#it was the second dream i ever had that featured theme of finding canon look of laurence in the game

[katyspersonal]

Healing church setting up the sprinkler in the front yard of the grand cathedral so Amelia can run around and bite the water. Enrichment.

Dude fdshhfdh This is so wholesome xD

This is how Amelia's era as a vicar SHOULD have ended *sob*

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

~ Heart Of Secrets |2| Mon Rêve

Pairing: Archdeacon! Jungkook x Romani! Fem! Reader

Summary: It all began with a mistake that followed you like a shadow on a sunny day. You crossed paths with the enigmatic Archdeacon of Notre-Dame, Father Jeon Jungkook, who promised to protect you from demons he couldn't fight. 15th Century, Paris. A lie. A stolen heartbeat and a confession that was never heard. He wanted you. You needed him. A secret turned into poison just as fate was cruel and it made him love you. Bounded by his vows and his position, Jungkook could only keep you as close as a dream at his reach. A cruel dream forged in a sanctuary of shadows and thorns.

Warnings: religious themes, dark romance?, forbidden love, AGE GAP (Kook is like 30-ish and oc is in her early twenties), angst, Jungkook is a priest 😳, oc is described as a petite woman, oc is described as being of Romani origin but no physical description is given of her other than her small stature (for canon purposes), (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 2.2k words

A/N: Hi, darlings! I'm trying to get back to writing after my extensive break. I'm still not on my 100% but I'm getting better! I really hope you will like this second part of the story. Let me know what you think in the comments! I'd love to hear from you, my darlings :)

Father Jeon Jungkook was a devoted Catholic. He had maintained chastity as he served the Church with his entire being. But lately, his heart had burned with the flames of hellfire when it came to the cute Romani girl that had intrigued him so much. He now knew your name. (y/n). A name that suited you to perfection. A name that repeated over and over in his dreams and was now engraved in his heart. 

He woke up with anxiousness lacing his actions as he quickly got dressed before his long strides were carrying him through the stone corridors of the cathedral to the room he had given you last night. 

The flickering candlelight sharpened his features and made his shadow look longer than it originally was. His hands trembled at his sides as his palms itched to touch your soft-looking skin. His heart raced at the mere thought of seeing you. The sun was starting to illuminate Paris with their first rays of warm light and Jungkook thought how the sun would look reflected in your enchanting (h/c) locks.

But his hopes crumbled down like a castle of sand when he opened the door to your room only to find it empty. Everything was folded neatly, almost as if no-one had ever stepped into the bedroom as of lately. His heart sank as he stared into the empty room, the neatly arranged furnishings mocking his anticipation.

The silence was heavy, a stark contrast to the bustling energy that had filled his thoughts since he had first laid eyes on you. He had imagined this moment so vividly—envisioned seeing you waking up, greeted by the first light of dawn, perhaps sharing a smile or a quiet conversation.

His eyes swept over the room, searching for any sign of your presence. The bed was immaculate, the linens folded precisely. The clothes he had seen you wear the night before were nowhere to be seen. 

Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of something hiding under the bed, highlighted by the colourful rays of sun that filtered through the stained glass window. He bent down, picking out a bracelet made of silver and different gemstones. He had seen you wear it last night when he found you in the nave and you were drenched to the bone. 

His hand tightened around it, feeling the metal dig into his skin as he held onto the only object you left behind. The only thing that proved your presence within the cathedral. That what had happened last night was not a dream born of his desires. 

Jungkook's breath hitched as he clutched the bracelet, the cold metal grounding him in the harsh reality of your absence. His mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. Had you left on your own accord, slipping away into the labyrinthine streets of Paris before the sun fully rose? Or had something—or someone—forced you to leave in such haste?

His heart hammered in his chest, the echo of its beats resonating through the silent cathedral. Jungkook could still see the image of you, drenched and shivering, your wide eyes filled with both fear and defiance as you stood before him. He had wanted to protect you, to shelter you within these sacred walls, away from whatever danger had driven you here. But now, that resolve was splintering as dread crept into his soul.

There was nothing that he wanted more in that moment than to go out into the city and search for you but the title of his position and his duties stopped him. He had a role to play, he had a title to uphold and as much as his want to have you near was overwhelming, Jungkook was a man of God. He couldn’t let himself be swayed by simple carnalities. 

If you had wanted to stay, you would have. And if you were to come back, he could only pray for it to be soon. As he burned to catch a glimpse of your beauty. If only for just a second would suffice. 

Days passed and just as a flame, the archdeacon’s hope began to dwindle to see you again. He had been mesmerised by your beauty and wanted to protect you from the moment you stood in that cathedral seeking refuge. He sighed to himself as the thought crossed his mind, it was six o’clock. His evening Mass had just concluded and he watched from the altar as the parishioners left with soft murmurs that resonated over the tall ceilings of the cathedral. 

