#he mentions jane but that’s it. he doesn’t talk about her in depth nor does he talk about his feelings with like any of them

[coachbeards]

y’all ever think about how beard is more likely to open up to people who aren’t his actual friends

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

I've been rewatching all the Loki content to get ready for the new show and I have thought of A Phineas and Ferb AU™ for your viewing pleasure (and if anyone wants to turn any part of this into an actual fanfic I would owe you my life)

this post was brought to you in partnership with @dumbausfromdanville

You know how the first Thor movie ends with Loki yeeting himself off the Bifrost and falling to earth? What if, instead of going after the Tesseract, he falls straight to the Tri-State area?

Jane, Darcy, and Selvig all seemed to be on vacation, right? So Thor presumably took place during the summer — say, perhaps, ending on June 3? So he falls right onto Phineas and Ferb's rollercoaster just before it goes down that ♫ three-mile drop straight down ♪. He has no idea wtf is happening so it's not like he gets the chance to sit down and put on a seatbelt, so he's stuck holding on for dear life for the entire rollercoaster ride which Phineas and Ferb find weird but they're not really concerned bc they're chill lil dudes and tbh this isn't too far off a normal day for them.

Phineas and Loki strike up a none-too-pleasant conversation (not that Phineas notices Loki's bad mood; he's too Him to realize not everyone is rainbows and sunshine all day, every day), and our favorite lil disoriented demigod has to figure out where the fuck he is now ("You there. What realm is this?" "Danville 🙂" "Wut da fuk?") and what the fuck he's supposed to do now that he's here.

Phineas ends up inviting him to hang out for the afternoon, and Loki is about to turn him down but then he smells the pie. He's never had doonkleberry pie before so obviously he has to try it. Then, when Loki's no longer hangry, they can hold an actual conversation. It's lowkey more Loki wallowing in his own self-pity than anything else, but Ferb recognizes Asgard when Loki mentions it so he and Phineas piece together that he's a god pretty quickly.

More importantly, though, they figure out that he's completely alone, and because Loki never mentions trying to, you know, murder his brother and lowkey overthrow the monarchy, they just kinda assume Loki's family sucks (Ferb is completely prepared to start the anti-Thor club but Phineas stops him because he doesn't want his brother to get struck by lightning) and adopt him (without his consent, but it's not like he has anywhere else to be -- and he did like that pie).

Loki has no desire to build anything with the boys He thinks the idea of a backyard beach they make the next morning is stupid — even more stupid than a regular beach, and that's saying something. But over time, he gets more involved -- not just with the boys, but with the entire family. He helps the boys build their inventions. He talks about human history with Lawrence and corrects much of his knowledge on mythology. He lets Linda teach him how to bake seriously, her pies are so good. He even suffers through Candace's mall trips as long as he gets to go to that fro-yo place on the second floor (though he draws the line at any conversation involving romance).

He's still a little skeptical of the platypus (and he feels like the platypus is a little skeptical of him, too) but Phineas insists that he's "just a platypus" and he "doesn't do much." Loki doesn't realize that Perry's keeping an eye on him for OWCA, nor does he know that Monogram has absolutely no idea what to make of the dude so he hasn't actually told any of his superiors about him. As far as the government is concerned, after the fiasco in New Mexico, Loki just disappeared.

This makes it fucking hilarious when the boys accidentally steal the superheroes' powers in Mission: Marvel and the superheroes show up at the Flynn-Fletchers' front door only to see fucking Loki. Loki just shuts the door in their faces without a word because what the fuck?, but eventually Phineas and Ferb go check the door and they agree to help the heroes (much to Loki's chagrin), which, of course, isn't complete with Candace fangirling over them (also much to Loki's chagrin; she never fangirled over him). At first the Avengers are fully convinced that Loki is responsible for stealing their powers, and Loki never actually denies it because he's a little shit but Phineas, Ferb, and their friends are very insistent that Loki didn't do anything (except a little bit of manual labor putting together the satellites because they're 10 and he's a whole-ass demigod).

At some point, Thor and Loki have a very heated discussion about the events of Thor, and it's pretty much all news to the Flynn-Fletchers and their friends. They're not really sure what to make of it so they basically glue their mouths shut and watch it all play out. I'd like to think it goes something like it does in The Avengers and that a) Thor is pissed because what the fuck have you been up to Loki you fucking dumbass, b) Thor has been in mourning since Loki yeeted himself into the abyss and he wants to make sure the guy knows it, and c) Loki does not take it seriously at all he's being antagonistic the entire time because he is so sick of Mr. High-And-Mighty's shit. In the end, Loki storms out of the SHEDquarters and Phineas doesn't even think to try to stop him until he's halfway out the door and it's too late.

He shows up again when Phineas, Ferb, and the Avengers try to fight the bad guys in the mall with the wrong powers and he basically singlehandedly saves their asses until superhero Perry shows up. As everyone's favorite shapeshifter, he has absolutely no problem figuring out that this beaver duck dude is the Flynn-Fletchers' platypus. He has no idea what to do with that information, but it sure is information that he now has apparently. (At this point, poor Loki has a very warped sense of what earth is supposed to be like lmao).

Phineas tries to get Loki to come back with them after superhero Perry grabs them and carries them home. Instead, Loki cuts himself loose and falls like 30 feet straight down (and tbh after falling from the Bifrost, that's nothing to him) and peaces the fuck out.

Loki ends up accidentally bonding with Candace and Isabella over feeling useless and unwanted (and he absolutely gets his own verse in Only Trying to Help because it's what he deserves), but unlike the two girls who are hell-bent on changing that, Loki is content wallowing in his own self-pity. He's tried this whole "being important" thing before and he ended up in self-exile for it. He's not putting himself through it again because he really doesn't expect it to end well. But then the powerless heroes decide to face the villains again, and with Candace and Isabella in space and Perry nowhere to be seen, he realizes it is once again up to him to keep the tri-state area safe (which he knows is a stupid priority but he's gotten kind of attached to these stupid little humans and he wants to keep them safe).

Then the heroes get their powers back and they join Loki (and Perry and the mysterious waffle gun in the sky) and beat the shit out of the villains. Thor and Loki work together in the heat of the battle which serves as a Great Bonding Moment™, and once the villains are gone, they have a nice lil heart-to-heart where they both apologize for their past. Thor remarks that Loki seems to have grown a lot over the last couple of months and tries to bring Loki home with him, but Loki refuses. He'll never be welcome back into Asgard, no matter what Thor may say.

But he is welcome with the Flynn-Fletchers, who are completely over the fact that he tried to ruin Thor's life and take his not-so-rightful place on the throne (except Candace who's very skeptical about having him back but it's not like Linda will believe her if she tries to tell her what Thor and Loki talked about so her opinion is unfortunately as irrelevant as it usually is on the show).

And early the next morning, before anyone else is awake, Perry gets an alert that he's needed in his headquarters (presumably to talk to or about Fury). He quietly sneaks off, only to find Loki waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him. They have a very nice "conversation" (not that Perry speaks) about the superhero Ducky Momo they saw the day before, and Loki assures him that his secret is safe, thus starting a much-needed bromance between Loki and Perry because it's what my babies, goddammit!

Anyways yeah if anyone wants to write a fanfic about Loki hanging out with Phineas and Ferb during his self-exile I would give you a socially distant high-five because I want to read it but I have too many other fanfics on my plate to start this one for at least a few months. It doesn't have to follow this prompt literally at all (I swear I wasn't trying to get this in-depth with it but this is what I do apparently) or it can follow this prompt exactly idc i just want a PnF/Loki fanfic 🥺

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] Also on AO3

Chapter 18: Tim

They’ve only just managed to calm down when someone knocks on the door. Tim is at first a touch nervous—he’s usually at work by now, so it shouldn’t be anyone actively looking for him unless a neighbor has seen the car in the driveway and surmised he has a guest—but he relaxes and grins when he opens it and sees who’s actually there. “You know, it’s unlocked. You can just come in.”

“We didn’t want to scare anyone,” Jon says softly.

“Failed step one. I couldn’t think who’d be knocking on my door at ten in the morning.” Tim steps back to let them in. “Then again, do monsters usually knock on doors instead of just barging in?”

“Yes, actually,” Jon Prime says. “Or at least some of them do.”

Tim snorts and shuts the door behind them. He can smell just the faintest hint of cigarette smoke off of one of them, but doesn’t say anything, not even when Jon sheds his cardigan and hangs it on one of the hooks, looking a tad guilty. Instead, he turns back to the living room. “Come on in. Martin and I made tea. If you two have been having anything like the conversations we have, you probably need it.”

He leads them back to the living room and announces as he steps in, “It’s just Jon Squared. Seriously, the lot of you, you don’t have to knock unless it’s locked. Mi casa es vuestra casa.”

Jon Prime goes straight to Martin Prime’s side and touches his shoulder gently; Martin Prime looks up in his direction with a slight half-smile. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jon Prime assures him, his voice low and intimate. Tim’s heart turns over. “You?”

“We’re fine.” Martin Prime shifts slightly to the side, even though there’s no need. Jon Prime settles in next to him.

Jon hesitates before perching on the arm of the sofa rather than ask Martin to move over a little more, which Martin is clearly about to do. Tim decides not to mention it. Instead, he picks up the two mugs on the coffee table, identical save that one is blue-grey and the other is forest green, and hands one to Jon and the other to Jon Prime. “Here. They should be the same—they are the same, right, Martin?” he adds, glancing at Martin.

“Yeah. Erm, I—I didn’t know if you—I assume you still drink it the same way, I just—” Martin gestures helplessly in Jon Prime’s direction. “I would have asked, but he was in here and—”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon Prime says, his eyes crinkling upwards at the corners. “How I like my tea hasn’t changed.”

Jon stares into the depths of the mug in his hands like it holds the secrets of the universe, or possibly like he’s wondering if there’s enough in it to drown himself in. Tim settles back onto the sofa and picks up his own mug. “Great. So now that we have something to build on…where do we go to next?”

Sasha drums her fingers on the arm of the sofa for a minute, and Tim just knows she’s about to ask one of the deepest, darkest questions she can come up with. Thankfully, Martin seems to get that vibe too and jumps in before she can say anything. “Okay, so—so you were talking about being marked by the entities. W-what does that actually…mean in the long term? I mean, is it—what does it do?”

“For the most part,” Jon Prime says slowly, “nothing, really. It—being marked by an entity simply means that anyone who worships or follows or—or is a part of that entity will be drawn to you. It makes you a bigger target to them.”

“You’ve already got that baseline of fear, you see,” Martin Prime adds. “And you felt it down to your bones, so it’s not a case of ‘I looked my fear in the eye and I’m no longer afraid of it’, usually, it’s more of ‘I looked my fear in the eye and now I know what there is to be scared of’, which makes it worse. So those…entities, if you run into them, will be more likely to try something on you.”

“Brilliant,” Tim mutters, eyeing the bandages on Martin’s hands and face. Jon reaches out, like he wants to put a protective hand on Martin’s arm, but stops himself.

Jon Prime sighs and looks up at Jon. “But unfortunately, as in so many other things, it does mean something worse for you.”

“Me?” Jon stiffens. “What would being marked do to me?”

Jon Prime presses his lips together for a moment. Martin Prime touches Jon Prime’s hand lightly. “Do you…want me to tell them?”

“No. No, it ought to come from me.” Jon Prime turns his hand over and squeezes Martin Prime’s gently. “Each of the…entities has a ritual. Something designed to…bring them fully into the world, allow them to take it over. End the world as we know it and create a new world entirely devoted to fear, fear that feeds directly into that entity. Jonah Magnus has dedicated two hundred years to perfecting that ritual and bringing it to fruition.”

“B-but—wait, wait.” Martin takes a deep breath. “If—if these things are like Smirke said—balance and all that, you can’t—how can you be afraid of something if you don’t know what the world’s like without it? If the—if the Buried takes over, how can you be afraid if you don’t know the sky’s still out there? How can you be afraid of the dark if light doesn’t exist? You can’t just create a world where nothing exists but one fear, because then you—it’s just normal. Right?”

“Exactly. Which is why most of the entities’ rituals will…collapse on their own. Something Gertrude Robinson didn’t figure out until the end of her life—nor, for that matter, did Jonah Magnus—and something I’m afraid I—”

“We,” Martin Prime interrupts emphatically.

“—learned too late,” Jon Prime continues. “However, there is…Jonah has a ritual that he thought would work, that would bring all the entities into the world, with one at their head. And the keystone to that ritual is the Archivist.”

