the brother gets annoyed.

💕- Honestly, keep her away from this pervert. He will only tarnish her.

💕- He thinks she's cute though. Problem is, he'll probably try to get Yui and Kianna in the same room to try some stuff that's icky...

Subaru:

💕- SECRETLY LOVES HER SO MUCH. he finds her so darling.

💕- Is super tsundere though, so he might yell a lot. He also gets her roses for her room often, although she may not know it was him.

💕- He does little small things for her all the time because he feels bad such a cinnamon roll has to deal with such monsters.

💕- Wants to get her out of the mansion as soon as possible to protect her. Sees her as a little sister (and not in the way Ayato does!!)

[ailendolin]

Grace - Chapter 9/10

Title: Grace [AO3]

Characters: Thomas, Alison, Mike, Baby Cooper, the Ghosts, the Plague Ghosts

Summary: “Mike and I are going to have a baby.”

Baby Cooper’s arrival at Button Houses changes many things, and all for the better - at least at first. Or as Mary once said: babies can see ghosts sometimes but usually only up until they can walk.

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - Epilogue

————

A/N: There is a little song in this chapter which I wrote for this story. If you want to know how it sounds, just click on the lyrics and you will be directed to a post with an audio file and sheet music.

————

Grace

Chapter 9: The Present

In the weeks between Grace’s birthday and Christmas, a new sense of normal slowly creeps into their lives. What used to be their everyday routine gently shifts into something that still feels familiar but is also undeniably different. Alison would like to say she’s getting used to it but every now and then she feels this pang of regret deep in her chest when it hits her just how much has changed and that things won’t ever go back to the way they were before. It’s something she fears she may never quite come to terms with.

The ghosts have started to join her, Mike and Grace for breakfast in the mornings again – all of them except for Thomas, that is. His absence doesn’t exactly feel like a missing puzzle piece because he’s no longer missing, thank god. It’s more like he’s not quite fitting into the space he has carved out for himself over the years anymore. Alison knows he will again one day, has to believe that he’ll be able to find a new place and purpose for himself with time, but right now he is lost and she hates that there is nothing she can do about it.

Her only comfort is that he is not alone in his self-isolation. The villagers from the basement have taken it upon themselves to ensure that he never lacks company when he wants for it. Just before breakfast, they come upstairs to visit him, and every now and then Alison catches one of them, mostly Nigel or Jean, asleep with him in his room when she checks up on Thomas in the mornings. She hasn’t asked any of them about it – she has a feeling they stay with him on the bad days, and she’s glad for it. While her relationship with Thomas has mended somewhat since their last heart-to-heart, she doesn’t want every single conversation they have to be about Grace or grief or loss. So instead of saying something, she does her best to have faith that Nigel and the others will take care of him when it all becomes too much.

She tries to find other ways to be there for Thomas; ways that allow him to forget about Grace for a little while. On the weekends, when life is less hectic at Button House, they meet up to watch the sunrise together now. It’s a new part of Alison’s routine that she wouldn’t want to miss for anything in the world, even if it makes her late for breakfast sometimes. It’s just her and Thomas by the little well on those cold winter mornings. Thomas claims it’s the best spot to watch the sunrise but Alison suspects he chose it for more sentimental reasons. After all, they had shared their first true connection by this well. Back then, Thomas had so rarely dropped the theatrics that she still remembers how surprised she was to find him gazing at the sun instead of her and saying something truly poetic. He had simply talked in that moment – without thinking, without carefully crafting each and every word – and it had been mesmerising to see the beautiful, broken soul he always tried to hide laid bare for once.

He used to talk to Grace like this, back when Storytime was still a thing. Alison has only listened in on them a few times in the beginning when she was still unsure Thomas would be able to manage Grace on his own but she remembers being struck by the honesty in his voice when he spoke of lands far ago.

Thomas isn’t quite that open with her now when they watch the sunrise together but sometimes, when he feels particularly melancholic, he quietly talks about his childhood and the times he would sit by the window in the morning, thinking that the sun was just as unreachable and unapproachable as his parents were. More often he is quiet, though, and then Alison will fill the silence with stories about her own loneliness growing up. It’s a theme that connects them despite the different lives they’ve led, and when Thomas quietly tells her one morning about the time his mother caught him writing with his left hand and how she punished him for it, Alison thinks out of the two of them, she got the better end of the stick. She might have lost her parents but at least she never had to doubt they loved her.

Thomas is not the only one she spends a little extra time with in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Despite everything that’s going on it hasn’t escaped her notice that Julian still looks guilty whenever he interacts with Grace. There is a strain around his eyes when he reaches out to her, and an unhappy frown mars his face every time Grace inevitably giggles and says his name in response. 

“It’s just not fair,” he growls out one day after he abruptly left the room and Alison hurried after him. He said the same thing before, back in the kitchen when she asked him to boop Grace’s nose, and Alison’s chest tightens when she hears the guilt in his voice, disguised as frustration. He looks like a caged tiger as he paces up and down in front of her; like he would give anything not to have his power in that moment.

“Thomas doesn’t begrudge you this – you know that, don’t you?” Alison asks softly.

Julian sighs and stops pacing long enough to turn away from her. He looks out the window and shrugs. “It still doesn’t feel right. He should be able to do this. What he had with her–“

He breaks off with a shake of his head and Alison wishes she could reach out offer physical comfort somehow because he looks like he needs it.

“Don’t underestimate how much you mean to Grace,” she says quietly, willing her words to get through to him. “Every interaction she still gets to have with you guys is precious now. It lets her know you’re still there – that Thomas is still there, even if she can’t see or hear him. You’re helping, Julian. Trust me.”

Julian bows his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” Alison sighs. She wants to tell him that it will one day but the truth is she has no way of knowing if it’s going to. She has no idea if any of this will ever feel right again; if Julian will come to terms with the gift he has been given or if Thomas will ever be able to smile with genuine happiness around Grace again.

So instead of making promises she may not be able to keep, she steps up next to Julian and says, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad she’s still got you.”

————

She’s talking to Fanny about the specifics of this year’s Christmas tree – something she knows Fanny is very particular about – when Fanny suddenly interrupts her halfway through a ramble about baubles to say, “Alison, I have been thinking about the dilemma with young Grace and discovered a way to help you keep her memories of us alive.”

With a meaningful look, she nods down at the phone, the one Alison has been using to take notes on. It takes her a moment to make the connection but when she does, her eyes widen and she laughs. “Oh my god, of course! How haven’t I thought of this? I can take pictures of you and show them to her!”

“No, my dear,” Fanny says, her voice coloured with fond patience. “You can do better than that – you can take pictures of Grace and me together.”

Alison laughs again because the idea is so simple, so logical that it never crossed her mind. She’s been planning on making painting of Grace’s memorable interactions with the ghosts, thinking it’s the only way to capture those moments, but this – this is so much better. This is proof. This means Grace will never doubt her ghostly childhood friends are real because Fanny will be right there in the pictures with her, pulling silly faces to make her smile or frowning down at her writing over her shoulder once she goes to school. They will give her something tangible to hold onto when her memories fade and start to feel more like murky tales she’d once been told, and that means everything.

Alison looks up from her phone and feels her whole chest warm with the possibilities. “I honestly can’t believe I never thought of it.”

Fanny gives her a kind look. “You’ve had a lot on your mind these last couple of days.”

A few hours later, after she picks up Grace from Kindergarten Club – something Alison was adamant about the ghosts continuing, even if it’s hard for those like Pat and Kitty who can’t directly interact with Grace anymore – she asks Fanny to join them on their afternoon stroll in the garden. It’s a cold but sunny day, and with Grace all bundled up in her fluffy teddy bear jacket and practising her walking, they slowly make their way past Thomas’s well.

Grace has just found a frozen twig lying on the ground when Alison, phone in hand, catches her attention by pointing to the right and saying, “Fanny says you’ve got a lovely little twig there.”

It’s perfect: Grace looks up at where she is pointing and holds out the twig in her hand with a toothy grin just as Fanny looks down with a warm smile on her face. Alison snaps a picture of the moment and feels her heart nearly burst with happiness when she looks at it. Fanny’s form is faint but the love on her face is as palpable as if she were alive. Grace is more or less looking directly at her, making the illusion perfect.

“Look,” Alison says to her daughter and turns the phone around so she can see the picture. “It’s you and Fanny!”

Grace’s eyes go wide when she sees Fanny in the picture. There’s an adorable look of confusion on her face when she looks up and tries to spot Fanny next to her.

“I’m afraid that won’t work, my child,” Fanny says and leans closer to have a look at the picture herself. After a moment of careful consideration, she nods approvingly. “You might want to get that framed.”

Her tone makes it clear it’s more than a suggestion but Alison doesn’t mind. She already has an idea for a collage in mind, and judging by Grace’s happy babbling as she points between Fanny in the picture and the empty space next to her, she has no doubt that her daughter will love having her beloved ghosts line the walls of her bedroom one day.