Jungkook lingered at the altar, his eyes trailing over the last of the parishioners as they filtered out of the cathedral. The sound of their footsteps on the cold stone echoed in the vast, empty space, amplifying the loneliness that had settled deep within him over the past few days.

He had thrown himself into his duties, hoping to drown out the thoughts of you that haunted him both day and night, but it was no use. The memory of your face, your voice, even the way your clothes had clung to your damp skin, had become an indelible part of his mind.

He sighed heavily, his hand instinctively reaching for the bracelet he had tucked into the pocket of his robes. The feel of the cold metal against his fingers was a small comfort, a tangible reminder that you had been real, that your brief presence in his life wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He had often found himself staring at the door of the room where you had stayed, half expecting to find you there, waiting for him, as if you had never left. But each time he was met with emptiness, the cold reality of your absence hitting him anew.

As the last of the parishioners exited the cathedral, the grand doors creaking shut behind them, Jungkook was left alone in the silence. The soft light of the candles illuminated the altar, casting long shadows that danced across the stone floor. He had always found peace in these moments of solitude after Mass, but now, the quiet only served to amplify the hollow ache in his chest.

He was about to turn and retreat to his quarters when the sound of light footsteps caught his attention. They were hesitant, almost as if the person didn’t want to be heard. His heart leapt into his throat, a mixture of hope and dread flooding his senses. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the dimly lit interior of the cathedral, searching for the source of the sound.

And then he saw you. 

You stood at the entrance of the nave, your figure partially obscured by the shadows. But there was no mistaking the outline of your smaller form, the way your (h/c) hair framed your face, catching the flickering light. For a moment, Jungkook thought he was dreaming. His heart raced as he took in the sight of you, his mind struggling to comprehend that you were truly there.

“(y/n).”

He breathed your name in relief, his voice barely a whisper but it seemed to carry across the vast space between you. 

You hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, your footsteps echoing softly as you approached. Jungkook couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, his gaze drinking in every detail—the way your dress swayed with each step, the slight tremor in your hands, the uncertainty in your eyes as you looked at him. You stopped a few feet away, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Are you alright?”

Jungkook finally asked, his voice laced with concern. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you, to reassure himself that you were truly here.

“Yes, Father Jeon. Please don’t worry about me.”

What an impossible request. He thought to himself. Your tone was polite, but distant, and it cut through Jungkook like a knife. He had imagined this moment so many times, but the reality of it was far from what he had hoped. There was a barrier between you, one that hadn’t existed the night you had sought refuge in the cathedral. He could see it in your eyes, in the way you held yourself as if ready to flee at any moment.

You reached into the small pouch at your side and pulled out a delicate object wrapped in a piece of cloth. 

“I wanted to thank you for helping me that night.”

Your voice softened slightly as you held the gift out to him. Jungkook stared at the offering, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions. He accepted the gift with trembling hands, carefully unwrapping the cloth to reveal a small, intricately crafted amulet. The design was unmistakably Romani, the tiny charms and symbols woven together with expert craftsmanship. It was beautiful, and the gesture touched him deeply.

“You will always have a place here if you ever need it, (y/n). You can find sanctuary within these sacred walls. It is a right as a child of God.”

You took in his words. The way his eyes softened while a shadow of a darker part of himself suddenly passed in front of his eyes. 

“I do not belong to this place, Father.”

He frowned, noticing the sadness that laced your words. The detachment to which you saw yourself and the only safe place you could run to. 

“You belong here as much as I do. Remember, my dear, the cathedral can protect you.” 

I can protect you.

But he didn’t say that last sentence out loud. He looked down at the amulet now in his hands, his fingers brushing over the intricate designs. 

“It’s beautiful.”

His murmured words reached your ears and you felt your heart skip a beat at his subtle praise. He looked back down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of the warmth he had seen that night, but you were already stepping back, your gaze averted.

“I should go.”

Your voice trembled as you spoke, the words rushed as your hands fisted the fabric of your colourful dress. You turned to leave, but Jungkook couldn’t let you go. Not again.

“Wait.”

He called out. His voice was more urgent than he intended. He reached out, his hand gently catching your wrist. You stopped, but you didn’t turn to face him. The young archdeacon swallowed as sparks awoke where his skin touched yours. His chest tightened, so did his grip around your wrist as his mind raced to find the right words. 

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? You can tell me. I can help you.”

His thumb brushed over your skin in soothing circles, pleading silently for you to speak, to tell him what was wrong. To accept his extended hand. For a moment, you remained silent, your body tense under his touch. He could feel the conflict within you, the struggle between wanting to confide in him and the fear that held you back. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper, laced with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“I can’t.”

Your voice was filled with so much sadness and fear that it tugged on his heartstrings. He wanted to yank you toward him and protect you from the world. 