“No,” Martin and Tim say in almost the exact same tone. No, they won’t let that happen, they can’t.

“What is the ritual, though?” Sasha asks. “What does it do?”

“It’s called the Watcher’s Crown. Broadly, it involves allowing the Archivist to collect marks from all the entities, in effect becoming an Archive in and of themselves, and then…and then reciting an invocation to bring the fears forth into the world.” Jon Prime looks like he’s about to be sick. “In our timeline, when Jane Prentiss attacked, it was the middle of the day. Elias was watching from the moment he knew she’d attacked, his hand on the override switch for the CO2 system because there was no actual fire. He wanted to see how I acquitted myself, what happened. If I could survive it, because if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be any use to him. I did—barely—and mostly because of Martin and Tim. From that point on, Elias—Jonah—deliberately put me in the way of as many powers as he could, so I would get the marks. And because I didn’t know what he was doing until far too late, I couldn’t avoid it. I had very little choice except to trust what he said. Then, once I had all fourteen…”

“He tricked you into saying the invocation,” Jon says softly. He doesn’t seem overly surprised.

“He disguised it as a statement.” Martin Prime’s voice sounds the way it did when he imitated Elias in the Archives—can it have only been yesterday? Tim feels like he’s aged a year since then. “Pretended it was something else, then taunted him about it. Explained his entire plan before ending with the words to invoke the ritual.”

“And I couldn’t stop, once begun,” Jon Prime adds. “Not without being interrupted. I—I always preferred to do the statements alone, so Martin had gone out for a walk. He didn’t get back until…after it was done. I had to speak the entire statement aloud.”

“He made you monologue for him? The bastard,” Tim says. He really is genuinely horrified by the idea, but he can’t resist the urge to make at least a somewhat lighthearted quip.

Martin Prime snorts, but some of the tightness leaves his face. “Now that you mention it, I can’t actually vouch for his parentage.”

Jon Prime actually gives a soft but genuine chuckle. “At any rate, that’s what we’re hoping to prevent.”

“But you already have, right?” Tim says. “Jon didn’t get attacked by the worms, so he hasn’t been marked by the—the Corruption. That means the plan hasn’t worked, right?”

“Yet,” Martin points out. “I mean, there’s—there’s no saying Jane Prentiss is the only avatar of the Corruption, right?”

Martin Prime nods. “She was the main one. The other one we kept encountering in statements is—” He turns to Jon Prime. “He is dead, right?”

“Yes, he’s been taken care of. But Martin is right, there are others,” Jon Prime tells them. “And there’s honestly no saying the Corruption had to be the first mark. Jonah is simply waiting to see how you acquit yourself when you do encounter one of the entities. Attacks were fairly common when Gertrude was the Archivist.”

“And they were fairly common for us, too,” Martin Prime adds.

“So we’ve got to keep Jon from getting hurt by anything at all,” Tim says.

“Sure. That won’t be hard,” Sasha mumbles. Tim kicks her in the ankle and she glares at him.

“No, she’s right. We—we’re going to do our best, but honestly, I don’t think there’s any stopping you getting at least one more before we can take Jonah down.” Jon Prime cocks his head at Jon. “And I don’t think it’s in your best interest that you not, actually.”

Martin sputters, but Jon nods slowly. “You mean that if I don’t…he’ll get suspicious. Especially if—” He shakes his head. “I’m not putting you in that kind of danger. God. Never mind the danger from the other entities—what would Elias do if he realized you three knew enough to potentially thwart his plans?” He looks up anxiously at Jon Prime. “Could he—never mind, I know the answer to that. Would he, though? Would he think he could get away with it?”

Jon Prime hesitates. “Probably. A-after all, most of us…don’t really have that many connections outside the Institute, I—” He breaks off and looks at Sasha in some little confusion.

Sasha, surprisingly, looks a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Tim raises an eyebrow and looks back and forth between her and Jon Prime, but she manages not to say anything and he doesn’t seem inclined to ask.

After a moment of silence, Martin Prime makes a soft ah noise. “The Not-Sasha told us she—you—had a boyfriend named Tom.”

“Oh!” Is it Tim’s imagination, or does Sasha sound relieved? “No. No, I’m single.”

“I thought as much. I—I was always fairly certain that was just its cover for why it was going to Madame Tussauds every day.” Jon Prime studies Sasha a moment longer, then returns to the group at large. “Under most circumstances, I-I’d say it was unlikely he’d actually do it himself. He’s not fond of getting his hands dirty. More likely to manipulate someone else into doing it, but if he was desperate enough…”

It’s at that point that Tim realizes Jon—and Jon Prime—are implying that Elias might actually kill them if he thinks they’re standing between him and world domination. He resists the urge to gather Martin and Sasha close to him; Sasha wouldn’t appreciate it and Martin will just hurt. “Okay, but is there a way we can keep Jon from getting hurt and keep Elias from being suspicious?”

“Not really.” To Tim’s surprise, it’s Jon who answers, not one of the Primes. “I—if he really can watch us whenever he wants to, he’s going to be watching me for a while, I think. I couldn’t figure out why he seemed so…disappointed in me when he was talking to me last night.  Maybe he really did think I ran out of the Archives to save my own skin and left all of you down there, but from what you all have said so far, I-I think he’s more disappointed he didn’t get to see how I handled myself. I’d imagine he’s going to be even more interested in my next potential encounter with an entity.”

Jon Prime smiles sadly. “You catch on quickly, Archivist.”

Martin Prime frowns briefly, but says nothing. Tim decides not to ask. “What is the next one, anyway?”

“For me, it—well, the next one I encountered would have been the Not-Sasha, which is the Stranger, but a-apparently it didn’t mark me,” Jon Prime says. “The next one for me was the Spiral. But there’s no guarantee they’ll go in the same order.”

“Well, it’s something, at least. What do we need to prepare for?” Tim studies Jon Prime. “If I’m remembering right, the…description of the painting didn’t have a symbol, so that means you’ve got a physical scar from it, right?”

Jon Prime rests a hand on his side, seemingly without conscious thought. “Yes. It—Michael came into my office. He, he was stalking a woman…she’d come to give a statement. I-I found out later Jonah directed her there with the idea of leading the Distortion, the Spiral, to me. He…took her when she tried to leave.”

“The painting title,” Martin murmurs. “There Has Never Been a Door There. That means something, right?”

“It’s…all of those titles, at least in the ones of me, were things said during those encounters. My guess is that those were the points when it was irreversible, where I had gone too far and there was no chance of me leaving the encounter without a mark. The Distortion…it throws up those doors, leading to its realm, but it can’t actually pull you in. You have to open the door yourself. O-or knock, or whatever. Michael caused a door to appear in the wall of my office, and—”

“His victim took that door instead of the actual door,” Tim guesses.

Jon Prime nods. “I didn’t realize it myself until he pointed it out. And when I tried to argue with him, he stabbed me.”

“And because he was so paranoid at the time,” Martin Prime puts in, “Jon told us he’d accidentally stabbed himself.”

“And you believed him?” Tim says incredulously.

“No. He’s usually a good liar, but the fact that taking statements used to drain him combined with the fact that he was bleeding heavily made it harder for him to be convincing. He was also really paranoid at the time, though—I was only just starting to realize how paranoid—and I decided not to push him on it. Mistake, maybe, but it felt like the right decision at the time.” Martin Prime raises an eyebrow in Jon Prime’s direction, albeit with a slight half-smile. “Which isn’t to say that I didn’t make it clear I was only humoring him.”

“He hovered,” Jon Prime tells them. There’s an undercurrent of affection in his voice. “At the time, I tried to convince myself there was something sinister behind his constant attention, but even at my most paranoid I couldn’t quite manage it. I don’t know that I ever really believed you were a suspect.”

Martin Prime shakes his head. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you did. I know I wasn’t high on your list, but you did actually suspect me.”

Sasha looks back and forth between the two of them. “Sorry, have I missed part of this conversation?”

Jon holds up a hand. “While we’re discussing things that may have been missed—you keep talking about a Not-Sasha. You mentioned that in your statement, too, but—what is that? Everyone but me seems to understand.”

Martin Prime looks slightly sheepish. So does Jon Prime. Tim studies both of them, then ventures, “Maybe you two could just…tell us everything you’ve been through? Or as much as you feel like we ought to know. You don’t have to give us all the details, but at least, like, the Cliff Notes version?”

The Primes look at each other, or at least in each other’s direction; Tim sees several emotions play out across Jon Prime’s face. Finally, he squeezes Martin Prime’s hand briefly and turns back to the others, nodding. “I think we can manage that.”

They begin to talk, starting with the attack on the Institute and the immediate fallout from that. Tim listens in growing alarm and horror as they lay out the bare bones of what they’ve gone through in the last two years. He can feel Martin trembling at his side, while on the other, Sasha actually pulls away from him, leaning forward slightly with an intent expression, like she’s drinking in all the information. When Jon Prime describes his desperate flight into the tunnels to escape the thing pretending to wear Sasha’s face, Jon lets out a soft, high-pitched noise of fear and pain.

Tim doesn’t think; he just reacts. He reaches over and grabs Jon, dragging him over Martin’s lap and only belatedly remembering the mug of tea, which Jon fortunately no longer appears to be holding. There’s not really time for either of them to be startled before Tim has Jon slotted into the spot between Tim and Martin. Before they had Martin between them because, Tim suspects, they both felt the need to protect him; now it’s Jon who needs that protection. Tim puts his arm around Jon’s shoulders and touches Martin’s on the other side. Martin, almost hesitantly, does the same. Jon stiffens for just a second, then seems to melt back against their crossed arms.

A look flits across Jon Prime’s face for a second, warmth mingled with pure, unadulterated pain, and it makes Tim unconsciously shift a little closer to Jon. Jon Prime doesn’t comment, though, merely takes a deep breath and continues talking.

True to Tim’s suggestion, they don’t give all the details, but the little they do tell is enough. Jon reaches over and grabs Tim’s hand while Martin squeezes his shoulder when Martin Prime’s voice cracks telling them about the phone call from the one person to walk away from the Unknowing alive and unhurt; the three of them bunch closer together when Jon Prime grits out the basics of his interview with Jared Hopworth; Jon takes Martin’s free hand as gently as possible when they lay out the bare bones of the confrontation with Peter Lukas. Sasha occasionally shoots sympathetic glances in their direction, at least at first, but she seems more focused on the tale than on her colleagues’ reactions.

“…And then the world ended,” Jon Prime concludes, sounding tired.

Martin exhales hard. “Christ.”

Sasha cocks her head to one side, studying the Primes. “And then what?”

“And then we decided to try and fix it.”

“No, I mean, what was it like? The end of the world. What happened? What did it look like?”

Jon Prime stares at Sasha. He looks both genuinely confused and not a little alarmed. His eyes slide over to the knot of humanity that is Tim, Jon, and Martin, then back to Sasha. Tim would give a year’s salary to know his thoughts.

“It did exactly what Jonah wanted it to do,” Martin Prime says, his voice sharpened to the same point as when he answered Sasha’s probing questions about her fate. “And it looked like hell on Earth.”

Sasha jerks backwards, then blinks hard and presses her fingertips to her mouth. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“‘It’?” Jon Prime repeats.

“I asked him why I didn’t have more marks in your timeline,” Sasha says through her fingers. “Even though I knew I was—that the me in your time had died. I knew that from the picture. But I pushed him, I made him say it out loud. I swear I’m not usually like this. I-I mean, I’m curious, don’t get me wrong. I want to know things. But I usually know to stop before…I don’t ask questions I can guess the answer to just to watch people hurt.”

Jon Prime studies her for a moment. Quietly, he says, “You’ll forgive me if we keep a close eye on you, Sasha.”

“Please do. I—I don’t want to lose myself.”

Tim almost reaches over to take her hand, but all of his hands are currently occupied and she probably wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. He settles for nudging her ankle with his foot. She nudges back and manages a smile, lacing her fingers together. Tim returns his gaze to the Primes and tries to regain his equilibrium, to summon up a way to break the heavy mood that’s settled over them, or at least ease it back. At the same time, he has a question that’s been persisting in the back of his mind, and he knows he needs to ask it before he lets it fester.

“While we’re asking questions,” he says. “You said I wouldn’t like the way to make the dreams stop. I’m assuming it’s not the same ‘only when they die’ thing as you told Jon when he asked.”

