#and shortish and without a million references

[writing-for-life]

About Love As The Catalyst For Change

Okay, so while I was going through all the panels for March Mania, I also stumbled over these ones again:

And although I’ve read it all a million times and had all these feelings before, I just need to blurt them out:

Love Is What Changes Him

It’s such a central message of The Sandman, but I feel it often gets lost in a million other things. And they’re all important, but so is this one.

Because yes, Dream went with Delirium and found Destruction (and Despair found him btw), and his Destiny was Death. And that whole Desire thing… ‘nuff said. BUT… (major spoilers ahead)

Those panels above are basically the turning point in a nutshell. No, well, the turning point is actually the moment he kisses (and then kills) Orpheus, but those panels are the essence:

He set out with Delirium in hopes to find Thessaly (the pendant Nuala wears here used to be hers, and she gave it to her when she left the Dreaming and him. And I can’t even begin to tell you how I feel about him letting Nuala keep a gift of his ex, who betrays him later by protecting the woman he hurt, and then making it the item that holds the power with which Nuala can call in her boon. One could spin that very far in all sorts of different directions).

But when he comes back after killing Orpheus, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Thessaly was the usual romanticised dream that could never be real. But he finally did find love. For his son. The unconditional kind. The one that doesn’t need anything in return because it just is. And he was loved back, if for a brief moment. But it was real, not a dream. And that love stays real (that’s why it initiates the turn, 3rd act and all that).

I’m reminded again of the words of Frank McConnell in his intro to The Kindly Ones:

“And with [killing Orpheus], Dream has entered time, choice, guilt and regret—has entered the sphere of the human.”

(Side note at this point: With all of this in mind, read Dream Hunters [again], and look at all THREE main characters—that includes the onmyōji, not just the monk and the fox.)

And it would be so easy to say, “Well, love killed him then, what’s the fucking point?” Not just the love for his son, but also the love of a maiden who called in her boon (Nuala), the love of a mother for her child (Lyta), the love of a crone for no one but herself (Thessaly).

But we all know that “change or die” was never an “either or”, because it’s an “and both”. And it’s ultimately love, in all its shapes and forms, four times over, that changed him (while it was also part of the death knell, but that’s a complicated one. In any case, it also led to change: To be(come) a new, better, kinder Dream).

Yes, call me romantic or hopeless (although I think that’s the wrong word in this context, because I feel it’s the opposite), I don’t care.

Because that story is about catharsis. And that means Dream is a vessel for our feelings. And the feelings won’t be the same if we change any of this, for better, for worse. Because truthfully: That story is about me. And you. And you.

About allowing love, of whatever kind (this is very clearly not just about romantic love), to change us. And that ultimately means letting go (of control). Just like he did.

Bleurgh, I’m crying. Catharsis 🤣

[millenari]

I could write 10 million essays about how cats 98 communicates things to its audience without directly stating them but one of those things i love is Misto's age.

Jacob Brent once referred to Misto as 'not an adult yet, but he's not a kitten, so he's at that in-between stage' and I love that quote, bc that's pretty much exactly what I would've guessed based off of what 98 shows us.

Firstly, most of the time when Misto is on stage, he's hanging around other adults, like in Pekes, Bustopher, & Jenny's songs. When the kittens are all grouped up together, Misto is pretty much never with them. He also walks a lot, in comparison to the obvious kitten characters doing a lot of crawling and rolling about-- he does crawl, just not as often as the others. And admittedly all the adults cats also crawl on occasion.

(Most of them at least. As far as I'm aware, the only time Tugger crawls anywhere in 98 is when he does that s‌lut‌ty hand-walk thing during his song)

So given all of that, one might categorize Misto as a shortish adult, but he gives his age away during Grizabella's introduction, when he notably fails to recognize her like all the adult cats do, and gets shuffled away from her like the young girls.