“I can’t tell you, Father.”

You turned around, your eyes met his in a turbulent dance of emotions as you spoke once more in a hoarse whisper as tears gathered in your eyes. 

“I am a dead woman walking. If I speak… I don’t want you to get hurt as well.”

And just like that, you slipped from his grasp, the loss of your touch leaving his hand cold. You didn’t look back as you walked away, your footsteps echoing in the cathedral as you retreated into the shadows. Jungkook stood there, frozen, watching helplessly as you disappeared from his sight once more.

The door to the cathedral closed softly behind you, the sound reverberating in the empty space, sealing the distance between you. Jungkook remained where he was, the amulet clutched tightly in his hand, his heart heavy with the weight of your departure.

He had failed again—failed to protect you, failed to keep you close. The knowledge of your suffering, of whatever burden you carried, gnawed at him, and he cursed the barrier of his position that kept him from reaching out to you fully. He was a man of God, but he was also just a man—a man who had been captivated by you, whose heart now beat to the rhythm of a name that had become his obsession.

As he stood alone in the cathedral, the candles flickering in the dim light, Jungkook knew that he couldn’t let this be the end. He couldn’t let you slip away, not without knowing what troubled you, not without knowing how he could help. He would find a way to reach you, to tear down the walls between you. Even if it meant forsaking everything he had sworn to uphold.

With a final, determined breath, Jungkook turned and made his way back to the altar, the amulet still held tightly in his hand. He didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was certain—he would find you again. And when he did, he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant walking through the very flames of hell that had ignited within his heart.

August/22/2024

~ Masterpost

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

[ejunkiet]

dreams and confessions

a little more of the imperium!asher au, set after asher returns to the den injured.

redacted asmr: imperium!asher/babe, some mature themes.

tags: flashback to Quinn’s attack, panic attack mention, canonical character death. very soft and very loving okay.

READ ON AO3

There’s a name in the dreams, one that he knows, almost as well as his own. David.

--

dreams and confessions

The night passes in a blur of dreams and magic: dark, familiar eyes; soft touches that leave a sweet ache inside his chest; a lingering, overwhelming sense of loss.

There’s a name in the dreams, one that he knows, almost as well as his own. David.

-

He wakes with his mate in his arms, the stitches pinching at the skin of his abdomen.

He feels - sore. His magic accelerates his healing, even more so since he’d adopted the mantle of alpha, the strength of the pack itself feeding into it - but still, it will take some time to recover completely.

He should check on the stitches, see how far along the healing has gotten. Not now, though. Now, he’s curled around the one person who makes all this shit worth it. He won’t wake them. Not if he could help it.

They’re still asleep, cheek pressed against his chest, their fingers curled there too, completely uncaring of his scars. Their features are soft, the lines of stress that usually pinch them gone, and they look calm. Peaceful. For the moment at least.

If he closes his eyes and focuses on their breathing… he can pretend that it’s just the two of them. That they’re somewhere else. Away from all of this.

But he can hear the movements of the pack around the den, the presence of his second as he hovers outside his bedroom door, deliberating, before he places something heavy - a tray, Asher thinks - on the floor and walks away.

He can smell the grease and grits, the mouthwatering scent of bacon. Marie must have come by, and Christ, that means Milo knows. Knows what went down last night, or at least enough of it. He’d always had a keen eye, and he’d have the pack's healer on call if he was worried, just in case.

Shit. That means there’s a lecture in store for him later, on personal responsibility and letting us look out for ya, goddamnit. Milo was just like his mother on that front.

Releasing a low breath, he glances away from the door and finds their grey eyes on him, watching. His heart skips a beat as their soft gaze travels across his features, lingering at the cut on his cheek, before flicking back to his.

Their voice is softened by sleep, huskier than usual, when they break the silence. “How do you feel?”

He takes in a breath, assessing. “Better,” he says, and surprises himself when he realises he means it. But the truth is, he always feels better when they’re around.

They shift a little closer, the mattress creaking under their weight, their eyes on him bright in the early morning light. “The magic?”

He focuses on the feeling of static, ever present at the edges of his awareness.

“It’s faded.” He pushes up against the bed, only wincing a little at the twinge in his abdomen. “I think I’ll be able to take the stitches out later.”

Their hand comes up, fingers splaying against his chest, warm and gentle. “Let me see.”

His throat closes. He wants to object, but there’s a determination in their gaze that he recognises, a glint of steel. They can be stubborn when they want to be, especially when it comes to this.

He rests back against the pillows and nods.

Their touch is gentle as they unwrap the bandages, careful as the medical tape sticks to his skin, until his chest is bare. The bruising looks a damn sight better than it did yesterday, as if his injuries were several days old, and not a handful of hours.