“No. Those are…two very different things.” Jon Prime rubs his thumb over Martin Prime’s knuckles. It looks like it might be hard enough to hurt.

“What did you mean by that?” Jon asks, sounding almost afraid of the answer.

“You’ve only got two right now, right?” Jon Prime frowns, like he’s trying to remember. “The woman in the cemetery and the…incident in the Cambridge Military Hospital.”

“Yes.” Jon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “God, you’re not telling me there will be more?”

“I’m afraid so. The dreams are a side effect of the statements, or…perhaps an extension of them. Strictly speaking, they aren’t your dreams. They’re the dreams of those who experienced them at first—those who handed over their terror to you in the first place. You’re simply…watching them.”

Jon’s eyes widen. “Oh, God.”

“W-wait, you can just—you can just see people’s dreams?” Martin demands.

“Not quite. It’s more…when is terror at its most pure? When it’s being experienced firsthand…and when you relive it in the dead of night.”

Tim flinches, because Jon Prime is right. He doesn’t remember being scared in the theater the first time, although he knows he must have been, but when he dreams about it, it’s always so much worse, because he knows and he’s powerless to stop it. Martin’s fingers squeeze against his shoulder again, even though he can’t know what Tim is thinking of, which in retrospect is totally unfair because Martin’s trusted Tim with so much about himself and Tim has trusted him so little in return.

Jon is shaking his head. “No, but—i-if it’s the real statements, I—why don’t I dream about the others, then? God, I’d have thought Carlos Vittery’s statement would give me nightmares, but—”

“Your fear isn’t interesting to the Ceaseless Watcher,” Jon Prime says. “Not when it can see it whenever it wants to. It’s the same for your assistants, which is why you weren’t all sharing nightmares about the infestation last night. And the ones you’ve recorded, the—the stale ones, that’s why they’re not as satisfying to…well, me, I suppose. It’s all secondhand. You’re not drawing the terror right out of them. The live statements, though…you sat with them, you drew out their fears, you heard and felt their emotional connection. You’ve also created a connection from them to the Watcher itself. Now when they dream about it, there’s the added terror of not only what they’re going through, but also the knowledge that someone, something, is standing right there watching them and doing nothing to stop it.”

Jon flinches hard. Even Tim feels a stab of pain lance through him at the thought. “Wait, they can see him? You? I mean, you said you didn’t dream last night…”

“Because, in this timeline, I haven’t heard any of the statements, I suppose,” Jon Prime says. “We didn’t really need to sleep after the world ended, and on the rare occasions I did…the Eye probably considered those pre-apocalyptic fears petty and pedestrian, compared to the horrors available after. Assuming…” He trails off. “Anyway, the only one who’s actually given a statement to you so far that I might still be able to see is Naomi Hearn. I stopped seeing Melanie in my dreams after she joined the Institute, which is why Daisy joined in the first place. To make the dreams stop. Otherwise, the only way they tend to stop dreaming about it is if they die.”

And suddenly, Tim gets it. “So that’s how to stop my dreams. To make a statement about them.”

“Essentially, yes. A-at least I think that’s how it works. Our Tim didn’t make a statement directly to me, I—I was in America at the time. Martin was the one who did the recording.”

“They stopped,” Martin Prime says quietly. “He thanked me later. Grudgingly. Said maybe not talking about it had kept him obsessing over it in his sleep. I didn’t put the pieces together until…after, and I still don’t know if they stopped before you listened to the tape or not.”

Martin cocks his head, studying his counterpart. “And you won’t have dreams? After…” He gestures at the recorder, then seems to remember Martin Prime can’t see him. “After giving your statement?”

“No. I’m cut off from the Eye completely.” Martin Prime taps the corner of his eye for emphasis. “It can’t See me, and therefore can’t use me. Melanie was the same.”

Tim’s still trying to wrap his brain around the angry former B-list Internet celebrity being part of their team, but he can at least see her gouging her own eyes out to get away from it. “Okay. So we’ve established the swirling vortex of terror that is your lives. How do we stop that from happening to us?”

“In the first place,” Jon Prime says, “don’t let Jonah know how much you know.”

“Can he read minds?” Martin asks nervously.

“In a limited fashion. It really depends on how hard he’s concentrating and how much you’re thinking about…whatever it is.” Jon Prime appears to think for a moment. “I think it may be stronger if it’s directed at him. He certainly always seemed to know when Melanie was about to make her latest attempt on his life.”

“To be fair, that was most of the time,” Martin Prime points out.

“Yes, well, point. But still. He never…all right, truth be told, he never exactly outright said what he knew, unless it was to his advantage. Like when he…” Jon Prime trails off.

“Like when he went after me,” Martin Prime supplies quietly. “Or Melanie. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. I think it’s…harder for him to sift through people’s brains if they’re not in the room with him, or if they’re not aiming in his direction. And he outright told me he’d never considered me worth paying that much attention to until I started burning those statements.”

“He knew—” Jon Prime begins and then snaps off the sentence. Tim almost misses the quick, slightly guilty glance he shoots in Martin’s direction.

“Jon, I’m almost completely certain that the only person at the Institute who didn’t know that was you.”

Jon Prime ducks his head sheepishly, but his lips quirk upwards in a smile nevertheless, and his eyes are warm as he regards Martin Prime. Seeing them like this feels right, and Tim tries to ignore the sudden flash of melancholy in his chest.

“Anyway,” Jon Prime says, returning his gaze to the four on the sofa and obviously fighting to get his face under control, “as we said earlier, if Jonah guesses you know anything, he may…do something drastic. So the first step is going to be to keep him from knowing you’re not as ignorant as he wants you to be. You especially, Archivist.”

“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing that, Jon,” Martin Prime says warningly.

Tim has no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s evident Jon Prime does. He looks like he’s gearing up to argue, then evidently changes his mind and sighs. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Turning back to Jon, he continues, “It’s why he murdered Jurgen Leitner in the first place—to keep me as ignorant as possible.”

“So if he knows that any of us have figured it out, he’ll kill us before we can tell Jon,” Sasha says. “What would he do if he knew Jon knew? If it’s okay to ask that,” she adds quickly.

Jon Prime gives her a quick half-smile. “That’s fine. And don’t worry, Martin, I’m not trying anything,” he adds, squeezing Martin Prime’s hand. “That’s a hypothetical, so I can’t Know that for sure, but my guess is that he’d kill him and go looking for a new Archivist. Again.”

Tim flinches at the bland statement. “Right, and we obviously want to prevent that. I mean, apart from the obvious ‘let’s not end the world’ thing, we definitely want Jon to stay alive. So apart from continuing to play stupid, what’s the plan?”

Jon Prime hesitates and looks at Martin Prime, who grimaces. “That’s…we probably can’t tell you our plan in detail. Let’s just say it’s best if you are actually ignorant of that until it happens. For your part, just…watch out for one another. Don’t let Elias push you apart. He’s…very good at sowing seeds of discontent under the guise of ‘promoting a healthy workplace environment’. And for God’s sake, keep an eye out for anything odd. Be careful when you’re out investigating statements.” His eyes flick up to Tim’s for a moment, and Tim swallows down a bit of not wholly unwarranted guilt at the worry in them. “If it’s something you’re truly worried about, get word to us and we’ll see what we can do to help. Either by giving you the information you need without you having to chase it down or by, well, chasing it down for you.”

“You can do that?” Martin sounds genuinely surprised.

“Why not? For the most part, we do know the answers, but if it’s something Elias is going to want proof for, we can easily get it for you.”

Tim notes, if only to himself, that Jon Prime refers to their evil overlord as Elias when he’s talking about day-to-day Institute business and Jonah the rest of the time. It’s probably a useful distinction. “What do we do about the table? If it comes?”

“I—I assume it’s when, not if. Breekon and Hope will have to deliver it at some point. And, honestly, I don’t know.” Jon Prime sighs. “Elias suggested we destroy it. I’m still not sure if it’s because he wanted me to destroy it so the thing trapped by it would get loose and come after me or if it was because he thought suggesting it be destroyed was the best way to make me not destroy it, so the thing could catch someone unaware.”

“Honestly, I don’t think he knew for sure what it was,” Martin Prime says slowly. “Not until it…well, you know. Not until after the attack. I think he really did want it destroyed. Maybe he saw it as a legitimate threat. But we still don’t really know what to do with it. Sasha, you worked in Artifact Storage—would they leave it alone if you sent up a copy of Amy Patel’s statement, maybe warned them what might be in it?”

“No. That’d be the fastest way to make them investigate it, actually. Addison—Dr. Bradley—can get a bit…obsessive about things that might actually have some paranormal significance.” Sasha purses up her lips thoughtfully. “On the other hand—why suggest destroying it to you? I mean, technically if it’s in the purview of Artifact Storage…”

“I think it’s because it was technically delivered to me. Rosie signed for it and had them take it up to Artifact Storage because, well, it was an artifact, but it was addressed to me. I-I suppose it was, strictly speaking, mine to dispose of as I saw fit.”

“Then I think all Jon has to say is ‘don’t touch it’. Lock it in its own room. That ought to do it.” Sasha seems uncertain. “Maybe.”

Jon swallows hard. “Right. As long as they bring it to me at the Institute and not…personally.”

Jon Prime offers him what he probably hopes is a reassuring smile. “I actually do have some small idea, but I’d need to…unfortunately, take a look at the table before I can be sure. And I’m not sure I can risk that.”

“Yeah, there are actually cameras up in Artifact Storage,” Sasha says. “But, I mean, would they be good enough to pick out the differences in the two of you?”

“I don’t know that my ability to shield myself from Jonah’s…attentions will extend to CCTV, so I’d rather not try,” Jon Prime answers. “Not until we’re a little more secure. A bit more settled.”

Jon takes a deep breath. “Well, you’ve got a few days to decide. Elias was a bit grudging when I asked him to give us a day or two to breathe, but either he finally realized none of us would get much work done with the Archives knee-deep in worm corpses or it occurred to him the police are going to want to look into some things—”

“Or he recognized that you were about six seconds from either a complete mental breakdown or a homicidal rampage,” Tim interjects.

“Tim!” Martin says reproachfully.

“I’m serious. You were in quarantine, you didn’t see the way he was trying to chew through anyone remotely official.”

“Nobody would tell me anything,” Jon mumbles.

Jon Prime smiles. “Whatever the reasoning, Elias did at least agree to give you some time off?”

Jon nods and looks up. “Until Monday. A-and of course Martin’s going to be out for a while. You’re—you’re not in any shape to come back right now. You need to rest.”

“Yeah.” Martin exhales heavily and frees his hand from Jon’s to rub it over his face. “Another however many weeks holed up in my flat, I guess. At least this time I’ll have power. Maybe.”

Martin Prime winces. “Ah—about that? You didn’t think to get in touch with Mrs. Mattson, did you?”

“N—oh, Christ, the lease was up for renewal on the twelfth.” Martin pales. “It’s only been a couple weeks��m-maybe it’ll still be okay?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re staying here,” Tim tells him.

“Tim—”

“No, don’t you ‘Tim’ me. You don’t need to stay on your own when I’ve got plenty of space right here. And it’ll make me feel better if you’re somewhere I can keep an eye on you, just in case things get bad.” Tim makes an effort to soften his voice. “You’ve been alone enough. Why do it again if you don’t have to?”

Martin blinks at him in evident surprise. Jon eases his hand away from Tim’s and touches Martin’s knee lightly. “I know I’d feel better if there was someone looking out for you. I—I shouldn’t have left you alone in the Archives, and I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s—it’s not your fault.” Martin doesn’t seem to know what to do with all of this, but he does at least seem to realize that he’s only being given one option. “All right. If—if you’re sure.”

Tim nods, then adds to Jon, “You’re staying, too, you know.”

“What?” Jon looks startled.

“I’m serious. Look, call me paranoid if you want, but…after what we just went through? After what we’ve just heard? I don’t want to let any of you out of my sight, and if that makes me sound crazy, I’ll live with that. The point is that I will live with it, and so will you. Just…please. At least until we’ve got a better handle on everything.” Tim looks from Jon to Sasha and back. “I can even clean out the study and turn it back into a spare room.”

“Tim, that’s not necessary,” Jon says softly. “I—of course. I-if it means that much to you, I’ll stay for a while.”

Sasha manages a smile. “Yeah, all right, why not? God knows you need a keeper, too.”