“This was a great idea,” she tells Fanny quietly on their way back half an hour later.

Fanny inclines her head gracefully. “It’s one less ghost you’ll have to paint for her in the future.”

Alison gives her a warm smile. “Thank you.”

She has been working on proper portraits of the ghosts – portraits that show them smiling and laughing and glowing with happiness. The ones of Thomas, Fanny and Humphrey that exist are all … nice, as Thomas would say. Grace obviously loves them but they look too stilted and posed for Alison’s liking. She wants Grace to be able to see the ghosts the way they really are: goofy, silly and so full of love for her they often do not know what to do with it.

So one evening when she’s got a moment to herself, she sat down and started the first painting in what she calls the Ghosts Series. It’s just a small one but it shows Pat, crouching down with his arms wide open to encourage a toddling Grace to walk towards him. It makes Alison smile every time she works on it, and she hopes to fill the whole house with dozens of paintings like this one day. The ghosts deserve to leave their footprints in their home for all the world to see, and she already has ideas for the next ones: Julian gently reaching out to touch Grace’s nose, the Captain playing hide and seek with her, Robin grinning like a maniac as he raises his hands to the ceiling to make the lights flicker and Thomas– 

Thomas gazing fondly down at Grace’s crib as he weaves tales of fantastic lands and unlikely heroes just for her, just because he loves her and wants her dreams to be filled with magic and wonder.

There is something else, something secret, that has kept her and Mike busy in the evenings, watching one tutorial after another. It’s meant to be a Christmas present for Grace, and while Alison has no idea if they’ll be able to pull it off in such a short time, she is determined to at least give it a try, no matter how difficult Heather’s old sewing machine is trying to make it.

“I swear that thing is possessed by a demon,” she growls out late one night.

Mike looks up from the fabric in his hand. “Is that actually a thing? Demons?”

Alison gives him a look.

“What?” he asks defensively. “We’ve got a house full of ghosts. Who’s to say demons, werewolves, vampires and all that shit can’t be real too?”

Alison lets out a tired sigh and begins to thread the needle for the twenty-seventh time that evening with a patience that’s slowly but surely running thin. “Well, if you happen to see a unicorn grazing on the lawn shoo it away because Fanny and Kitty will probably want to adopt it and I’m not prepared to build a stable for it.”

In the end, they end up switching roles: Mike takes over the sewing machine while she cuts out the pieces of fabric. Surprisingly, and much to Alison’s relief, it works. Whatever Heather’s sewing machine has against her clearly doesn’t apply to Mike. The thing does everything he wants without tearing or muddling up a thread even once, and while a part of her wants to glare at it in a very childish way, in the end Alison is just glad to see Mike holding up an almost perfect little doll in triumph.

“Not going to lie, holding a tiny Thomas in my hand feels a bit weird but he does look sort of cute, doesn’t he?” he asks, squinting at the doll.

“Yeah,” Alison says as she takes in the brown colour of the waistcoat, the silky fabric of the cravat and the brown button eyes. They have given the doll a smile and after some debate also added the bullet wound. Alison knows Thomas can be quite self-conscious about it but it is a part of him and Grace has only ever known him with it so she argued it should be there. “Do you think Grace will like him?”

Mike gives her a long look before he hands little Thomas over to her. “I think Grace will cuddle the shit out of him.”

His bluntness makes her laugh.

“Well, you better be prepared to make the other ones too,” she tells him with a grin. “Creepy plague girl and all.”

Mike looks down at the mess of fabric, thread and buttons around him and groans.

————

It’s the night before Christmas and Alison is just getting Grace ready for bed upstairs when she hears the soft sound of a throat being cleared behind her. She looks over to the door and finds Jemima standing there with her doll clutched tightly to her chest. The little girl doesn’t usually wander around upstairs – something to do with the attic and her death, Alison has heard the other ghosts whisper – so she’s more than a little surprised to see her. She wonders if it has something to do with Thomas and the moment the thought forms, her mind immediately goes through all the worst case scenarios she tries very hard not to think about every time she realises she hasn’t seen Thomas for a couple of hours.

Taking a deep breath, she firmly tells herself not to draw conclusions based on nothing and manages to offer Jemima a smile. “Good evening, Jemima.”

“Hello,” Jemima says shyly.

Grace, in a fresh nappy but still without her nightclothes, wriggles around to get a look at the door. “’mima?”

“She’s by the door and waving hello to you,” Alison explains and patiently waits until her daughter has waved back before wrangling her into her clothes. To Jemima, she says, “Is there anything I can help you with? Has Robin blown the light bulb in the pantry again?”

She tries not to laugh when Grace races her pudgy hands to the ceiling and makes explosion noises that eventually dissolve into soft giggles of amusement.

“No,” Jemima says. “I’m here because of Thomas.”

So this is about him, Alison thinks as she places Grace in her crib. Worry creeps into her bones and makes her voice tremble a little when she asks, “Is he all right?”

Jemima shrugs. “He is sad a lot. Especially today. He told me he wanted to recite one of his favourite poems for her.”

Alison doesn’t need to ask what poem she is talking about: A Visit from St. Nicholas. She has seen Thomas recite it to Grace a year ago, his face all soft and full of wonder as he smiled down at her, and she knows he’s been looking forward to reciting it to her again this year. It feels like a lifetime ago that they talked about it.

“Are you here to recite it for him?” Alison asks softly.

To her surprise, Jemima shakes her head. “No. Too many words. I came to sing a lullaby.”

“Oh,” Alison says softly and gestures for her to come closer before she looks at Grace. “Jemima is here to sing you a song.”

Grace looks away from Thomas’s portrait and Jemima takes that as her cue to start singing. It only takes a few notes for Alison to realise she has heard this song before, a long time ago when she was so ill and exhausted she fell asleep beside her daughter on an early afternoon in spring. She remembers hearing Thomas’s voice from far away, remembers him telling Grace to be quiet because her mummy needs to rest, but it’s only now that Jemima’s voice rings out across the room that she actually remembers the song Thomas sang that day.

“Good night, sleep tight In the evening light Good night, sleep tight, Till the sun will rise

In the night the stars they glow And the moon it shines Good night, sleep tight In my arms tonight”

It’s a quiet song, a gentle song, and by the time the last note fades there’s a lump in Alison’s throat. She looks down at her daughter and finds her gazing at Thomas’s portrait with a sleepy but content smile on her face. Grace is humming softly to herself and Alison’s heart aches when she realises she is singing along to the best of her abilities. It’s clear this is a song her daughter is familiar with. It must have been a part of her Storytime routine with Thomas, and Alison – Alison had no idea.

“Thomas thought she might like to hear it again,” Jemima says softly, interrupting her thoughts. Quietly, she adds, “His grandmother used to sing it to him, apparently.”

Alison can just imagine it: a young Thomas snuggling up to his grandmother, feeling more loved in her presence than he’d ever felt around his parents. It makes her heart feel heavy, the thought of the man who has been loved so little in his life not only sharing this precious memory with her daughter but now also with Jemima just so Grace won’t ever have to miss hearing this song.

“Thank you,” Alison somehow manages to say just as Grace closes her eyes with a happy little murmur of Jemima and Thomas’s names.

Shyly, Jemima looks down at her doll. “If you’d like, I could sing it to her again sometime? I … I like singing it, and I like to help.”

It takes everything in Alison not to gather the young girl up in her arms and hold her close, impossible as that may be. “You’re more than welcome to, Jemima. Whenever you like.”

Jemima flashes her a smile before she curtsies and turns around with a quiet, “Goodnight, Alison.”

She leaves as quickly and quietly as she appeared, and there’s a part of Alison that wishes she had stayed longer, that they could have talked a little more. Jemima has always been an elusive one, though, and Alison knows it will take time for her to feel comfortable enough in her presence to stay for more than a few moments. It’s something she has to accept, just as she has to accept Thomas keeping his distance right now.

It’s hard, though, she thinks as she places one last loving kiss upon her daughter’s brow. With a soft sight, she activates the baby monitor and gently closes the door behind herself to join Mike down in the kitchen.

————

Later that night, after most of the presents have been wrapped and more or less the whole house is decorated with fairy lights, snowflakes and reindeer, Alison takes the little doll she and Mike made and quietly knocks on Thomas’s door.

He calls for her to enter, and Alison can’t say she’s surprised to find Jemima asleep on his bed and Nigel sitting with him by the window. She flashes them a small smile and joins them with a quiet, “Hi.”

Thomas’s lips twitch in response and Nigel jumps down from the windowsill to make room for her. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“There’s no need,” Thomas hurries to say, and Alison thinks it’s a testament to how awful he must be feeling that he wraps his fingers around Nigel’s wrist to stop him from leaving. There is a moment of silence as they regard each other before Thomas drops his gaze and begs in a small voice, “Please stay.”