The concern in their expression eases a little, and they lean down to the bowl beside the bed, grabbing a clean washrag. Catching his eye, they wait for his nod before they lean forward and start wiping down the stitches, pausing whenever he inhales at a sharp tug.

“Keep going,” he says when they catch his gaze, worry glinting within the pale depths, and they do.

They press a soft kiss against his chest when they’re done, just beneath his clavicle. His heart shudders at the gentleness of the touch, the care there. They’re always so fucking gentle with him. He still doesn’t think he deserves it.

“...Asher.” He blinks, refocusing on them and the soft hush of their voice, as soft as they had been last night. “What do you remember, from yesterday? After you came back?”

The night had passed in a blur of magic and dreams, reality blending with fiction until he couldn't separate the two. Still, he tries to focus on the memories, what he can piece together.

“The fight. You stitching me up. Then I fell asleep.” They hold his stare, a tight pinch to their brow, something he’s come to recognise as stress. “Right?”

“You did fall asleep… but not immediately.” They hesitate, teeth biting into their lower lip, a flash of white. “You talked, a little. About David.”

He freezes, muscles locking in place, mind racing. About David. He doesn’t talk about him. He tries not to say his name, if he can help it.

Their touch at his wrist steadies him, the firm brush of their thumb against the bone. “You didn’t say much. Just… that you missed him. I thought you should know.”

There’s still so much they don’t know. About him. About David.

They deserve to know.

“He was my best friend. My family. My alpha.”

They watch him, grey eyes soft, but they won’t push. They never push past his boundaries, dealing with his rough edges and the many, many cracks. He doesn’t deserve them, not by a long shot, but he can give them this. Another piece of himself.

They’ve earned it, and he trusts them, and that’s enough.

“I loved him. He… we weren’t like that. But he knew, and he loved me, all the same.”

His voice cracks, but he can’t stop - he couldn’t have, even if he wanted to. “And then I lost him. There was nothing I could do. Just… watch him bleed out. In my arms.”

A flash of memory. Dark hair, gleaming in the moonlight, black with blood. He was so cold, his breaths rattling inside his chest, gasping as he tried to speak, the words barely audible.

Ash. Take- care of the pack.

He’d made a promise to him, before he’d died; a promise bound in the blood that had soaked his hands, his clothes, David-

Fuck.

Their hand is on his cheek, brushing away the tears he hadn’t realised had fallen, before they lean in, kissing the damp skin, and fuck, fuck.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

He’s shaking. He’s shaking and he can’t control it, even as they say his name again, their grey eyes bright with emotion as their arms slip around his waist, pulling him in close.

“Breathe.”

Their hands on him help ground him. Bring him back to earth. Fuck, he loves them.

Still, it takes him a while to come back to himself, to regain control of the roiling mess of his emotions. They hold him through it, curled around him, their breathing steady, fingers running through his hair.

Later, they’ll help him take out the stitches, and Marie will come by and finish up the job, erasing the last traces of the fight from his skin as if it had never happened.

But for now, he just breathes, their arms around him. He doesn’t have to pretend with them.

“Thank you, for telling me.” The words are pressed against his hair, his face tucked against their throat. “I’m sorry.”

He turns, burying his face against their chest, and they hold him, and it’s enough.

[x0401x]

A 2nd season of Tsurune has been announced. Do you think we'll be finally getting all the KaiSei interactions or will they continue pushing Mina/Sei as they did in s1? Was there even any backlash from the Japanese fandom for the fact that they have basically scrapped Seiya and Kaito's relationship?

Another dream come true, am I right? ;)

I think we can hope to see Kaito and Seiya acting more or less the way they do in canon for this new season. Probably not entirely, since it would be too abrupt a change given how S1 went, but I don't think KyoAni has anywhere else to run to now. I mean, Seiya is around Kaito 99.9% of the time in volume 2 and most of his lines are him talking to Kaito directly. The only time I can recall that he isn't with Kaito is the scene where he was helping Minato after he got out of the elevator and started feeling sick. Also, Seiya's conflicts involving Minato are already over and done with, so there's nothing to make fanservice out of. There would have to be a lot of changes in order to push SeiMina in this one, and considering everything that has happened, I don't think it'd be wise of KyoAni to take risks with adding so much original content a second time. Also, from what I have seen, the Japanese fans don’t care much for SeiMina, so KyoAni wouldn’t lose anything by quietly setting it aside.