Another moment that gives away that he's not that old is when he messes up during Jenny's number. After he realizes Munk isn't talking about him, he gets waved off to the floor by the older queens, (basically to The Kids' Table™) and then the girls there all heckle him-- not only does he get gestured at to sit there of all places (pretty much the only time I'm aware of that Misto sits amongst the kittens) but the girls all react to him with evident familiarity that makes it obvious they're peers-- he may be older than them, but not by much.

Also given his mild reaction to how they poke at him, he might not be exactly at the top of the Kitten Pecking Order, either. He acts like an adult and gets treated as a kitten-- both by the adults and the actual kitten characters. 'In-between stage' for sure.

[jbharrisauthor]

Episode 1 - Timing is Anything - Chapter Two

Read Chapter One Here

This was insane. And considering all the completely batty things he’d seen with Torchwood over the years, him calling anything insane was not a small statement by any stretch of the imagination.

Ianto took several unsteady steps back and bumped into the door behind him. He had to get out of here. It was too much. Too much of him. Too much everything. Pieces of his life littered across the room like someone had torn up every moment and scattered them again without any sense or meaning.

He spun away from the sight, but the image was burned into his mind. He couldn’t get enough air, like when he’d woken up on the floor under that red sheet in the gym all of—what? Ten, fifteen minutes ago? Yet here he was on some world light-years away from Earth and too far into the future.

So far away from Jack.

His chest ached, burned, like his lungs had forgotten how to work properly.

“I need air,” he mumbled, stumbling through the doorway. The ache spread rapidly from his chest to the rest of his body. Out in the corridor, he had no direction in mind, could barely see straight from the dizziness making his head spin. All he knew was that he needed to get out. Outside. Feel the fresh, cool air on his face, gulp in huge lungfuls of it until he forgot the memory of what it felt like to suffocate in his own body.

That was all he could remember of the last few minutes, before everything had gone dark. The panic of being trapped in his own body as it’d failed him. He’d recognized death, and this time it was taking him. Not Owen, or Tosh, or even Suzie. Not Jack, who’d lived a million different deaths over countless lifetimes. It had been him that death had come for, and he hadn’t been able to do anything but lay in Jack’s arms and panic about all the second and minutes he and Jack hadn’t spent together. Worry that in the long lifetimes to come, Jack would find someone else—probably a hundred someone elses—and forget him. The memories of every wonderful moment they’d spent together fading until they might as well have not existed in the first place.

He’d known for ages now, about Jack being immortal. He’d already reasoned that one day, Jack would watch him die, and had mostly been okay about it. But he’d never really comprehended the emotion of what that meant. Now, he understood intimately. How was he supposed to face Jack and pretend like that shadow wasn’t hovering over every moment they spent together?

He finally reached the outer door and weakly pushed through, dropping to sit on the front step, pressing a hand over his pounding heart. Whatever happened with Jack, they’d figure it out. They always did.

But first, he needed to know why the hell a bunch of people on a distant planet in the future had a dedicated a creepy shrine to him, worthy of a serial killer.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help counteract the drugs.”

He glanced up to see the Doctor standing next to him, holding a glass of thick, greenish liquid. She wasn’t what he’d expected after all the stories Jack had told him. A shortish, blond bundle of energy, yet her eyes were deep and vast with lifetimes worth of knowledge.

“Drugs? What drugs?”

She nodded back toward the building. “The incense. It has slightly mind-altering properties. You must have been more susceptible to it after being exposed to the sleeping beauty virus.”

“Sleeping beauty— You know what, I don’t want to know.” He took the drink from her and sniffed it. Smelled a little sweet, with a sharp kick at the end. “What’s in here?”

“Plants, mostly. I think. Don’t really know, but you’ll definitely feel better if you drink it.”

He eyed her for a long moment. Jack had told never trust a word The Doctor said. That he—she could turn a person upside down and inside out with a few sentences. Of course, Jack had also said he trusted The Doctor with his life, and she’d already saved him once today.

Reluctantly, he took a mouthful, but then almost spat it out again. Except The Doctor slapped a hand over his mouth to stop him and then pointed at him with a finger on her other hand.