Nigel’s face softens.

“Of course,” he whispers and gives Thomas’s hand a squeeze.

Alison doesn’t think she imagines the sigh of relief that comes from Thomas nor the way his shoulders relax when Nigel settles back down, and she tries not to take offense. She knows this has nothing to do with her. It’s about Thomas being afraid of being alone and forgotten on Christmas; about him craving company even though he fears he will ruin the holiday for everyone else. He clearly does not want to be alone with her right now and face whatever Grace-related thing she came to talk to him about on his own. It makes Alison wonder if she is being cruel by showing him the little doll she made of him to ease Grace’s pain, knowing very well that his own heartache won’t be so easily soothed.

Still, the last thing she wants is for Thomas to find out about the doll by accident and think he is being replaced. So once Nigel has tucked himself into the small chair below the window – the one that’s close enough to Thomas that Thomas’s fingers can rest on his shoulders – she gathers up her courage and says, “I wanted to show you something. Mike and I – we have been making something for Grace, something that we hope will help her even more than the portrait does.”

Thomas, thank god, looks intrigued rather than pained. “What is it?”

Bravely, Alison holds out the little doll.

“This is not meant as a replacement,” she says quickly so Thomas doesn’t get the wrong idea. “It’s just – she can hold it and touch it, you know?”

She realises how desperate she sounds but she needs Thomas to know that she does not mean any harm by this; that while she has Grace’s best interests at heart, she wants to make sure they don’t come at the cost of his.

For a moment, all Thomas does is stare at the doll. His face is not giving any of his feelings away and it’s that lack of reaction that prompts her to say, “I won’t give it to her if you don’t want me to.”

Thomas blinks as if waking from a dream. He reaches for the doll with one elegant, long-fingered hand that Alison has always thought was made for playing the piano and stops just shy of making contact. “You poured a lot of love into it. I can tell.”

It’s not quite the reaction she expected, and she exchanges an unsure look with Nigel before she says, “Mike actually did most of the sewing work. Turns out Heather’s sewing machine and I are mortal enemies.”

Her words elicit a wisp of a laugh from Thomas. He looks up from the doll and when his eyes find hers, Alison is relieved to see only warmth in them.

“I am sure Grace will appreciate the war you’ve fought for her.” Then, very softly, he adds, “It’s a lovely present, Alison. Truly.”

Allowing her eyes to close for a moment, Alison breathes out in relief. “I’m so glad you like it. I really think it will do a lot of good.” She pauses. “Mike’s probably going to have to make everyone else at some point as well.”

Behind Thomas, Nigel’s eyes widen for a split second in pleasant surprise before his face falls and he looks down at his plague-riddled hands. It’s glaringly obvious he’s thinking everyone else only means the upstairs ghosts – it’s written all over his face and Alison feels guilt churn in her stomach. She knows the villagers love Grace; has always known that and yet so rarely taken her daughter down to the basement to see them. She regrets that now.

“And by everyone, I mean everyone,” she says softly and smiles when Nigel looks up in surprise. “If we’re doing this, we’re making all of you. No exceptions. Same with the paintings.”

“Really?” Nigel asks, his voice almost painfully hopeful. Alison nods and he smiles at her bashfully for a moment before he looks up at Thomas. “You wouldn’t mind?”

Something breaks in Thomas’s eyes, something that leaves behind a pain that has nothing to do with his own loss and grief. He places his hands on Nigel’s shoulders and gives them a long, meaningful squeeze. “Of course I don’t mind. Grace has lost so much more than me. She needs and loves all of us.”

“But she loves you a little more,” Nigel says softly.

Instead of squeezing his eyes close in heartbreak, Thomas smiles – genuinely, beautifully, tragically. “And it is the greatest gift I have ever been given.”

The words are tinted with sadness but it does not feel as overwhelming as it would have a week ago, Alison thinks. Thomas is getting better, baby step by baby step.

The irony of the phrase isn’t lost on her.

“I know you won’t join us tomorrow but – would you like to have a little Christmas ceremony with me? Just the two of us? Or do you prefer to be alone?”

She can see the battle Thomas is silently fighting in the way his eyes become strained and the corners of his mouth slightly curve downwards. In the end, he shakes his head and says, “No, it’s all right. Christmas is for family.”

“You’re family,” Alison says, her voice shaking just a little.

Thomas smiles. “I meant your living family. You should celebrate with them. I’ll be fine – I mean it.”

Alison is about to voice her doubts when Nigel says, “It’s okay. He won’t be alone. He’s promised Lady Button to visit her pets with her after breakfast and the others and I will be with him later.”

Even though that makes Alison feel a little better, she can’t help but ask Thomas, “Are you sure?”

Thomas nods. “I am. And should I change my mind, I know where to find you.”

He sounds so sure that Alison doesn’t push but she still feels bad that he won’t be there when they open presents, that he’ll have to wait for his own until nightfall when Grace is asleep and most of the Christmas lights have been dimmed. He should be with them, should partake in the quiz Fanny is going to win like she does every year and sit next to her at the piano while she plays her favourite carols.

Next year, Alison thinks hopefully as she bids him and Nigel goodnight and heads back down to the kitchen to wrap up his doll as lovingly and carefully as she can.

[thaliajoy-blog]

Valyrians // Iron Islanders parallel I found interesting 🤔 and leads me to some conclusions about Valyrians (it's just my opinion though) since we know little about them ultimately

- Obviously, the both of them practiced/ still practice some form of slavery.

- Valyria was a powerful, brutal empire looking to always expand it's territories, and was feared by all ; and while a lot milder the Targaryen dynasty springs from "the Conqueror" (and several Dornish wars show that continued ambition). All the while not only did the Ironborn once conquer a sizeable part of Westeros and subjected it to their dreadful rule under house Hoare (Harren the Black), but in the current asoiaf timeline they also have conquered parts of the North, and Euron has even bigger plans. So in both cases, a big tendency to expansionism.

- They both practice polygamy to some extent. Ironborn have one "rock wife", a legal wife, and "salt wives", who are captive concubines. We've not that many info on whether or not the Valyrians valued some wives above others, since the two cases we have real info on are entirely different. But like the Ironborn Valyrian polygamy seems to be only polygyny, a marriage of one man to several women.

- So, info we've got on individual characters can imply many things for the Valyrians, especially how their society works (social strata) and their values. Some theories have it that Valyrians treated their women much better & gave them quasi-equality to men, but I kind of think the cases of Visenya & Rhaenys (and some possible cases among some previous Valyrian women like Janaera Baelaerys or the Elaena who "ruled with her brother") in the eye of the comparison with the Ironborn, kind of look like Asha's situation. Especially with Visenya. They are both women with unusual positions & who are closely associated to power by their male relative ; they are both warriors and they fight for their family, and are respected as such. Despite the Iron Islands having a pretty misogynistic culture, Asha manages to fit right in and be considered practically as her father's heir and a possible contender for the salt throne, while Visenya was an advisor for Aegon & sat the Iron throne in his absence with her sister Rhaenys. And even if Rhaenys embodied more feminine qualities and wasn't a "true warrior", she could still fly her dragon into battle with her siblings. It's possible that dragons elevated Valyrian women & their place in society, like being a warrior, a sailor & a captain did for Asha in the Ironborn society. They are useful in the same way men are, are more or less able to do the same things.

- To develop the comparison, if we look at Maegor, who was raised by Visenya, the embodiment of Valyrian female autonomy & power in a sense, it kind of is strange that he became a man who didn't respect women all that much. He abandoned his first wife because she couldn't give him children, and treated most of his other brides as potential broodmares. In both instances in the text he affirms that what he wants from his wives isn't just "a child", but "a son". How does that make sense for Visenya's son, raised by her, except if Valyrians were patriarchal but sometimes allowed women (dragonriders) to hold some power and could on an individual level be lead to see them as equals of sorts (like Balon with Asha) ? While still really valuing men first, ultimately - which is why Aegon (the Uncrowned) was made prince of Dragonstone, and not Rhaena, who was older but female. It's a culture that cares about sex & does discriminate to some extent, but cares more about strength in some way, and so gives some equality to powerful women.

- So, this lead me to tentatively infer that dragonlords possibly did "rank" their wives, and if they had dragonrider (sister) wives and non-dragonrider wives, put the first above the second in some way. (Edit : they apparently sort of did, as they could have wives and concubines, like Aenar the Exile had)

[trinity-mia]

a story as endless as the ocean

the lightning thief

0.1 kronos ate the kids

warnings : kronos... eating his kids

word count : 3.7k

0.1 kronos ate the kids... yummy ( ? )

-- sixteen years later

In the absence of the sun, the day could've been observed as night as dark storm clouds gathered overhead. I was glad I'd checked the weather before getting on my motorcycle— I would just barely miss getting caught in the storm.