Now, about the backlash, I've commented on it a long time ago, but Japanese people usually do not engage in negative criticism of any kind, be it constructive or not. They either say good things or say nothing. Well, mostly. When I looked through the Japanese tag on Twitter, I was surprised to see quite a few negative reviews, even after the arson attack and even after the arsonist revealed that Tsurune was the anime he claimed to have been a “rip-off of his own novel”. In fact, I had gone to Twitter back then to see people’s opinions about that, not about ships, and I was very appalled to see that so many of the negative comments were about Seiya and his relationship with Minato. I must add that I was looking through the general Tsurune tag, and not searching for their names specifically. But in-between people calling the arsonist a dumbass because “Tsurune was based off a novel that came out way before he submitted his novel to Esuma Bunko”, I of course found reviews of the anime too. It was eye-opening, and actually kinda funny, to see that all of the foreigners in the tag were posting SeiMina left and right, while the Japanese viewers were talking about how Seiya "stands no chance" and "Minato's eyes are clearly in love with the coach". I also saw a lot of people comparing Tsurune to Free! because of the way Seiya was portrayed in the anime, saying that "KyoAni can't make anything other than the jealous childhood friend trope" and things of the sort. But these were clearly anime-only's, so I have no idea what they think of SeiKai being swept under the rug.

Still, though, I think this shows that KyoAni keeps an eye on the fans' opinions, because, if you take a moment to go through the official arts and merchandize, you'll find that there's literally no SeiMina artworks anywhere. The only one I've ever seen was for a Tsurune-Violet Evergarden double event, where people got exclusive postcards that had Seiya and Minato on them. Still, the theme of these postcards was the protagonists with their respective best friends, which is why Violet was featured with Lux in the VE one even though Lux is a novel-only character. Nothing suggestive either; just the two of them sitting side by side and not even making eye contact. That's it. That's literally the only one I've ever found. The rest is literally all Masaki and Minato, and the movie itself was centered around them, so perhaps KyoAni is steering towards the novels now. *crosses fingers*

[lnterjection]

Sleepy Bois Inc and DSMP Fanfic Recs

Uhhh I realized I have a ton of stuff in my bookmarks list and might as well compile a list of favorites because I’m always looking for good fanfics, and this might help some people. Most of these are SBI, though a few focus on things other than their dynamic with each other. Nothing explicit here. Feel free to suggest more recs. 

Fics set in DSMP universe/about DSMP (One-shots first, then longer fics):

One-shots and series of one-shots-

therein lies the madness by sapphicist - 2095 words. Currently says it’s one chapter out of three complete, but can be read as a standalone one-shot. Nice introspective fic on Tommy’s exile and his parallels with Theseus. In 2nd person, but it’s actually done nicely. Mostly angsty, can have hopeful interpretation depending on how you look at it. 

crazy how life goes on without me (2090 words, one-shot) by itisjosh - What if Ghostbur did remember everything, and just pretended to be clueless and vapid? Made me cry. It’s so good. Tortured my heart. 

the inner mechanism of a black box (13521 words, one-shot) by Bee_4 - only work of a series called “system theory”. “Technoblade lets himself get imprisoned for Philza’s sake. He doesn’t plan on being there long. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated Pandora’s Vault. There are things that will make even the Blade fall apart in due time, as it turns out.” Yeah so Techno’s mental health goes out the window in this one and its written brilliantly. There’s comfort at the end, if it helps? 

A State For One Man Is No State At All (5247 words, two-shot) by angstfortheangstgod - “A different version of the festival, in which Dream shows up unarmed, the Community House is left intact, a traitor is executed, and Tommy doesn't betray Technoblade.” Ranboo centric. Angst and comfort. 

All the Kings Men series by MollyPollyKinz - “After Ghostbur's suggestion to do Lads on Tour, Tommy finds himself reunited with his family. However, escaping from Dream is going to be harder than anyone previously thought.” A connected series of one-shots and short fics about Tommy, his exile, his family, and escaping Dream. Well written, good characterization, great studies into the characters themselves.

ad astra per aspera series by cacowhistle - Collection of one-shots that start with Tommy’s exile and expand to be about SBI and their dynamic with each other, including a resurrected Wilbur. Really, really well written and probably my favorite of the “Tommy exile fic groups”. 

the fall of a hero series by cracklesnaple - “After being threatened with being exiled yet again, Tommy takes the decision into his own hands. If those around him can't see that he's given up everything to make this nation what it is, then he's not sure he can stay in L'Manburg any longer.” Series about SBI and mainly Tommy, eventually crossing over into Mianite territory in a way some might enjoy and some might now. Writing’s good, though, which is what I care about.

Longer fics-

Rewind (101002 words, 25 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 17 2021) by Anonymous - Best time travel fix-it fic I’ve ever read period. Tubbo and Tommy travel 10 years back from a very messed up future to the first L’Manberg election. Concept may seen a bit weird at first but trust me, holy fuck this is amazing. 

second chances (hurt the most) (8841 words, 4 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 17 2021) by Anonymous - “Wilbur wakes up alone in a bloody room, and has to come to terms with living again. (How can he go on, knowing who's blood is on his hands?)”. Amazing fic where resurrection requires someone else’s life as sacrifice. Phil is dead. Wilbur struggles to come to terms with his father’s decision, and his second chance. 

all scotch, no soda (47466 words, 43 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 14 2021) by fishstixx - “Vulnerability meant trust, though, and trust was a thing not so easily given. Post-exile and canon divergent, follows the consequences of Tommy’s isolation. Expect chases, heists, bloodshed, and the mending of a family.” Features raccon hybrid Tommy being badass, and I live for it. I really, really love this one. 