“No you don’t. Swallow it down.”

It took two tries, but he managed to get the foul tasting, thick brew down. Except then he gagged.

“And no bringing it up again either!” The Doctor scooted away from him.

“God, that was horrid.” He set the glass down and then had to look away from it. Even the sight was making his stomach lurch.

“Give it a minute.”

He sat forward and put his head in his hands. “Will it help with the fact that it feels like my skull is about to explode? What was all that back there, in the temple? How do they know about me? Why do they even care?”

“Like I said, that’s what we’re here to find out. I came across it quite by accident. It’s marked on the city map as a minor tourist attraction; Ianto’s shrine. I’ve searched far and wide, and apart from documentation in your own time, there’s a few other reference to you throughout time and space. I plan on checking them all eventually. This, however, is the most interesting one and more likely to provide us with answers.”

“Did you really need to bring me here to work it out? I’m fairly sure I could have lived my life without knowing about it.”

“I know it’s hard to process.” The Doctor put her hand on his knee and he looked up to meet her gaze, understanding and empathy in her features. “But no one knows you better than you. I can study it all I want, but you may be the only one who can see the clue we need to figure out why this happened.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He glanced away, not liking that her reasoning was swaying him. Logic had always been his weak point. If it made sense, he’d follow through, even if he didn’t want to. “It’s just a lot, you know. It feels wrong, to see all those moments of my life I thought were private pinned up to a wall. I feel—”

“Exposed? Vulnerable?”

His lips quirked up in a quick, cynical smile. “With a side of pissed off.”

“Once we have our answers, I’ll do what I can to get rid of it, if that’s what you want. I spent years erasing myself from history. And considering all the things I’ve done, if I can cease to exist, then Ianto Jones from 21st century Cardiff can certainly be forgotten.”

Her words were too close to his fears about Jack—that the man he loved so deeply would eventually forget all about him. The back of his throat got tight and he had to swallow to keep the emotion at bay.

“I don’t want to be completely erased.” His voice came out a little rough, so he cleared his throat. “I just don’t want people worshipping me like I’m something special. Because I’m really not.”

The Doctor sent him a chiding look. “That’s not true at all. You are special. Why else do you think Jack fell head over heels for you?”

Her words actually made him flustered, and he felt his cheeks getting warm on a blush.

“I don’t know. I was there, we spent a lot of time together… it just happened.”

“Nothing in this universe just happens, Mr. Jones.” The Doctor pushed to her feet. “There are patterns and designs forming all around us, all the time. Some stretch back hundreds of years. A choice someone else made for the most insignificant reason, which led to you being born, and us standing on this street right now.”

Her words sunk in, on a level he’d never considered all of time before. It was vast and made him seem like a speck in comparison.

“Well, that’s—”

“Mind blowing. I know. Don’t think about it too much. I can fix a sleeping beauty virus, but I definitely can’t do anything about melted brains.”

She held out a hand and he let her pull him up. True to what The Doctor had said, the disgusting drink seemed to have done the trick. His head felt clearer and his body a little more energized. The dragging after effects from lack of oxygen and waking up from the virus had even improved. He eyed the glass, debating whether to choke down another mouthful. No, he couldn’t do it. Whenever they got back to the TARDIS, he’d see if The Doctor had somewhere he could make a cup of tea. That’d fix him right up.

“Think you’re ready to face it now?” The Doctor was studying him closely, and he could tell from the glint in her eyes, if he told her no, she’d accept it and leave him be for now. But putting it off would be pointless, even though going back in there was the last thing he wanted to do. The sooner they figured this insanity out, the sooner he could get back to Earth. Back to Torchwood. And Jack.

“Before we go in, tell me what you know about it.” He could feel his shoulders getting tight as he stared at the door. “It’s a shrine. But why? Do they actually pray to it or something?”