“Shut up,” Tim grumbles without any real heat. He looks over at the Primes, who are both regarding him a little sadly. “It’s a given that you two are staying, of course. Don’t suppose you have anywhere else to go.”

Martin Prime’s cheeks color slightly, and Tim realizes how that probably came out. Before he can apologize, Jon Prime says, “As much as I’d rather not, all things considered, we’re planning on staying in the tunnels. Keeps us close to the Institute, keeps us a bit more hidden, and puts us in a position to handle things as they come up.”

Tim nods. “Right, fine, but you may have forgotten the small detail that they’re probably a crime scene right now. I mean, we found the shot-up body of a woman who’s been missing for the better part of a year down there, and you know the police are going to be all through there, failing to find evidence of who shot her. If we’re not able to get in to work, you’re not going to be able to get down there to hide out. You should at least stay here until it’s clear.” And then I’ll figure out an excuse to keep you here a bit longer, he adds mentally. He knows it’s not his fault that his counterpart in their timeline was an asshole, and he knows he can’t exactly make up for that, but he’s going to try anyway.

He’s not sure why the sudden, intense need to protect everyone. Maybe it’s knowing that the—the thing that took Danny from him is still out there (he’s not stupid; even though they didn’t say as much, he knows that the Unknowing and Danny’s death are connected) and that it’s not the only one of its kind. Maybe it’s that he’s more shaken than he wants to admit at the close call they had with losing Martin. Maybe it’s just hearing everything the Primes went through and knowing he’s powerless to fix it, but desperate to do anything he can to prevent it for his Martin and Jon. And, well, if he can give the Primes a bit of comfort in the meantime, that’s no small feat.

Jon Prime looks startled. “We—Tim, it’s not safe. Even if Jonah can’t see us, there’s no guarantee anything else…God knows I attract enough attention under ordinary circumstances. It’s a miracle I got this far without incident. W-we can’t put you all in danger like that.”

“Not like we’ll be any safer if it’s just us,” Tim points out. “At least if you’re here, we can all keep an eye on each other.”

“You said that us both being in the same room would…muddle things, make it more difficult for Elias,” Jon says. “At least until I can…get a handle on all this. I—anything you can teach me to keep them safe.”

“I think we’re outnumbered, Jon,” Martin Prime says with a soft smile.

Jon Prime looks at him, then sighs, nods, and turns back to Tim. “All right. But only until it’s safe for us to move into the tunnels.”

Tim grins, relieved for reasons he chooses not to examine. “Great. Now then. Who’s up for lunch?”

[ladyhearthkeeper]

Please tell us more about how you were raised like a Victorian lady. I would like to be accomplished too.

Hello :)Thank you for your ask. I will try to answer it the best way I can.

Well, the main thing is that in my education more emphasis was given to building my manners, broadening my mind and my taste for art, music and literature, religious obligation rather than a career.

This is a quote from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen that expresses what I mean by accomplished like a victorian lady :

“No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with.  A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, all the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

So these would be more of the superficial (yet important elements) of what makes a lady accomplished.

To that, one needs to add a foundation. A proper victorian lady was raised as a believing woman. This provided her with a space to work on her soul but also provide kindness to her community and those in need.

Even though I use dear Jane Austen to explain this, I think Margaret Hale from Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South is a better example. Examples help us find what we want to work towards.

Now that we have a framework, here is more about me…

I was encouraged to read all kind of books, in any genre. Back when I was a teen YA wasn’t really a thing so I read proper books. YA are nice but they are not enough to broaden a young mind. I mostly read classics but I didn’t stop at that. Books were my best teachers. Later, when I realized that I wanted to become more ladylike I even read guides written in the 19th century for young ladies. You can found them at the Project Gutenberg. Books like this one.

It helps that I studied literature, with a particular interest in 19th century novels. Victorian ladies were well read and had a lot of knowledge. So I think it’s important to choose a good subject to study, not as a mean to earn money but to broaden your scope. It doesn’t have to be frilly, it can be science, technology etc. The goal is to learn more.

I joined the choir (I regret not knowing an instrument but I would like to remedy that one day), took painting classes since I was a kid, and learned how to embroider, sew, and crochet. I still eagerly learn new skills. Activities such as these also helped me to have a sense of what is beautiful. Of course, I was also taken to the museum and to concerts, and taught about nature. Learning to attune your sense to beauty is important.

The more you learn how to do, the more you become accomplished. To take the time to learn something new, gives you patience but also substance. Especially if you dedicate yourself to the mastery of a skill or a subject. 

Contrary to what one may think, these ladies did not lack depth nor intelligence. It wasn’t only about knowing how to hold a smile.

I’m lucky to be from a culturally diverse background. It gave me the opportunity to learn many languages but also about how to identify different types of social cues in different cultures. All this to make sure I keep my behavior attuned to those of around me and not make them uncomfortable. If you know about someone else’s culture or background you know how to make them feel at ease.

So yes, knowing how to hold herself in society is also part of what makes a lady accomplished.

I was taught by my mother how to behave with others, especially men. It’s about having a sense of propriety. How to receive people and to honor invitations. How to hold a conversation. But I learned more from observing rather than actually being taught.

I was also taught how to make condolences visits, how to support bereaved people, how to be supportive with people who need help, how to be part of a community. Of course, charity work, volunteering have played a big part in my life too and have given me the opportunity to go beyond my own self. Keeping a good inner life is what gives a graceful quality to our outer behavior. It’s more important to work at being a good person than learning a new skill.

All these things I’ve listed in the previous paragraphs can be explained more thoroughly if you wish. But I wanted to mention them because being a victorian lady is more than being good at playing the pianoforte. Lady Catherine de Bourgh would approve.

Most of these things are drawn from my own religion but they reflect the values of 19th century Britain. So maybe your own ethics can help in the matter.

I’m not a social person, I am more of a wild creature of the woods. But I have been so used to being aware of my behavior towards other people that in spite of my mood, I can keep a serene agreeable countenance. Not always unfortunately but most of the time. So much that one day, after leaving party I told my friend that I didn’t feel social at all and I was glad I was going home and she was surprised because I talked with everyone and remained interested in what they were saying. 

It’s not about being fake (please don’t do that) but of not imposing your mood on others. That doesn’t mean saying yes to everything and forcing yourself to be social all the time, but it’s knowing how to hold your own when you don’t feel like it. It’s about saying ‘ok I don’t feel that great but I’ll deal with this after I’ve honored this social situation and once I’m alone or with intimate friends or family.’

I think deportment is also very important. I was vaguely taught about it (I attended some ballet classes as a kid but I didn’t continue)  I think the practice of yoga has helped me better understand how to use my body gracefully. It’s about understanding how to hold yourself, it flows outwards from your own sense of worth and dignity.

Here’s a good illustration from Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South :

« And as he looked with this intention, he was struck anew with her great beauty. He had never seen her in such dress before and yet now it appeared as if such elegance of attire was so befitting her noble figure and lofty serenity of countenance, that she ought to go always thus appareled. She was talking to Fanny; about what, he could not hear; but he saw his sister's restless way of continually arranging some part of her gown, her wandering eyes, now glancing here, now there, but without any purpose in her observation; and he contrasted them uneasily with the large soft eyes that looked forth steadily at one object, as if from out their light beamed some gentle influence of repose: the curving lines of the red lips, just parted in the interest of listening to what her companion said—the head a little bent forwards, so as to make a long sweeping line from the summit, where the light caught on the glossy raven hair, to the smooth ivory tip of the shoulder; the round white arms, and taper hands, laid lightly across each other, but perfectly motionless in their pretty attitude. »

This is what I mean about deportment. It’s not about the surface but poise, an inner serenity and openness to the world. 

But, without telling you the whole story, I have to just add that the character described here, Margaret Hale, is not only defined as a lady by her behavior at this party but also by her behavior in times of loss, with people in need of help or even people behaving in an uncouth manner. She is also characterized as a lady in her kindness and generosity towards others. These are key to being a proper victorian lady. For this, volunteering for a good cause can benefit your character immensely.

How to be gentle is also an important thing.

Most ladies had servants but they still knew how to run a house and keep a home. These skills are also important but more tedious to describe.

Those are only a few points that I’m exploring but there are many other things that can be said in the subject. And I don’t think there is just one way to go about it. But reading helps, it can help you identify what you want to emulate and what to avoid. I could give you a list of books that can inspire you if you want. :)

Now, having said all of that, I don’t think I’m an expert on the subject. And I’m far from being a perfect lady. There’s a lot of room for improvement. But when I read those novels I feel like these women were raised the same way I was and I feel understood. I don’t think it’s necessarily how everyone should be. There are other skills that I struggle to learn and that would help me better navigate in this world. Skills that were not necessarily taught to victorian ladies...

I simply wasn’t raised to be a career woman (there’s nothing good or bad about it, it’s just how it is) but I was raised to be an accomplished lady. 

I hope this wasn’t too long, and I hope I answered your question. If not, you can ask again. Thank you for asking I enjoyed replying to this.

I’m sorry for any spelling mistakes or forgotten words. I’ve notice I’m more prone to these recently.

[spaceorphan18]

Marvel Movie Night: Spider-Man 2

Something occurred to me while watching - director Sam Raimi really tapped into something with this first trilogy.  If the first film was an ode to the classic, Silver Age era of the 60s, than Spider-Man 2 is the beloved Bronze Age comics of the 70s and 80s.  Which means that Spider-Man 3 is really indicative of the bloated mess that the 90s brought and this whole metaphor works perfectly. And no, I don’t care if Spider-Man No More, the comic this plot was based on, was still Silver Age.  Let me have it. 

Also, it’s funny to me that this film, again, doesn’t feel like 2004.  Though I’m starting to suspect my memories of what 2004 were actually like.  Everything feels like 80s or 90s, though they do in throw in references to things like eBay, and it does feel a little more modern.  Anyway...

Spider-Man 2 is considered the classically-classic of all the Marvel films.  And, since doing this watch through of the Marvel films prior, I can totally see why.  And while X-Men 2 may be my favorite of these early films, that’s completely based on my preferences towards those characters.  This film is a delight, and not just because it’s coherent story telling.  

Is it the best Superhero film ever that it’s always heralded as?  It’s not as cheesy as the first film, the special effects are much, much better, the script is a lot tighter, the action is pretty decent, and the conflict feels genuine and organic.  And, especially after watching such bad films lately, it’s refreshing that this one does work.   While I understand why it remains beloved, the answer is no.  Though I do think it holds up better than many of the others in this pre-MCU world.

The nice thing about the film is that there’s one central story, about Peter’s dueling life of himself and Spider-Man.  I think the classic nature of being torn between responsibility and wanting something for yourself.  And of course, everything else kind of spirals out from that theme (like a web!), most of the other characters have similar struggles throughout the film, which is nice that it all ties together thematically. 

Funny, though, while I praise the script for having depth and emotion, for me personally, a lot of this film feels like a bogged down in its own seriousness.  And while, yes, there are a few moments of humor stitched within, the heaviness of the plot kind of weighs it all down, so much that, effectively, we’re all feeling the burden of being Spider-Man, too.  While I’ll be the first to note that it is a solidly, good film, it’s not one that I find joy in coming back to.  

So, Tobey Maguire is back as Spider-Man, and I feel the same way about him now as I do the other films in this trilogy.  He remains great at being Peter Parker, and showcasing that inner struggle that Parker always has in the comics.  The Spider-Man aspect.  Meh.  Not that Maguire has much to do while Spider-Man - a lot of that is CGI, but a lot of the fun parts of Spider-Man comics seems to be missing in these films.  

Meanwhile, the supporting cast from the first film are all back.  Kirsten Dunst is Mary Jane again, and she’s... fine.  Don’t get me wrong, the writing of MJ is pretty much spot on to what usually went on in the comics, and I love MJ, I just don’t like Dunst in the role (sorry!) - not that she gets to do more than screaming or angsting, nor do I like the tired trope of ‘rescue the girl’ that these films do all the time.  I’m really ready to move past that.  

James Franco is back as Harry, though has a much smaller role, and boy is Franco hamming it up.  Despite the revenge angle, it’s a pretty boring and somewhat forgotten side plot otherwise.  And Rosemary Harris is back as Aunt May.  Again, she’s fine - I feel about her here the same way I did back in the first film.  Consistency is nice.  

Rounding out the cast is Alfred Molina’s Doc Ock, which is one of the reasons this film is heralded so highly.  I do think he gives a good performance here, he’s got a better script to work with than Willem Dafoe did, and he does remarkably well since you know he’s acting with a bunch of green screen.  I do find it a bit hammed up myself, but it’s intentionally done that way to fit in with the tone of the rest of the film.  