DON’T FORGET THAT ICARUS FLEW. (16426 words, 6/10 chapters, last updated Jan 1. 2021) by orpheusaki - “The day before and the days that follow Tommy's exile; told through the eyes of The Blood God.” Techno (and Dream) is a god, and gods often forget how the intricacies of the minds of mortals. He’s trying to get better, however. 

what do you fall for? (16374 words, complete) by tablrcloth - Ranboo centric fic with Techno, Phil and Tommy. Ranboo realizes that playing L’Manberg’s politics is less than ideal for him. What can I say, it’s just really good. 

Breathing’s Just a Rhythm (12631 words, 6 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 17 2021) by MollyPollyKinz - “Tommy, Tubbo, Jschlatt, and Dream all end up in the past. (Oh, and the Chat comes too).” Great time travel fic. 

What World Have We Inherited? (73635 words, 12 chapters, unfinished and last updated on Dec 22 2020) by Anonymous (this one has a series with all their works, and they’re all AMAZING). Holy fuck this one is probably one of my favorite fics in the fandom so far. “Wilbur blows everything to hell on the day of the Manburg festival, just like he wanted. When the ashes settle, it's just Tommy and Technoblade. It's not good, but it's better than nothing. It's just them, healing up in a world that never wanted them.” Amazing characterization, worldbuilding, everyone’s internal thoughts are portrayed and written so well. Even if it never updates again I would keep coming back to it. I rec this Anon’s works so much. 

In June, I Changed My Tune (29489 words, 6 chapters, unfinished and last updated on Jan 6 2021) by KryOnBlock - Eret runs away and eventually becomes friends with Techno. Nice cottagecore aesthetic. I have mixed feelings about this one - the writing’s good, descriptions and characterizations are really good. Just that there’s consistent punctuation mistakes and it takes me out of the world a bit. Everything else is good enough for me to continue reading, however. 

stay with him (24353 words, 12 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 9 2021) by junipersand - I especially rec the first chapter, which can be read (and originally was) a standalone fic with the summary “Every ghost had a purpose to fulfill. So what was Tommy’s?” Utterly heartwrenching, probably the most emotionally gut-punching bit of writing I’ve ever read in this fandom. It continues with other lore stuff afterwards that eventually branch off from just SBI and Tommy, but man. I don’t think I can ever forget that first chapter. 

I’m not angry at you, well, sometimes I am (52801 words, 16 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 14 2021) by sircantus - After Tommy is exiled, he runs away to Techno’s house instead of going off with Dream. SBI decide some revenge and “world domination” is in order. 

Fics set in AUs outside DSMP happenings:

One-shots and series of one-shots-

Empty Crowns AU by UnderUrsa - the SBI + Tubbo are gods, and a family. Series of one-shots. Nicely written, what can I say? Some angst, some fluff.

Secure, Contain, Protect AU by blue000jay - Amazingly written SCP AU. Knowledge of the SCP universe would help with understanding some more meta things, but is not needed to understand most of it. Some angst, disturbing themes around memories but nothing terribly gory.

CLASSIFIEDS. (13804 words, finished). SCP pages on SBI, short stories and audio transcriptions as well as files, lots of good lorebuilding here. Features an escape, + Tubbo!

CONFIDENTIALS. (13232 words, finished). Centers on Dream Team.

ARCHIVES. (1270 words, one-shot). What happened after SBI and Tubbo’s escape from the SCP foundation.

old gods (new gods) AU by WriterWinged - the relatively well known SBI gods AU. Amazingly written, great character interpretations. 

the gods are cruel (none crueler then you) (1394 words, one-shot) - As much the grammatical mistake in the title hurts me it’s no doubt one of the best pieces of work in the fandom. 

and yet they find kindness (and so do you) (2/4 chapters posted) - continuation of “the gods are cruel”. 

there’s a risk to the world (but the kindest are strongest) (2/3 chapters posted) - continuation of “the gods are cruel”. 

SBI Antarctic Princes AU by ScripWriter -  One of several Antarctic Empire AUs, this one just has these two preliminary one-shots but they’re nice bits of fun and neatly written. All fluff and mild hurt with lots of comfort so far. 

Younger Holding On Another (1781 words, one-shot). Techno is a good brother and reassures and newly adopted Tommy. 

But Oh, Don’t You Know How It Goes (2511 words. one-shot). Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur have some “fun” at a boring gala. Phil is very exasperated. 

