#and its fine internalized ableism is very much a thing most abled people do just have in there

[red-shepherds]

loves I will be real with you. you need to stop being ableist about Viserys, Aegon, and Larys post-haste, it's transcending literary analysis and coming off as actual hate. cmon. sometimes people are visibly disabled in ways that aren't visually appealing to you. it doesn't mean much about their character at all. Saying Vis and Aegon are or were rotting, while literally true, isn't exactly the kindest to real, actual people. People get ravaged by skin cancer, and they get burned. Those aren't fantasy ailments. Saying Larys's physical disability is a result of a curse on him is just old fashioned real life ableism, people thought that for realsies.

It also shows a certain amount of...visual bias, let's say. no one's saying much about Aegon's eye or Corlys's cane, because those are normalized disabilities in media, and canes are the most 'fashionable' mobility aid to most abled people. If Corlys were in a wheelchair I do think things would be different. Please do better.

[toomuchpurple]

Pregnancy stuff

So my ultrasound came back with 2 anomalies. One heart and one spine. So that's. Not great.

But both of those things do have the potential to resolve themselves in utero, so it might all be totally fine and I just spent a couple days weeping and depressed for no big deal. I have appointments scheduled to check up on those things so we can monitor their progression/abatement.

The way I personally am affected is that these things mean I have to give birth in a hospital just in case baby needs immediate intervention. I am rather unsettled by this bc I am bad with hospitals, bad with doctors, and am easy to manipulate when under duress. These things compound each other.

For the record I can deal with hospitals and doctors when I am not the patient and I can deal w manipulation when not under duress. But the thing about giving birth is that i will be all of these things...

A hospital also means different things for how we're going to have to pay for treatment. Mostly bad things. It is really hard trying to save up for baby when just getting baby is so expensive. I am eternally envious of all the couples who can just knock each other up. It would be so much easier to have a family if I could just have sex and then have babies bc of that. But we gotta get the medical everything involved.

I am also anxious bc we need to do more testing of the fetus' genetics. The lesser evil is getting my blood drawn to examine it for chromosomal anomalies, etc. The greatest evil is that there are tests they can only do by extracting amniotic fluid which is done by sticking a needle into my stomach and into my womb to draw it out. This I am attempting to avoid at all costs. Alongside it having its risks to the fetus, I cannot abide a bigass needle in me in my anywhere. To do that shit they would need to put me under. And they famously do not like to do that to pregnant people.

When getting tested for fertility, there's a test where they use a catheter in your cervix to inject colored water into your uterus to expand it and make sure it's the right shapes for conception. Or something like that. They had to put me under for that shit. I have extremely high sensitivity to internal stimuli. Apparently it's not normal to be able to feel your organs? Anyway, during menstruation I can feel my cervix spasm and my hip bones shift. So I can feel Too Many Things.

I have also been convinced to do genetic counseling. I have been adverse to it because I am concerned about ableism from the medical community and being pressured into/against things, because again, I am very easy to manipulate under stress. But we need to find out if baby's anomalies are simple abnormalities or if they're caused by genetic defect, which could subsequently cause other problems outside of the two presently identified.

But AGAIN, both of these problems might sort themselves out. Spine might grow some more and end up normal. Heart might grow some more and the defect shrink. Baby could be born as healthy as could be, could be born with something nonthreatening like a heart murmur. But baby could be born with a hole in its heart and congenital scoliosis. We just don't know. It is the not knowing which is most frightening. If I knew to be braced for the worst I could do that. It's possible that baby is born healthy as a horse and the doctor says Haha Aren't You Glad You Didn't Worry?

And then my spouse and I would start to smash shit with clawheaded hammers.

[kitkatopinions]

It's hilarious how half the Rwby simps will say 'No, you don't understand! Ironwood's a classic example of how a good man can become evil!' and the other half will say 'No, you don't understand! Ironwood's a classic example of how an evil person can hide in plain sight for years!' Even the simps and bootlickers can't agree on the moral of his story

Honestly, I and other RWDE posters have consistently got contradictory 'explanations' for tons of stuff. And obviously, part of the reason for that is that RWBY fans - and even RWBY simps - do have different opinions and think different things and come to different conclusions just like RWDE posters do.

Of course, there are some big differences between RWDE posters and RWBY simps. Most IW fans aren't demanding that everyone else love him, whereas anti-IW people try to bully others into hating him. Most RWDE posters aren't demanding that everyone hate RWBY, or stop posting about liking it (although there are a couple exceptions,) but a lot of RWBY simps frequently demand that everyone like RWBY or at the very least stop posting about why they have problems with it. But that's not quite the point.

RWBY simps have lots of different ideas, but it is funny to post or to see other people post criticism of RWBY, and then to see multiple people in the comments tell us "this is the obvious solution to that so it isn't a flaw" while all of them are presenting different solutions. For instance, the Penny problem! Many people were complaining that Penny getting a flesh body didn't make sense, and had both people saying that obviously Penny's soul had just conjured up her own flesh body by using its aura, and people saying that obviously Ambrosius had made her a body because he was preventing himself from killing. In both cases, the RWDE posters complaining about the problem were mocked and treated like they were stupid or lying for not believing the 'obvious' conclusion that others had drawn.

For another example, Yang not being shown telling anyone about Raven being the Spring Maiden. People were complaining that Yang being furious at Ozpin for keeping information secret while she herself had yet to tell anyone about Raven was hypocritical, and they had both people telling them that obviously Yang had already told everyone about Raven off screen, and people saying that obviously Yang would tell them later when it comes up again, and also people saying that obviously the Raven information didn't really matter anymore because it'd never come up again so it was unfair to say Yang had done something when said thing would never matter to the plot now.

And then obviously, with Ironwood, we got loads of completely contradictory 'explanations.'

"Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because he was impatient and had it removed unnecessarily," "Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because Ironwood was internally ableist and saw having prosthetics as a bad thing," "Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because Ironwood didn't care about losing his arm, proving that he's heartless," "Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because it represented Ironwood embracing/relying on mechanics and robotics." (Side note, I'll never get over the ableism in some of the replies there that I and others have got, and the constant attempts to justify the ableist comment the writers made.)

Of course, none of the people demanding that RWDE posters believe their headcanons ever demand that other Anti-IW people with different headcanons believe them, or call them stupid for not having come to that same conclusion. Because it's not actually even about people agreeing with them on how, it's just that they want everyone to believe the narrative of the show. So it doesn't matter to them if someone comes to the conclusion "Ironwood was always a villain and he was only ever lying when he did anything good in order to manipulate people into following them," or "Ironwood's fall makes sense because of the emotional and physical exhaustion he was going through," even if they're yelling at and berating others for not believing "Ironwood's fall to villainy was about him becoming power hungry over time and turning into a dictator even though he started the show as a good person." Any theory is fine, so long as it's Anti-IW, because if it isn't, then you're clearly saying the show isn't perfect and are therefore point blank wrong (even if their only 'explanations' are based in headcanons.)

But what's even funnier are the people who either change their 'explanations' mid debate, or contradict themselves mid-sentence!

"Ruby is different from Oz because she only lied to James because she didn't know if she could trust him, and once he proved himself and she was on board with him, she let him in. Ruby knew from the start that there was something shifty going on and never really agreed with him, she was only working with him out of necessity and didn't want to write him off right away, she was showing she trusted him by working with him, but he wasn't trusting her back."

"Ironwood was over-emotional and over reacted, so how were Ruby and the others supposed to trust that he'd do the right thing? Ironwood relied way too much on his mind and was blocking out his emotions, which you can see contrasted in characters like Ruby, Nora, and Robyn. And he's clearly way too compromised to be in charge in the first place, I mean, he's so affected by his fear that he's letting it control him, that's why Ruby needed to take charge."

"I think it was actually really heroic of Ruby to denounce Ironwood because she had seen he was already acting like a dictator, I mean did you miss that he had soldiers in Mantle, and was clearly trying to enforce things like a curfew? I don't know how anyone can believe Ironwood was good in volume seven, what with how he wasn't doing enough to protect the people of Mantle and keep them safe from the Grimm. And on top of that, he wasn't getting global communications restored fast enough, which proves he doesn't care about uniting the world like Ruby does."

Like, guys... It's actually really funny. Ironwood can't do anything right for RWBY simps, they'll try their very darnedest to convince people that everything he did was the wrong thing and that everything that Ruby and her team did was the right thing, even if they're literally contradicting themselves. And tbh, these conversations can end one of two ways. The nicer conversations will end with a 'well, agree to disagree' or a 'well, I can't see your point and you probably can't see mine.' I've both gotten and given these statements, and I'm actually fairly happy with them, because it's at least peaceful (this is most common with people who are just fans, rather than simps.) The meaner RWBY simps will leave with 'well, you're just stupid,' or 'well, you're just stubborn,' or 'well, you're just too busy simping for Ironwood to listen to reason.' And the meanest ones will send hate anons! I've only gotten a few, but others experience literal harassments, like regularly receiving anons from people who are attacking them for criticizing RWBY or liking Ironwood. RWBY simps, just like Ruby herself, will consider anyone the enemy if they don't agree with her and don't want her to be able to do what she wants with no arguments.

They rarely ever admit they're wrong about anything, even when their contradictions are pointed out to them. Luckily, I haven't gotten many comments from RWBY simps lately. I think I've blocked most of them that are regular posters these days, but I still see them on other people's posts sometimes, and it's always fun to see the comment sections of other RWDE posters, and see them responding to someone that I can't see lol. I'm always like "Oh, I must've blocked that one! Sounds like they're saying some trippy stuff."

[cardentist]

this isn’t a proper discourse post, I Agree with a lot of what the op said but there’s specific things about it that get under my skin in a way that makes me want to talk about it, but I don’t want to engage with that post both because I don’t want to speak over the point that’s being made and frankly because I don’t want to be misinterpreted because of the point that’s being made in it.

so for context, I’ll just say that it was a long post about how a lack of engagement with women characters in fandom spaces is tied to misogyny. just be aware that I’m responding to something specific and not criticisms of this in general. (feel free to dm me if you want to see the post for yourself)

the rest of this is going to be rambly and a bit unfocused, so I want to get this out the door right at the top: it is not actually someone’s moral obligation to engage with or create fan content. all other points aside, what this amounts to is labeling people as bigoted for either not creating or engaging with content that you want to see, and while the individual may or may not be a bigot it’s not actually anyone’s job to tailor their fandom experience to cater to you. 

fandom is not activism. it’s not Wrong to point out that a lack of content about women in fandom is likely indicative of the influence of our misogynistic society. and suggesting that people examine their internalized biases isn’t just fine, it’s something that everyone should be doing all the time. but saying that it is literally someone’s “responsibility” to “make an effort” by consuming content about women or they’re bigoted is presenting the consumption of fan content as a moral litmus test that you pass and fail not by how you engage with content but by not engaging with all of the Correct content. 

judging people’s morality based on what characters they read meta for or look at fanart for is, a mistake. it Can Be Indicative of internalized biases but it is not, in and of itself, a moral failing that has to be corrected.

if you want more content to be created about women in fandom then you do it by spreading content about women in fandom, not by guilting people into engaging with it by saying that they’re bigots if they don’t. you encourage creation Through creation.

okay, now to address what Mainly set me off to inspire this post.

this post specifically went out of it’s way to present misogyny as the only answer for why this problem exists in fandom spaces. and while I absolutely agree that it’s a Factor, they left absolutely no room for nuance which included debunking “common excuses.” which, as you can probably guess, contained the things that ticked me off.

first off, you can’t judge that someone is disconnected from women in general based on their fandom consumption because the sum total of their being is not available on tumblr. 

people don’t always bear their souls in fandom spaces. just because they don’t actively post about a character or Characters doesn’t mean that they see them as lesser or that they don’t think about them. the idea that you can tell what a person’s moral beliefs are not based on what they’ve said or done but based on whether they engage with specific characters in a specific way in a specific space can Only work on the assumption that they engage with that space in a way that expresses the entirety of who they are or even their engagement with that specific media.

what I engage with on ao3 is different from what I engage with on tumblr, youtube, twitter, my friend’s dms, and my own head. people are going to engage with social media and fandom spaces specifically differently for different reasons. you can’t assume what the other parts of their lives look like based on this alone. 

second off, there can be other factors at play that influence people’s specific engagement with a fandom.

they specifically brought up the magnus archives as an example of a show with well written women. which while absolutely true, does Not mean that misogyny is the only option for why people wouldn’t engage with content about them as often. for me personally? a lot of fan content is soured because of how it presents jon. I relate to him very heavily as a neurodivergent and traumatized person, and he faces a Lot of victim blaming and dehumanization in the writing. sasha and martin are more or less the only main characters that Aren’t guilty of this, and sasha was out of the picture after season 1.

while this affects my enjoyment of fan content for these characters To Some Extent on it’s own (I love georgie, I love her a lot, but I can’t forget that she looked at someone and told them that they were better off dead because they couldn’t “choose” to not be abused), the bigger issue is fan content that Specifically doesn’t address the victim blaming and ableism as what it is, even presenting it as just Correct. 

this isn’t exclusive to the women in the show by any means, this is exactly why I avoid a lot of content about tim, but it affects a lot of the women who are main characters. that isn’t the Only reason, there’s more casual ableism and things that tear him down for other reasons (the prevalent theory that elias passed up on sasha because he’s afraid of how she’s More Competent In Jon In Every Single way. which comes with the unfortunate implications of jon being responsible for his own trauma because he just wasn’t competent enough to avoid it) but that’s the main one that squicks me out.

of course not all fan content does this, and I Do engage with content about these characters, but sometimes it’s easier to just stick with content that centers on my comfort character because it’s more likely to look at his character with the nuance required to see that it is victim blaming and ableism. 

it’s not enough to say that the characters are well rounded or well written and conclude that if someone isn’t consuming or creating content about them then it has to be due to misogyny and nothing else.

there’s also just like, the Obvious answer. two most prominent characters are two men that are in a canonical gay relationship, which draws in queer men/masc people on it’s own but the centering of their othering and trauma Particularly draws in traumatized queer people that are starved for content. georgie and melanie are both fleshed out characters in and of themselves, but their relationship with each other doesn’t have nearly as much direct screen time. and daisy and basira have a lot more screen time together and about each other, but their relationship is very intentionally non-canon because of its role as a commentary on cop pack mentality.

people are More Likely to create content for the more prominent relationship in the show and be drawn into the fandom through that relationship in the first place. I have no doubt that there Are misogynistic fans of the show, but focusing on the relationship and the characters that make you happy isn’t and indication that you’re one of them.

which brings us to the big one, the one that sparked me into writing this in the first place (and the last that I have time for if I’m being honest). the “common excuses” section in general is, extremely dismissive obviously but there’s only one section that genuinely upsets me. 

without copying and pasting what they said directly, it essentially boils down to this: while they recognize that gay and trans men are “allowed” to relate to men, they’re still Men which makes them misogynistic. Rather than acknowledge Why gay and trans men would engage with fan-content specifically that caters to them they present it as a given that it’s 100% due to misogyny anyways. they present queer men engaging with content about themselves as them treating women like they’re “unworthy of attention,” calling it a “patriarchal tendency” that they have to unlearn.

being gay and trans does not mean that you’re immune to misogyny, being a woman doesn’t even mean that you’re immune to misogyny, but that’s engaging in bad faith in a way that really puts a bad taste in my mouth. 

queer men aren’t just like, Special Men that have Extra Bonus Reasons to be relate to boys, they’re people who are more likely to Need fandom spaces to explore facets of themselves. and while you can Relate to any character, it feels good to be able to explore those aspect with characters that resemble you or how you see yourself.

when I first started actively seeking out fandom spaces in middle school I engaged with content about queer men more or less exclusively. at this point I had no concept of what trans people were, and wouldn’t begin openly considering that I might be a trans person until high school. I knew that I’d be happier as a gay man before I knew I could be a gay man, and that’s affected my relationship with fandom forever. 

I engage with most things pretty casually, reblogging meta and joke posts when I see them, but what I go out of my way to engage with is largely an expression of my gender identity and sexuality. I project myself onto a comfort character and then I Consume content for them because that was how I was able to express myself before I knew that I needed to. it’s not that girl characters aren’t “worthy” of me relating to them, it’s that I specifically go to certain fandom spaces to express and work through my gender and sexuality. that’s what I use those fandom spaces For.