The best part of the film, however, remains J Jonah Jameson, and the outlandish, nonsensical world of the Daily Bugle.  JK Simmons’s comedic timing is amazing, and I can’t say enough good things about it.  The scenes at the Daily Bugle are the one part of the film that doesn’t seem 

Other Thoughts

I don’t think MJ is once called MJ in the film, it’s always Mary Jane.  Which often makes it sound like they’re talking about pot, which is kind of funny to me. 

Speaking of MJ, her play is The Importance of Being Earnest, which endearing since it’s Oscar Wilde’s story about telling the truth. 

Daniel Dae Kim of Lost fame has a cameo in this film! Interestingly, he had a cameo in the Hulk film as well...  Coincidence?  I mean, yeah probably. 

Hey, there’s a Dr. Strange mention! It’s kinda weird when these films mention other Marvel properties.  

Shout out to the random horror film-esque sequence of Doc Ock becoming a thing.  There are some neat shots wrapped up in that sequence. 

Aunt May is paying a kid named Henry Jackson $5 to move all her shit.  I know she’s poor, but damn, that’s pretty nice of a nine-year-old.  

There’s a lady that plays the old 60s Cartoon theme on the violin.  I appreciate that. 

You know, I’ll admit, I like the cheesy ending of this film, with MJ just running from her wedding to Peter.  It’s ridiculous, but it’s the one scene of this romance story I really enjoy.  

Final Thoughts: Still a good film, and yes, best film of the ones I’ve seen so far.  It’s just so dreary though.  I’m getting ready for that classic MCU fun to kick in. 

Next Up: Oh, time to finish up that Blade Trilogy. 

[fortunatelylori]

I think one of the reasons some people hate Sansa is that she represents real people, women mostly, during the medieval times. Even now. People won’t be so annoyed with her or call her useless if this was just a period drama. But they added the fantasy side, with dragons and assassins. Along with women that possesses these. Why couldn’t Sansa do the same? Sansa is the reason why I watched GoT in the first place. I saw myself in her. I don’t have dragons or fighting skills, I only have my mind

Hey, nonnie!

I saw myself in her. I don’t have dragons or fighting skills, I only have my mind

This right here is the reason why I love and identify with Sansa, as well. I’ve never been a fighter. Dragons don’t exist. I’ve always been feminine and proud of it. And I was encouraged from a young age to use my brain to get out of problems. Seeing a character like that on screen is interesting for me because it feels realistic and her slow burn arc makes me feel like I can actually see her developing as opposed to having been granted the fantasy equivalent of super powers over night. 

I thought it might be interesting if I actually talked a little bit about the reasons why I feel Sansa is such a divisive character within the fandom as well as one that is, frankly, overlooked by most of the GA, despite her growing importance to the plot. Because while some of the reasons can be dismissed rather easily, at least one of them is an issue of execution (particularly within the show). 

The issue of femininity, agency and use of sexuality

I’ve grouped all of these together because the root cause for them is the same: Patriarchy, which in turn encompasses such wonderful things like misogyny and victim blaming. 

Sansa’s femininity will always be used against her not only because feminine qualities are seen as lesser than masculine qualities (which is why characters like Arya and Brienne get the stamp of approval from misogynists everywhere) but also because she doesn’t “use them properly”. By that I mean that she’s a beautiful girl who does not weaponize her sexuality and, also, doesn’t put out. And within a patriarchal mind-set that’s the ultimate crime. And that’s further exacerbated by her foil Maergery, whose sexuality is her greatest asset and weapon, as well as by D*ny and her use of sexuality in order to flip the tables on Drogo. 

Sansa doesn’t do that. Instead, she goes as far as to dare to withhold her sexual favors and affections from fan favorite Tyrion which enrages the truly vile of this fandom. How dare she? Doesn’t she know that if she wants to be a feminine girl, she is obligated to give her body away to the men lusting after her? Why is she so stupid? Look how Maergery is playing the game and has Joffrey under her thumb! That Sansa, she’s soooo useless! I mean, we’ve been watching this show for 7 seasons and we have yet to see Sophie Turner’s boobs! The outrage!

This argument can go die in a ditch. I actually love that Sansa has retained autonomy over her body and has refused to use it in order to get out of problems. I’m genuinely tired of seeing “smart” or “important” female characters depicted solely as either women with masculine pursuits or “enchantresses”. I want to have a cerebral female character who uses her brain to win over or defeat her foes and Sansa Stark is developing in exactly such a character. And I love it!

She’s one of only main characters who isn’t magical

You’ve touched on this in your ask and while I agree that, in many ways, Sansa is meant to represent the reality of medieval women stuck in a system that was working against them at every turn, I do think GRRM did Sansa a disservice by eliminating all connection to magic from her arc. 

That’s because all of the remaining Starks are magical to a degree. Bran, of course, is the one with the most magical abilities in the family (and probably in the whole series). However, Jon is pretty magical as well. Not only is he a warg through his connection with Ghost, he is now resurrected as well as the blood of the dragon which makes him, in part, the product of magic. Arya, for her part, is not only a warg but also possesses magical abilities through her Faceless Men arc. 

Sansa’s connection with magic was severed irrevocably when Lady was killed and even prior to that, we never see that warg bond with her. In that sense, she’s the plain Jane of the family and thus seen as less important or special. Which coupled with her lack of fighting skills as well as her prolonged victim arc, makes her seem inconsequential and disposable. This is unfair, of course, because in every other respect, she’s a wonderfully developed character (particularly in the books) but this is a fantasy series. I think GRRM should have retained some sort of magical qualities for her. 

Tyrion, among the mains, is probably her closest analog because he’s not magical either. However, GRRM has imbued him with almost super-human intelligence (an aspect of his character that his fans blow out of proportion even further). Despite that, however, there is still a tendency to try to make him magical in some way to justify his importance, hence the theory of Tyrion as the 3rd head of the dragon. 

She feels like an outdated character

I say “feels” because she isn’t really but the “princess in the tower”/”damsel in distress” archetype that Sansa most resembles has, by and large, fallen out of favor with modern audiences. 

They used to be all the rage and writers always had such a female character. Sansa, in a sense, shares literary references with Ivanhoe’s Rebecca or Robin Hood’s Maid Marion. Personally I love those characters but the archetype has been used a lot in the past and almost never done right. It’s become a prop in a classical hero’s journey type plot, instead of a character in its own right and Sansa, on the surface, feels very much like that type of character. 

Of course, GRRM has really utilized that archetype in the best way possible and instead of making Sansa a prop, he’s exposed us to the reality of the pretty damsel stuck in a tower, to her drama and her tragedy, to her fight for survival and eventual escape. 

But people, by and large, have decided to hate the archetype instead of demanding better stories based on it and because of that, they simply bristle at its mere existence. 

The issue of Sansa’s POV in the show

This is, honestly, the reason that pains me the most and it’s really a combination of how the show has chosen to portray Sansa and well as the fact that the show is now further along than the books. 

This is one reason where I can’t really place the blame on the audience, particularly the general audience. 

For a very long time, I wondered why people weren’t really paying that much attention to Sansa in the show. And I don’t mean youtubers or people on reddit etc. I’m talking about normal people watching this show. I have a lot of friends that watch GOT and love it. They’re definitely not involved in the fandom nor are they specifically fans of one character in the show. They simply love the story and find it entertaining. 

We’ve had conversations about GOT from time to time and they’ve never mentioned Sansa once. They don’t hate her, btw. They simply don’t think about her very much or consider her important within the context of the story. 

And I believe the reason for this is because Sansa started out as a pawn in the Game of Thrones, an arc that lasted for 4 seasons. That’s a long time for a character to have limited to no agency and also enact change in the plot solely through the machinations of other characters. 

However, it’s not an issue that can’t be overcome particularly since Sansa has an ascending arc where she goes from pawn to player. The beginning of her “player” arc is marked by her descending the steps of the Eeryie dressed in her Littlefinger dress. Unfortunately, this is also the moment that marks the creators’ choice of cutting the audience out of Sansa’s POV for long stretches of time. 

Since season 5, they’ve played a hide and seek game with Sansa where we get glimmers of her POV for a short time (her marriage to Ramsay, her reunion with Jon) only to be cut out as quickly as possible in order for the writers to play up the Dark Sansa red herring. 

I believe this reluctance to make Sansa understandable and transparent to the audience is affecting the way the general audience views her. In order to get a handle on Sansa’s character from season 5 onward, you need to watch the seasons a couple of times, think about her character in depth, read some metas as well as be predisposed to like her to begin with. Honestly, that’s too much to expect from a general audience who simply don’t engage with this show as in depth as we do. 

As such the character of Sansa has become, I believe, to most of the GA a mystery wrapped up in a riddle, where questions are raised but never answered, where looks and gestures are left unexplained. The GA is not going to do heavy lifting to get to know this character so they’re simply going to ignore her and focus on the dragons instead. 

This is a huge disservice to Sansa, in my opinion. Because she’s increasingly important to the plot but I doubt season 8 is going to make the GA get to know her enough to root for her. I fear that the fate of show Sansa is to be the Ginny of Game of Thrones. People are just going to be utterly confused how this character that the creators never gave them much reason to care about ends up married to Jon Snow and becomes queen. 

And that, I have to say, makes me very sad. :(

Thanks for the ask! 

[dentelle-grise]

Your latest trick

(Loki x Reader NSFW) Long after everyone has stopped talking about Loki and his misdemeanors, his failed attempt to take over Midgard and his punishment, you meet him at a party.

All chapters to date at AO3 (55K, NC-17)

Tagging my rebloggers, commenters and other folk who asked. Please let me know if you want in (or out) of the list: @joanbushur, @frenchfrostpudding, @lovely-geek, @wolfsmom1, @sigridlaufeyson, @lokislonelylady, @monitoroutside, @daniissuchadani, @devilbat, @deadlydreamersecrets @helenisabel, @stardustandangelsfanfiction, @ely-seum, @wendyrobson1978, @the-ships-i-ship, @shemart101, @dreamourbrainout, @sadghostomg, @lokilover2000, @blobfishington, @lynneth1968-blog, @deaddecade, @nardo94

Chapter 22 : Desperate to make amends to Loki, reader chases him through the  palace in the depths of night, but just as she thinks she’s caught up to him she finds someone else entirely.

It’s not Loki - the whole stature is wrong, Whoever this is though, you just called out Loki’s name to them.

The figure doesn’t react, just continues to advance. You want to suck back the name, deny it, but it’s too late. You stay where you are. You’ve got to see who it is you just so foolishly told.

The figure has the form of a man, but seems somehow misshapen, as though great crags grow from his shoulders, it just looks wrong for a person. That’s why it’s even more of a shock when he gets close enough to recognize.

Odin! Lined face heavy with exhaustion, hair an unruly mess, barefoot and wearing a long gold-threaded sleeping gown.

Despite the king’s strange appearance, relief washes over you. He’s the one other person who must already know about Loki. The secret is safe. He doesn’t, however, know that you know, or at least he didn’t until now. You fall to your knees and bow, dread slowly filling you from the cold floor beneath.

You get your respectful greeting ready as he approaches laboriously,

“Your majesty….” He makes no acknowledgement. He doesn’t even stop. It’s like he hasn’t seen you. He’s moving so incredibly slowly though that you easily have time to get out of the way before he trips over you. As he goes past you see what is so strange about his shoulders. There’s a raven perched on each one.

“Hugin and Munin, they’re back!”

He still doesn’t react, doesn’t falter or look at you. Later you couldn’t even say if his eye was open.

There’s no sound in the corridor but for your hammering heart and Odin’s shuffling steps. Did he not see you, or pretend not to? Did you just get away with it?

Where is Loki?

The only movement is the shimmer of Odin’s nightgown as the moonlight catches the golden parts.

You return to your room. It’s the quietest part of the of night and but there’s no sleep to be found. Will Loki return? Against the unfamiliar feeling of being alone it all crowds in on you, the argument, the secret, the lies you’ve told to all around you, and what could possibly be waiting for you tomorrow. Telling Nara was one thing, but Odin, you know well what he’s capable of.

The day breaks and there’s no royal summons, no questioning, nothing.