Normally, in New York City, you only drove yourself places if you were one of two things: rich or stupid (although, to be honest, it's astounding how often those two things coincide). The traffic of Manhattan is unbearable, but if you're that much of a show off, and you really want people looking at your car, you drive. However, while I did fall under the "rich" category (thank you random casting agent in Central Park when I was 2... I guess?), I wasn't driving because I wanted people to see the Harley my mom had gotten me for my 16th birthday the August before. Being entirely honest, I just needed a break, and sometimes yelling at people about how awful their driving is can be very therapeutic. 

But the clouds unsettled me in a way that I couldn't explain. A way that had me shuffling on my Harley and shifting my weight much more than my ADHD would normally have made me do. The weather had been off since I'd come back from Philly in December, so I was almost used to it at that point, but it was like a sandbag had burst open in the pit of my stomach, letting all of the particles of sand spill out, every time I looked up at the sky. 

Still, there was no use complaining about the weather. If anything, I should've been complaining about the fact that I was still in the exact same spot I was ten minutes ago. Sometimes the City That Never Sleeps is really a pain in the ass. 

Danny was going to give me a real hard talking to if I was late for this field trip. It was supposed to be to some Greek and Roman history museum in Brooklyn, but most people weren't going to learn— they were going because it got them out of class. We only had a few weeks left of school, but Christ if we all didn't want the year to end sooner rather than later. And Danny only wanted me to go because of a role I'd recently gotten playing a Spartan queen, Aerlla, as though me knowing more about Greek mythology was going to win me another Oscar. 

I gave a sigh of relief as my next few turns weren't nearly as crowded. A bit of the traffic finally thinned out, so getting to school was much less difficult. Technically, with it being a boarding school and all, we weren't allowed to have our cars here. They figured we'd all try to leave and never come back if that were the case. It was only with a little extra money that I was allowed to be able to travel. No one else really got that privilege. 

Luck seemed to be on my side that day and I got back to the school just as they were loading the bus for us to go on our senior's (which was a whole story in and of itself, as I was supposed to be a sophomore. Thank God for online classes) end of the year field trip. While it might be the most boring thing you've ever heard of (yes, I thought that at first, too), Mr. Brunner, the coolest teacher I've ever had, was supposed to be chaperoning all of us. 

My luck ran out right after that, though, once I noticed our other chaperone was my insufferable AP calculus teacher from Georgia. She came to our school right after our first calc teacher had a nervous breakdown. She always wore a faux leather jacket and, although she was fifty, she looked like she'd drive my Harley into someone's locker whenever she wanted. 

"Allie, there you are! I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it on time," my friend, Grover, called as soon as I took my helmet off. I saw Mr. Brunner check my name off of the roll call list from beside Grover.

Grimacing as I realized I wouldn't have time to run by my room to put my helmet up and therefore would have to take it with me, I replied, "We wouldn't be in New York if I wasn't almost late."

We both boarded the bus, Mr. Brunner giving me a small smile as I passed, and luckily got a seat together. Much to my chagrin, however, it was right in front of the resident douche and pain in the ass himself: Nathan Bobofit. He gave me a gross smile and I could only just keep myself from getting up and bolting as the bus started moving. 

My teeth clenched together as Nathan reached around the back of my seat to grab my arm. "C'mon, Jackson, my lap's a whole lot more comfortable than sitting next to that weirdo."

I jerked my arm out of his hand as he tried pulling me up. "Don't fucking touch me," I snapped scathingly as I tried scooting as far away from him as I could. 

I'd had my share of rejecting him, but God if he wasn't persistent. And gross. Really, really gross. It was sad to say, but I was used to it. People on the internet don't exactly hold back either. And being an actress and model with a big following... yeah, not the best mix. People are creepy, I've learned that lesson many times. 

"I'm gonna fucking kill him this time. I swear to God, I'm not kidding," I grumbled as I felt Nathan's knee pressing into my seat, just enough for me to be able to feel. 

"Don't. Allie, these are the last few weeks you have to be in high school. If you get expelled now, you won't be able to go to Columbia next year and you'll be repeating your senior year at a different school. Just get through this, a few more weeks, and you're in the clear," Grover warned me. I huffed and leaned back, grumbling a 'whatever' to keep him satisfied. 

To be fair, he was right. Danny, my manager, would've been pissed at me if I managed to get expelled in my last semester of high school. He'd already done so much so I could graduate early and figure out a schedule for me to be able to go to some classes in person and finish the rest online. With how much time and effort he'd put into helping me get a good education, I'd hate to throw it all away because I couldn't keep my temper in check. 

And I'd hate for TMZ and all the other awful news outlets to get word of me having got expelled because I fought someone. God, I shudder to think of the fire that the media would light under my ass. Though, I thought, maybe if they figured out why, at least Twitter would be on my side. 

I was happy the trip was fairly short. I could only go so long ignoring the painfully obvious and gross comments about my body by the boys behind me. Grover and one of my cheerleader friends, Ivy, made sure they got directly behind me so Nathan couldn't. He'd been known to try things when left behind me and today I'd made a mistake by wearing a skirt. As we unloaded the bus, Mr. Brunner got us checked in and led the museum tour. 

Mr. Brunner was your average middle-aged guy, except for the wheelchair he had to be in wherever he went. It was a well-known joke for everyone around the school to try and guess why he had to use it. As far as we knew, no one was correct. Mainly because no one has enough courage to ask him. Popular theory was that he got stabbed during one of his sword demonstrations and accidentally got hurt. 

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery. It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for over two thousand or three thousand years. 

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top and us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, Mrs. Dodds would give me the evil eye.

Finally, I got fed up, my patience run too thin, and I snapped, "will you shut up?" at Nathan, the loudest of them all. And though I had turned towards Nathan, Mr. Brunner had stopped talking and I could tell he was looking directly at me. I could also hear a few stifled giggles coming for the rest of the senior class. 

"Miss Jackson, did you have a comment?" I turned back towards him and noticed his amused expression. 

"No, sir," I replied, trying to keep a blush from coming to my face. 

"Do you mind telling us what this picture represents?" He asked, gesturing towards a carving right beside him. I let out an internal breath of relief. Thank God it was something I recognized. 

"That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," he frowned, and I knew he was going to ask for a better explanation. "And he did this because..."

"Kronos was the King of the Titans and he didn't trust his kids, the gods, because there was a prophecy he heard that said they would overthrow him and lead the world themselves. So he ate them. Except, his wife, Rhea hid baby Zeus and gave Kronos and rock dressed in baby clothes to eat instead. Once Zeus grew up, Rhea gave Kronos a mixture of wine and mustard so he would throw up the rest of his children." There were a few disgusted outbursts at this. "Since they were immortal, they had been growing in Kronos' stomach the same way they would have. So then there was a long war between the gods and the titans and the gods ended up winning." 

I heard a scoff from beside me. "This is so stupid. It's not like our job applications are gonna have 'why did Kronos eat his children' as a question you have to answer correctly to get hired," Nathan stage whispered to his friends. They snickered in response. 

"And why, Miss Jackson," Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Mr. Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?" 

I sighed and racked my brain for at least a semi-logical explanation, because truthfully, I couldn't think of one. "There's always something that you can learn from history and myths passed down by generations. By listening to the stories, you can ensure you won't make the same mistakes— in this case, you learn not to let your own paranoia control you?" 

He tilted his head as if debating whether or not my answer satisfied what he was looking for. He finally came to a conclusion. "Not quite the answer I was looking for, but full credit all the same. Your explanation was wonderfully done, Miss Jackson. After Kronos' children were released from his stomach, the gods teamed up together to overthrow their father. And they did so by cutting him into little pieces with his own scythe. Now on that happy note, Mrs. Dodds, could you escort us outside for lunch?"

I speed-walked out of there, Grover in tow, before Mr. Brunner could call me back in. If he needed to say something super important he could tell me outside, but I wasn't in the mood to get lectured right at that moment. 

We all gathered in various groups on the steps of the museum. We were positioned in a way that would allow us to watch the traffic on Fifth Avenue. The weather still worried me as the clouds had only gotten darker, but I forced myself to ignore it once I noticed no one else was paying attention to it. 

Most of the girls were gossiping in groups, most likely talking about how Gabby hooked up with a boy in our class, Tate Dare. I'd heard the story a million times— I didn't need the story again. 

Being famous did have one major perk: everyone wanted to be my friend, which in turn allowed me to know all of the school's gossip before almost everyone else. The boys were trying— and failing— to pickpocket a few tourists who'd stopped in front of the museum to take pictures. Of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing. 

I threw my head to the side, a gesture telling Grover to follow me to the fountain a little ways away, trying very hard to make it seem like we weren't part of the slightly-psycho group of teens. 

"Since you're my main source of news, what's going on school-wise?" Grover asked me once we'd gotten comfortable on the fountain. 