I imagine that I’ll need this crutch less when I’m allowed to transition and if I ever find a relationship situation that works out for me. but also like, why should I? it’s not actually hurting anyone for me to explore my gender and sexuality through fanfic until the end of time. nor does it hurt anyone for me to focus on my comfort characters. 

fandom is personal comfort and entertainment, not a moral obligation. people absolutely should engage with women in media and real life with more nuance and energy than they do, but fandom spaces are not the place to police or judge that. 

[bubonickitten]

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

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 17 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 17: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief mention of past self-harm (from last chapter); mention of past (canonical) blood/injury; brief allusion to past passive suicidal ideation; brief claustrophobia/Buried themes (in the context of a nightmare); some blink-and-you'll-miss-it internalized ableism re: ADHD (not explicitly stated as such); Jon-typical self-loathing, internalized victim blaming/dehumanization, etc.; discussion of low self-worth, fear of abandonment/rejection, and other Lonely themes; extensive discussion of Jon's statement consumption (so, general warning for restrictive behaviors re: 'eating' and self-hate re: addiction/compulsions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 17: Intervention

Even asleep, Jon is a flurry of movement. The muscles in his jaw tense repeatedly as he grinds his teeth; his limbs twitch and jerk and tremble; his fingers curl into his palms, fists clenching and relaxing at random intervals. The quick, erratic motions beneath his closed eyelids are accompanied by gasps and the occasional whimper. Impossibly, he looks even frailer than usual – folded in on himself and shivering despite the thick, oversized jumper engulfing his slight frame.

Martin sits on the floor with his side pressed up against the cot, his arm resting on top of it and his eyes riveted on the few inches of space between Jon and himself. Part of him wants to reach out, to soothe away the varying shades of distress flitting their way across Jon’s face; another part of him, quieter but nonetheless insistent on making its existence known, tugs him in the opposite direction, urging him to widen that handspan of distance between them into a chasm. Something about Jon’s ragged breathing keeps Martin rooted in place, his heart skipping a beat any time the pauses between breaths stretch just a little too long for comfort.

At least he’s breathing at all, Martin thinks with a pang. His hand twitches in an unconscious desire to check for a pulse – some secondary sign to reassure him that Jon really is just sleeping.

At the gentle knock-knock on the doorframe, Martin jumps. The door to Document Storage, already cracked an inch or so, creaks as it swings wider.

“Jon?” Georgie calls softly, peeking through the gap. “You in here? I was just – oh,” she says when she sees Martin. An instant later she notices Jon, tossing and turning on the cot behind him. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“He… well, he’s fine now. I think. Just… sleeping.”

“Wait,” she says, fully entering the room and approaching to watch Jon with genuine astonishment, “you actually got him to sleep?”

“Not really? He was having trouble staying vertical, so I told him he should lie down until the vertigo passed, and…” Martin shrugs. He’s still taken aback by the fact that Jon complied without argument. “I don’t think he was planning on falling asleep, but he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.” Jon’s fingers spasm, brow wrinkling as he cringes and curls into a tighter ball. Martin sighs. “Doesn’t look very restful, though.”

“Oh, he’s always been a fitful sleeper. Even back in uni. He didn’t used to be that bad, though. Or – he was, but in short bursts. Not… drawn out like this. He’d usually wake himself up after a minute or so of…” She frowns as Jon goes taut in a full-body spasm. “That.”

“I guess the Eye doesn’t want the dream to end,” Martin says quietly. Jon twists his fingers against the sheets, gathering the fabric in a death grip. Martin’s hand twitches again, inching just a bit closer to Jon’s. He resists the urge to uncurl Jon’s fingers, to give him a hand to hold instead.

“Last I checked, the nightmares weren’t as nightmarish anymore,” Georgie says. “I mean, by his own admission, he treated mine and Naomi’s dreams like social calls.”

Martin tears his eyes away from Jon to glance at Georgie, a puzzled expression on his face. “Naomi?”

“Naomi Herne. He said hers was the first statement he took in person.”

“Yeah, back when he was still putting on the skeptic act. And she filed a complaint against him for being…” Martin smiles and shakes his head. “Well, Jon.”

“I’m not surprised,” Georgie says with an amused snort. “They seem pretty friendly now, though.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah. They do have a similar sense of humor. She doesn’t seem to scare easy, which probably helps. And she has a cat, so…”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Jon… has trouble initiating when it comes to having a social life,” Georgie says slowly. “Just wanting to talk doesn’t strike him as a good enough reason to start a conversation. He worries he’ll just be an annoyance. It’s like he needs to come up with some concrete justification for reaching out. But Naomi is always excited to talk about the Duchess – that’s her cat – which means Jon is less likely to feel like he’s bothering her. Which also makes him less likely to talk himself out of sending a text. Plus, it’s a safe, normal thing to talk about, and he loves cats, so…” She shrugs. “It’s good for him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Gives her an excuse to stay in touch, too, I think.” Georgie gives Martin a significant look. “Lonely, you know?”

“I…” Martin rubs the back of his neck, not meeting her eye. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, I thought… well, he said the nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be.” Georgie frowns as she watches Jon’s lips twist, his teeth bared as he sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. At least he’s actually sleeping. I don’t think he’s slept for more than forty minutes at a time since he got out of the hospital.”

“That was nearly a month ago.” Martin gapes at her, horrified. “How has he even been able to function with that level of sleep deprivation?”

“The same way he survived for six months without a heartbeat. And why he has to consciously remind himself to breathe sometimes, and has a tendency to forget to blink, and doesn’t have much of an appetite for normal food anymore. He’s not fully human –”

Georgie must sense Martin preparing to go on the offensive, because she holds up both hands palms-out, placating.

“I’m not saying that he’s inhuman, either. He might be convinced that he’s more monster than human, but he’s still a person. He’s just… different now, and he’s resigned to that, but he hasn’t yet gotten it through his head that there are people who will accept him regardless.” She sighs. “My original point was that he doesn’t have the same physiological needs that most people do. But he still does need to sleep from time to time. Sleep deprivation clearly takes a toll on him.”

“Figures,” Martin huffs, blowing hair out of his eyes. “He’s always treated sleep as optional.”

“Yeah,” Georgie says with a laugh. “He’s operated on a bare minimum of sleep for as long as I’ve known him. Part casual self-neglect, part allergy to the general concept of resting, and part legitimate insomnia. I told him more than once he should get evaluated for a sleep disorder, but… well, you know Jon. And now that he really does need less sleep than the average person, of course he’s pushing the limits even further.”

Martin looks down at Jon and thinks, as he has countless times before: He really does make it so damn difficult to take care of him.

It’s simultaneously heartbreaking and frustrating, even irritating at times – but somehow, whenever Jon doubles down, it only makes Martin do the same. It’s become such a familiar dance, a challenge even, and more often than not, Martin wins those contests of will: badger Jon persistently enough, strike just the right balance between expressing worry and wagging a finger, and eventually he’ll agree to take care of himself. In the beginning, he would grump and roll his eyes and drag his feet; as time went on, though, he became more receptive to it. Some days, he even seemed to enjoy – albeit in a guarded, almost shy way – being cajoled into sharing lunch or tea or conversation.

Unthinkingly, Martin brushes a lock of hair away from Jon’s forehead, damp with cold sweat. Wishes he could smooth the tension away as easily.

“Did you two talk about things?” Georgie asks.

“Some of it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” Martin bites his lip. “I feel like I shouldn’t want to, but I – I sort of do?”

“Well. I have some time to listen.” Georgie takes a seat towards the foot of the cot. “How’d it go? Bearing in mind this isn’t the tunnels.”

“It’s… a lot.”

“Mm. I can imagine.”

“I mean, he…” Martin runs a hand through his hair with a disbelieving, nervous chuckle. “He told me he wants to grow old with me?”

“He said that?” Georgie laughs outright. “God, he’s gotten even more saccharine than I thought.”

“It’s just – not something I would have ever imagined him saying? To anyone, let alone me.” Martin can feel his palms sweating now; he rubs them on his trousers, hoping to dispel some of the clamminess. “He just seems so… changed.”

“He is, but… maybe not as drastically as it might seem. Rather, this is him, just – without all the walls.” Georgie chuckles, shaking her head. “And less of a filter, apparently. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Martin repeats, perplexed.

“He’s dumping a lot on you all at once. I can talk to him, if you want. Tell him to slow down, give you some space to process it all.”

“I… I don’t…” Martin pauses, coming up against an invisible wall between a daunting realization and the explicit acknowledgment thereof. He makes several abortive attempts at speech before he manages to voice the confession: “I don’t think I want him to?”

Left to himself for too long, Martin can feel himself start to come unmoored. The truth the Lonely is so loathe to have him accept, let alone speak aloud, is this: he doesn’t want that to happen. Not anymore. Being in the presence of others, actively taking part in a conversation, seeking comfort in touch – all of these things still feel grating, unnatural even, but a return to solitude frightens him in a way it hasn’t for months. It’s an old terror, one that he had become numb to since accepting the Lonely’s embrace. Now, it seems to have returned with a vengeance. The lingering, ambient discomfort that comes with human connection is quickly becoming preferable to that looming fear of absence.

Still, though…

“It feels like – going against my nature, every minute I spend talking to him, to you, to… anyone, really. I think I just… forgot how not to be alone?”

On some level, Martin wonders whether he ever knew in the first place. He’s had friends, certainly, but every relationship, no matter how ostensibly reciprocal, has been laced with an undercurrent of insecurity: a loud, nagging voice in the back of his mind, reminding him of the consequences should he allow himself to be too much or not enough. Always primed for rejection, he strove to make himself pleasant, to make himself useful, to make himself accommodating and unobtrusive and easy. Sometimes, he felt like an impostor, fooling people into believing that he was worth keeping around. He was always counting down the moments until someone would see through the façade to the inadequacy within, realize he wasn’t worth the trouble, and leave him behind.

“The Lonely… I don’t think I want it anymore,” he says, “but it feels – wrong, to leave it behind. Not me, somehow.”

“Hmm.” Georgie drums her fingers against her chin. “I can understand that. Isolation can become so habitual that it starts to feel like home, and anything trying to break through feels like an invasion. You start to feel safer alone, and you deny those moments when you catch yourself wishing things were different, because loneliness has become such a part of you that you don’t know who you would be without it.”

“I… yeah,” Martin says, taken aback by having it laid out so succinctly.

“In my experience, it helps to remind yourself that your brain is lying to you when it tells you you’d be better off alone. In your case, I guess it’s your brain and a supernatural fear god or whatever, but… unless you’re keen to fight a god, it might be best to start with your brain. That’s something you actually can exert some control over, with enough practice. And I think it might make it harder for the fear to get to you if you’re not trapped in the kind of mindset it thrives on.”

“I guess,” Martin says, looking off to the side. Once again, he rests his arm on the cot, his hand mere inches away from Jon’s, sheet still clenched tightly in his fist.

“But you don’t have to take it on all at once,” Georgie says. “If you have to set boundaries, Jon will understand. And even if he didn’t, you still have a right to enforce them. Not to sound cliché, but you shouldn’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm.”

The problem is, of course, that the concept of putting himself first is as alien to Martin as the idea of being… well, not lonely.

“I can hear the cogs turning,” Georgie says with a gentle smile. “Look, it’s easier to accept a concept intellectually than it is to actually apply it to yourself. There’s a learning curve. But it’s a lesson worth learning. Took me way too long to learn it myself. If it helps, start with – to use another cliché – ‘put your own oxygen mask on before helping others with theirs.’ Then you can move onto practicing self-care without feeling guilty.”

“What are you, a therapist?”

“Nope. I’ve just had several years of experience being on the receiving end.”

“O-oh. Uh, sorry –”

“Don’t be. It’s not something to be ashamed of. Anyway, at this point, I could probably fill out CBT worksheets in my sleep. With enough practice, it does start to become intuitive.” She shrugs. “Anyway, you can’t fix Jon, and I don’t think he expects you to. You can support him, you can care about him, but you can’t make him better. That’s true in any relationship, but… well, obviously it’s – a bit more complicated in this case.”

“I just… I want him to be okay, and I don’t know how to help –” Martin startles when Jon kicks one leg out violently, entangling himself in the sheets as he pulls it back and curls into himself again. Martin lowers his voice. “He – he was so starving he passed out, Georgie, he wasn’t breathing and it was like the hospital all over again and – and I don’t think I have any other stories I can tell that would count as statements –”

“Wait, you gave him a statement?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I thought he didn’t want –”

“I don’t know if he would have agreed if he was conscious, but he… he wasn’t waking up, and I didn’t know what else to do,” Martin says pleadingly, watching Georgie carefully to gauge her reaction. “He needed a fresh statement. Old statements aren’t enough, and he said new ones cause nightmares regardless of whether he takes them in person or not, so we can’t just give him new written statements that come in, and I – I don’t know what we’re going to do if he gets that bad again.”

Martin remembers the look in Jon’s eyes: glossy, glazed and almost luminous with an alien sort of hunger, but shot through with a terror more devastating than Martin had ever seen from him. The unflinching intent with which he hurt himself; the erratic rhythm of his breathing; the way his dilated pupils swallowed the irises just before he fell unconscious. He was lost to the world in those moments, alert but unresponsive, seemingly unable to hear a word Martin was saying.

And the abject horror on his face when he commanded Martin to stay away…

“He was… he was so scared. Of himself. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but he – he can’t think straight when he’s like that.”

“Shit,” Georgie says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I think working in the archives gives some immunity? I’ve given a few statements, before we knew how all this works, and he never showed up in my nightmares. Tim’s or Sasha’s, either, as far as I know. And I actually… well, I don’t actually mind giving him statements, to be honest? It’s – hard, to relive it, but it’s… cathartic, too. To get it all out, to be able to actually – describe it in words. Maybe I’d feel differently if I came in off the street – or was approached – and I didn’t know him, and wasn’t protected from the side effects, but – as it is, I would be fine giving him statements when he needs them, and that’s not – that’s not a huge sacrifice on my part, is what I’m saying. But I don’t… I don’t think I have any more stories to give.”

“Okay,” Georgie mutters to herself, rubbing her temples. “Okay. We… we’ll figure something out. Obviously, Jon needs to be part of that conversation. Maybe Daisy, too – Jon seems to trust her.”

“Why would he trust her?” Martin asks, incredulous, almost incensed. “She kidnapped him. She – she slit his throat, she was going to –”

“I know. I don’t really understand it either. But supposedly she’s changed a lot, and she’s an Avatar like he is. I get the feeling he might want her there.”

“Fine,” Martin says in a clipped voice, even though fine seems like a wildly inaccurate descriptor to him. “What about Basira? And Melanie?”

“Melanie… with Jon’s permission, I’ll invite her, just so she’s not out of the loop, but I doubt she’ll take us up on it.” Georgie frowns, rubbing her jaw absently. “As for Basira… I don’t know. Something Jon said…”

“What?”

“I’m…” Georgie pauses, tilting her head from side to side as she deliberates. “Concerned. About how Basira might approach the situation.”

It takes a few seconds for Martin to work out the implication. When he does, he pales, mouth going slack.

“You – you don’t think she’d hurt him?”

“I don’t think so,” Georgie says haltingly, “but there’s a chance she might put the option back on the table if she thinks he’s too dangerous. She wouldn’t like it, but… well, she seems utilitarian. I think she’ll do whatever she thinks she needs to do. And even if she doesn’t threaten him directly, I still…” She sighs. “Jon’s not in a good place right now, mentally. Frankly, I worry about exposing him to anything that might encourage a better-off-dead mindset, even if it’s just… perceived condemnation.”

“God, this…” Martin laughs, high and stressed. “This entire situation is…”

“I know. But we’ll figure something out. And in the meantime, make sure to take care of yourself too, alright?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, only half-listening.

“I mean it. Jon cares about you. He wouldn’t want you to run yourself into the ground on his behalf.”

Before Martin can respond, Jon jumps in his sleep again with a strangled gasp. Flinging one arm out, his hand brushes against Martin and seizes a fistful of his sleeve. Tightening his grip, he tugs on Martin’s arm to bring it closer, practically hugging it in a vice grip. Almost instantly Jon calms, tense muscles relaxing, pained expression going slack, a relieved sigh shuddering out of him as he nuzzles into the crook of Martin’s elbow.

Martin can feel his cheeks burning. He shoots a preemptive glower in Georgie’s direction, daring her to laugh – but she only smiles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she says, rising to her feet. “Text me when he’s awake, will you?”

“Y-y-yeah,” Martin stammers. “I’ll – I’ll see you later.”

He barely notices her departure, instead staring down at Jon with a vague sense of wonder. Jon holds fast to him like he’s a lifeline, and Martin can feel him breathing warm and steady through the fabric of his sleeve. The cold sweat on his brow seems to be evaporating now. Martin shifts his position to more fully face the cot. As he reaches up with his free hand to brush away the hair clinging to Jon’s forehead, a slow, shy smile begins to spread across Martin’s face.