You go about your business as normally as you can. Except it’s not normal. It’s eerily quiet. Perhaps Odin really was sleepwalking. You know better than to relax, but later you hear that the King isn’t even in Asgard, but making a diplomatic visit to Svartalfheim. Methodically you go through your day, not thinking about any of it but fearful of any of the royal guard that you see.

Loki doesn’t come back that night, leaving you with a mix of worry and guilty relief What is he doing? Is he in Svartalfheim with Odin? Loki on an official visit? Surely not…unless. Perhaps they know the truth on Svartalfheim. Perhaps some hail him like a hero even? Like his beautiful elf… No you don’t want to go there

But then why play dead before his own people. His own brother!

Thor!

If ever Asgard needed him its now. But what could he do? You can imagine the ensuing conflict with his father should Thor try to tell Odin to leave the Aether alone.

And if Thor was here, would you tell him the truth? It’s starting to feel like you’ve got to tell someone. But every time it crosses your mind you see Loki’s anger at you, his hurt. You cannot.

After the whirlwind that has been, this lull is a shock to the system. Despite the pang of loneliness, you can never be sure you are alone. If Loki’s not on a mission then is he watching you? You’re back to imagining him around every corner and waiting for you each time you go home.

It feels too quiet. Like a calm before a storm. There’s no more crazy experiments, no more obscure injuries. The girls slip the odd question about your mystery man, your mother too, but you manage to deflect them. How long can you keep them at bay? In a world where Loki was neither felon nor hero you suppose you and he being together would have been applauded, even considered normal.

Nothing about Loki or this situation is normal. But nothing will stop you wanting him back.

The first night alone you told yourself its was a chance to think clearly. By the third you are downright worried, above all because Odin is back but there’s still no sign of Loki. Is he angry with you? Doubtlessly. But if he wanted you to chase him in the corridors, why disappear. He wanted to be caught and comforted. Right? Or did you misread him?

What if he never returns, must you keep the secret forever?

On the steps up to the palace you can see your father and it fills you with joy. With him, everything is simple. He won’t ask you, won’t badger you about your ‘budding relationship’ and if there was anyone you could safely confide in you know it would be him. If there is someone who finally you could tell… The sky seems to brighten at that very second. He sees you and though he’s too far off to see his expression you are sure he’s smiling. You start running.

But, as you get nearer you see he is not alone. He’s with Odin who was leaning over some papers on a folding table beside them. Its a pile of plans of some sort, but now both men are focused on you. You don’t falter in your course and draw to halt before them. The king looks hale and hearty and not in the slightest like the crumpled specter of the other night. There’s no knowing look either when he meets your gaze. It’s as though you dreamt the whole episode of the other night. You hope your inquietude isn’t visible. Before you can as much as greet them, Odin speaks.

“Ah, just what we need. A deciding opinion.”

Your eyes fall on the plans. They are all pictures of Frigga.

“This is where her statue will stand, the question is, in which direction should she face, toward the morning or the evening sun.”

You feel sure Papa has already made a suggestion but you can’t guess at what and Odin probably wants the opposite. You only hope, whatever you say will meet with approuval. Compared with the type of questioning you expected it’s a picnic. You simply need to answer the most honestly you can and from your heart. You look at the position, the light in the sky, the pictures. Then it comes to you.

“Both. You say with some satisfaction.” And you watch as a smile breaks over your father’s face.

“She should face the city and the people so her features might be caught by both the morning and evening sun in turn.”

“A wise choice” says Odin, actively appearing to contemplate it. “From a clever girl.”

“Thank you your majesty.”

“We should play again at Midgardian War.” It’s not a question and the easy escape you’d expected shrinks to a pinprick.“Tonight.” Odin eye fixes on you. It’s the look you’d been dreading. Like he knows something, everything even. You are used to people looking at you, with envy or desire or even amusement, but he’s unreadable. This invitation is not as harmless as it might appear. You hope against hope you won’t be left alone with him.

“And then I will play the winner.” Papa puts in, with a chuckle and you release the breath you’d been holding. He will be there. If the worst comes to the worst, and you have to confess then you will have ally. Papa will make it alright.

You don’t have long to think about it because the rendezvous is only a few hours away. You wish you could get your father alone before then, somehow warn him about what might transpire, but he’s suddenly surrounded by suppliers and clerks here to set up the work site. If only you had gone to him sooner.

“Svartalfheim was once beautiful. Well…perhaps not to our eyes, but it has been burnt by the light itself.”

You’re seated in a cosy salon in the royal quarters under the warm light of lamps and a fire.

“But what if there were trees, Sire.”You think of the absolute blackness you can find in the depths of a forest. That lingering memory of losing yourself there in a blackness so thick… ”Wouldn’t they stop the light?” He looks at you as though this was the naive imaginings of a child, endearing but misguided. Then he stops.

“A charming idea, but first we would need to stop the ground itself from shifting. It moves constantly, the surface is little but a desert.

“And the elves…” you father puts in “It would be prudent to consider if they’d consider such help as ’meddling’”.

“We will, nonetheless be establishing a settlement there.”

He has made no mention of your encounter in the corridor, and you conclude, finally, that he did not notice you. You would be relieved, but the vast difference between that Odin and this one puts you on edge. There’s something forced about his smile. You ignore it and so, you think, does Papa. Judging by the state you saw Odin in that night, he perhaps risks to fall again into the sleep, but is fighting it every step of the way. If that happened how would Asgard cope. Would Loki come out of hiding? Would Thor return?

“What news of Thor?” you ask, conscious you have been quiet too long.

Now, you know very well that they’d had their differences, all Asgard knew. But you just wanted to know, if someone could help the situation…

“On Midgard, with Jane.” Her name, Odin uses her name, not ‘that mortal woman’, hissed with distaste. No he said ‘Jane’, her little name, like Thor would. Just that is enough to tell you that he has accepted the alien woman. But then he looks grave and adds. “Tis a shame she won’t live.”

Odin stares into the fire and though in that moment you see the warmth in the light falling on his weathered features, it reveals see a great sorrow.

“But who of us can boast eternity?” he concludes.

Although the words are wise they are stark and the anguish in his face easily readable. You know he is thinking of Frigga, perhaps of himself or even…

It’s at that moment a doubt starts to tug at you. Does Odin really know Loki is alive? What if Loki never told him? What if you are the only one. Loki never mentioned being on ’a mission for Asgard’ not ‘ a mission for Odin’ but you always thought his father knew. If not, is Loki still a fugitive. Odin imprisoned Loki, it makes sense that Loki wouldn’t trust him. Hence the secrecy. But if Odin doesn’t know Loki survived, then does he know Malekith survived.

You try to calm your panic, Odin must know, why else would he be preparing new weapons with such zeal. He knows. He must know. But why not then tell Thor? You school your features before your confusion can show. Fortunately Odin is momentarily distracted by the arrival of the chess board.

As he thanks the attendants, you watch the lines and furrows of his face, shadowed into mountains and valleys in the firelight. You can look on him for a few moments without the feeling that he’s scrutinizing you, either with his remaining eye or the missing one, but you’re aware of Papa watching you as you do so.

The chess game is a disaster, an unmitigated one. The only good thing you can say about it is that it’s over quickly. Though your hand is steady, you are shaking inside and you stumble through the opening moves like a beginner leaving your king open to attack and easy to trap. You try to compensate but you’ve lost concentration and your actions on the board are desperate and obvious. The best you can do is show nothing on your face. Papa’s questioning gaze on you a further source of stress. You wish you’d had time to talk to him. By keeping the secret you could be risking all Asgard, but by telling you would be betraying Loki.

Odin held diplomacy meeting with the elves didn’t he? Things must be alright.

You can act like normal but you can’t play like normal and the mere thought that you’re pretending spirals you further. You feel sympathy for Odin, and not. The imprisoned Loki! No wonder if Loki won’t trust him.

So did Odin meet the elves who are against Malekith, like Loki’s elf? Odin must know about Loki. So why the secrecy?

But what id he doesn’t, what if he was duped by Malkith’s allies? And where was Loki?

Where is Loki?

Checkmate.

As promised your father takes your place, you try to follow his elegant moves as it’s clearly now your family who has the upper hand. But the real game is so much bigger. Why did Odin wish to play you at all? If Papa wasn’t here would he call you on the events of the other night. Papa is victorious and so both he and Odin can celebrate a win. If you have anything to celebrate it’s that Odin has said nothing about Loki. But the relief is not enough, you still carry the secret. And for what? Loki is avoiding you.

The next day, you dine with your parents. Your mother seems happy despite the lack of progress in the armory. She’s unusually quiet and, except for a few complicit smiles, makes no allusions to you mystery suitor. You’re feeling a lot calmer about last night, it’s to be expected to be nervous in the presence of Odin after all.

“You know the king asked me to tell you he’d like another game.” Papa seems to be asking a question as he says it (Do you really want to little love? I can get you out of this) but your mother positively beams.

So Odin wants to see you again tonight. Well, it’s not like you’ve other engagements.

“But, I played terribly.”

“You must have impressed him the first time, No? That private game I didn’t see.” The question lingers in his voice.

“Well it’s good to see you with a serious pursuit.” says Mother brightly and the utter ridiculousness makes you clench your fists under the table.

“I believe the king is lonely.” Papa adds with a sigh.

It can’t be that. Odin will ask about Loki. He’s going to ask and you cannot lie to your King. Not when the safety of the realm is in the balance. If Odin pushes you, you would betray your lover and the thought sickens you.

Chapter 23

[musicallisto]

☠ Boy Meets Evil (Noah Marshall)

Still crying because of ILITW. Forever crying because of ILITW. Inspired by this BTS song (a bop, 10/10 would recommend).

word count: 4500+ words

summary: A sneak peek into Noah’s thoughts, feelings and memories throughout all of his life and the most important events he’s faced. An agonizing descent into the depths of a tortured, screaming mind, playing hide and seek with sanity and fragments of a destroyed yesteryear.

warnings: Used my F!MC Devon for this, but there’s no romance. Basically only angst, when will I write fluff; mentions of death, crying, depression, therapy, blood and mental health issues.

“Good morning, Noah. How are you?”

He doesn’t respond. Why would he? What can he say? How can he put into words the inflexible void that has taken the place of his heart in his chest, of his brain in his skull? How can he answer? How can he express all the poisonous tears, all the skipped meals, all the insomnias, all the ringing laughter echoing through the walls of his ears as if she were still here, right behind him?

The old man seems to notice his uneasiness and his reluctance to answer, and doesn’t insist. He observes the fragile-looking, worn out little boy, shyly swinging his legs back and forth on the padded chair too big for him and trying his best to avoid all eye contact with the doctor. There’s something dreadfully harrowing in seeing this brown-eyed ragdoll, with tear-stained cheeks and trembling fingers. He has no doubt Noah must have been a lively, cheerful little boy, now only reduced to a shell of his former self.

“You look a little thinner than the last time I saw you. Have you been eating? Do you want a cookie, perhaps?”

“No.”

The psychologist wistfully sighs, but reaches out to grab a cookie from the packet and delicately place it on the desk, almost creating an invisible barrier between him and his patient. Patient. The word itself seems so sad to the old man, and infuriating to Noah. Under all the layers of numbness, all the cotton filling up the great blankness of his chest, he knows he hates being called a patient, because that implies he is sick, and he knows he is not. He is fine. He just has to let the news sink in. He just has to understand his sister is not coming back and wait for time to do its healing. That’s what adults say, don’t they?

Then why does it sound so fake?

“Have you tried to write down your thoughts, as I advised you?” the doctor asks with a soft smile he wants to be as welcoming as possible.

“Yeah.”

“And what did you think of it?” he rebids, a twinkle of hopefulness buried deep under his professionalism.

“It sucks. Writing about how depressed I am only made me even more depressed.”

Noah’s tone is perfectly neutral, and he still isn’t looking directly at the psychologist, as if he wished nothing more than to be anyplace else than in that office.

“It is only one part of the process,” he calmly explains. “What matters most is not the thoughts. It’s what you choose to do with them. You can let them possess you. Have the last word. Overpower you. Or, you can overcome them. Burn the journal where you wrote them, for example. You could let the spiral blow you away. But wouldn’t it feel nicer to blow the spiral away?”

“Yeah. I guess. But that’s not gonna bring Jane back,” he spits in a murmur after a few seconds of silence.