Antarctic Princes ‘verse AU by BirchWrites - AU where Techno, Tommy, and Wilbur are princes of the Antarctic Empire (well, Techno’s technically the emperor now), but this time the events of DSMP still happen (at least up to the 1st season).

Homeward bound for the arctic ground (10562 words, one-shot). Wilbur and Tommy travel to the Antarctic Empire in person to ask Techno for help in fighting Schlatt. Good worldbuilding and acknowledges Wilbur’s beginnings of insanity while still being rather light.

Surprise Hugs (2542 words, one-shot). Dream doesn’t realize Tommy is Techno’s brother and thinks he’s going to get killed for tackling the infamous Blood God.

Family Reunions (1396 words, one-shot). Fundy never realized he’s loyalty and Techno informs him unexpectedly.

Longer fics-

leave me your starlight (14620 words, 4 chapters, unfinished and last updated Jan 11 2021) by findingkairos - “Once upon a time, Philza Minecraft is the only person who does not shy away from the bloody teen that regularly turns the tide of war. This cements a friendship that will last wars, empires, worlds, and lifetimes.“ Amazing backstory fic on Phil and Techno’s relationships, one of my absolute personal favorites. Very well written and really digs into the intricacies of Techno’s character (or an interpretation of it, but hey, that’s what all fanfiction is).

I was a kid in a village, doing alright, then I became a prince overnight (21736 words, 5 chapters, last updated Jan 13 2021) by sircantus - another Antarctic princes AU, this time centering on 16 year old Tommy catching the attention of Phil, Techno, and Wilbur after thwarting an assassination attempt. Really well written. Actually, I rec all of sircantus’ SBI stuff because they do amazing work.

antarctic adage (26591 words, 4/7 chapters posted, last updated Jan 13 2021) by blue000jay - Another very well written Antarctic princes AU with Emperor/ruler Phil. Are we seeing a pattern yet? blue000jay is another writer I’d rec, with really great SBI stuff.

a renewal of faith, and of family (56684 words, 31 chapters, unfinished, last updated Jan 13 2021) by SolivangantStories - One of the only fics here that doesn’t feature SBI, this one is Tubbo and Dream centered. Basically, the DSMP!Tubbo is executed by Schlatt and wakes up in a world where Manhunt!Dream is trying not to die and is also actually a nice person, to Tubbo’s surprise and confusion. Not SBI and technically not even DSMP, but it’s really good so I’ve decided to rec it anyway.

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA FIC PROMPTS

A collection of all of the fic ideas from that ask game, as of now. I’ll throw in new ones if i get any and when I remember. Feel free to use any of them, I’d love a link if you did!

with hands to the sky, I beg (what will save us?)

Izuku is a god who asks to be reborn as a human to try and help. He is warned he can’t return to being a god and will join the mortal realm, ever reincarnated. He agrees.

Izuku is a child with faint memories of a life he never lived, who knows too much about the world but not enough about the people around him. He’s not listed as having a quirk but he’s never gotten sick, never been hurt. He scares the other children and the adults don’t like his precocious nature. Inko loves her little miracle.

 My Soul is Like a Supernova

Things happen around Izuku. Always have. Everything from earthquakes and villain attacks to miraculous healing and lottery wins. He’s always attracted big events like this - as if even the universe can see how important he is and it warps itself around him.

He sees this as perfectly normal. 1A is begining to notice a stressful pattern.

This one regret of mine

Character study of Inko and how she deeply regrets so many things she’s done in her life, from her husband, to giving up on her carrier, to telling Izuku he couldn’t be a hero and then letting him keep going to UA.

But no matter what she’d never regret her son.

Of souls and lost causes

A good ol’ Izuku sees dead people AU, focused more on his younger years when he’d wander around the city helping as many spirits as he could, only to return home at the end of the day exhausted and dirty to an increasingly worried mother who believed the doctor when he said seeing ghosts as a quirk would be impossible.

my life.your choice

Underground heroics AU (i dont think ive ever posted that au huh): Izuku is the well-known son of japan’s immortal emperor, All for One. Born quirkless, he’s been emotionally abused but violently protected his whole life by his father, his mother killed before his eyes for trying to take him away. He’s never been able to make a choice for himself save for his bodyguard - his childhood friend, Bakugo Katsuki.

Katsuki made a pledge to protect him when they were in kindergarten and he’ll be damned if he breaks it now. And if it takes the two of them joining the resistance, meeting a vigilante by the name of All Might thought long dead and Izuku receiving a near-mythical quirk? Well, that just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?