“Admittedly, I’ve found out very little. As far as I can tell, they don’t pray or anything like that, it’s more the representation of it. They leave small gifts as a kind of remembrance. But when I asked anyone inside what the remembrance was for, none of them could tell me. Of course, the mind-altering incense probably doesn’t help.”

“Okay, I can handle that. I just didn’t want to find anyone on their knees in front of me.”

She arched an eyebrow, all but smirking at him as he belatedly realized how that had sounded.

“You know what I meant. Don’t bring Jack into this.”

She gave a quick laugh and held up her hands. “I didn’t say anything, especially about Jack. That was all you, blue-eyes.”

Jack had been right, The Doctor had a way of making a person think twice about everything they said.

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” He turned and went through the door to the inside, hoping the drug laced incense didn’t affect him so quickly this time. As he went through to the room on the right of the corridor, he braced himself for the weirdness of seeing himself. The Doctor could have at least given him a warning the first time so he’d had some idea of what he was walking into.

Looking at it all at once, however, was too much to take. So he forced himself to walk all the way up to check one picture at a time.

The Doctor stopped next to him as he reached out to touch a photo. At least, he thought it was a photo. It turned out to be some kind of holograph image that wavered when his fingers came in contact with the field.

It played through a few seconds of footage over and over. Him and Jack eating Chinese in Jack’s office, a few days after their first night together, around the time that disaster had unfolded with Suzie being resurrected. He was laughing at something Jack had said, and from the way Jack watched him, it seemed that he’d done it on purpose, just for the enjoyment of seeing him happy. Funny, but that wasn’t how he remembered the moment. He could have sworn Jack had been laughing right along with him. God, that night seemed like a million years ago.

“Any thoughts so far?” The Doctor asked in a quiet voice. She touched another image, and this one showed that horrible day when the Daleks had infiltrated Torchwood. They hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it. Jack had his arms around both him and Gwen, but he was leaning his cheek into Ianto’s hair. In that second, he’d been sure that they were all about to die.  

And suddenly, as he glanced over a few more still-images without touching them, he could see a clear snap-shot.

“This is all archived security footage from the Torchwood hub. There’s nothing from my life before or after. It’s all inside Torchwood.”

“Ah-ha. Now we’re talking.” The Doctor clapped her hands and then rubbed them together. “So what happened inside Torchwood that people found fascinating enough to erect a shrine over?”

“Well, that narrows it down to approximately… oh, five thousand three hundred and forty-eight possibilities.”

“So much sass.” She turned and faced him with a hand on her hip. “I like it.”

Since his sarcasm sometimes got the better of him, that was probably a good thing.

The Doctor pulled some of the images off the wall, bringing them closer to her face to study.

“They still have the date and time stamped in the corner, but it’s almost too small to read. I wonder if we could make something out if we put them all in order.”

He took half a step back, risking a look at the shrine in totality. “We’d end up here all night, if not days. I don’t think sorting them out will tell us anything.”

“Do you have a better plan? Because I’m all ears.” She made a face. “All ears. Who even came up with that saying? Why would anyone want to be all ears? Could you even imagine if you had ears sticking out from places all over your body?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that. “Not to mention the things you’d hear. All the time.”

“God, yes. It would not be entertaining at all.”

“Well.” He took another image down from the wall. “It’s going to take ages, but I guess it won’t be boring.”

“Boring is something you’ll never find with me, Mr. Jones.”

“No, apparently not,” he murmured, turning his attention to the images.

Jack had spent years, decades waiting to find The Doctor. Plus, he’d told him a few bits and pieces about The Doctor’s companions, how they were always changed for travelling the cosmos in the TARDIS, and not always for the better. Some had become lost along the way, and some had even died. Probably not that different to working for Torchwood, actually. Maybe he should have been worried that the Doctor had singled him out. Some would probably call it a curse. Either way, for him, it didn’t signify. He had a life to get back to in Cardiff. Becoming one of the Doctor’s many companions was the last thing he planned to do.

Read Chapter Three here