I shrugged. "Gabby, you know— the Gabriella who's on the cheer team with me— hooked up with Tate Dare. Lindsay Greene might be getting suspended for vaping in the bathrooms, but that's up in the air right now considering her daddy's a teacher. Uh... oh! Victor Ryles failed a drug test, so he can't try out for any sports next year. That's it, I think?" 

"Why do you know all of this? And can I have your apple?" 

I handed it to him and smirked. "Most people like me— well, they like my 'status' at the very least. If I want to know the gossip, they give me the gossip." 

Grover and I laughed and he was about to say something else but was cut off by Nathan 'tripping' over a crack in the sidewalk and tossing his food right on Gover's lap. 

"Oops. I got a little distracted by your beautiful eyes, Allie," he said in a faux British accent, his friends snickering behind him. 

The look on his face just made me angrier and he reached out to touch my face, but never got the chance. One moment he was in front of me, the next he was sitting on his ass in the fountain, spitting out water and a few coins. The weirdest part was the whispers. 

"Did you see—"

"— The water—"

"— Like it grabbed him!"

I clenched my teeth as I glared at him. I would've loved to say something super badass, and the words were on the tip of my tongue, but a strong grip on my arm kept me from saying it. I turned my glare to Mrs. Dodds, who was staring at me with the most triumphant expression. She looked as if she'd been waiting for this moment all semester. 

"Now, honey—" she said, using the nickname that never failed to enrage me. 

I rolled my eyes and interrupted her despite the situation I had put myself in. "Oh, whatever! What's my punishment going to be? See how long I can go without eating?" I snapped. 

That apparently wasn't the correct thing to say. The triumphant fire in her eyes only burned brighter. 

"Come with me."

"Wait!" Grover said, trying to force himself in between Mrs. Dodds and me, giving me a why-the-FUCK-would-you-say-something-like-that look. "It was me, I pushed him."

It wasn't the most believable lie in the world, especially considering I had much more muscle than him and it was very obvious he wouldn't have been able to push Nathan into the fountain. 

Because of the roles I'd done, I had to learn a whole bunch of shit I'd never use again, which include, but are not limited to, sword fighting, hitting many bullseyes with a bow and arrow, and lots of hand-to-hand fighting. From the weight training classes I take, I can bench press about 160 pounds, give or take, and cheerleading makes throw myself upside down while spinning. Grover looked like a twig compared to me (still love you, though, Grover). 

"I don't think so. Miss Jackson will come with me, and you can stay right here."

She didn't have to try hard to scare Grover, considering she already terrified him. He gave a small and stiff nod and looked at me petrified. 

"Thanks for trying, G," I whispered. 

He just stood paralyzed and kept glancing between Mr. Brunner and Mrs. Dodds, who was already at the front door. 

Wait, what? How did she get there so fast? I shook my head and walked after her. 

"Don't die in there, Jackson! Me and my friends still want to fuck you before we graduate! How about Thursday?" Nathan yelled at my turned back. 

I turned, gave him my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare and a middle finger, then continued walking. 

At first, I thought she was just going to make me buy Nathan a new t-shirt at the gift shop, but that didn't seem to be the case. Mrs. Dodds kept walking until we'd made it back to the Greek statues and paintings section. 

She crossed her arms with her back turned towards me until I'd gotten close enough. When she turned, I stopped walking. 

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said after a few moments of silence. 

At first, I thought she was mentioning all the random times paparazzi would show up at the front steps of Yancy Acadamy and demand my picture, but something told me that wasn't it. I decided to go for the safest option and chose to be polite. 

"Yes... ma'am?" 

She started making a sound from the back of her throat, almost like growling. She tugged on the cuffs of her jacket. "Did you really think you were going to get away with it?" 

I furrowed my eyebrows. The only thing I could think was, what the hell? The fire grew brighter. She looked beyond mad; she looked evil. "I'll... it won't happen again... ma'am," I shot out, saying the first response that came to mind. 

Thunder shook the building. 

"We aren't fools, Astraea Jackson."

I flinched at the use of my real name. Virtually no one knew it, only my mother, the principal, and my manager. And usually it was because I was in trouble. I didn't like the way it rolled off her tongue. 

"It was only a matter of time before you were caught. Confess to what you've done and I might choose to be merciful."

"Okay, time for a pause. What am I even confessing to? What the hell did I do that was so—"

"Time's up!" 

And with that, she started changing. Her eyes turned red, her fingernails grew into talons, and her leather jacket started melting and turning into wings. 

"Holy shit!" I screamed, scrambling back a few steps as she shot into the air. Thunder rumbled again. 

"Allie!" 

My eyes didn't shift from the winged-bat-creature-thing my calculus teacher had just turned into, but my mind registered that it was Mr. Brunner's voice. I stepped back and turned and barely had a second to catch the sword flying towards me. Once I had it in my hands I turned back towards Mrs. Dodds, who was flying overhead like a vulture. 

Finally, she swooped down for the kill and I got into the stance my instructor made me do thousands of times over. Once she got close, I didn't feel any fear. It's just like a prop, do what you're supposed to and you won't get hit. 

My body did the only thing that came naturally; I swung the sword. 

She'd flown down in the perfect position, and the sword hit her left shoulder and passed through all the way to her right hip. She burst into a yellow powder and vaporized on the spot, leaving only the smell of sulfur and an uneasy vibe in the air. 

I didn't register the sword falling out of my hand, only the overwhelming desire to get back to my group. I felt like throwing up and like an awful migraine was about to hit. 

When the doors were in my sight, I sprinted the rest of the way and almost ripped the doors off their hinges to get out of there. Grover met me halfway down the steps and started to say something, but I just shook my head. I felt like I was about to pass out from the pain in my head, so there was no way I could've explained anything that had just happened to Grover. 

Just as I got off the last step, Nathan intercepted my path. "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your ass, bitch. Would've gotten you prepared for the main course," he said, still dripping from his swim in the fountain. 

I was about to punch his lights out, but a piercing whistle cut through the storm, re-irritating my migraine. I cried out in pain, clutching my head. I settled for shoulder-checking past him, leaving him to follow in Grover and my tracks. 

Mr. Brunner gave me a concerned look as I boarded the bus, but he didn't say anything to me. Once I got to my seat I pulled a Gucci hoodie out of my bag and threw the hood over my head. Grover sat down as I was searching for some ibuprofen. I relaxed as I found it and dry swallowed three pills. 

"You okay, Allie?" 

I shook my head. "Migraine," I muttered and our conversation ended there. The storm raged worse and the entire bus was silent as lightning cracked across the sky and thunder quickly followed.

*    *    *

previous | next

SERIES M.LIST | MAIN M.LIST | TIPS

[bcnes-archived]

"Shove off, Jim, this ship gives me nothing but reasons to complain." But he's smiling right back at him, so even that isn't a genuine complaint. He will, however, find a genuine one if you give him another five minutes or so. In any case, if Jim thinks it's strange hearing the moniker Bones come from anybody else's mouth, it's twice as strange for McCoy. It's always been Kirk's thing, and exclusively Kirk's, to the point that even Leonard doesn't repeat it. Just sounds wrong, hearing it with his own voice. Though he's initially only beginning to frown about that, it shifts into something more thoughtful as Jim goes on.

"Well," he begins slowly, and turns on a heel, pacing just a bit across the quarters. "We could take a shift or two off. I could - you could - give us a medical leave of absence, just for the day. We can get Spock up to speed, he'd believe us right away and you know it." In part because the Vulcan knows them so well he'd be able to tell instantly, even if they for some reason committed to acting their way through this whole mess, who was really who. "And - I hate to admit it, so don't tell him I said it, but if anybody's smart enough to figure out what happened and how to undo it, it's him," McCoy continues grudgingly. "Either way it'll give us time to avoid any awkward situations."

Like Kirk's authority being challenged on the bridge, or either one of them having to perform surgery with potentially disastrous results, or - god forbid - Leonard having to take the conn. Of course, that entire plan hinges on the notion that they'll have an entirely peaceful day at warp and the captain won't have any reason to be forced to take command back. Likewise, that sickbay will remain empty, at least enough to operate without him. Neither situation is likely and he has to clasp his hands tightly behind his back to keep them from doing that goddamn fretful wringing thing they keep feeling so inclined to start up with.

"...Unless you've got any better ideas, that's where I'm at. One thing I do know is that I don't want the whole ship to find out, or we'll never hear the end of it - and Christine will absolutely make us both go through a psych evaluation, thinking it's some kind of practical joke." Which is what McCoy would do, too, so he can't even curse her out that much. Sometimes he wishes she were a little less fantastic of a nurse. "I'd rather not waste hours on that nonsense. And then everybody else will end up all rattled and the whole crew will get absolutely nothing done. Now, I know asking you to act is a tall order, but..." he is, of course, being so completely unserious with that remark.