It won’t be long before Jon succumbs to another fit of tossing and turning, but in the meantime, Martin simply watches him with faint awe and renewed affection. He’s never seen Jon look so at peace, and he takes the opportunity to memorize the sight.

When another shard of the Lonely shatters and crumbles away, Martin is too preoccupied to note its passing.

With a startled yelp, Jon sits bolt upright. Gulping down air in deep, ragged breaths, he looks wildly around the room, not taking anything in: it’s all visual noise, smudges of loud colors and sinister shadows, all of it closing in and bearing down on him.

Something next to him – close too close too close – moves abruptly, rising up and looming over and settling down beside him. Jon cringes away, only to find that his legs are pinned together by something, restricting his movement, and there’s dirt in his mouth, and dirt in his throat, and dirt in his lungs, and he cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe –

“Jon,” comes a voice – somehow both close and far away. “Listen, you’re – you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Trapped in that liminal twilight haze between sleep and waking, Jon gropes blindly for a handhold, an anchor, something real and solid and –

His hand collides with something soft, warm – wool, his mind supplies, and then:

…wool is able to absorb nearly one-third of its weight in water…

He shakes his head to chase away the stray scrap of trivia, digging his fingers into the fabric to ground himself.

“It was just a dream,” says the voice again – a kind voice, a safe voice – and Jon takes a shuddering breath, like a drowning man clawing for air.

Then a hand closes over his, and that light pressure is enough plunge Jon right back below the surface. He thrashes violently, desperate to break away from the throbbing litany of too close cannot move trapped held pinned in place screeching metal crushing in and down and down and down and Karolina beholds her encroaching fate with tranquil acceptance and the Archivist feels her skull crack and her chest cave in and her lungs collapse and still she smiles and she watches as the Archivist flails uselessly for an escape that does not will not cannot exist and the door bulges and splinters and explodes inward and the deluge rushes in and the Archivist is drowning, drowning, drowning –

The hand draws back, the pressure lifts, the train car finally collapses, and the last remnants of hazy sleep begin to disintegrate.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to – it’s – it’s just me, Jon.”

“Martin?” Jon chokes out, tightening his grasp on Martin’s jumper – wool, warm, soft, safe – still bunched in one hand. He reaches out his other arm to find a second handhold.

“Yeah. I – I won’t hurt you.”

Safe.

“I know,” Jon says groggily. The tension drains away and he sags against Martin’s side, breathing in slow, deliberate swallows. “’M sorry. Dream.”

The first time he’s slept, truly slept since leaving the hospital, and of course it had to be while Karolina Górka was dreaming. Of course.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Buried,” Jon mumbles, face partially burrowed in Martin’s shoulder. Self-explanatory, he figures.

“Oh,” Martin says in a broken whisper. Jon opens one eye to see an expression of helpless pity on Martin’s face. “That’s…”

“’S okay,” Jon assures. “I’m okay.”

Reluctantly, he releases his hold on Martin and leans away. When he stretches – partly out of habit, partly to reassure himself that he can – there’s still something pinioning his legs. A spark of panic tears through him before he realizes that it’s just the sheets, tangled hopelessly around his lower half. With some difficulty, he manages to extricate himself and kick the blankets away.

“How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.”

“Have you just been sitting here the whole time?” Jon frowns apologetically. “You could’ve woken me.”

“Wake you when you were actually sleeping for once? Uh, no. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Jon says simply. “I’d like to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m – fine,” Martin says. Jon raises an eyebrow. “Really, I – I am. I’m more worried about –”

“Me, I know. And I’m worried about you. I… don’t think you’re just ‘fine.’” Martin gives a noncommittal grunt. “I really would like to know where you are in all this. How you’re faring. How I can help.”

Martin remains silent, lips pressed tightly together as if to seal them.

“I know I was – distracted, earlier, but I… I really do want to help,” Jon tries again. “Please let me help?”

Something finally gives and Martin slouches with a sigh.

“I’m… still trying to figure it all out,” he says slowly. “I don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time, besides… worried, and…”

“Lonely.”

“Yeah,” Martin says with a wistful smile.

“You don’t have to be,” Jon says quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m not – I’m not trying to –” Jon sighs. “I just… I need you to know.”

“I know,” Martin says again.

Jon bites back the nagging impulse to ask all the questions itching on his tongue: Have you decided what to do about Peter? How Lonely are you now? Do you need closeness or distance? What should I be doing, or not doing? What can I do to take care of you? Where do we stand?

What do you see, when you look at me?

Jon looks away and shuts his eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, by the way. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you. Or to…” He swallows, fighting back the nausea rising in him. “To compel you.”

“It’s alright –”

“It’s not,” Jon says brusquely. He makes a conscious effort to soften his tone before he continues. “I don’t want to be the thing that frightens you.”

“You’re not,” Martin says with a bemused frown. “I know you didn’t mean to use your powers on me.”

“You were afraid. I could…” Jon closes his eyes again and forces himself to say the words. “I could taste it.”

And the Archivist in him savored it.

“I wasn’t afraid of you, Jon. I was afraid for you. You looked terrified, and in pain, and you were hurting yourself, and I didn’t know how to help, and then I didn’t know if you were going to wake up, and… that’s what scared me.” Jon’s skepticism must show on his face, because there’s an intensity to the words when Martin reiterates: “Not you. Never you.”

“Never say never,” Jon says with a brittle, self-deprecating smile.

“I’m serious, Jon.”

So am I.

“I… I think we need to talk about where to go from here,” Martin says after a moment, averting his eyes.

“I agree.”

“You do?” Martin looks back to him, blinking in surprise.

“Yes,” Jon says, adjusting his position to sit cross-legged and pivoting to face Martin fully. “The others need to know what happened. I can’t be trusted not to hurt anyone –”

“No, that’s not what I –” Martin sighs. “I’m worried about what could happen if things get that bad again.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I came dangerously close to – to relapsing. We need some plan in place, some way to keep me contained so that I don’t –”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Martin says, holding up a hand. Jon tilts his head, bewildered. “I’m not – I’m not talking about keeping you contained, Jon. I’m worried about you. This goes beyond a compulsion you can beat with enough willpower. You were starving. You… you could have died.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Exactly! We don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“No ‘but.’ There has to be some way to keep you fed without hurting anyone. We just need to –”

“Martin, terror and suffering is the entire point. That’s what sustains it. Mine, my victim’s, doesn’t matter as long as it hurts.” Jon laughs, hollow and bitter. “It’s not like there’s an ethical way to – to harvest trauma –”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Martin says fiercely, “and I’m not ready to just give up. I would hope you aren’t, either.”

“I…” Jon busies himself with tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind his ear, using it as an excuse to break eye contact.

“Please, Jon.”

Martin takes his hand, prompting Jon to look up again. A familiar guilt rises up in him, shame at always being the one to put that expression of desperate worry on Martin’s face.

It’s enough to make him agree, albeit in a whisper, “Okay.”

“Right,” Martin says, giving Jon’s hand a brief squeeze. “Georgie and I were talking while you were asleep. She wants to be part of the discussion, so long as you’re alright with it.”

“Of course. We should probably tell Daisy and Basira as well.”

Martin appears to hesitate.

“I was thinking the three of us can meet first,” he says carefully, “and then we can open up the discussion after.”

“Why?” Jon observes the slight concavity that forms as Martin chews the inside of his cheek. “Martin?”

“Georgie’s worried about Basira’s reaction,” Martin says abruptly, “and honestly, so am I.”

“She needs to know.”

“I – I know, it’s just…”

“We have so few allies; we can’t afford secrecy and mistrust. And…”

And of all of them, Basira is the one Jon can trust to do what must be done if things go wrong. If he goes wrong.

“Basira is a strategist,” he says. “She’s good at viewing a problem from multiple angles, considering all the variables, predicting potential solutions and outcomes and then weighing them with a… pragmatic eye.”

“The pragmatism is what worries me.”

“I want her there,” Jon says simply.

“Okay,” Martin says, but Jon can tell he’s not thrilled about it. “What about Daisy?”

“Yes,” Jon says, not missing a beat. At that, Martin somehow manages to look even less thrilled.

“And Melanie?”

“I… I’m alright with her being there, but I don’t want her to feel pressured. She’s dealing with enough as it is.”

“Okay. I can let everyone know, but I think you should get some more rest before –”

“No.”

“Jon –”

“I need to confront this now. While I’m still… in my right mind,” Jon says, plucking absently at his sleeve with his free hand. “Sober.”

For a brief second, Martin looks ready to argue, but then he capitulates with a sigh.

“Okay,” he says, releasing Jon’s hand and standing up. “I’ll… round everyone up, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Jon murmurs.

Martin glances back several times as he leaves the room. Jon waits until he’s out of sight before he puts his face in his hands, sighs, and tries to brace himself for a conversation he dreads almost as much as the Coffin.

A short time later, the group – minus Melanie – convenes in the tunnels, five chairs arranged in a loose circle with a sixth left empty off to the side. Sitting almost directly across from Jon, Basira watches him with eyes narrowed, arms folded, and mouth pressed into a firm line.

“What do you mean you ‘almost’ relapsed?”

“Martin suggested reading a new statement that came in earlier this evening,” Jon tells her in a straightforward near-monotone. Pushing through the discomfort it brings, he forces himself to meet her eyes when he speaks. “I agreed, without informing him that reading a fresh written statement has the same repercussions that taking a live statement in person does. I was going to feed, knowing that it would hurt an innocent person.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin says emphatically. “You stopped yourself.”

“Only because Helen pointed out the cognitive dissonance. Took a monster to remind me not to be a monster.” Jon scoffs. “Even then, I almost did it anyway.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin repeats.

“What about next time?” Basira asks, unimpressed. “When you get hungry again, what then?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Georgie says, assuming the role of mediator the moment she notices Martin’s scowl deepen. “We need to find some way to keep things from getting that bad in the first place.”

Thoroughly unnerved, Jon squirms in his seat. Basira has had him pinned under her stare for several minutes now, and she seems unlikely to cut him free any time soon. But what right does he have to object to scrutiny, given what he is?

“What did you do with the statement?” Basira demands. “The one you were going to read?”

“I… asked Martin to burn it.”

Her eyes flick to Martin. “And did you?”

“N-not yet –”

“Burn it. As soon as we’re done here.” She shifts her attention back to Jon. “Is there an alternative to new statements?”

Jon doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, matter-of-fact: “No.”

“Jon,” Martin and Georgie say simultaneously, with the tenor of a reprimand.

“I’m not – I’m not trying to be difficult,” he replies, finally breaking eye contact with Basira to look down at his hands. “It’s just… reality. I’m an Archive dedicated the curation of statements – of fear.”

“You never actually explained what that means,” Basira says. “You being the Archive.”

“It’s… hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Jon sighs, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

“The Archive is more than – paper and files and tapes. The reason it needs to be housed in a living mind rather than a mere building is because the statements themselves have a living quality to them.” He crosses his arms, brow furrowing as he struggles with his phrasing. “They need to be immersed in a steady supply of fear. A shelving unit, a filing cabinet, a hard drive, a cassette tape – those can’t provide the ideal habitat that they need to thrive. The Archivist is –”

“– simply a battery, a ready source of constant terror –”

He cuts the Archive off with a frustrated snarl, digging his fingernails into his arms.

“Hey,” Georgie says gently, “you’re alright. Take your time.”

Jon has to spend a few minutes counting breaths before he feels ready to try again.

“What I was –” He cuts himself off preemptively, half-expecting the Archive to intrude again. Once he realizes the words are his own, he clears his throat to recover from the false start. “What I was trying to say is – without a living consciousness to contextualize them, the statements are just… stories. When I consume a statement – read it, hear it, doesn’t matter – I See the events play out through the victim’s eyes. My lived experience of it is essential to the recording and preservation of the story. I need to be able to recall how it feels, not just summarize the major points of interest.” He sighs again. “And… that’s also the point of reliving the events in the nightmares. All of it is to keep the memory fresh. To keep the story – the fear – alive.”

When he looks up to see all four of them staring at him, he begins to rub his arms absently, increasingly self-conscious. He can feel the semicircle grooves leftover from where his fingernails cut into the skin.

“So… yeah,” he finishes awkwardly. “The Archive is defined by the statements and the fear that embodies them. The Beholding always hungers for more, and the Archive is a… a receptacle for all of its knowledge. The continual curation of new statements is what sustains it. Without that, it withers.”

“And dies?” Basira asks.

The question isn’t unkind, per se, simply businesslike: an eagerness to discover an answer heedless of whatever messy emotions it might elicit. Jon understands that impulse all too well. Not for the first time, he wonders whether Jonah had a secondary, hidden motive for recruiting Basira: a backup Archivist, in the event that his first choice be unable to endure the process.

“I still don’t know if it would physically kill me,” he replies, “but the hungrier I get, the more I forget myself. I’m liable to do things that I wouldn’t normally do, monstrous things.” He huffs. “And at the same time, giving in to that hunger will also make me more monstrous over time. It seems like… either way, I – I can’t avoid losing sight of… well, me. The human part of me. Whatever’s left of it.”

And wouldn’t losing himself be a death of sorts?

In a way, Daisy died the moment the Hunt recaptured her. What she became was her, undoubtedly, but only a small piece of her. The creature that Basira eventually killed… it was an echo of all the hated, feared parts of herself that Daisy had tried so hard to starve out. The rest of her – all the things that altogether made her Daisy – had long since been burned away.

If Jon didn’t manage to find a way out of that doomed future, he suspects that his ultimate fate may have been similar: all the fragile scraps of himself that still belonged to him, every sliver of personal identity, every shred of humanity crushed and buried beneath an ever-swelling ocean of dispassionate knowledge. The Archive would have carried on expanding and curating until, one day, it would have either collapsed under its own weight or simply run out of things to catalogue, then to waste away – but by then, it would have borne no resemblance to the original owner of its ravaged vessel.

Some endings play out in merciless increments. Jon has witnessed – has caused – more than his fair share of pointless, drawn out suffering. It would have been only fitting for his end to follow a similar path.

“Well, shit,” Basira mutters.

“What about statements given consensually?” Martin asks tentatively. “The one I gave you seemed to satisfy the Archive, or – or however you want to call it. And in the past when I’ve given you statements, they never gave me nightmares, so…”

“Anyone aligned with the Eye has a measure of protection from the Archivist,” Jon answers. “I was never privy to Tim’s or Sasha’s nightmares, either. Once Melanie and Basira started working here, their dreams were cut off from me as well. And… last time, Daisy ended up signing an employment contract after returning from the Buried. Same result.”

“Is it just the archival staff, or any Institute employee?” Basira asks.

“I… don’t know,” Jon says thoughtfully. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it’s restricted to those most strongly connected with the Eye. Archival assistants, primarily. Possibly the research department, or at least those individuals who are the most… compatible with the Beholding, so to speak, though I’m not positive.”

Now that the question has been posed, Jon craves an answer.

“But – but experimenting isn’t worth the risk,” he says, mostly in an attempt to dissuade himself from pursuing the matter any further. He’s pleasantly surprised to hear the confidence in his own voice.

As if satisfied with that answer, Basira gives a tiny nod. Jon doubts it’s meant as a vote of confidence or as approval, but her posture does relax somewhat. He doubts that she trusts him by any stretch of the imagination, but for the moment she seems to have decided that he isn’t an imminent threat, at least.

It feels remarkably, disconcertingly like passing a test he didn’t realize was in progress.

Georgie’s eyes are fixed on the floor, her chin propped in her hand and a contemplative pout on her face. Martin has his lips pressed together, as if biting back an objection. Daisy is the only one looking directly at Jon. She hasn’t said a word since Jon gave his confession, but now her head cocked slightly to the side, as if she's weighing her words.

“I have a lot of stories from my Sectioned days,” she muses. “I could –”

“What would you say if I told you that you should go hunt a few monsters?” Jon says immediately.

“I…” Daisy stalls for a moment, and then gives a resigned sigh, understanding. “I would be worried that I wouldn’t be able to stop at a few,” she says grudgingly. Her shoulders slump as she adds, “Or at monsters.”

“Exactly.”

“But wouldn’t it be different?” she asks, perking up again. “The prey doesn’t consent to the hunt. The fear is taken, not freely given. But a statement – that can be consensual.”