“Nothing will ever bring Jane back, and we both know it. She has left this world, but she has not left your mind, nor your thoughts. She has not left your heart, and never will. Noah, I don’t want you to stop thinking about your sister, to forget her, to move on as if nothing happened. I want you to combine your sister with good memories instead of bad ones. You’re a clever boy, I know you underst-”

“You weren’t there,” he suddenly rises, his voice sharp and eyes sharper, terrifyingly sharp for an eight-year-old boy. “You weren’t there when she was lifted off the ground by that thing and when it broke her neck and she fell to the ground and wh-”

“Please, Noah, there was no thing, it was an accident, just a regrettable accid-”

“It wasn’t an accident! She was murdered! By that thing - whatever it is!”

“You’re still confused and it’s perfectly norm-”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAW!” he yells.

“Noah,” the old man gently states, barely above a whisper, contrasting with the furious, uneven breathing of the little boy in front of him. “Noah, I know you’re still scared, but-”

“I’m not scared,” the brown-haired kid hisses through gritted teeth.

The mere mention of those three little words are enough to provoke violent nausea in his stomach; he shakily grasps the cookie and takes a mouthful of it. If he closes his eyes and gnashes his teeth hard enough, he can imagine everything is under control and he is tearing apart the shadow murderer with his own teeth.

When he sees her approaching, frantically looking for a seat in the crowded gymnasium, he knows he can no longer run from her and turn his back on what has happened years before. He’s always known it would be inevitable, that he would have to deal with this dreaded conversation, the apprehended reminiscence he has feared for ten years. He thought it would be easier to avoid the memories, the false condolences and the pitiful, hypocritical gazes thrown at his direction, if he completely shut her out of his life, if he completely shut them all out of his life. It’s the hardest decision he has had to make, and not a day goes by that he doesn’t feel remorseful, that he doesn’t wish he could come up to her and talk to her about anything, anything stupid, really; about that amazing book he read last week and he’s sure she would love, or the dog he saw in that garden and reminded him of her adoration of canine furballs, or the ridiculous amount of homework Mr. Cooper has been giving them all throughout last year. But it’s impossible, and what ends up completely destroying him is how sorry she looks when she turns to him with a pleading look in her chocolate eyes. How sorry she looks to be begging to sit next to the broken, twisted weirdo that used to be her best friend, her partner in crime.

“Hey, Noah. Do you mind if I…?”

“Knock yourself out,” he exhales and she sits next to him.

He never would have imagined these would be the first words he would tell his childhood best friend after spending all of those years purposefully avoiding her.

She doesn’t seem to feel the excruciating tension between the two of them as she engages a simple conversation with him, as if they had been friends forever, as if they didn’t have to catch up years of silence. He lets out the most aching sigh of his life and continues the casual discussion with Devon, trying not to show the convulsion of his palms. She’s talking about Lucas, and he responds with one of his infamous sarcastic remarks; he’s well aware he’s biased, he shouldn’t be so bitter and especially not to those who have done nothing wrong, but when Lucas’s cheerful voice rings in his ears, his patched-up heart fills with disgust and resentfulness. Does he even remember? Does he even remember him? Does he even remember Jane? How can he look so popular, so untroubled, so carefree… happy?

And that’s when he hears it.

He hears it and by the looks of it, he’s not the only one.

The voice. The voice he has had nightmares of, the voice he’s heard every single night of his life, distorted and crooked, creaking like a rusty door struggling to open, barely audible, right in the crook of his ear and something that desperately feels like a frozen breathing on his neck. And deep down, deep, deep down, something oddly familiar, something strangely recognizable and almost… dear?

“Everyone… plays… together…”

His heart skips a beat and his breath hitches in his throat. He refuses to believe it. He must be hallucinating. He must be dreaming. He must have fallen asleep during Lucas’s speech. It must be some twisted joke, some immature prank pulled on him, a back-to-school thing. It can’t be. He can’t be. 

Unable to move any muscle, he looks at all his former best friends oh so slowly. And that’s how he knows he’s not hallucinating.

Devon’s dilated pupils, staring at the door but not seeing anything, ghostly tears stuck in her eyes; Ava’s trembling chin and lips, as if she were on the verge of tears; Stacy’s white knuckles, her unnatural shivering and gripping her pompoms; Lily’s parted lips, achromic cheeks, wide-open eyes, a drop of sweat running down her temple; Andy’s too rapid blinking and his nervous glances all around, especially behind him as if he were afraid of something over his shoulder; Lucas’s clamming hands and his unusual gulping.

They have all heard it.

They all know what it means.

And before Noah can even breathe properly again, before he can even swallow down the nervous ball of saliva caught on his tongue, his very own voice rings in his ears as if he were talking to himself.

Are you scared now, Noah?

For the first time, his habitual reflex, his automatic response - I’m not scared! - sounds fake, because he’s not telling anyone. He’s telling himself.

The streets are remarkably cold, or maybe it’s his sick mind playing yet another trick on him, altering his perception of reality. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he’s getting pretty tired of it. Ten years with a tangled mind is starting to get on his last nerve.

He can’t believe his mother. How can she tell him those things every day of his life, repeatedly without ever growing tired of mentally abusing him, of destroying the very last remainings of his psychological stability? Does she even believe them? Why does she always apologize, bow her head in silence and look up at him with pleading eyes, a deer in the headlights, begging his pardon as if he weren’t her biggest mistake? As if he weren’t nothing but a waste of space? Why does he believe her every time, hopes she will change for the best, that it is the last time that same old argument will break out, that he will finally be able to take a walk with her and buy her this necklace she’s been discreetly eyeing for a while - why does he keep on longing for a chimera, a cloudy fool’s paradise?

He can’t believe his friends either. He can’t believe their selfishness, their egocentrism, their lack of consideration for him. Do they only talk to him because they pity him, because he’s that lonely, brooding and grieving teenager, cloistered and mistreated? Even Devon! He thought- he thought that out of all of them, he at least really meant something to Devon.

And of course, he hates being alone and the streets are so empty without a true friend to walk them down with, it’s probably the reason why he suddenly feels colder and lonelier than ever.

He’s starting to regret storming off and leaving his mother on his own so abruptly, but he’d be damned if he admitted it out loud. He’s starting to regret storming off and leaving his friends on their own so abruptly at Britney’s party, but his hubris is one of the few things he treasures and can’t crack. He wishes he could stop being hostile at his friends for having progressed in ten years, but he’s so stuck in his own grief, his mother’s endless screaming and insulting, his own venenous spiral of thoughts that he can’t help expecting all the others to mourn Jane with him. How could they play that stupid game in front of him, how could they not be outraged after Britney’s proposal, how could Devon, out of them all, accept to condescend to do such childish idiocy? Especially given how harmful she knows it is for him, for her, for all of them? It feels as if they have spat on his little sister’s grave, so many years later, and their perjury is a hard pill to swallow for Noah.

Especially Devon’s.

Devon. The most egotistical of them all, and the one he cares about most.

He doesn’t realize his absent-minded footsteps are leading him to the gray road and gray sky crossing through the woods.

“Sick of this...,” he mumbles angrily, kicking a pebble out of his way, watching it with some sort of immature triumph when it disappears in the shrubs. “It wasn’t my fault... It wasn’t! Stupid b-”

A twig snaps somewhere behind him. He freezes, heart racing. If he were in his normal state, he would not be anxious and would have ignored the noise, especially in the middle of a forest, but a bizarre and disagreeable impression of being observed won’t leave him alone since he’s entered the forest by mistake. Like a pair of predator eyes are staring at him from behind, piercing his neck just like the destructive fangs of a snake...

“It’s just a squirrel, Noah. Just a squirrel...,” he half-heartedly whispers to himself, trying to stabilize the furious galloping of his heart.

What can it be, if it’s not a squirrel in the middle of the woods? It can only be a squirrel, right?

His heart a shriveled animal cradled in his throat, he uneasily turns towards the source of the sound... and comes face to face to the unmistakable ghostly silhouette of the charcoal creature, standing at the edge of the trees.

“Noah.”

Its whisper is solemn yet jittery, as if the thing were uncertain of what to say, of how to approach the teenager. He, on the other hand, knows exactly what reaction to adopt. He yells and runs. Runs as fast as he can, his heart a pounding drum, a roaring thunder, and when he looks over his shoulder... Redfield has barely moved. Noah comes to a dead stop.

“...wait...”

And suddenly, Noah is not scared. His fear vanishes as soon as the spectral voice reaches his ears, and he firmly marches forward, blood boiling in anger. His fright has been replaced by pure hatred, indignation, and his insatiable thirst for vengeance. All his life, he’s been running away, and he’s tired of it.

“What... What do you want? Huh? What do you want?!”

“Noah... Don’t be sad...”

“What the hell?! Are... are you comforting me?!”

“... not your fault...”

His ire doesn’t die down. It can’t dry up anymore. He’s been bottling it up for far too much time. His words come out harsh, breathless, raw, bloody, lethal. He can’t control anything anymore; he’s done controlling, he’s done biting back his distress.

“Yeah, no kidding! It’s YOURS! All of this is YOUR FAULT! You killed my sister! Or don’t you remember?! JANE! Her name was Jane, you bastard! And you MURDERED her!”

And when Redfield, looking almost sorry, shakes his head and points at his chest, murmuring a barely audible “no... Jane is here...”, Noah swears his heart skips a beat, but he’s so used to being lied to that he will surely not accept any glint of hope, especially not from his sister’s murderer.

“What... what are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘Jane is here’? Here where?!”

As Redfield is about to answer, a ray of sun cuts through the canopy and burns his shadowy figure, making him wince and withdraw more profoundly into the woods. Noah stretches his arm, motioning him to stop, almost wanting to grab him, to learn something, anything. Now that the monster has mentioned Jane, he can’t leave without his crucial knowledge.

Or maybe he’s just going full crazy.

“Hey, no! Stop! What does that mean? Where is Jane?!”

His voice is uncontrollably trembling at this point and he does nothing to master it. He’s never felt so cold in his entire life, not even when his eyes fell on Jane’s dead body, twisted in a terrifying angle in that cave, so many years ago. He’s waiting for an answer, a secret, a gesture, not even a word, just a reaction.

He never gets it. Redfield vanishes from view, disappearing into the penumbra of the woods, leaving him shaking and alone in the middle of the road.

“What the hell? What the hell?!”

He knows it could be one of the hallucinations - he’s gotten quite a few when he was younger, immediately after Jane’s death, and although they completely left him when he was twelve, it’s still more plausible than what he thinks he understood from Redfield’s halting speech.

And yet...

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in a decade, Noah feels something he had forgotten. Something that oddly enough doesn’t feel bittersweet on his tongue. Something that he hates, something that he’s taught himself to manipulate with the utmost precaution, for it is the most dangerous of feelings.

Hope.

And for the first time in a decade, deep down, very deep down, way deeper than he can reach, Noah is not scared.

The tip of the knife quivers against the small of Devon’s back, thrusting inside the folds of her dress. She’s shaking; he can feel her trembling right next to her, very well aware that if she makes the tiniest of brusque moves, he will not hesitate to assure his grasp on her, even if it means making blood run.

Actually, he will hesitate, but she doesn’t have to know that.

He doesn’t pay attention to the carving in the stone, just at his feet, to the new words that have replaced the name he’s known for so long. The wrong name he’s been using for the entity. He doesn’t pay attention to her name chiseled on the floor, fearing it could make his determination burst... he leads Devon downstairs, where he’s made sure all of the others are sat and waiting for him. It’s the last step, the very last step for the only solution there is... hopefully, the very last step before he can meet with his sister again.

“Noah, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?!”

“Trust me, everything will make sense in a minute.”

“How can I trust you when you’re pointing a knife at me?!”

“Devon, please. Just walk.”

She doesn’t even sound as outraged as she was a few seconds before, as she should be, as he would be in her place, just terrified. And he’s never felt so guilty, an indestructible, nauseous blade ready to slit his throat if he dares to get sentimental. He doesn’t understand why she doesn’t hate him, or at least doesn’t act like it, and it’s probably because of the ferocious-looking cutlass pointed at her ribs anyway, but just for a moment, it’s enough for him to give him courage.

The dim lighting of the cavern quickly comes into view, and Noah shudders. Despite having been there many times since Jane’s death, there’s still something mystic and untouchable about this place, something he’s afraid of profaning. And when all the people he was happy to call his friends look up to him, invisibly tied to the glacial chairs, eyes burning with rage, incomprehension, and disgust, he knows - he knows there’s no turning back. Not anymore. He can’t back down because things will never be the same, however he exits the cavern.