It's strange , being on this side of things - a little taller , lankier , but with the same amount of back pain. That's one of the things they have in common , it seems. ❛ I don't know , Bones , ❜ He starts with a soft chuckle , arms crossing against his chest. ❛ You sure do like to complain , I'm sure you'd come up with something. ❜ The joke is strange when it doesn't come from his own voice - the nickname , especially. McCoy hates the damn nickname , he's surprised that he's become so used to it. It's funny , how some things start as jokes and become so intertwined with your being that you just can't seem to let go of them.

His gaze falls upon the hands that Bones wrings together , his own , controlled by the doctor. And yet , that action doesn't seem at all like something Bones would do. It's as if his body acts of its own accord , doing what he , Kirk , would do. His eyebrow raises as he looks back up at the face and attempts to study it - it's different , looking at your own face. He watches the way McCoy holds himself in his body , and that , too , almost makes him laugh. It wasn't every day that something like this happens ―― something not life threatening ( yet ) , and yet still just as wild as any other day on the Enterprise. Maybe that's why he finds it so ceaselessly entertaining , or maybe it's imagining how funny that expression would be , if it was on Bones' face instead of his own.

The hysteric , almost barking , laughter jolts him back into reality. The concern quickly washes over his face , or , the face of the body he inhabits. He watches his body shake with laughter , that wild look in his eyes almost unsettling to see. ❛ Alright , Bones. ❜ He begins , gaze softening slightly - he may be lax about this , but the last thing he needs is for Bones to be freaking out about it. They’re both going to need to put their heads together if they’re going to get out of this. He does chuckle slightly , however , at the bet. ❛ At least we’re prepared. ❜ He offers in return.

He listens to the points Bones brings up , now wearing that same concerned frown. He’s right : nobody will take him seriously if he goes up there. If he were in Spock’s body , maybe that would be a different story. But his commandeering presence doesn’t exactly hold the same weight when he’s in a doctor’s body.

Bouncing up and down on the tips of his toes , he tries to rack his mind for any ideas - there’s no way in hell he was going to be able to perform a surgery , if it came to it. ❛ No , I . . I know that. ❜ When it comes to it , he’s not even sure that they’d believe him , that he was indeed James T. Kirk stuck in their good doctor’s body. ❛ And there’s no offense taken , there. My hands aren’t built for the intricacies of surgery. It’s just a matter of . . figuring out how exactly we’re going to go about this. ❜ Hopefully there won’t be too many emergencies to deal with , but if there is . . well , to coin a phrase : he’s a Captain , not a Doctor.

[balkanradfem]

I’ve had this idea for a book a while ago, and started thinking of it again today. I don’t feel like I can write it, but I can at least present the concept in a text post.

The book begins with an underground temple of an ancient female goddess; she’s been watching the state of her wards, and she’s angry. She’s been sealed underground, but she’s been festering anger and power, and finally, her seal breaks. The night sky lights up, and consequently, every m*n on the surface on the earth finds that he can no longer move.

Some are motionless on their beds, some have fallen to the floor, finding themselves completely immobile. They cannot speak either. They’re found by their flatmates and wives who are concerned, but ultimately unable to do anything about it; they can bring water and food, but he’s not able to eat or drink. Women quickly realize it’s all of them, and it’s not an individual illness. Female researches, scientists and doctors hurry to figure out what is wrong; but there’s no cause whatsoever, they’re all just immobile and mute. They can’t go to work, they can’t eat or drink, they can’t do anything.

In absence of m*n in the work force, women are quickly forced to take over their shifts and get their work done for them; some work is taken over by co-workers, and sometimes it’s a sister or a wife who is called to guess his passwords, and stays for the job. A lot are facing unpleasant discoveries about the m*n in their life, such as their p**n habits, proofs of pedophilia, stalking, exploitation of prostituted women, cheating, grooming younger women, misogynistic ideas online. The women get even less friendly-feelings towards their male counterparts once they have access to all of their finances - they quickly figure out just how selfish and secretive they’ve all been.

Meanwhile, there is some progress in the male condition. Some males have managed to move around a little, not to speak, but some have realized that the bed/floor they’re laying on, has gotten pretty dirty, and decided to clean it. As soon as they had this thought, an ability of movement was granted to them, and very relieved, they were managing to drink water and wash themselves, only to find themselves immobilized once again, this time on their bathroom floors. Few of them have managed to get up again. Few of them figured out just why. None of them have been able to get out of the house, or to get to work.

Women taking the places of CEO’s get access to the financial records of the companies, and very clearly see just how much it’s possible to pay the workers, vs what they’re actually paid, in order to increase the profits. And women decide to put that practice to the depth of hell. New laws are made where all the profits are equally redistributed to the workers, giving them all a chance for a safe and comfortable life. And these workers, are now women only, so for the first time ever, women are the only ones with significantly big buying power.

Women generally use their money to provide food and safety for their families, so with the increased availability of food, furniture, clothes and weather-protective items, the economy is experiencing a new type of boom, where things geared towards women are now sold easily, and women are gaining the power to purchase their own land, houses, farms.

The women are also having some angry confrontations with the still-immobilized, still speechless m*n on the floor; about their misogyny, about the cheating, about the lies, sexualizing minors, leading businesses that cause massive damage and harm to the workers, about how life is suddenly, easier somehow, instead of being harder and more miserable. Domestic violence victims, for the first time, are safe to walk out of their homes, to report, to start their own lives, because now the entire earth is a safe place. Victims of pedophilia, incest, rape, imprisonment, pimping, are now free to speak up, to do in fact, whatever they wanted to the now motionless abusers who are lying on the floor, unable to hit, rape, abuse, murder, talk back, unable to deny anything.

The m*n who did realize they can move, have managed to figure out how to do it more. They won’t be able to move if they’re thinking about their jobs, or what they need to say to their wives to make sure things go their way, they don’t get to move if they want to do anything for their own satisfaction. But, they can move if they decide to wash the floor. Or wash the toilet. If they think about making a meal for his wife. If they’re doing laundry. Same as it appeared, the ability to move disappears as soon as they fail to be doing that specific tasks. They’ll be allowed to eat or drink, but only as much as it’s necessary for them to be doing the manual labour.

They women notice, and convey this information; m*n, if you want to move, think about domestic labour. Some m*n are just grateful to move, and start cleaning the houses, washing the windows, doing laundry, making meals - but they also don’t get to do meals they like themselves. They get to move if they make food their wives like. Some m*n decide this is beneath them, and refuse to do anything until they’re at the very brink of death by dehydration. Some decide to die rather than to take this role upon themselves. They go angrily, but quietly. They don’t get to yell their indignation at their housemates. The women sadly realize there’s nothing they can do at this point - the m*n have chosen their own destiny. They could have lived, if they just did a bit of housework.

The world is looking for an explanation of what is going on, and the book follows a team of female archeologists, who have recorded some explainable findings, patterns and rocks leading close to the underground temple, that we have seen in the beginning. They feel they’re onto something, and their exploration is being reported on social media, the women hoping to find out what has caused this world-wide event of m*n losing their power to move.

Some women decide this is an act of god and something that cannot be influenced or explained, and the reasoning for it is mysterious, but they’re doing the best they can to keep leading their lives, now free of harassment and sexual abuse. Some women decide, that since it destroyed their relationships and love, it must be an act of a demon or a devil, and they gather and start a cult of blaming other women for it, trying to find which horrid witch was evil enough to do this to them, personally. They’re wreaking havoc on the most vulnerable women in the population, before they’re seized and stopped in their tracks, other women refusing to tolerate the religious nonsense, and violence towards their own. 

The women  gain power to reduce carbon footprint and exploitation of the third-world workers and resources; now that the goal is no longer to increase profit, these issues become resolvable by paying for the resources fairly, and quitting the practices that cause insane amounts environmental damage. The women are taking several months to get it down, but within a year, practices have changed, and new laws have been put into motion to prevent the development of more harm.

It’s now months since the m*n have been rendered motionless, and some have started recovering, and walking around to some point; but never outside their house. They’ve been grateful they’re allowed to eat meals, and sleep in a bed. They’re spending their days doing housework, and they also found out, that there’s differences in what each of them has to do in order to move. If this specific one had a woman continuously cook for him, and clean for him, then these specific actions are what he has to do. If the woman has been taking care of his child around the clock, now he has to do it, in the same way she would, or he goes limp again. If he wasn’t specifically counting on a woman to do these tasks, then he’s recovering a little bit faster than the others, allowed to get some free time, only unable to tell when it’s going to end.

They discover they can talk, if they’re saying pleasing and loving things to women. They can clean themselves, as long as the soaps they use are nice-smelling to women. They can fix their appearance, as long as women like to see them like that. They can make themselves sexually appealing, but only if a woman is in the mood for that. If they reach to touch her, to make her, the ability to move is denied for days. Some of them learn the first time; some of them fail to survive this.

The team of the female archeologists, after going through multiple perils, finally find their way down into the ancient goddess temple, and they’re rewarded for their effort; they’re allowed to speak to the goddess directly. They ask, for how long is this going to last? And she replies “For as long as the opposite lasted.”