“The Hunt cares about the terror of the prey in the moment. The Eye cares about the terror of the victim in the retelling. The consent aspect is only relevant in terms of whether and how it influences the fear. The fear is all they care about, and I doubt anything benign can come of consuming the fear our patrons want, consensual or no.”

“Do you remember what I said about harm reduction?” Georgie has been sitting quietly with her thoughts for so long, Jon startles at the sound of her voice when she rejoins the conversation. “We need to keep you from getting so hungry that it changes who you are, and new statements are the only way to satisfy that hunger. Correct?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“No ‘but.’ According to you, right now your options are statements or starvation.”

Struck with a fleeting impulse for petulance, Jon has to swallow a biting retort. It’s an old habit, hackles rising at having his own words turned against him – something for which Georgie has always had an aptitude. Between an impressive memory, an analytical nature, and a tolerance for confrontation, she’s never been shy to speculate on what’s really going on in Jon’s head at any given moment. That ability to dissect his motivations and insecurities and cognitive distortions – it used to feel like being flayed alive, all the vulnerable bits of him exposed and shoved under a spotlight.

It’s probably fair to say that his inability to weather that level of scrutiny was a big factor contributing to their eventual breakup: his guarded nature was incompatible with her more straightforward approach to relationships.

“I realize it’s not ideal,” she’s saying now, “but taking statements given with informed consent seems like the most ethical choice.”

“It isn’t just unideal, it’s – it’s –” Jon puts one hand over his eyes, rubbing his forehead and fighting back the urge to shout. “This isn’t a solution.”

It’s still feeding the Eye. It’s still capitalizing on other people’s trauma. And the stories Daisy has to offer… Jon has to wonder how many of them feature Daisy as a victim or a bystander, and whether those outnumber the ones where she herself is the object of fear. He’s taken statements from Avatars before. Some of them were indeed stories of experiencing fear firsthand. Others, though… the fear threaded through the statement came not from the teller, but from their victims.

Jon isn’t keen on siphoning off the secondhand terror of Daisy’s prey. Maybe he can’t afford to be picky, but if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that lines have to be drawn somewhere.

“We can keep looking for a better alternative,” Georgie says, “but for now… think of it as a stopgap measure.” Sensing Jon’s continued aversion to the idea, she continues: “If your own wellbeing isn’t enough to convince you, consider how you starving would affect other people.”

“It might make me more dangerous,” Jon says quietly.

“I mean – maybe, I guess? But that’s not what I meant.” At Jon’s blank expression, Georgie sighs. “When you suffer, it hurts more than just you. You have people who care about you. They’re sitting with you right now.”

“Still, I – I can’t ask that of –”

“Oh, come off it, Sims,” Daisy says, rolling her eyes. “You crawled into hell to drag me out when all I’d done was treat you like prey. And even after seeing what it was like, you went back in and brought me back a second time.”

“Yes, but –”

“If I sign a contract to work in the archives, it’ll stop you showing up in my dreams, right?”

“Yes. I’m – I’m sorry, again, about –”

“And it’ll keep new nightmares from cropping up if I give you more statements?”

“Well, yes –”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth soundlessly several times.

“I – I – I don’t want you to sign yourself over to the Beholding just so I can – treat your memories like a – like a snack” – Jon flings one arm out in a sweeping gesture, supplementing the disgust with which he says the word – “without facing any consequences!”

He looks around at the others, arm still outstretched in the air, waiting for someone to back him up on this. When no one does, he huffs a bewildered chuckle and withdraws his arm to comb his fingers through his hair instead. Why is he the only one making a fuss about this? He thought he could count on Basira at least to raise an objection, but she’s just staring off to the side, apparently lost in thought.

“I was already considering signing a contract anyway,” Daisy says. “Basira said you had a theory that the Slaughter’s effects on Melanie were slowed by her connection to the Eye, yeah?”

“Yes,” he admits cautiously.

“We were thinking – maybe it’ll do the same for me with the Hunt.”

“Did it help last time?” Basira cuts in, as if she’d never tapped out of the discussion.

“I’m not positive,” Jon hedges. “It was a theory we’d considered, yes, but it’s not like we had much of a sample size to test that hypothesis.”

He wishes he’d thought to ask these kinds of questions after the world ended, when he actually had a chance of getting the answers. In his defense, he had a lot on his mind – and it’s not like he considered the possibility of coming back in time to actually make use of that information.

“And it didn’t entirely silence the call of the Hunt,” he adds, looking back to Daisy. “You still deteriorated the longer you refused to answer it.”

“Hm.” Basira’s contemplative expression returns as she withdraws to commune with her own thoughts again.

“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway,” Daisy says with a shrug. “Basira’s trapped here. So are you. And I don’t think I can be trusted to leave here without giving in to the Hunt again. I have nothing to lose by signing a contract, and…”

Her eyes gravitate towards Jon’s throat. Mechanically, he reaches up to adjust the scarf around his neck, to ensure the scar there is covered. At the guilty expression on Daisy’s face, Jon has to look away.

“If it can help,” Daisy continues, “then I think telling some stories is the absolute least I can do after… everything.”

“How many do you have, do you think?” Georgie asks, once again settling into problem-solving mode.

“Don’t know. Several. A couple dozen? Maybe more, depending on how far we can stretch the definition of a statement.”

“I have a handful as well,” Basira says, her tone wholly unreadable. “Not many, but… a few of the things that happened while you were dead should count as statements, I think.”

“I – I couldn’t ask you to –”

“I’m not offering; I’m just inventorying all the options on the table,” Basira says with an air of finality.

Curiously, Martin seems to tense at Basira’s words, shifting restively in his seat and looking askance at her.

“How much time does that buy us, do you think?” he asks, throwing brief, surreptitious glances in Basira’s direction. “How long would a few dozen statements last you?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says, still altogether uncomfortable with the idea. “If I ration myself, then – a while, hopefully? Hypothetically? But…”

He’s loathe to elaborate, but when did keeping secrets and denying reality ever help?

“Last time, it kept getting progressively worse. I needed to feed more and more frequently in order to stave off the hunger. The side effects of abstaining grew more severe. I want to hope that it will be different this time. Maybe giving in to the hunger in the first place only encouraged the Archivist’s… evolution. Whet my appetite. It’s possible that refraining from hunting will… I don’t know, slow the process? Maybe? B-but at the same time…”

He trails off, lips parted, unable to say the words.

“Jon?” Martin prompts gently.

“It’s… I’m sorry, but I – I have trouble being optimistic about it. Coming back didn’t… it didn’t reset the Archivist’s progress. I’m the product of what I’ve done up to this point, even if I’m the only one who remembers any of it. I still have all the marks. And… the Archive fledged and thrived in the apocalypse.”

“Meaning?” Basira leans forward, watching him intently.

“The Archive is accustomed to a feast, not a famine. Millions of statements filtering through every moment without pause. Even when humanity started dying off – when there was less and less fear to go around, when even the monsters started to decay in that place – the Archive was still sated, because I could See everything. No matter how few and far between those pockets of terror became, as long as fear was being suffered somewhere, the Archive had a steady source of sustenance.”

It wouldn’t have lasted forever, of course. Everything has an ending. But that had still been a ways off when Jon left that place.

“I probably would have been one of the last things standing, by the end,” he says softly.

“And you think the hunger will be worse this time because you aren’t used to being hungry,” Basira says.

“More or less,” Jon mumbles, shamefaced. “Coming back to the past, to now… there was no transition between plenty and want. I – the Archive – was just… dropped into a – a habitat it was never adapted to survive in. It’s like a… like a non-native species, as far as this reality is concerned. Like taking a fish out of water and expecting it to evolve lungs on the spot.”

“Hm.” Basira cups her chin in one hand, running a thumb slowly over her lips as she thinks.

“I plan to ration myself as strictly as possible, of course. I just want to establish the possibility that things might – escalate, at some point.”

“If it comes to that, we can deal with it then,” Georgie says. “In the meantime, we should just…”

“Take things one crisis at a time?” Jon tries to temper his bitterness with a weak smile, without much success.

“I mean, yeah, basically,” Georgie says. “But in order for this to work, you need to be honest with us.”

“I – I am, I –”

“I’m not accusing you of lying, Jon. I just mean… well, you have a long history of ignoring your own limitations, and –”

“You’re not good at taking care of yourself,” Martin interjects. His cheeks go pink and he tosses an apologetic glance in Georgie’s direction. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Georgie says. Martin looks uncertain until she grins and, still making eye contact with him, jerks her chin in Jon’s direction. “By all means, go on.”

Emboldened, Martin turns his attention back to Jon, who meets his eyes with no small amount of apprehension. If Martin is intent on compiling a laundry list of examples of Jon’s poor self-care – and judging from that worryingly familiar look on his face, he is – then he has ample material to choose from. Jon barely has time to brace himself before Martin launches into his lecture.

“You used to forget to eat. You never took lunch unless I hassled you. I had to nag you to go home at night.” He’s counting off on his fingers now, Jon notes with dismay. “You went through most days fueled by a maximum of four hours of sleep and frankly alarming amounts of caffeine. You insisted on coming back to work, against medical advice, immediately after almost being eaten alive by worms.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak – and promptly shuts it again when Martin gives him what Jon can (with equal amounts of affection and dread) only refer to as that look.

“You could barely walk. I had to threaten to forcibly remove you from the building before you agreed to go home. You spent the next several weeks sneaking – hell, limping around down here” – Martin makes a sweeping gesture with his arm – “where we found your predecessor’s murdered body, and –”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Jon interrupts, hands flapping anxiously. “I get your point.”

“I also had to threaten to withhold the Admiral from you in order to get you to go to the clinic to have your third-degree burn treated,” Georgie chimes back in. Jon glares at her; she looks far too entertained by the proceedings.

“I was – I was on the lam,” he protests. “I couldn’t exactly go waltzing about in public.”

“But you were perfectly willing to go chasing down Avatars, apparently.”

“I…”

“Oh,” she adds, “and today was the first time you actually slept since you woke up from a coma.”

“I was asleep for six months,” Jon mutters, arms crossed, bouncing one heel against the floor. “I think that more than makes up for –”

“You tried to pass off a stab wound that required five – five!” – Martin holds up five fingers for added (and unnecessary, in Jon’s opinion) emphasis – “stitches as an accident with a – with a bread knife.”

Somehow, Martin manages to sound as indignant now as he did on the day it happened.

“That was several lifetimes ago,” Jon says primly. “At some point you have to let me live it down.”

“It hasn’t even been two years!”

“Seriously, Jon?” Daisy, who has been hiding a smirk behind her hand throughout the entire exchange, finally fails to contain her stifled laughter. “A bread knife?”

“I – I panicked,” Jon says weakly, cheeks burning. “Martin cornered me in the breakroom and it was the first thing I saw, and I just –”

Martin starts in again. “You were actively exsanguinating –”

“Th-that – that’s an exaggeration,” Jon sputters, watching Georgie out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. She’s shaking her head with a faint smile, and Jon… well, Jon supposes that playful scorn is preferable to actual scorn.

“– and you refused to let me take you to the clinic until I threatened to call an ambulance,” Martin finishes.

“I was –” Jon twists a lock of hair around his fingers as he scrambles for some way to save face. “I would have been –”

“I think it’s safe to say you have no sense of self-preservation,” Basira says, and even she has a hint of amusement in her tone now.

“They have a point, Sims.”

“Et tu, Daisy?” Jon says, hoping to garner a laugh – or, failing that, at least halt the relentless bombardment of admonishments. Daisy simply raises her eyebrows and folds her arms, unmoved.

“Do I need to revisit some of the things we discussed in the Coffin?”

“No,” he says sullenly. When no one else speaks, he continues, somewhat irately: “Are we quite finished with the roast session?”

“For now,” Georgie says. “The point is, don’t run yourself into the ground just to test the limits of what you can endure.”

“And don’t let rationing statements turn into just another way to punish yourself,” Martin says sternly. Then he bites his lip, speaking gently now: “You… you deserve better than that.”

I really, really don’t, Jon thinks. Having no desire to unleash another lecture, though, he keeps the contrary comment to himself.

“Besides, letting yourself get that bad probably makes things worse in the long run,” Georgie says. “Like walking on a sprained ankle. Maybe you can endure the pain, but the longer you ignore it, the more likely you are to cause even more damage, and recovery takes longer than it would have if you’d just attended to it in the first place.”

“Speaking from personal experience, are we?” Jon allows a hint of retaliatory smugness slip into his voice.

“Yes,” Georgie says, rolling her eyes. “That ankle is still weak. Which is why you should listen to me. Just… try to care about yourself even a fraction of how much others care about you, alright?

Jon sighs. “Point taken.”

“You can trust us,” Martin says.

“I – I know that. I do trust you. I’m just…” Afraid. “I don’t want you to –”

“– mark me out as something other –”

“– getting used to people making polite excuses not to look at me –”

“– it wears you down to be someone whom nobody wants to see – I called out again and again but nobody came –”

Frantic, he covers his mouth with his hand to halt the recitation; the words continue to pour forth undeterred, albeit muffled and likely – hopefully – too indistinct for the others to understand.

“– I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned –”

“– no one to blame but my own stupid self – blundering in where I had no right to go –”

A flash flood of restless energy breaks through the dam and then it’s racing through his veins, filling his mouth and his mind with white noise. He kicks one foot out and brings it stomping back down to the ground in a burst of sheer infuriation and near-panic. A crawling sensation travels up and down the length of his spine, a parade of feather-light pinpricks reminiscent of thousands of scuttling spider legs.

The slight whimper that works its way up his throat is thankfully stifled by the hand still pressed to his lips.

“Breathe through it,” Basira tells him.

Irritation flares to life at the reminder, but Jon forcibly snuffs it out before the spark can catch. Basira is only trying to help – and in a way she knows has helped before.

He breathes.

A frustrated noise – something between a snarl and a whine – spills out on his exhale, and he presses another hand atop the first as if it can render him entirely soundless. Before another wave of self-directed fury can take him, Jon coaxes himself to take another breath in through his nose. And another. And another, counting up until the pressure behind his eyes lets up and the static clears from his thoughts – at which point, he’s forced to confront the four pairs of eyes playing patient audience to his outburst.

Like a toddler’s tantrum, he thinks acidly, burning with humiliation.

“Sorry.” Although the scathing edge to the word is reserved solely for himself, he takes another breath before speaking again, lest the others assume the ire is directed at them. “Sorry. I’ll try to control it better.”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Martin says. “We know you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

“Anyway,” Basira says, her peremptory tone indicating a return to the subject at hand, “can we all agree that this is the best strategy for now?”

Jon looks down, tracing the weave of his scarf, focusing wholly on the texture of fabric against fingertips in a vain attempt to distract from the pins and needles still skittering across his skin. It takes a moment before he registers the silence. When he looks up, the others are staring at him. Basira raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for his response.

“Even if I do agree to this,” Jon says warily, “I still – I know it’s a lot to ask, but I still need to be monitored for any signs of…” Although the question is meant for all of them, Jon shifts his gaze to make direct eye contact with Basira as he asks it. “Can you let me know, truthfully, if I – if it looks like I might… if you think I’m a danger?”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, “you’re not –”

“Yes,” Basira says decisively.

Martin glares at her, his mouth falling open with a combination of shock and protective outrage. Jon recognizes that expression, and he jumps in before Martin can get a word out.

“Thank you, Basira.”

Now Jon is the target of Martin’s glower. He looks offended, betrayed almost, as if Jon took Basira’s side in a dispute between the two of them. Again, though, Martin doesn’t get the chance to scold.

“Alright then,” Daisy says, stretching. “It’s settled. You” – her eyes swivel to Jon, their piercing intensity prompting him to sit up at attention – “come to me when you’re hungry.”

“Before you cross the boundary into ‘starving,’” Martin says, carving out an opportunity to chastise despite the interruption.

“Consider me a vending machine of horror stories,” Daisy quips.

Jon grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. “Do you have to describe it that way?”

“Oh, quit grousing.” With a flash of teeth, a wolfish grin spreads across her face. “What, would you prefer I write up a menu?”

Her expression turns solemn when Jon winces and looks away.

“Sore nerve?” she asks, suddenly and uncharacteristically delicate.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is nearly inaudible, Jon’s eyes fixed on the floor.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

Fearing his voice might crack if he tries to speak, Jon bites down on his lip and tucks his chin to his chest, letting his hair fall to hide the others from view. He shuts his eyes for good measure and swallows hard, determined to head off the tears threatening to gather.

“Hey.” Daisy stretches out a leg and kicks his foot gently. It’s enough to make him raise his head cautiously. “I was just teasing. Really.”