Everything that follows up goes down in a blur. He can’t quite remember what happens in all details, maybe because of the darkness of the room or of his mind, but the burns against Stacy’s skin, the spiders crawling up Andy’s torso, Jane’s twisted smile and spectral claws tearing Dan’s last remainings of sanity, Devon’s screams, filled with fright, sobs and violence are forever branded on the blank canvas inside his mind. And he’s convulsing on his electric chair, and he’s cantillating the same spell over and over under his breath as if it could change anything as if it could change the situation. “Only way... It’s the only way... Only way... Only way...” And everything is a chaos of yelling, of crying and of laughter, the laughter of a ten-year-old ghost, eight-year-old child and a thousand-year-old animosity, until all of his friends are engulfed by the thousands of shining eyes in the dark of the cave.

Next thing he knows, he’s right before Devon’s pleading, terrified eyes, a knife above her head, ready to strike, ready to immolate his poor little lamb to the terrific laughter of a kid.

And she’s talking but he can’t hear her; the weight on his chest and the weight in his hand are far too much and far too loud. Her words come out muffled, as if she were captive underwater, unable to reach his heart, to cross through his reinforced concrete chest.

Until she cries out.

“Noah, please! There’s nothing left to save! You’re stronger than that... stronger than her!”

And that’s when the reinforced concrete chest cracks. That’s when his mouth dries and his eyes light up, finally watching Devon aghast in front of him instead of just seeing her, finally seeing the bloody knife prepared to cut through her stomach rather than just feeling it, seeing it’s a monster licking its lips in anticipation for the delicious meal it’s about to have instead of an inanimate object.

He is about to cause everything he’s been reproaching his friends for ten years. He is about to become a murderer for the second time, thinking he can kill his former crime with a new one.

And his heart bursts and his eyes are frozen and his mouth ajar when he drops the knife to his side, its jingling bouncing on the cold walls of the cavern.

“D-Devon... I’m... Oh my god... I’m so-so sorry... I’m...”

He can’t find the words. Suddenly, he is a traumatized eight-year-old sitting uncomfortably in front of an indiscreet therapist, forgetting his emotions and the words that come with them, unable to discern the difference in the explosion of colors, smells and tastes in the blazing fury that just escaped his heart.

He reaches out to her, hands and heart empty, to graze her, make sure she is here, she is real, that it is not one of the countless nightmares he’s had. She withdraws, of course, shriveling like a wounded prey, her eyes wandering back and forth between the knife and Noah’s horrified expression. And Noah’s never hated himself more than he does in this moment, with Devon practically hysterical in front of him, cradled against the cold side of the grotto and trying her best to disappear from his view.

“Devon... I didn’t mean to...”

His voice cracks. He knows very well no words could ever mend things, no words could ever stitch the injuries he’s unjustly caused to his best friend, in the cavern and every day of the past ten years.

No words can, but maybe one last gesture, one final move before turning off the lights and being put to sleep might.

“Devon, I’m so sorry... I must... I must redeem myself... All of this was my fault... I-”

“No,” she pleads, and his heart aches when he realizes she would still be willing to prevent him from sacrificing his life in spite of everything he has ever done to her, everything he has ever done to all of them and himself in the first place. “No, you- you can’t do that. I won’t let you...”

“I have to,” Noah assures, oddly calmer than he expected, as if he had accepted his fate, as if he had already relinquished. “It’s only fair. I have caused all of this...”

He turns to face Jane’s curious eyes, her head tilted to one side just like a cat who doesn’t understand what’s going on. He turns to his sister, or at least the shell of what she was and everything that’s left of her, turning his back to Devon and takes a deep breath. He wishes he could smile at the ghost, tell her everything is going to be okay, that he will take her place and repair all the bad he’s done, that she will finally be free and she will reunite with her mother again, but something inside of him doesn’t believe it.

“I have caused all of this and I will fix it,” he completes, his voice sharp and determined.

“No!” Devon screams; he hears her trying to get up, but she’s still weak and trembling, and he won’t let her intervene anyways. “No, I won’t let you take her place. I should be the one doing it, I sh-”

“You’ve already done more than enough. All this time...”

His voice is soft, silky - certainly not the one you would expect from an eighteen-year-old giving himself to the games of a demon.

“All this time, I blamed you for being the reason why everything fell apart in the first place. I should’ve realized sooner that you were the one who was keeping everything together.”

He steps forward. Devon doesn’t say anything; he hears her suffocating through her sobs, and he tries his best not to think about it, not to let the shrill cries weaken his determination. Even Jane is silent, her mouth slightly open, her devilish blue eyes piercing right through Noah’s soul. Is that it? Will she trade her place with her brother’s? Will they ever both know peace?

Noah carefully kneels in front of the monster. Suddenly, they are not a terrorized teenager and an ancestral demon anymore; they are a brother and sister that fate, time and pride have torn apart.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Noah, I’m scared,” is everything Jane’s ghost-like form is able to murmur, contrasting with all the horrors she has said and done in the past weeks.

“I know. I’m scared, too.”

It feels good not to lie, for once.

And Jane breaks down into sobs, and Noah engulfs her in her arms and it feels almost agreeable to be holding the mere concept of darkness in the vague silhouette of his sister for the first time in a decade. 

“Shh. It’s okay. Why don’t you rest now?” 

It’s not long until his own tears wet his cheeks too.

“Let me take over for a while.”

His words die out in the shadows that collapse against his whole body, swallowing him entirely.

And as the cave shakes and the rocks fall down, blocking the only pathway that leads to the exit and Devon and her friends shakily flee out of the crime scene, the secret is sealed with the entrance of the cave.

Behind the rocks lies the secret of the boy who met evil.

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘Binary’ (S02E25) Analysis

Between a very nice, very creepy story and a solid ending scene (that’s been a long time coming), this was a very good entry into the series.  It furthers the meta plot on at least one and possibly even several fronts, and we finally get a reason for something that’s been bothering a few of us for a while.  And that reason is both satisfying and horrifying.  Come on in to hear what I think of ‘Binary’.

Wow!  What a fascinating dump of ideas at the beginning. In the midst of the babble, I think Tessa made a few really interesting points: the tape recorder Sims uses isn’t that different from a computer.  They’re both a form of digital information storage, and yet one can record the real statements and the other can’t.  What’s the difference?  Is it the data?  She mentioned that, especially in modern computers, all data is discrete. Additive, but discrete. But in spoken or written language, data is blurrier, almost confluent.  There are words, but they make no sense without larger context.  Forgive my lack of knowledge on the subject of magnetic tape, but is the tape recorder more like written or spoken data where it all flows, or is it more like the computer, where each bit of data is stored in a discrete fashion?  Either way, an interesting point to make about the tape recorder, which brings up a lot of questions about WHY it works and other methods don’t.

What are the rules that govern the functions of the Archives?  I can see outlines of parameters in which both the technique of making statements and recordings of those statements may fall, just as I can see outlines of how employees ought to behave.  But within those outlines I’m not clear on the true shape of anything. The archive has rules, but so far no one’s looked deeply into them.  Sims is fixated on the minutae, even though he insists to Tim that he’s starting to get a sense of how the Archive works.  But we really haven’t seen evidence of that.

And like Tessa said, can you tell whether you’re onto something legitimate or you’re just going mad? I feel like she’s really an excellent parallel for Sims right now.  She experienced something that other people can’t understand.  She’s haunted by an unseen … being of some sort.  A ghost in the machine.  And she’s genuinely frightened for her sanity.  In that case, I think she may have more self-awareness than Sims does right now.  But I feel like he keeps being presented with statement givers who mirror him, but he refuses to look.

I love you, Sims.  I really do.  But you frustrate the shit out of me more often than not.

But anyway, back to the plot.  The story itself was very much an old-school internet urban legend, more along the lines of a creepypasta than any statement I can recall.  From a quick Google run, it appears that Sergey Yushanka is not a real internet legend, but it does sound similar enough to quite a few of them to be convincing.  This is a very different facet to the supernatural ecosystem, as we’ve seen nothing yet that so directly interacts with technology.  It would make sense that there might be monsters in machines as well, but this is the first suggestion of it.

But of course, the story was the backdrop for Sims finally getting Gertrude’s laptop cracked so he can look through it.  I’ll be interested to see what, if anything, he digs up, but it will have to wait until next week.  Because this week?

This week Tim would very much like a well-earned word with our Archivist.

Tim, Sims, and all the rest

This was a long time coming, and felt as satisfying as it possibly could with Sims not acknowledging how bad things on his end had gotten.  Tim finally stated aloud frustrations that mirror my own and then some.  He was furious about the state of the Archives, furious that Sims had consistently failed to do his job and that he ought to have been fired weeks before but hadn’t been.  Tim was furious that Sims had failed to support his staff, despite Tim going through the exact same pain and horror that Sims experienced.  And the fact that Sims STILL couldn’t see that what Tim had been through was equivalent to what he’d been through?  That was the final straw.

Tim finally, finally said he wanted to quit.  Sims all but dared him to do it.  Tim all but dared Sims to fire him.  

And neither of them could do a thing.  

We’ve heard it twice now, first from Martin and now from Tim: they can’t quit.  They can’t leave.  Something stops them from doing it, no matter how bad things get.  They’re all trapped together by some force unseen.  The Archive is dug into them all, and the saddest thing is that Sims’ paranoia, justified or not, is keeping them from the only comfort they’re likely to get in their predicament: that they aren’t alone.  Even now, after all this, Sims categorically refuses to trust Tim or any of the others. He stated in this episode that he couldn’t tell who was a victim of the Archive and who was an agent, but I wonder if he’s trying to make discrete data when it’s all confluent.  No matter intention, they are all victims and all agents. Sims does what the Archivist must: even in the depths of his paranoia, he keeps recording.  Tim and Martin keep doing research, despite everything they may want to do instead.

And speaking of, it was interesting to finally get Tim’s assessment of the team: Sims hiding and plotting and generally being completely useless; Martin ‘wanting to have a tea party’, which sounds a lot like Martin just want everyone to get along but doesn’t have any particular plan of how that might be accomplished aside from pushing tea and sandwiches at everyone; and Sasha is … nothing.  Even in Tim’s rant, he couldn’t acknowledge the wrongness of Not-Sasha, and I love that tiny little touch.

It’s also interesting that he said Elias was ignoring the problems in the Archives.  No matter how bad things get down there, no matter how poorly Sims behaves or Tim feels, neither of them is getting fired.  Nor is Martin.  Nor is Not-Sasha, who is perhaps just as trapped as the rest.  It makes me wonder if, even if we get the real Sasha back, could Not-Sasha leave?  What hold would the Archive have on an imposter, if any?

And you know what?  I’m willing to bet Elias knows.  He watched Gertrude for years.  He saw whatever happened to her proceed.  Not her murder, perhaps, but certainly her slide into buying Leitners and doing whatever it was she was doing before her death.  

He knew, but he can’t fire anyone in the Archives either.  It’s a position for life, because anyone who starts to work there is claimed by that place.

And that makes me wonder something else.  If they are trapped for the rest of their lives (and they really need to get it together, or those lives are going to be miserable), does the Archive have power over IF they die?  After all, Gertrude was shot INSIDE the Archives, in the place where the power that had enveloped her and chained her was strongest.  Did the Archive have to let it happen?  Did the Archive want it to happen?

Conclusions

Hell of an episode. The scary story was that sort of particularly-good creepypasta flavor that sometimes trips my trigger, and the final confrontation between Tim and Sims was both well-earned, and very well performed.  Despite my continued frustration with Sims’ refusal, in spite of all the pain around him, to trust anyone in the Archival staff (with NO REASON to suspect any of them, and every reason to suspect someone else, like, say DAISY), I did feel for them both by the end, as they both realized how trapped they were.  For their own sakes, I hope Tim brings it up with Martin, as Martin has expressed the same trapped feeling.  He was the first to feel it, perhaps because he was the first to consider leaving after Jane Prentiss went after him.

I think that, even if Sims isn’t in a place where he could be … at all a help to anyone, including himself, Tim and Martin might be able to band together just a little.  It would require Tim to dial back the hostility toward Sims, and for Martin to dial back the protectiveness, because Sims is clearly what’s standing between them actually bonding over this.  But if they were to … I don’t know … have a pact where they didn’t talk about Sims at all for an hour or so while getting drinks? That could be REALLY good for both of them.

And would set up a nice end-of-season moment when Sims finally gets his head out of his ass and joins them.  Because I’m a sucker for an understated happy ending.