-

With a book like that, I’d want to put all m*n into a situation where all women have been at one point or another. Where their survival depends directly on being useful and convenient to m*n. Where their appearance, demeanor and behaviour is allowed to exist, only while it’s convenient and attractive to m*n. Where their only option is to appeal to m*n, offer up their labour, their time and energy, their love and compassion, to be rewarded with nothing but continued survival. Where the only place they’re allowed to exist in, is a property of a male. Where the laws are being made not for their success, but for them to be stripped from protection and rights. Where people in power have no regard for their interests.

This is not a revenge fantasy; no m*n is murdered, tortured, raped, dismembered, sold into sex slavery, or turned into a corpse against his own will, they all have a choice, and it’s a choice women have been invisibly making for centuries. I’d like m*n to be aware, just for a moment, what that position feels like, what it means looking at a life of servitude, versus ensured silence and death.

It also calls attention to how bad our situation really is, or was at some point in our lives. We had all but no choice, but to do housework for males at some points in our lives. To cook for them, to clean their property, to take care of their children/animals/possessions, to comfort them, to please them, to appeal to them, to endure whatever abuse they put our way, if we want to keep living and to be acknowledged as human beings. We don’t get rights if we don’t prove to be useful. That is painful. That feels like being motionless and useless and in danger of perishing, unless we do as we’re told, as we’re conditioned to. I want us to be aware as well, that this is a crime against our humanity. We never should have been in that position. Nobody should.

[thegeminisage]

john abused both dean AND sam, just differently. in this essay i will

prove that the abuse manifested in different ways for each of them because that’s how abuse works in real life. this is based on the fact that john saw dean as mary’s surrogate but once he found out about the deal and sam having demon blood he blamed sam for her death. ok let’s fucking go

dean as mary’s surrogate

there are loads of parallels made between dean and mary in early season spn and late season spn. in season 12 dean directly calls himself sam’s mother, but even earlier than that we see him doing the cooking and child rearing. compare that to all the parallels made between sam and john (both of them losing their blonde woman significant others in a ceiling fire) and it’s clear that dean was meant to more resemble mary. it’s not a stretch to say that if we can see it as viewers this is how john saw it in his actual life. i do think john loves dean for being dean but he loves him more for being mary.

sam as the reason behind mary’s death

i think once john learned that sam had demon blood, some part of him must have always been waiting for the other shoe to drop with sam, not ever fully believing this kid was human, and maybe not even knowing if this kid was HIS. a popular theory back in the day was that YED fathered sam (something they had to actually address in season 4 to stop the speculation), and if WE speculated that hard, surely john must have too. i’m sure he loves sam as an extension of mary, and keeps and raises and protects him BECAUSE he’s mary’s, but similarly (or maybe inverse) to dean, i don’t know if he ever fully gave himself permission to love sam for being sam. in fact, i imagine john harbors a lot of self-loathing for failing to save mary. if we directly parallel john and sam, that means by some extent he would also hate sam.

john trusted dean with far too much, and sam with far too little

dean knew about monsters; sam didn’t. dean had memories of their mother and the night she died, and shared that trauma of watching her die with john; sam didn’t. dean knew when john was supposed to be home and who to call if he wasn’t; sam didn’t. dean was given the money and the guns and the CAR ITSELF; sam wasn’t. dean was taught to drive; SAM WASN’T. 

dean was expected to do everything john was supposed to have been doing in his absence - he was to be a mother and father to sam, he was supposed to protect sam from evil, he was supposed to see to sam’s meals and homework and getting to school on time. and he was put under an EXTRAORDINARY amount of pressure not to screw this up even a little bit, despite the fact that he was only a kid. sam on the other hand was kept on a strict need-to-know basis for his entire life, right up until season 1 when they reunite at last. john didn’t trust sam with ANYTHING, and sam knew it. this contributed to his lifelong anger issues because he didn’t DO anything to warrant that kind of mistrust and probably got gaslit about it a lot of times either by john himself or dean (unknowingly, by parroting/believing the things john said). even in the pilot sam says very casually of his mother “she’s gone,” because her memory doesn’t hold the same place of reverence for him - best guess is that john didn’t talk about her much to sam because he didn’t trust sam with emotional stuff either. in s14 we learn that dean was the one who told sam stories about mary, including her terrible casserole - and their attempt at recreating it infuriated john to the point of him throwing the entire concoction in the trash.

john relied on dean for everything, and refused to rely on sam for anything

canonically dean was the one who comforted john after a bad hunt, looked after and fed his brother when john wasn’t around. dean knew how to use a shotgun; sam didn’t. dean knew who to call in an emergency; sam didn’t. dean knew about monsters; sam didn’t. this was done under the guise of “protection for sammy” but turn it around and it’s also protection FROM sammy. think of how angry john gets when he learns sam has been having psychic visions. he’s not just angry that dean didn’t report it to him, he’s angry that the demon’s plans for sam are coming to pass, and that sam is becoming less human. again, he can’t TRUST sam if sam’s not human, and it proves to john that he was right all along to keep sam in the dark as much as possible.

john gave dean too much freedom, and sam no freedom at all

“watch out for sammy.” sam was under constant supervision by either dean or john; john made sure of it. again, it’s protection FOR sam but also protection FROM him, in case he did something inhuman or evil. dean on the other hand was left alone without any supervision at all for days or even weeks at a time - he resorts to stealing bread and peanut butter and (according to jackles) turning tricks for money. he had to make it work and got up to whatever the fuck he wanted when john wasn’t looking. sam had to LITERALLY run away from home before he got the simple pleasure of eating pizza and having a dog by himself, independently. dean was given too much independence and freedom but sam was kept on such a short leash he had none at all.

john made dean feel unworthy, and he made sam feel unclean

when dean fails to protect sam from the shtriga in the season 1 flashbacks, he says his dad looked at him differently after. he also implies that john physically beat him when sam ran away in flagstaff. whether he meant to or not, john made it abundantly clear that his love for dean was not unconditional; it depended very much on how well dean performed the multitude of tasks john assigned him. dean grew up believing that his only worth was in what he could do for other people. he demonstrates this an an adult over and over and over, from letting his possessed family members beat him up to refusing to take care of his own needs, emotional and otherwise, and snapping at people who try to talk to him about his own feelings.

on the other hand, sam talks in season 8 about how even at a very young age he felt impure and unclean, even before he knew that he had demon blood, even before he knew that there was any such thing as monsters. kids aren’t stupid, and sam picked up on the vibes john was putting off - that john didn’t trust him, might not have loved him, and might not have considered him human or even his own child. without even knowing why, he spent his entire life feeling unclean and inhuman, not worth of being loved by his own family. even dean, who we all know loves sam unconditionally, admits in season 14 that he often took dad’s side on arguments because he had “his own stuff,” further leading to the alienation that was sam’s constant companion growing up. 

AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY:

JOHN’S ABUSE PITTED SAM AND DEAN AGAINST EACH OTHER

john saved dean after their shared trauma of mary’s death. dean says in season 1 that the reason he stopped talking was that he was scared. iirc john’s journal implies he was mute for over a year, and dean in season 2 says that when he was 6 or 7 his dad took him shooting for the first time. if mary died just before dean’s fifth birthday, the timeline works out to dean talking again because john took him shooting. i believe that dean hero worships his father because after mary’s death, and dealing with the terror that something like that could come in and take his family away by killing them horribly at any time without any warning, john learning to fight back against the darkness - and teaching dean to do the same - is what gave dean his voice again. BOTH of them saw and carried the memory of mary burning on the ceiling for the rest of their lives. “watch out for sammy” and “get the thing that killed mom” were dean’s reasons to get up in the morning, because they were john’s reasons to get up in the morning. these things were LITERALLY his reasons for living. john gave dean a way to fight back against fear and gave him a cause to keep him going. abuse or not, dean never stopped being grateful for that, and he was the only other person in the whole world who understood the unique horror of what john went through that night. even all the way into season 10, he tells other people that john did right by him. it’s borderline brainwashing. part of dean’s self-worth will always be based on how good of a son he was to john.

on the other hand, knowingly or not, john did everything possible to alienate sam. he kept him on a short leash while also keeping him at arm’s distance. he didn’t trust sam with emotional things like the memory of mary, he didn’t trust sam with the truth about monsters and what they did for a living, he didn’t trust sam with his plans, he didn’t trust sam with the truth about demon blood. canon STRONGLY suggests john knew YED bled in sam’s mouth as a baby, but instead of telling sam or even dean about that, sam had to learn about it in a horrible flashback recreated by YED himself. when sam wanted to go to school, john told him no, and when he left anyway, john told him not to come back.

this is an equal but opposite kind of abuse. john totally fucked up BOTH his kids in complete inversions to each other.

which means that, no matter what john did, it caused sam and dean to fight. this isn’t an interpretation. this is straight up canon.