“I –” It comes out as a croak. Jon clears his throat and blinks several times to dispel the stinging pressure in the corners of his eyes. “I know.”

“It is… so weird to see you two like this,” Basira says with an air of baffled wonder.

Jon notices Martin fidgeting restively out of the corner of his eye. When he looks directly at him, he sees Martin glaring at Daisy with a mixture of worry, suspicion, and resentment.

It isn’t surprising; he never really did forgive Daisy for what she did to Jon. Neither did Jon, for that matter, but… Daisy was so changed after the Buried, it was difficult to see her as the same person who dragged him into the woods. She was, undoubtedly – she was the first to admit that – but she was remorseful and wholly dedicated to changing her behavior, even knowing it might well kill her. She never asked for forgiveness, never denied the harm she’d caused, never tried to justify or shirk responsibility for her actions.

What she later became… there was nothing left of the Daisy who he’d come to see as a friend. For that Daisy, being reclaimed by the Hunt was a fate worse than death. Worse than the Coffin, even. She would have preferred to die as herself, and on her own terms – and the Hunt stole even that ounce of humanity from her. It made her forget that she didn't want to be a Hunter.

Jon dreads watching her waste away again, but not nearly as much as he fears the Hunt devouring her whole.

“People change,” he says, looking from Martin to Basira, hoping those two words can convey all the things he cannot say. They both look unconvinced, albeit in slightly different ways.

The silence drags on uncomfortably long until Georgie claps her hands on her knees.

“You never answered the question, Jon. Are you alright taking statements from Daisy? At least until we can find a better solution?”

“I…”

He glances around the circle, looking at each face in turn, trying to discern their opinions on the matter. Daisy gives him a reassuring nod. Martin has an almost pleading expression on his face, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and wringing his hands in his lap.

Basira is… entirely inscrutable, much to Jon’s dismay. He didn’t expect otherwise, but he still wishes he could get a read on her, determine exactly how she categorizes him now. Probably not as a trustworthy ally. At best, perhaps she sees him as human enough to be suffered to live, but on thin ice and under probation. At worst, she sees him as an irredeemable monster and is simply keeping her opinion to herself for the time being.

Or – no, the worst might be what he was to her last time. She saw him as a monster, yes, and was fully prepared to put him down – like a rabid animal, he thought when confronted with that wording – if he became too much of a danger. It was comforting to know that Basira wouldn’t let sentiment get in the way if he had to be stopped. Less comforting was how she saw him as an asset: a dangerous tool to be used and then locked away once he’d fulfilled his purpose.

Granted, he gave Basira permission to use him – asked her to, in fact. It would be unfair to resent her for taking him up on an offer that he himself put on the table. If his powers could be used to help for once, he was fully willing to sacrifice his humanity to do so. After all, he was already too far gone, he figured – and everyone else seemed to agree.

Georgie certainly seemed to think so. Melanie told him outright that he came back wrong. He had likewise interpreted Martin’s avoidance as a comment on his having changed for the worst, at least initially. And he knew from the moment he woke up that Basira saw him as something other, as something more akin to the monsters they were fighting rather than an ally. He understood why they all felt that way, agreed with their assessments even, but it was soul-crushing nonetheless.

But even if he couldn’t have – didn’t deserve – trust or companionship, he still needed a reason, something to justify choosing not to die. If being wanted wasn’t an option, the least he could do is avoid being a burden. An annoyance. If approval wasn’t on the table, at least he could convince people that he was worth keeping around. And hadn’t that approach always been second nature to him? In a way, he didn’t tend to seek affection so much as try to avoid rejection.

Ultimately, though, pursuing that strategy started to feel sickeningly familiar. It wasn’t until much later that he realized why: between Jonah and the Beholding – and in all likelihood the Web as well – he’d grown accustomed to being seen as a means to an end, and that made it all the more difficult to see himself as a who rather than as a what. It’s a distinction he still struggles with – particularly during those times when the Archive makes its presence known.

He might not have much right to ask for trust or approval, but that doesn’t change the fact that he craves it – perhaps from Basira most of all. If even her opinion of him can change… well, it would go a long way in helping him to believe that he really does have a chance.

“Jon,” Basira says, snapping him back to attention.

Shit. How long has he been staring?

“We need an answer,” she continues.

Jon can’t help but wonder if this is another test. If he agrees, will she see it as further proof of his inhumanity, as evidence that he isn’t trying to resist? If he refuses, will it make her suspicious, lead her to believe he plans on going hunting instead? He’s never been skilled at reading between the lines, at interpreting social cues, at deconstructing the unspoken. The best he can do is ask questions and guess blindly as to the right way to respond – and agonize over the repercussions should he get it wrong. Basira has a way of making that already difficult process even more intimidating.

“Jon,” Basira repeats herself, growing impatient now.

“O-okay,” he says quietly. “It’s… worth a try, I suppose.”

She gives a curt nod. As always, it gives him no insight into her thoughts. He has no time resume brooding, though, as Martin draws his attention with an audible sigh of relief. When Jon glances at him, Martin graces him with a smile – small, almost shy, but genuine. Jon tries and fails to mirror it.

Apparently finished with Jon for the moment, Basira turns her attention to Daisy.

“Come on,” she says, rising to her feet and tapping Daisy on the shoulder. “It’s time for your exercises.”

Obediently, Daisy starts to stand, only for her knees to buckle beneath her. Basira is there to catch her.

“Been sitting too long,” Daisy grunts, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Can you manage the ladder?” Daisy shakes her head, flushing darker. “That’s fine,” Basira says, though Jon thinks he can detect a hint of fear – maybe even melancholy – in her tone now. “Let’s just… walk for now. Wake your legs up.”

The two of them start off down the tunnel, Basira supporting half of Daisy’s weight as she staggers forward.

“Jon?” Georgie says softly.

“Hm.”

“Try to cut yourself some slack, yeah?”

Jon really can’t afford to do that, but saying so will only start them talking in circles again. Martin leans closer and places a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Hey,” he says, looking Jon in the eye with overwhelming sincerity. “We’ve got this, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon responds, and wills himself to believe it.

The three of them exit the tunnel in silence. It isn’t until Jon hoists himself through the trapdoor – Martin assisting in pulling him to his feet – that one of them speaks.

“Oh,” Georgie says, looking at Jon, “by the way…”

“Yes?” Jon says, apprehensive.

“Melanie asked me to tell you that she’s ready to talk, whenever you are.”

“O-oh.”

“I know it's not a great time –”

“No, I – I think I…” Jon nods. “I think I’m ready, too.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Georgie says hurriedly.

“I really am okay to –”

Martin looks ready to object, but Georgie gets there first.

“Okay, correction: it won’t be tonight,” she interrupts, fixing him with a stern look now. “You’ve had hardly any rest since coming out of the Coffin. I think you should get some actual sleep tonight. If – if – you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, we can arrange something then.”

“Fine,” Jon sighs. He knows better than to argue with the combined tenacity of Georgie and Martin.

And he has to admit, he is rather tired.

A little over a half-hour later, Martin and Jon are back in Document Storage.

When he suggests Jon go to bed, Martin is prepared for a protracted argument. Jon acquiesces surprisingly quickly, though, his only condition being that Martin get some sleep as well. It takes slightly longer to convince Jon to take the cot. Martin pulls up a chair and sits at the bedside, refusing to budge as Jon makes his counterarguments. Eventually, though, Jon starts nodding off mid-protest. It’s only a matter of time before he begrudgingly gives in – but not before demanding that Martin take the better blanket. With an amused shake of his head, Martin agrees to the compromise.

Jon slips between the sheets, Martin leans back in his chair, and for a long moment the two of them watch each other in silence. Jon’s hand rests near the pillow, fingers crooked loosely, palm turned up like an invitation. Martin has the sudden urge to reach out and take it.

Another minute passes before Martin realizes that… well, that’s a thing he can do now, isn’t it? What’s stopping him?

Slowly, tentatively, he extends his hand, lets it hover uncertainly above Jon’s, fingertips barely brushing. He applies the slightest pressure, giving Jon every opportunity to pull back. He doesn’t. Jon interlocks their fingers, curling them over in a firm grasp, and peers up at Martin through his lashes with mingled uncertainty and hope.

“Is this okay?” Martin asks quietly.

As answer, Jon lets out a contented sigh, eyelids fluttering closed as a sleepy smile spreads across his face.

“'Course,” he mumbles, already drifting off. “Always will.”

Martin will follow not long after, slumping precariously to the side, head lolling onto his shoulder, and hand still held fast in a warm, sure grip. It’s a posture that will undoubtedly leave him sore by the time he wakes up, but that discomfort will be overshadowed by the way he feels in these shared, quiet moments: seen, accepted, wanted, embraced.

Anchored, he thinks – and for the first time in months, no thoughts of Loneliness shadow him as he falls to sleep.

End Notes:

Jon: *feels safe for the first time in a literally unmeasurable amount of time and promptly passes right back tf out* Martin: oh no he’s cute

Jon's gotten a SNACK and a NAP now. I hope you're all happy. :P  (Just kidding. Every time someone tells me to let Jon have a nap, I am also @ing myself - and Jonny Sims - with the exact same demand.)

(On that note, I find it funny that as I was writing this chapter and finally giving Jon the nap he deserves, he was ALSO finally getting the nap he deserves in canon.)

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 135; 130/067/066; 032/037.

Next chapter: Melanie gets some actual screentime again!!

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hey!! I was wondering if you had any advice for a character concept I've been playing with? :) long story short, my character wasn't born blind, but throughout the story she progressively becomes blind from cataracts- cortical vision impairment to be exact. Is this inherently a bad concept? I really don't want to misrepresent this, and the last thing I want is to make people mad about it. Is there a way I should go about this? Thanks!!

Later message from same Anon: Hey! Just following up on my ask of writing a blind character in the Victorian era- sorry if I missed it

Note: in a message between the first and third, anon added that this story takes place in the Victorian era.

You certainly did not miss it, I’ve just been lazy (struggling) with blog maintenance and have been procrastinating answering several asks.  Historical fiction is out of my area of expertise, so this required more research than general advice.

Also, my first and second attempts at an answer were eaten away by computer/tumblr difficulties, so I had to rewrite a lot.

I think it is a fantastic idea to have your character go blind slowly over time. It is also ambitious, so it is something you need to be careful with, but it’s totally doable.

So the era throws me a little because I’ve never had much practice with historical fiction and history wasn’t a fave subject of mine. Most of my research into blind history has been after World War I, because the sudden surge of blinded veterans changed the course of history for the blind community. This and technology overall led to those huge changes.

So I did a little reading up on the recent evolutions of blindness and the world’s general understanding of it in the 1800s.

Conclusion: society was shit with disability, but I already knew that. There were some remarkable inventions and innovations for blindness in this century, which I will get to later.

 So this post will be: 1. The more personal aspects of going blind over time (instead of all at once) such as acceptance vs denial, life changes, and internalized ableism. 2. Speculating on society’s perception of the blind. 3. Innovations for the blind in that era and what comes after.

 So, part one. The Emotional…

As someone who has slowly lost vision over the course of years and has no idea how far this will progress, I can tell you that it’s an agonizing process of realization, denial, understanding, acceptance, adaption.

Realizing you’re going blind comes in small pieces that eventually add up to become a puzzle. And for this reason, adaption follows a similar pattern.

You identify a problem, feel conflicted about this change, wonder if you should ignore or investigate, and regardless of which path you take, you find a new way to adapt.

I’m going to use an example of my process through this, so you can see the actual thought patterns and how they circle between “this isn’t a problem” – “wait this is a problem” – “no I’m fine!” – “this is a problem.” – “I’m fine, what am I complaining for” – “I made this change and now my life is 100x easier??? Who knew? Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

Example from my life: Light is bright. That hurts but I’m fine. I get sunglasses. The pain with bright light is getting worse. Okay, that’s concerning, maybe I should talk to a doctor. Doctor says I’m fine but now I’m thinking I’m not okay. Why are my eyes doing this? Why do I hurt? Oh, and now bright lights at night are becoming a problem, and I get more headaches associated with light. I could wear sunglasses at night and indoors, but society has given me a negative and judgemental opinion of that, so I don’t want to do it. Best friend pushes me to give up on that negative view for the sake of my health. Finally I listen and life feels much better, but I’m still a little uncomfortable with this change. I feel very blind with my sunglasses, but that’s the only way to not feel pain. And now I feel blind when I’m not wearing any light protection, but I’m in pain this way. What’s wrong with me?

And this is just my internal argument with sunglasses and light sensitivity, from age 17-22. On the other side is my struggle with “do I need a cane” from age 21-22, which goes like this-

It’s August and I’m walking through a semi-familiar but gigantic and ridiculously crowded park with a group of friends. It’s bright out and I need to wear my sunglasses. And now I’m realizing there is a dilemma. I can’t see. My sunglasses are too dark to see. But going without is painful and just as bad vision wise. BUT I CAN’T SEE! I’m scared, I’m going to run into someone or something, I’ll get lost or separated from my friends and not be able to find them. I can’t see curbs or pillars or people and the only thing keeping me safe is holding onto K, who knows my current vision situation when no one else does

And I think to myself- this day would be so much easier if I had a cane.

But I haven’t needed one before, and I don’t ‘normally’ need one. Just every time I go outside on a sunny day. I don’t need it all the time, so I can’t have one, I’m fine.

But these things keep happening, where I’m outside and terrified but I think I’m still “sighted” and my only problem is some light sensitivity and not-super-great sunglasses. My glasses let me see 20/20 (or they did, which they did not a year later) so I definitely don’t need a cane at all.

Young past self, you were so wrong. You needed that.

Eventually I had a breaking point when one year later I’m seeing 20/50 with best correction (so, by legal definitions I’m not even visually impaired yet) but I’m terrified of leaving my house and can’t travel alone and am a literal danger to myself because I can’t see and can’t tell people I can’t see because of social anxiety and internalized ableism-

And the breaking point was that I finally got seriously hurt because I was in a situation where I couldn’t see and wasn’t brave enough to ask my current company to be a sighted guide. That’s the day I ordered a cane, and when it came two weeks ago, I finally remembered what it’s like to not be so terrified for my life every time I left my home.

Your character will over time find problems with her daily life that she didn’t have before, and she’ll deal with each one individually, but with all of them will usually be a repeating thought pattern that is unique to her. It depends on her internalized ableism and society’s ableism (and that era is full of it) and accommodations available to them at the time (also not great).

She’ll solve each problem at a different point that may coincide with other problems and yet still seem like entirely separate problems to them. Like how I wouldn’t relate my need for sunglasses and my need for a cane at the same time because they felt like separate battles to me with their own timelines and similar but still different thought processes.

You will have to decide on a case by case basis what accommodations or accessibility she can have at that time.

 Society’s view on blindness:

It’s shit.

It’s not great now, in the world of information available at your fingertips. It’s desperately worse in history.

 (TW: abuse of disabled people mentioned -thoroughly- in the next two paragraphs)

Everyone with a disability was treated like shit. Sensory disabilities (Deaf or Blind or Deafblind people) and mental illness were treated the worst. There is historical religious persecution against them, saying that they were made ill by the devil or a vengeful God. Which lead to abuse. They were seen as helpless or unproductive, defective, and so were treated as burdens upon their family and society. Because of this, abuse from parents and family members was horribly common for disabled people. Disabled people were often left in asylums by their family members because they were seen as a burden, where there was usually still more abuse to come.

There are still children with disabilities who are abused by their parents, families, care givers, or any facility they’ve been placed in. The cases of abuse are less, but by no means over.

 Ableism in general is just rampant and it’s only cured through the distribution of information. Most people (today) have never met a blind person in real life, had a conversation with one. Through the internet they can find information, but in pre-internet and media eras I can’t imagine how much ignorance runs about.

Most people think blindness is something that only happens with old age, birth defects, or tragic accidents. Or that blindness is obvious in a person. Not the case, as we both know, but certainly a cause for many misunderstandings.

 This section is where the development of technology and understanding of blind people begins, but there’s still some ugly history involving abuse of the disabled to come.

Technology and History

 (TW: abuse towards historical disabled people in next paragraph)

In 1785 the Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles, the world’s very first school for the blind was established in Paris, France. It was opened internationally to children who society had previously deemed unteachable. Valentin Haüy witnessed acts of bullying and cruelty done to blind hospice patients and it inspired him to attempt teaching a blind beggar. He taught the boy to read through raised letters (because Braille was not yet invented). The school he founded could better be described as a trade school, because its primary purpose was to teach work skills like letter press and weaving (going back to Valentin’s childhood, whose family worked as weavers)

Due to criminal activity (he was labeled as a terrorist related to the French Revolution and was a member of the Panthéon Club) he was forced to leave the school in 1802. He later moved to Russia (1806) and began a new school upon the request of Alexander I of Russia.

(TW: child abuse mention in next paragraph)

After his leave, the school had a change in leadership and location, and subsequently quality. Sébastien Guillié became the new director and was later forced to leave because of the inhumane conditions of the facility and welfare of the children. Those children lived in a French Revolution prison that was refurbished as an asylum/school for their education. It was cold and dirty. They were kept in the dark, only allowed to bathe once a month, and poorly fed. This went on until 1821 when he was forced to leave.

Louis Braille (the inventor of Braille) was a student of the school until Guillié’s reign of terror.

The school was later moved to Boulevard des Invalides, and it remains there today. Information with this school is hard for me to access. It doesn’t have the prettiest history, so I can only speculate how much was left out of the books to save the school, and what information I could access is in French.

However, back to Braille.

Braille was invented by Frenchman Louis Braille in 1824. Before his invention, he was taught to read through raised lettering, and he concluded that raised lettering was impractical because-

1.       It is difficult to read, the letters had to be printed in huge font to be fully felt out and printed on thick paper.

2.       Thick paper means higher quality, more expensive. Larger font means more paper is needed for a single text.

3.       This made it inaccessible due to expense and the sheer volume of a text.

4.       If today’s Braille books are hard to access and giant compared to traditional books, I can’t imagine how inaccessible those raised letter books really were

 Five years later The Perkins School for the Blind was founded in America, making education accessible to blind and deafblind children, and this time it focused on reading and mathematics, more education than trade school.

Though it would not have been possible for your character to attend the school herself, it could be possible that she became acquainted with a teacher or former student of either school, who might have passed on some O&M skills to her or some not so pleasant tales.

Side note: the Perkins Brailler (a typewriter machine for Braille) was developed by a wood working teacher at the Perkins School for the Blind – in 1951, so not applicable to your character’s time period, but I didn’t know this, so I must info-dump

 This is before the eugenics movement of 20th century America, when the belief that people with “poor breeding” should be prevented from breeding. The eugenics movement targeted not only the disabled, but lower class and people of color.

  The white cane as an accessibility tool was not “discovered” until the 1930’s by Philip Strong, who painted his walking stick white to make himself more visible. This piece of history is a little flimsy in my opinion. Techniques are discovered and lost and rediscovered all the time. You can’t prove he was the first person to “wave a stick” in front of him to find obstacles.

But he is credited for making the white cane something that could be a standard identifier to tell people (moving obstacles) “hey, I’m blind, don’t hit me with your loud vehicle” and made a movement of other people getting white canes to identify themselves.

I very much thank him for it, seeing as I’m so sighted-passing sometimes. If white canes weren’t standard everyone-must-know-what-this-means sort of thing, I think people would just watch me “wave a stick” around and think I’d lost my mind.

(TW: suicide of disabled character mention in next paragraph)

So when you see something like in Downton Abby (season 2) when Thomas and Sybil are trying to teach a blinded soldier how to use a cane to navigate… it could be possible, something that actually occurred to some people then. Although, now that I think about it, that character killed himself by the end of the episode and that still upsets me.

Downton Abby got the period-typical ableism right, I will give them that. Both the internalized ableism as well as how strangers treat you, they got that right. What they did to their disabled characters still bothers me (i.e. death and cure subplots)

(TW has been lifted, you made it past.)

But with World War 1, there was a huge number of blinded veterans entering the world and that did make way for big changes in the world of blindness-

Within a few decades guide dogs were being trained, white canes were becoming a thing, Schools for the Blind were thinking, “hey, maybe we should teach adults these skills too!” and life continued on until it eventually reached out modern world. Which, not applicable to your era, but I think it’s important to know what wasn’t available or common knowledge for your character.

If anyone has other information about historical fiction, the Victorian era, and historical ableism and disability, please feel free to reblog with your input and I’ll reblog it.

As always, this post can be found on my blog through the tags: reference, blind character, historical fiction

[beanplague-moved]

Two Sides; Same Coin

the full fanfiction that i wrote for @diverse-hp-zine​! it was dope as hell to be able to go back into my young brain and remember how much i loved harry potter growing up, and very cathartic.

hermione/luna with a side of ron/harry. includes some commentary on racism & ableism, but nothing too deep or harmful. weirdly, one of my only fics that does not include profanity.

AO3 | commissions.

Hermione and her parents have a talk. More accurately, Hermione and her mother have a talk while her father sort of stands to the side, contemplating his own feelings on the matter.

“Honey,” says her mother, having lowered to Hermione’s height. “You know she didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” replies Hermione, dark eyes just moments away from rolling. “I don’t want her shoving her hands in my hair.”

“I mean, I don’t want her shoving her hands in your hair, but these are the things we have to deal with sometimes.” Her mother’s brown eyes bore into her, exasperated. “I understand that these things bother you, but you have to understand that these sorts of things are bound to happen here and there.”

“So I’m just supposed to let people do things like that?” Hermione shakes her head. Her tangle of dark curls moves with her. “That’s… that’s ridiculous! And never mind the fact that I didn’t even do anything—” she stops, meeting eyes with her father over her mother’s shoulder. He is looking at her pleadingly.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” a sterner tone takes over her mother’s speech. “You know very well that you must’ve done something for that girl to start crying like that—and honey, we don’t do things like that!”

Hermione doesn’t say anything, but her accusatory why not? must be communicated by her expression, because her mother sighs and places a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t want to yell at you about this, because you didn’t do anything wrong, but you have to understand that things just aren’t that simple. When you lash out like that all it does is… well, you’re a smart girl. You have to understand, it makes people question how we raised you, or even just—you know, how we are as, you know… people.”

She shuts her eyes and exhales on people, and Hermione internally makes the connection. She supposes now might be the time to give her mother a break. She did, after all, react quite harshly—even if she didn’t intend to zap that girl. How would she even do that, anyway? It was probably just static electricity or karma—not that Hermione believes in such a thing, but the thought is quite cathartic.

And anyway, her mother is very tired of their talk. It would be more advisable for Hermione to drop the subject and allow her parents to return to their usual daily activities, rather than standing in their kitchen, lecturing Hermione about how and how not to respond to pale-skinned girls unnecessarily groping her hair. Yes, it would be best to just be agreeable right now, rather than stir the pot unnecessarily.

Of course, Hermione has never been particularly agreeable, so instead she says, “Why do I have to be an example for every black person?” and the conversation rounds right back in on itself, like a snake eating its own tail.

Luna is fine. Just fine. Her father begs to differ.

They are sitting on the couch, reading the paper. The Daily Prophet specifically, mostly for the expressed purpose of allowing her father to roll his eyes and scoff at every overreaction or gossip column. This is the base ingredient to a quite enjoyable morning for the two of them. Or, it would be, if not for the fact that her father is clearly distracted by something.

Of course, that’s not exactly abnormal, either. Claiming that it was abnormal for Xenophilius Lovegood to be distracted would be absolutely unthinkable, but this is a different kind of distraction, not curious or excited, but rather… concerned? He worriedly glances at her every few minutes, and he clears his throat when they close the paper.

“Luna,” he says, and she can tell that this is a Serious Talk based on that alone. Usually, he adds a little note of affection after her name, like my dearest or my pride and joy or, sometimes, my little Crumple-Horned Snorkack. “Do you remember when we went to the Abbott’s home? How their house was so dreadfully beige, and, dare I say it, plain?”

“Oh, terribly plain,” says Luna, “but why bring it up now? I thought you were only eating dinner there to be polite. Will we be returning, soon?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” says Xenophilius, quick to stamp the idea into the ground. “I just—well, I wanted to ask about something that occurred while we were there. I found it quite curious and excessively… gut-wrenching.”

“Gut-wrenching?”

“Extremely gut-wrenching, my little moon frog,” he says.

“—I like that nickname! Can we use it more?” Luna interrupts, suddenly swept away with the new name. It certainly rolls off the tongue more than Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which makes sense! That name is only for special occasions, really, whereas moon frog is much shorter, and much more convenient.

“Oh, absolutely,” grins Xenophilius, almost distracted from his Serious Talk for a moment. Alas, the distraction only lasts a moment before he clears his throat and shakes his head. “On a more immediate note, Luna, I noticed that the children there were—how do I say it?—very… condescending, to you.”

Luna’s eyebrows furrow. “How so?” she asks.

“Well, you must’ve seen how they acted when you—okay, do you remember how I had taught you the word ludicrous the night before the dinner? And how you repeated it under your breath for a few days afterwards?”

“Oh, I do! I liked the way it sounded—was I not supposed to?”

Her father’s eyes widen as soon as the words tumble out of her mouth. “Oh, you were absolutely supposed to! More words should be like it, truly, but—” he stops, “this isn’t about your behavior, dear. You already know that I do similar things for stimulus, I just—did you not notice the children at that house imitating the way you said it?”

Luna tries to think of that night, and she does remember—but it doesn’t quite bother her as much as it seems to be bothering her father. “They were just making fun, right?”

“Yes, but…” Xenophilius trails off, “they were making fun of something they didn’t understand. It’s—you know that we’re a bit different from most of the ‘average’ people, Luna—and they were making fun of the behavior that made you different and that was…” he sighs, “I’m sorry, I know it must seem like I’m faffing on about nothing, but it truly is… frustrating, for me to think that any child would make fun of you for something like that.”

Luna blinks. She thinks back to that night—how the boys in that house mocked her mumbling ludicrous and how they cut in every time she started talking about nargles or moon frogs or snorkacks.

“Daddy,” she says, “did I do something wrong? Is that why they made fun of me?”

“Oh, dear, no, how could you think—” Xenophilius stops himself, and he carefully hovers a hand over Luna’s shoulder. “Would you mind if I pulled you in for a hug, moon frog?”

“That’s fine,” says Luna. She is usually okay with it, but sometimes touch is just a bit too much. Usually when too many other things are going on. Here, in their quiet living room, on their couch where they should be reading the paper, a hug seems just fine.

And what a hug it is. Her father is comforting and warm. He pats her back quietly. “I’m upset at those boys, surely, but I would never say you did anything wrong. Why, the parents in that house should have done a much better job raising their children. In the future, they should at least train them to recognize a lovely, fascinating young lady when they see one.”

Lovely and fascinating are words that only her father would say about her, mumbles some small voice in the back of Luna’s head. She shakes it off, enjoying the comfort of her father’s closeness for a moment. “Even if I say ludicrous too much?”

“No one could ever say ludicrous too much! The very concept is—well—ludicrous!” Xenophilius laughs, and he squeezes her one last time before releasing her from the hug. “You’re a very bright young lady, Luna. Your father just happens to get in a twist when others fail to realize this.”

Luna loves her father, she thinks—loves that he understands her in this way that other people don’t, loves that he’s odd in exactly the same way she is, but part of her knows that he is the only person who thinks of her like this.

Still, she thinks, one person on Team Luna is better than none.

Hermione didn’t think she’d ever end up explaining the concept of racism to someone, but here she is, explaining the concept of racism to her newest companion in her newest school.

Well, thankfully, she isn’t the only one explaining the concept of racism to Ron. Harry sits beside her in the common room, supplying a few details here and there about what is and isn’t racist. He does seem much less exasperated than Hermione is, having this conversation. His expression is some bizarre cross between astonishment and complete and utter joy.

“Hermione,” he says, turning away from Ron to face her, “are you sure we should tell him? I mean, I’m going to draw a portrait for you, and I want you to think about it for a moment, picture it in your mind—world with no racism.”

“Not possible.”

“With magic, anything’s possible!”

“So it’s like,” Ron has been sort of sitting silently for the last few moments, processing the concept of racism, “when purebloods get all death-eatery? That’s racism? But for, like…” he trails off.

“For black people?” says Hermione.

“And brown people!” adds Harry, “and Asian people, East and South,” he points to himself at that last one.

“You’re Asian?”

“Ron, just where do you think India is?” Harry has the biggest smile on his face. “I’m not upset or anything, genuinely. I am just… very entertained.”

“Oh, ha-ha. Ron doesn’t know anything about the world—” starts Ron.

“—Ron doesn’t know anything about the Muggle World, or history in general, specifically,” finishes Hermione.

“They don’t teach us this stuff, Granger! It’s not like wizards are running around being racist or whatever.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that, Ron? Is that a hill you are willing to die on?” Harry is having too much fun. He is desperately holding back laughter, and it’s making Hermione want to laugh, which isn’t fair, because normally she’d have way more irritating feelings about a white boy never hearing about racism even in its basic form.

But, she supposes, now isn’t exactly the time to be disagreeable. Ron doesn’t mean anything by it, and though she’s positively willing to make fun of him about absolutely anything—this seems to be getting to him. He’s getting much more red in the face than she’s ever known another human being to get.

She does prod at him for a bit longer, but she lets it go eventually. Mostly because Ron crosses his arms and mutters, “It’s like you think I’m stupid,” and he says it in a very pitiful tone.

(And in the back of her mind, Hermione wonders just how many people have been calling this kid stupid that he cites it in arguments.)

Harry puts his arm around Ron. “I promise you I’ve met white kids at school who knew even less about racism, and they were much less open to criticism about it.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, absolutely—if you think you were being a little insensitive, then I have such a story to tell you about my cousin Dudley.”

Ron looks to Hermione. And she thinks back to that day, with the other girl and the hair-touching. How she argued with her mother for as long as she could, despite every thought to the contrary. She did that because, well, no one else was going to. Not even her parents would side with her, and so it was up to Hermione to defend her own position. This, though—this isn’t an argument about what Hermione did. This is an argument about what Ron knows, and there’s something much less… honorable(?) about belittling Ron for what he doesn’t know.

“I guess that kind of thing is out of our control. You don’t get to pick what people do and don’t tell you,” she shrugs.

However, Hermione thinks, if she were in charge of the Hogwarts curriculum, she would certainly look into a world history course, or something.

The children in Luna’s year call her Loony Lovegood.

She doesn’t mind. She hardly pays enough attention to notice that it’s happening in the first place. And she mostly absorbs the statements, lets them settle with little to no fanfare.

Ginny insists that this is bad practice.

“They’re making fun of you, Luna. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

They are on the train to Hogwarts, rapidly approaching the beginning of third year. Luna sits by the window, alternating between reading a very fascinating report on the theory of mythical creatures being tied in with non-magical sciences and listening to Ginny talk about whatever it is that happens to be on her mind. Last year, there were quite a few mentions about the Potter boy from the upper grade. This year, the topic seems to be fixated on the fact that other students are apparently making fun of Luna.

“It’s not fair to you. You’re just as together as everyone else—and smarter, too!—because you’re Ravenclaw and all.”

“I don’t think I’m smarter than anyone else.” Luna doesn’t look up from her book.

“Well, you are!” Ginny says, “And I think other people should recognize that before they go and call you Loony.”

“You call me Loony.”

“Well—that’s just—that’s because we’re friends! And I would stop if you wanted me to.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to,” says Luna. “It’s nice when you say it.”

“Okay, good, but,” Ginny seems frustrated, “why don’t you get upset when other people do it?”

“Maybe they also mean it in a friendly way.”

“You and I both know that’s not it, Loony,” says Ginny, and Luna really does like the way Ginny says it. She’s always so familiar. Luna is always thoroughly enchanted whenever Ginny does this, and she wonders if it shows. She certainly hopes it does.

“Maybe their intentions are less than friendly,” concedes Luna, “but I don’t pay it any mind, and you shouldn’t, either.”

Ginny doesn’t seem to be aboard the same train, (figuratively speaking. In a literal sense, they are most certainly on the same train) but Luna puts her at ease.

“I’m fine,” she says, “I’m happy that I have a friend like you, but I don’t need other people to deal with these things for me.” Team Luna has doubled in members in the last few years, it seems. “How is that boy you were talking about, earlier?”

“Oh, Luna, you have no idea how frustrating this is. Boys are so—so stupid. He’s hardly interested in talking to anyone but my brother!” Ginny’s concern quickly dissipates into exasperation, which Luna appreciates. It’s always entertaining to hear about this sort of thing. It wasn’t too long ago that Luna felt the same way towards Ginny.

Of course, those times are long past her. Luna has quickly realized that someone being nice to her doesn’t exactly translate to them being The One To End All Ones, but the fondness remains.

“Oh,” she says to Ginny, upon realizing this thought, “I forgot to tell you. I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh—Luna—really? You didn’t—I have so many questions! When did you figure it out? Is there a girl you like right now? I know a perfect girl to introduce you to, since you’re so smart and everything—”

The ride to Hogwarts is rife with questions. Luna hardly minds.