again, dean says in s14 that he frequently took dad’s side in arguments because he had his own stuff to deal with, and he was trying to keep the peace. dean, a victim of emotional (and implied sometimes physical) abuse himself, was not able to shield sam from all of john’s bullshit. he could stop sam from getting hit and having to see john during the worst of his drunken rages, but he couldn’t trick sam into thinking john loved him unconditionally, because john didn’t love either of his kids unconditionally.

when john acted in a way that was not befitting of a parent, sam rightfully took exception, which forced dean (who was ALSO BEING ABUSED, almost brainwashed) to jump to his defense. that led to john getting to do whatever the hell he wanted and sam and dean arguing about the effects. when sam ran away in flagstaff, DEAN was punished, leading dean to resenting sam for that incursion, even though sam was perfectly right to want to get away from an abusive household. when sam did a normal thing wanting to leave for college at age 18, he left, and dean resented him for that because that meant he was alone to bear the brunt of john’s anger. 

sam repeatedly made logical, emotionally healthy choices in attempting to break the family dynamic, but because of JOHN’S BEHAVIOR, not sam’s, those choices wound up causing dean harm. JOHN HIMSELF was the ultimate wedge between sam and dean growing up and beyond.

and let’s not forget the biggest sin - john spent 22 years impressing upon dean that taking care of sammy was EVERYTHING, and then without any explanation at all, he asked dean to kill him, and then he DIED, which meant dean had to carry that weight by himself (because again, he’s been trained not to trust sam with things). like of COURSE sam got angry when he found out - that’s fucking fucked up! once again sam is being treated like a ticking time bomb for absolutely no reason - he didn’t ask to have demon blood or psychic visions or a dead mom or an abusive father. nor did dean ask to be saddled with the upbringing of an entire human at four years old who he then might have to kill. because dean will always feel gratitude towards john, and sam will always feel resentment, and because based on john’s treatment of them BOTH OF THESE FEELINGS ARE JUSTIFIED, john continues to cause fights between sam and dean long after he’s dead and gone, and that will never change.

on a final note: i’d like to bring this around to season 13.

after cas, mary, kelly, and crowley all die (or are presumed dead in mary’s case) in the season 12 finale, season 13 opens with nobody but sam and dean and jack. dean directly blames jack for these deaths. he says so multiple times. he says where jack can hear him that he knows jack is evil and impure and cannot be saved and calls jack a freak. when jack tries repeatedly to kill himself dean says to jack’s face not to bother, because WHEN jack does go bad, dean will be the one to kill him. dean does NOT see jack as castiel’s child - he sees jack as someone who brainwashed cas and kelly both and got them killed. dean does not even see jack as a human person worthy of life. from the get-go, all he wants is to put jack down. jack is born into a world shaped by pain and grief and anger, where people hate him simply for what he is and who died to get him here. 

and again, sam identifies hard with jack. he justifiably protests dean’s treatment of him. jack is a kid and didn’t ask for any of this. jack is terrified of dean. sam reminds dean that john said all these things about sam that dean is saying about jack. john is still causing a rift between his sons over a decade after his death.

eventually, after jack uses his powers and brings back cas from the empty, dean pulls his head out of his ass and admits that he was wrong. he calls jack his kid more than once, and jack refers to dean as one of his dads. but the damage has already been done. jack struggles multiple times with his powers, accidentally hurting people and then wishing himself dead after. he also struggles without them; even when using his powers means using up pieces of his soul, he does it, because dean taught him that he’s only worthy of being loved and trusted if he’s “good.” even when he has NO SOUL, when jack does something bad he panics about it and seeks to undo it at any cost. that’s how deep the damage runs.

i see a lot of people remarking that in the arc of 13.01-13.05, dean became john, and i agree that he did. but dean didn’t do to jack what john did to him. dean did to jack what john did to SAM.

[spn masterpost]

[paintedrecs]

I just finished watching Castlevania. Well...part of it, anyway, but that's context for a different post. I'm probably going to line up a few posts on this topic. For now, I'd like to begin at the end.

Endings are a tricky thing. They mean different things to different people. It can be tragedy. Closure. Celebration. Or, in the case of this show...all of the above, in the most unexpectedly beautiful, breathtaking ways.

HECTOR & LENORE

The final episode opens with Hector and Lenore, two characters about whose relationship I've been fairly skeptical. I have...a lot of thoughts about Season 3, absolutely none of them positive. But Season 4 gives us a quiet conversation where these two actually take the time to talk through their mistakes - acknowledging the hurt, and discussing their plans for the future. 

A future that Lenore can't enter by Hector's side. Sometimes love isn't enough: not when you don't fit in this world anymore. Not when the two of you weren't meant to be together - not like this. Not forever.

There's something inherently tragic in a human loving a vampire. As Hector says, his voice quiet, his acceptance already settling into place: "Recently, I've been caused to know the value...and the beauty...of things that live longer than I do." 

It's his farewell. He only makes a small attempt to keep Lenore with him - to hold her back. But in the end, it's her future. Her choice. And she's entering the sunlight without him.

Why is this exchange between two side characters so important? Because it frames what follows. It poses the question: What now? When the battle is done, and the turmoil of a world at war is no longer holding you together, what comes next? 

And will anyone remain at your side?

TREVOR & ALUCARD

To my complete and utter shock - as someone who was expecting nothing from the final season - Alucard finds the most extraordinary answer to these questions, while holding the most surprising person in his arms - refusing to let go. Not now that he finally has Trevor back. 

And when Trevor asks him why he seems so "weirdly happy," Alucard says the line that gave this episode - the show's finale - its title.

It's been a strange ride, in so many ways, for everyone involved. But unlike Lenore, Alucard has no intention of giving up. For a while, when he was lonely and devastated and broken in his father's castle, maybe he would have chosen that same path. But now? Now...he's happy.

And while he may not know what's next, he knows who he wants to be there with him. Every single step of the way.

LISA & VLAD

And here's where this season exceeded my absolute wildest expectations. Trevor and Alucard even talking to each other again was something I'd hardly dared to hope I'd see, much less this quiet, intimate conversation between just the two of them bringing the main characters' story to a close.

But it doesn't end there. Not yet. Because after the fade to black, with Alucard still holding Trevor up - supporting him, caring for him - we discover that there's another human/vampire pair running through a rain-soaked night, finding shelter in a warmly lit room where they, too, can sit and talk.

Where they, too, can build a more hopeful future together.

Thanks to...the sort of ridiculous plot elements of this season, Vlad and Lisa are back from the dead. They have a brand new lease on life, and an endless array of options for how to spend it. They haven't ironed out all the details yet - this is still bewildering and maybe even a little bit frightening. You're not meant to get second chances, not like this.

But they're going to grab onto this new future with both hands. They're not letting go of it - or each other. And they'll...travel, maybe. Like they weren't able to the first time around. If they'd done that before...if Vlad hadn't left Lisa alone on that fateful day...maybe things wouldn't have ended so horribly.

Tonight, they're not thinking about that. They're thinking about what comes next.

The destination doesn't really matter. The fact that it's the two of them - together - is what counts.

But there is one place they can't go. Not yet.

Alucard - Adrian, their son - has been through far too much. He's had to grieve both his parents: twice. He's spent too much time framing his life around theirs - or around their absence, his world battered and broken and twisted into new shapes by his sorrow. 

He deserves the chance to build his own life now, on his own terms. He should have the opportunity to find his own happiness.

What Adrian's parents don't realize is...he already has.

[coachadams]

he doubts it. mikayla desousa never seemed to mind his absence, but maybe he was just used to his girlfriends not caring as much as they should, feeling a thousand miles away from him even as they were right beside him. at least with mikayla, he could tell himself that she was just like that with everyone, distant and angry. but that doesn't make this any less difficult for him, doesn't make him any less worried. “ i don't know about that, ” asher brushes it off with a laugh, like it doesn't bother him. “ sometimes it felt like she didn't even like me. ” maybe brittany would know, be able to give him some kind of closure that he might not ever be able to get from mikayla— but it feels wrong to ask.

there is something else that's been bothering him, something he hasn't known how to bring up to anyone— but they were friends, so maybe brittany knows more. “ i tried bringing some food over to her dad's, thinking he must be having a hard time, but... ” but mikayla's dad didn't seem to care, accepting the food, only to slam the door in asher's face right after. “ he was just weird about it. ” it's not as if harold adams is father of the year, either, but he wants to think that his father would care more if he disappeared.

❝  i'm sure she misses you. ❞ there's not a lot of hope in her voice, though  — partly because she's still not sure that mikayla and the rest of her team are even alive, and partly because she knows more about mikayla than she's sure mikayla even realizes, and what she knows about @roidgret is that he was never going to be her boyfriend for long, or for anything real. but regardless of how mikayla felt or didn't feel, he's still the only person she feels like might understand how much she's missing her now. ❝  — wherever she is. ❞