Later on, (much later on, during fourth year) Hermione and Harry talk about it.

“It’s a good thing, right?” says Harry, looking over his sprawling notes from Transfiguration. They are studying in the common room. “I mean, I’ve never been one to miss racism. I think it’s kind of nice, being separate from that whole thing.”

“But we’re not separate from it, is the thing,” says Hermione. “Racism still exists, wizards just don’t know about it, which is bad! They’re ignoring a history that they could very well end up repeating or unconsciously absorbing.”

“Well, we don’t know about that,” Harry shrugs. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been called any racial slurs so far, no matter how badly it looks like Malfoy wants to call me one.”

“Well I have! I mean, it was a wizard racial slur, but still.”

Harry nods. “Poor Hermione, a minority in both the magical and the muggle world.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m just saying! Here, I’m the majority. Oh, how the grass is greener on the other side.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I just wish you took this more seriously. I know that Ron is your mate and all—”

“My best mate. Totally different. We’re taking each other to the Yule Ball, as good friends do.”

“Right,” says Hermione. “All good friends take their friends to romantic balls.”

“Indeed. Totally normal, average, and expected,” says Harry. “I am certainly not experiencing any conflict or questioning regarding the decision.”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” says Hermione, and suddenly it seems like the conversation has shifted. Carefully, she thinks of how she might word herself. “If you did have any questions, however, you know that I would be happy to answer any of them.”

“Oh, yes,” nods Harry, “and, similarly, if you had any questions regarding—well, I don’t know, anything at all, no particular subject in mind, I could take a stab at it.”

“Right,” says Hermione.

There’s some silence that passes between them. Hermione writes down a few key terms for potions class in her notes.

“I’m bisexual,” she says.

“Nice.”

“Now tell me your thing."

Harry stops scribbling for a moment, and Hermione hears the lilt in his voice when he says, “What thing?”

“Well, I don’t know, that you’re into Ron or something?”

“Into Ron, why, Hermione—” Harry rushes through his sentence, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “That’s certainly an exaggeration, I mean—Ron? If I were into—into men, which I’m not obligated to tell you if I am or not, but if I were, certainly I’d pick someone of a higher standard than Ron.” He tries laughing. Hermione raises an eyebrow.

“So you don’t have any feelings for Ron?”

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it, then sighs. He brings his hands to his face. “No, I absolutely do. It’s a nightmare, Hermione.”

“There, there.” She pats Harry’s back comfortingly. “We’ve all had that phase, haven’t we?”

“Have we?” Harry gasps. “Hermione, are we competing over the same Ron?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I got over that nearly as soon as it started. I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

Harry nods. “That’s a shame. You certainly would have won, considering his bizarre need for your approval and all.”

“In another world, perhaps,” she says.

There’s a comfortable silence that passes over them.

“Okay, but Ron? Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t give him a hard time! He’s—I can’t believe I’m saying this—but he’s so… so genuine, Hermione. He cares so much, and he’s so clever in his own way, and he deserves so much more. I can barely imagine my life without him, at this point,” Harry stops. “Is that gay?”

“Extremely. And very melodramatic. We’re fourteen.”

“I mean it in a friendly way! I can’t imagine life without you, either, if that helps.”

“It is very flattering,” Hermione says, “When you both get married or whatever, do I get to be best man?”

“Please shut up,” groans Harry. “What about you? Any girls catching the eye of Miss Hermione Granger, hm?”

Hermione shakes her head. “Not particularly.”

“Aw, that’s no fun. These confessions are coming off as particularly incomplete, you know? You have the sexuality part, but no embarrassing crush. I have the embarrassing crush, but no concrete sexuality. Being a minority is so hard.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were having fun being the majority in the wizarding world, and all—”

They go back and forth for a little while, leading into the late night with banter and such. Hermione really does love him so much. Him and Ron. She looks over to Harry in the early hours of the morning, head slumped over the desk. There’s no one she’d feel more comfortable coming out to, and she supposes she’s lucky in that regard.

And it is very funny to watch Harry and Ron pretend to be as neutral as possible when they dance at the Yule Ball. She has to stop herself from laughing.

Luna and Hermione are not friends.

They meet in fifth year, and they argue about this and that, but mostly about the fact that there is no such thing as a nargle, and if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and well, if you weren’t so close-minded, you might learn not to take everything in your textbook at face value. It’s a very entertaining thing to watch, and a very frustrating thing to be apart of. Mostly if you’re Hermione. Luna seems to have this almost impressive immunity to frustration, especially when it comes to their arguments.

“I just feel like you’re being a bit silly about the whole thing,” she says, reaching for another library book. Hermione sits at a table between the shelves, annotating one of her textbooks with questions that she will most certainly find the answers to later.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m being silly? Really?”

“Really,” says Luna, “I feel like if you’d just think about it for a moment, all the pieces would go into place! I mean, can you really deny the theory of moon frogs?”

“I absolutely can. Anybody with basic knowledge of the world can do that.”

“Sure, anybody.” Luna snorts.

“Why are you snorting? Stop snorting.”

“I just—Hermione, you are muggleborn, correct?”

“Is this going to go in a weird, wizard-bigoted direction? Because I have to say, Luna, I didn’t picture you a Malfoy-type.”

“Oh, no. It’s just that, well, we go to a school for wizards, in a hidden castle, and you are currently talking to me about what can and can’t be argued while you study for a magic examination,” she says.

Hermione is quiet for a moment. “Point made,” she says, “but you and I both know that there are rules to magic, and jumping to the moon and bringing frogs down from it doesn’t exactly fit into those rules.”

“Maybe,” shrugs Luna, “but I don’t know. I just feel like there is so much that we have yet to learn, and these theories that you’re dismissing are, well—they’re really fascinating, aren’t they?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Not particularly,” and then she gives it further thought. “I can see that it’s important to you, though,” she concedes.

“Very,” says Luna, taking a seat at the table. “I do appreciate that about you. Many people are less amicable during these arguments.”

“Well, considering I come to the library to study and argue with you, I figure the least I can do is respect your nonsense beliefs.”

“And thank you for that respect, even despite your close-minded dismissal.” Luna smiles. Hermione does not feel anything regarding this smile. She is entirely neutral towards it.

“Yes,” says Hermione, closing her book. “I’m going to leave. I think I’m done studying.”

“A shame. We could have spent so much more time arguing about the merits of wrackspurts! Or aquavirus maggots!”

“Oh, next time we’ll definitely get into whatever those are.”

“I can lend you a few copies of the Quibbler so you can study the subjects before the arguments! I’ll bring them to you in the Great Hall, tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s quite the biased source, but sure,” says Hermione. “I’m certain no other trustworthy publisher has covered aquavirus magnets.”

“Maggots,” corrects Luna, “They’re actually quite fascinating! It’ll be a good read, I promise.”

Hermione’s smile is—well, Luna thinks it’s quite wonderful. It is small, much like her laugh, but her teeth show and her eyes crinkle just a bit.

“I’m sure it will be.”

When Hermione returns to the common room, she is immediately greeted with Harry and Ron.

“How was your date with Lovegood?” says Ron, louder than necessary. A few heads turn, and some chuckles rise out of other Gryffindors.

“Ron, that’s rude. You can’t expect Hermione to answer that question,” says Harry, and Hermione almost breathes a sigh of relief before he says, “Not from you, at least. Hermione, you have to tell us—was there kissing? Maybe dancing?”

“Did she take you to see any dabberblimps?” Ron chimes in.

“One,” says Hermione, “we were not dating.”

“Debatable,” says Harry.

“Two, we were in the library. Why would we dance in the library?”

“Because it was a date?” says Ron. “You’d find a way.”

Hermione crosses her arms. “Thirdly, and I loathe to know it, dabberblimps are aquatic. She wouldn’t be able to take me to see those—and she wouldn’t, because we are not dating.”

“Well you certainly are spending a lot of time together, and every time you come back from one of these library debates, you seem very… how do I put it?” Harry says.

“Endeared?” suggests Ron.

“Endeared!” agrees Harry, “Expanding your vocabulary, Ron?”

“Hermione got me a thesaurus for Christmas. I’m pretty sure it was an insult, but my dad insisted I read it, since it’s technically a muggle book.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I love you—and your family! I love how you interact with that family. It’s definitely, totally my favorite part about the Weasleys.”

Hermione watches this exchange with exhaustion. They still aren’t together. It’s unbelievable.

“Anyway,” she says, “Luna and I are not dating.”

“And you don’t want to be dating?” says Harry, genuinely curious.

Hermione lets the idea roll around in her head, not for the first time. She thinks of Luna, and how happy she sounds to talk to them, and how her smile is so light and pretty. “No,” she says, “I have no interest in that kind of thing at all.”

“I see,” says Ron. “Permission to still make fun of you because of it? It’s really all the ammunition we have.”

“Permission denied. I’ll hex you next time,” says Hermione.

It’s ridiculous to think she might have feelings for Luna. The only feeling she has regarding her is annoyance, maybe. And frustration.

And sometimes admiration.

(And sometimes something too embarrassing to name.)

But mostly annoyance.

Luna has feelings for Hermione, but they aren’t particularly important. Ginny seems to think they are.

It could be so much more,” says Ginny, enthralled, “I just—Luna! You never tell me about your crushes on anybody, and now you tell me about your feelings for Hermione and you’re just so indifferent.”

Luna says, “It would be better not to get my hopes up, I think.”

“How is this ‘getting your hopes up?’”

“Well,” says Luna, “she’s older, and she’s in a different house. We don’t exactly see each other every day.”

“Plenty of people date between houses, and plenty of people date between years!”

“Sure,” nods Luna, “but I think those people also, you know, both have feelings for each other. I don’t think Hermione thinks of me as anything except loony.”

Loony. Loony and obsessive and frivolous.

Of course, that’s putting words in Hermione’s mouth. Luna is sure that Hermione’s opinions of her aren’t unfavorable—but they are certainly not romantic.

Luna thinks Hermione is—well, it’s obvious, but she’s so intelligent. Intelligent and determined and beautiful. Oh, she’s so beautiful. Her eyes and skin and hair are dark and lovely, but even more beautiful is the way she speaks. The way she argues, succinct and impassioned.

“Luna, you’re zoning out. Are you thinking about Hermione? Or is there a wrackspurt in the area?”

“Both,” says Luna, before shaking her head. “Neither.”

“I see,” says Ginny, “And you’re certain that it’s not just embarrassment about your feelings?”

“I’m certain,” Luna nods, “I just doubt they are reciprocated.”

Ginny looks like she’s about to say something, but Luna stops her, quickly changing the subject.

“What ever happened to your feelings for Harry?”

“Oh, don’t get me started. I’m over it. Over break, Ron could barely go a sentence without talking about him, and I’d rather be attacked by dragons than fight over a boy with my brother.”

This is much more comfortable than talking about Luna’s feelings for Hermione, even if they are ever-present and very, very confusing. Even if, next to Hermione, Luna feels like the most ridiculous girl in the world, asking the most mesmerizing one to like her.

She feels downright loony.

As it turns out, wizards don’t know much about neurodivergence, either.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that letters moving around is like… a thing? That happens to other people?” says Ron, absolutely astonished.

“It’s called dyslexia,” says Hermione. “It’s a learning disability, like ADHD.”

“Like what?”

“We’ll get to that,” she shakes her head. “I just—you really never suspected that you might have dyslexia?”

“I didn’t know what dyslexia was until two minutes ago. I just figured that I was, you know, kind of dim,” he shrugs, “but this is way better! Is there a way to fix it?”

“Well, it’s sort of just the way your brain works, but there are ways you can counteract it,” Hermione says, turning a page in her book. “I don’t know if there are any spells that change the font of our assignments, but I’d wager there are similar types of things—we can certainly work on it.”

She turns to Ron. He looks so… happy, for a moment there.

“Hermione, I’m only going to say this once, because I like Harry way more than you, and I hate that smug look on your face when I admit you’re right about something,” says Ron, “but you’re a really, really good friend.”

Hermione smiles. “The feeling’s mutual, Ron.”

After this exchange, Hermione can’t help but think about Luna. She brings it up during their next library argument, wherein Luna gives an ebullient speech about the merits of anecdotal evidence.

“Luna,” she says, “remember how you said that you and your father were both ‘the same brand of unusual?’”

“I do,” says Luna. “You should meet him someday! He knows everything, I swear. Talking to him is like reading from a book!”

“A very sensationalized book?”

“Perhaps.”

Hermione grins. “Somehow, I don’t doubt you,” she says, “but sensationalized books aside, I wanted to know what you meant by ‘unusual,’ if that’s okay to ask.”

Luna nods, “That’s fine,” she says, before humming thoughtfully, “Well, we have the same behaviors, I suppose. We both like the same theories, and he used to teach me these lovely words that I hadn’t heard before, like eccentric, and we’d repeat them back and forth for a little while. I really liked the way it felt to say them, sometimes, and I learned that other children found that a bit strange. That and the ranting. And in first year I used to flap my hands quite a lot. I learned not to do that as much.”

Hermione nods, eyebrow furrowing. Carefully, she says, “Have you ever considered the fact that you might be on the autism spectrum?”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “Elaborate?”

“The autism spectrum,” says Hermione, placing her book on the table and turning to the dog eared page. “It’s a bit complicated, since there are so many different associations, but—” she glances over to Luna, “I don’t know, I think it’s important that you know you're not unusual. You’re just different.”

“Is that not the definition of unusual?”

“Well, it is,” Hermione says, “but you aren’t bad different. Just different. In a good way, most of the time.”

Luna smiles. “Most of the time?” she asks.

“Well, often infuriatingly difficult, but still—” Hermione pauses. Luna is very close. Not extremely close, but close enough to make note of. “You’re… fantastic, to talk to.”

“I could say the same about you.” Luna’s voice is so soft. So kind.

There’s this sort of natural drift, as things fall together, and Hermione thinks—Luna is beautiful. Her hair is like gold. Her eyes are like silver. Her lips are soft.

The kiss is gentle and clumsy. It dawns on Hermione that she is not the only person involved in this kiss with no former experience, which is a relief. The only person she’s kissed before is, well, Viktor Krum, and that was certainly short lived, and—you know what? Hermione doesn’t want to think about her ex-kind-of-boyfriend while she’s kissing Luna.

When they pull away, Luna says, “You know, that’s bad practice. Now I’ll be distracted during our future debates.”

Hermione grins. “Well, I’ll be equally distracted, so I think it works out.”

“I should hope so. I’d hate to lose this aspect of our relationship,” says Luna. “Though I suppose the kissing is a good enough replacement. Still, I guess I’m a bit selfish in this regard. I like to have my cake and eat it, too.”

Hermione nods, and then they kiss again. It’s a little less clumsy this time, though there’s something charming in the fact that it’s clumsy at all.

Luna snorts when they pull away. “Maybe Ron and Harry could take a few pointers from us,” she says, “I feel we handled this quite well.”

[patchdotexe]

sorry to add on here, this was originally gonna be in the tags only but then i realized the words were just Kinda Happening so:

i was. actually just thinking earlier today that i wasnt sure if i  count as selectively mute BECAUSE of being in fandoms where selective mutism is a common headcanon but it’s like what op said where it’s pretty much “almost always silent and uses ASL all the time”, while i have anxiety/stress-induced nonverbal episodes that can also hit out of seemingly nowhere and last for, like, a couple hours even after the stressful situation is over (+ will be like near-totally quiet irl even when not having a stress-related episode, unless im talking to my roommate)

ive considered learning ASL as a workaround bc i get frustrated abt not being able to communicate (bc for me its “i WANT to be able to get words out or explain things but i Can't”) but despite that being a thing ive wanted to do for over a year now ive made very little progress. i write some selectively mute characters that use ASL or some other way to clearly communicate when they have a “no words only brain hell” episode but it’s kinda a projection of me being like “god i wish i could do that”

but the thing is like. when im not nonverbal i am INCREDIBLY loud and chatty. i do livestreams for, like, several hours, and excitedly ramble the whole time! except, actually, when doing challenge runs with some strangers the past couple weeks i set myself to push-to-talk to have an excuse for why i wasnt talking as much (it was actually because i was starting to go nonverbal from high anxiety but i didnt want to explain that to, like, 7 strangers).

im also very very chatty in text... but that’s because it’s in text, where i’m not having to struggle with my brain deciding that no matter how hard i try or how loudly i think the words i want to say they just wont come out. when i AM able to force the words out, it feels horrible and is a literal strain on me and it leads to a lot of self-hate bc internalized... uh, ableism i guess? of I Should Be Able To Do This Normally, Why Can’t I, I Was Fine Five Minutes Ago

seeing people headcanon characters as selectively mute / being some flavour of nonverbal makes me really happy, because “haha i do that”, but it is very much like what op said where it’s kinda like... i guess a term being used without much understanding of what it actually is or the various levels of it or how it affects situations.

like, im in the henry stickmin fandom, and it is VERY cool to see there being a huge amount of content w/ henry being selectively mute to the point of it being a common tag on ao3 (and i also hc him as that!), and also it’s rather supported by canon because henry is silent 80% of the time but he does talk but ive only seen, like, a couple fics actually go into that & acknowledge that it’s a situational thing + will tie it to being anxiety-related or something similar, and most of everything else writes him as 100% mute despite having the “selectively mute henry” tag.

(and like, im not infallible on this, because i kinda was sliding into that too, and that’s what led me to wake up thinking “so am i selectively mute or do i just have A General Problem, is this even a label i should be considering using for myself” because whoops my perception of myself is very influenced by how fandom content portrays neurodivergencies i happen to have, so uh, thank you op for this post bc it gave me a reason to sit down and Think About It)

oh god this is very long i am so, so sorry

I feel people often misunderstand what being selectively mute means and that it has a spectrum (by severity and manifestation) too like other disorders ?

Like i feel people hear selectively mute and go "oh so you're basically mute by arguable choice and thus learn asl and go through similar stuff mute and deaf people do"

But that isn't really true no ???

There's a large variety to being selectively mute and some peeps DO have similar experiences to mute and deaf people or even nonverbal peeps but not everyone is the same

Like I'm selectively mute but many people don't assume so because when I'm with friends i talk a lot and i can talk in public if I'm with people ! And I'm seemingly "normal" due to this

But people don't see how if I'm by myself i will go fully mute or if I'm in a fearfully stressful situation (especially by myself) i can also completely lose my ability to talk ! I know i have problems with this and it's why i try not to go anywhere by myself (and listen to music often to curb possible convos) and while i can force myself to talk for times like doctor's appointments it's very stressful for me, tiring and i often speak very quietly if i force it and can't force my voice at louder volumes or it will give me panic attacks (it can even make me go mute for the rest of the day or even following day if i force it too much)

Like the main thing with being selectively mute is that you're incapable of speaking when within environments you feel unsafe or stressed in (which this is an anxiety disorder) but you are able to talk while within environments you DO feel safe and often comfortable in

Of course this is a very simplified definition and as i mentioned this disorder is very diverse and people can have selective mutism from/for different things such as trauma related things i believe but y'know the whole "is able to talk when feeling safe" i feel is important

I also don't know asl; I've been trying to learn it on my own time but it just hasn't happened and since i mostly avoid going places by myself/doing things i know will trigger mutism, i never personally had to infact need it (it would make my life easier at some points such with asking things maybe but it hasn't been my only form of communication for extended periods of time). I also when i go mute i often don't want to make any communication really like not even noises or suggestive motions i just want to leave as i fear the communication part

Also i feel the assumption of all selectively mute people knowing asl is similar to that of assuming all blind people know braille like yes this is very helpful and some choose to learn since it is very helpful but not everyone does

This whole post is mainly because I'm seeing an increase in people giving characters selective mutism which is great ! But they tend to treat the character as if they're mute/deaf and they speak strictly in asl and seemingly oftentimes don't have the anxiety of the disorder at all ? Like they're missing the vital part of the reason they're mute being because they're scared and feeling unsafe

For example, i see people give Gordon Freeman (from the game half life) selective mutism but they don't touch upon his anxieties in the situations and again have him strictly mute, only speaking in asl and hardly ever suggest he ever does talk (or use him talking as a joke)

And asl is great and i truly believe everyone should learn it if they can ! I'm glad asl is showing up and being used in the half life fandom ! But please know there's a diversity to this disorder and it isn't just being mute/deaf lite where the person can speak they just don't want to rather than a fear/anxiety response

TL;DR: Please stop making selective mutism mute/deaf lite and ignoring that it's an anxiety based disorder and selectively mute peeps can talk and even be talkative when they feel safe ;;

Btw I'm not like mad or anything about this and i don't want anyone to assume this is like an angry rant or anything it's just something I've noticed and been kinda sad sorta frustrated about ???

I know peeps aren't intending to do this tho is the main point but i just wanted to talk about it :^)

(Also i am not like a professional on this topic nor are my words like an end all be all situation this is just my thoughts and experiences alrighty)

[intothespideyverses]

what I imagine going down next season (as a result of everything that happened in sesson 3) warning for discussion of suicide/self-harm:

SHINY

-ok since the whole sex subplot was never really resolved (they SAID they talked but we didnt see shit so) I think this would be a good time to introduce ace!Shay. Now another part of me would also like for shiny to have sex just so esme could stop fucking with m'daughter's head but shay seemed way too opposed to the idea of sex in general (and not in a nervous way, but in a "why would I ever have sex?" kinda way). And maybe once Shay's comfortable with being ace she can just deck esme right in the nose idc idc idc she had it coming! Fuck a $230 skirt bih! Tiny would be weirded out and probably disappointed at first but bc he’s literally the perfect bf he'd come around eventually. Hopefully they could highlight that there are ways to be intimate in a relationship w/o having sex. I just want shiny happiness and for people (lola up until she apologized, esme) to stop going out of their way to make shay feel so insecure and then getting mad at her when she reacts to their bs.

-speaking of which as much as I hate to see her miserable I think shay needs an angsty storyline. She solves her problems so quickly and efficiently, we never even see the emotions she must be going through. i don’t think her being ace would cause her too much stress, she'd do her research for a bit, have a fight with tiny about it (maybe even suggest to keep the relationship open, which would offend tiny) but other than that the real source of angst would come from esme. lets say esme finds out, y’all already know she would never let shay hear the end of it. that, on top of esme being EVERYWHERE and the two of them competing to be both the smartest and most athletic girl in school, would probably really get to shay's psyche. maybe esme goes too far one day, and shay just says fuck it and throws hands?? or maybe she breaks her phone?? idk something rly impulsive bc shay doesn't normally make impulsive decisions. of course esme makes shay out to be the irrational one and shay tries to quit the track team, her grades start slipping, etc etc. esme gets bored without having someone to compete against, or maybe she notices the change in shay's demeanor (and bc of maya’s suicide attempt and her mom) is afraid she pushed shay over the edge. they talk after class one day, esme still being bitchy but by the end a little teary eyed. I think their talk would be reminiscent of anya and holly j in season 8?? 9?? where anya was all like "why are you so mean to me" and hj's like "bc u let me bitch :)" so esme CLEARLY isn't gonna take any real responsibility for bullying shay but shay decides that shes NOT gonna be the bigger person for once. Idk how this would end but I definitely want shay to be more confident by the end, and for esme to learn when to stand down.

-Tiny's line about shay just seeing him as a "good nerd boy" rly stuck out to me. How much does shay know about tiny's past?? This definitely has to be brought up at some point, and I really thought the show would've mentioned that but w/e. Shay probably knows SOMETHING about the gang stuff but not how far it goes, or his family, etc. Tiny has an image that he keeps from everyone else but saves only for shay, which is adorable (they have boggle ((is that like scrabble???)) dates...need me a freak like that) but at some point shays gonna have to see the rest of him. Tiny is tired of shay assuming so much about his intentions too. That and shay not wanting sex period will (in my vision for s4) definitely be the biggest conflicts for shiny, but they'll work through them quickly bc unlike every other couple on this show they actually know how to communicate :)

-also how does tiny feel about the crash?? he looked all the way fucked up when they rushed him into the hospital so...he has to have some sorta trauma from that come on now

TRILES/MOLA

-this is gonna be messy lol. triles and mola are two very polarizing ships so we already kno theres gonna be some mess once tristans back at school. tristan may have been all "okay w/e idc" at the play but we all know once his petty ass is able to speak he's gonna go out of his way to make lolas life living hell. its truly gonna be slutshaming for days, and lets not forget the biphobia. he wont really direct any anger at miles, except tight-lipped quickly concealed bitterness. i can already picture these scenes yall like this is literally what is gonna happen WATCH.

-miles is of course gonna still feel guilty about the whole knocking her up thing, and he rly does love her and values her friendship (their friendship was so cute) so he's gonna want to keep hanging out with her (it’ll start off with just checking up on her every now and then like craig after manny’s abortion, but it’ll grow to miles getting an actual job at lola’s, etc). tristan will be okay with this on the surface but as soon as he and lola are alone (maybe tris is @ the hollingsworth household while lolas there for frankie or hell even miles and miles leaves to get some snacks or something) tristan just lays into her!! on some "you were NOTHING to him" shit. on some "you tried to trap him with a baby" shit!! some “he never loved you, just pitied you” shit!!!! and then tris is all back to smiles the second miles comes back. lola’s on the verge of tears but keeps this to herself cause she doesnt want to start drama so soon after tristan coming back and bc she loves miles too much etc etc. miles of course eventually finds out, and he and tris have the fight of the century where it ALL comes out.

-now I just read a list of PERFECT mola headcanons (by @beach-city-mystery-girl!) that should definitely happen throughout the season! idk if triles will stay together or if mola becomes official but at some point someones gonna be all "make. a. DECISION" at miles so!!

-lola should also find value in being alone and being comfortable with herself. she and yael become genuine friends (bc she needs someone outside of frankie and shay and miles) and form a weird almost symbiotic relationship where they give each other advice on things the other lacks. baaz flips between trying to flirt with her and making insensitive comments about her abortion. lola finally sets him straight for once and for all. 

-maybe something goes down at the restaurant? idk I just started caring about lola’s existence yesterday idk how this goes

-I think frankie eventually finds out that miles and lola hooked up, idk how but she does and she’s not happy about it yikes.

-actually after just reading another great post (by tristanmiligay), a lot of tristan’s insecurities could also lie in the fact that he’s disabled now. maybe miles rly wants to get tris up on his feet again and do something FUN and EXCITING but homeboi literally just got out of a coma and can’t make it, so I can see miles asking lola to go instead (like maybe its a couples thing and he already reserved it or w/e) and that kinda sets tristan off the first time. he’ll probably try to force himself to heal faster, maybe even injuring himself further in the process? he’s gonna have a lot of self-doubt and internalized ableism like the post said :/, and all of that is gonna manifest in hate for lola. 

ZASHA/GRONAH (is that what we're calling it??) 

-okay so this section is kinda tied into the maya section and rly just centered around grace so yeah. but thats mainly bc there wont rly be any drama between zasha (except like normal preparing for college type stuff, like zoe wants to go to some rly good school far away and rasha wants to stay in toronto bc she just got there).

-zoe's pretending to be fine with getting kicked out but its absolutely destroying her on the inside. she and her mom were so close despite everything. zoe starts going thru mad identity issues bc everything about her was sculpted by her mom. if shes not in her life anymore then who is she? she keeps replaying "i love you despite who you are" in her head and its killing her. she sometimes sneaks out of grace's room at night and leaves voice messages on her moms phone (which ms. Rivas never responds to) and ends every night crying on the couch. grace grows super concerned for her but has no idea how to balance both helping maya out and helping zoe. one day at school grace tries to confront zoe about the voicemails but zoe brushes it off and says something cute like "being with rasha makes it all worth it" but grace is still like 👀.

-grace then moves on to trying to help maya but maya is sick and tired of everyone walking on eggshells around her and she tells grace shes fine and that she needs to back off, but grace knows somethings still off. later that day she spots zoe in the student council office trying to call her mom and leaving an angry voicemail, ripping mama rivas to shreds!! "you were never a good mother, a mother who cant love her own daughter shouldnt even be having kids, i hate you, go to hell" type of shit. at the last minute she realizes she doesnt mean half of that (or she does mean it but that scares her) and tries to backtrack but by then the voicemail's already been sent. zoe starts freaking out and crying again and leaves another one like "im sorry I didnt mean any of that please just let me come back. Im sorry, im sorry, im sorry" like just saying sorry over and over again, and grace finally steps in like "sorry for the voicemail or sorry for being gay?" and confronts zoe again. zoe tries to get the attention off of her by asking about maya and grace is like "she's 'fine' just like how you're 'fine'. cut the bs binch" or whatever and zoe breaks all the way down, but before grace can comfort her she sees maya and esme fighting outside the office and she runs out to stop it. zoe, now that shes alone and still crying, contemplates self harming again (im gonna end this here cause this is long enough I deadass would write this whole episode if I could)

-anyway juggling between her upcoming surgery, college apps, and two lowkey suicidal best friends, grace is stressed tf out. this is where gronah steps in lol. i dont care much about jonah but i do know hes much more interesting and likeable when he's with grace. he gives her advice and shit and they go on a bunch of golfing dates, grace maybe takes him to yoga or something, they help each other with college apps, and well gronah happens! jonah basically goes from boring to manic pixie dream boy who tries to show grace that life is worth living and blah blah yall know the drill

-rasha needs a plot outside of zoe and i think her pursuing acting could be a thing!! she goes out to casting calls but every director says something along the line of "we just...envisioned someone else for the role" or "we dont rly think you'd...fit" bc shes muslim and then the one time she gets picked up for a student film, its about a terrorist attack and rasha doesnt realize until she shows up to rehearsal. she goes off on the director (and reminds her that most terrorist attacks are domestic lol) and runs off to goldi and they talk. maybe she tries to write her own webseries (probably with the help of winston) and it becomes a hit!! maybe we could have a probably cheesy as hell famous youtuber plot (and vijay gets jealous lol) and they have some sorta subscriber war where everyones taking sides. baaz, yael, and hunter try to sabotage rasha's show and bc our girl loves scheming she hits them back even harder :).

-also maybe we find out what happens to her friend back in syria? i dont want her to have too many depressing plots so maybe her friend is okay physically but not mentally and she has to deal with that :(

MAYA

-so like I already said maya's done with everyone bullshitting her and being overbearingly nice, so she starts closing herself off. this just makes everyone even more worried tho, so she forces herself back into music and her studies. grace and jonah are all over her, zig always looks guilty as fuck and treats her like a baby, miles forgot she existed but if they pass each other in the hall he'll ask how shes doing, zoe hugs her randomly one day, and esme...esmes the worst one. she starts lowkey stalking maya and its getting on her last nerve.

-she avoids saad like the plague at first, but eventually realizes that he's the only person who doesnt treat her any differently (or so she thinks). they go to the roof one day (cause that shit is never locked no matter how many suicide attempts happened up there) to talk things out, and saad completely switches gears. "what were you thinking??? why would you do that???" type of stuff. maya gets mad at him talks shit about his pictures maybe, idk. saad reminds her that its a coping mechanism after everything that happened in syria, maybe he says he once contemplated too?? idk all the ideas I have are depressing moving on

-one day maya explodes on everyone after she dissapears for a bit (umm maybe she was chosen to perform a song at a school event but, after hearing some girls talking about her suicide attempt in the bathroom, she decides to ditch) bc everyone (grace, jonah, zig, esme, zoe maybe) gang up on her to check if shes okay. she goes off, saying "none of you cared before i tried to kill myself so why care now?" and idk where I was going with this, I want maya happiness and closure but idk how to get there smh.

-uhh she finds hoot! she goes home after school and finds hoot stuffed in the back of her closet. she writes a bittersweet song and after a long talk with her mom, decides to call grace. maybe grace invites her over for a sleepover?? and zoe and maya can finally have a real conversation since The Incident too! Also grace can kinda kill 2 birds with one stone.

FRANKIE'S ANNOYING ASS

-I cant stand this child but shes the writers' baby so she'll get at least 5 main plots next season oh my god. My wishful thinking speaking, but maybe she'll learn its okay to be alone and finally learn to like herself! Hopefully she sees the value in sticking to the sidelines and helping her friends through their issues. Ooh, maybe she learns how to be a good ally after gorillagate and educates her brothers on why their many intolerances are wrong (lbr here, hunter probably uses "triggered" as an insult and continues to call all the refugees "scary", same with miles) BUT come on this is degrassi :) so the writers are probably gonna throw in a new male character for frankie to obsess over. Well, either a newbie or someone completely random thats already in the cast like fucking baaz or saad.

Z*SME

-zig and esme spend a lot of their time obsessing over maya I think, esme bc she sees her mom in maya and zig bc he feels like he made her do it. umm noah fence but i dont rly care about these two so thats all I got lol

if anyone has any specific headcanon requests I’d love some!