I forgot that you existed

Izuku gets hit with a quirk that not only makes people forget him, it prevents them from seeing him as well - all but erasing him from reality for everyone he knows. He can still interact with things but all it manages to do is just UA shut down under fear of villain infiltration. They find Izuku 18 hours later when the quirk wears off - a motion tracking gun trained on his forehead.

certain uncertainties

No one can predict the quirks trapped in One for All or when they’ll show up. Anthology fic of Izuku discovering each of them, some being rather helpful, and at least one piece of merch being sent into a low orbit.

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

Set in the same universe I wrote console reset in; during the two heroes movie: they never defeat Nine and he slaughters the whole island and his class, leaving Izuku till last. He comes back at the start of their first day on the island and doggedly makes friends with every islander he can because while it hurt seeming them die, it hurt even more knowing he’d never even learnt most of their names.

They win this time the first time they meet him, even if it’s a marathon fight of 8 hours with him and Bakugo doggedly wearing him down. No one dies. Izuku thinks it’s worth dying as many times as he has to to keep the people he loves smiling.

The immortality of the heroic spirit

One of the quirks in One for All is determination: if you have something you desperately want to do, you can’t die - no matter how much blood you lose or home many pieces your body is crushed into - you’ll just heal back to where you were before you died. All Might and Aizawa find this out to horrifying effect during a brutal villain fight they are stuck watching on the news with the rest of a terrified UA.

In hindsight this makes a lot of sense to Izuku. Aizawa wants to scream. All Might has coughed up more blood than is probably healthy and all of 1A bruised hands from where they were clutching each other’s when it got too tense.

Shine on you invincible legacy

Izuku becomes a top 10 hero before hes even out of high school, hitting No.2 the second he graduates and taking No.1 from Hawks literally the next time the ranking is counted. 1A will not stop throwing him parties each time he moves up in the ranking, even if in 3rd year it was every other week. All Might comes to ever one of them.

Shake the Dirt from Your Shoes

Izuku will be a hero and no one will stop him - an AU a fair bit like the beginning of canon except Izuku fights back, remains unending optimistic and maybe engages in a light bit of technically legal vigilantism, accidentally befriending a vast array of heroes and a student or two.

To his horror, they recognise him out of costume as soon as he speaks to them, resulting in a very eventful first day at UA.

do you feel with a heart of steel

Original Sin AU, young Izuku finding feeling emotions difficult and not knowing why. He finds a dying animal on the way home and sits with it, patting it until it passes away. He doesn’t think he feels anything, but his cheeks feel wet.

all you want is milk and honey

Villains have been trying to use Izuku his entire life, much to his annoyance and confusion (I wonder who in his family might make him known to villains? hm). He’s gotten very good at being intimidating, even as a child.

When he gets kidnapped with Bakugo on a primary school field trip he decides to hell with it and breaks out all the stops. Turns out villains don’t tend to want a 10-year-old who can describe in great detail how they would hang you with your own intestines.

Bakugo decides that fuck Izuku being quirkless, he’s kind of amazing.

Even the stars

Izuku dies young and no one but the stars cry for him. They bring him back, but his body is cold and he has a nova burning where his heart should be. A four-year-old who has known death and walked among the stars is a terrifying thing. His skin has a shimmer to it, his eyes look like planets with no visible pupil, and he knows far too much.

The stars still speak to him, and they see everything.

bitter dreams and optimistic nightmares

Bakugo and Izuku grow up good friends, until Izuku is taken by villains age 9.

Bakugo’s determined to be a hero to save Izuku, even if it hurts to be at UA without him.

Izuku hates hurting people but he’s determined to make the most of his horrible situation by leaking information to heroes whenever he can. He’s given to All for One to serve as a lab hand to the doctor when All for One finds out this rag tag outpost of his had been hiding a valuable resource.

They meet at the USJ.

Mind Games for Two Shinsou and Izuku are both gen ed students in the same class, but with Shinsou stubbornly refusing to make friends and Izuku being the vice president they are almost strangers. UA has a no quirkless students policy and Shinsou has accidentally discovered that he student in his class with an analysis quirk, doesn’t, actually, have one. Izuku is aware Shinsou knows. They both want to get into the hero course but are under the impression there is only one spot.

It’s tense.

The Melody Stuck in My Soul

Izuku has an empathy/emotional control quirk that hears other’s emotions like music. He uses this both to read people, to defend himself, and, because hes Izuku, to ramp up his adrenaline/motivation/anger to kick ass. He and Bakugo are friends because baby Bakugo was lowkey impressed Izuku managed to weaponize his tears.

Advantage of the musical element: it gives him something concrete to latch on to and change, and it was very easy to work out which emotions were which. Also he has his own theme song, even if he’s the only one who can hear it.

Disadvantage: He cant turn it off. The stronger the emotion the ‘louder’ the music (it doesn’t cover up natural sounds because its not technically there, you get me?)

Error 404, childhood not found

A Hero’s Son AU, snapshot’s of Izuku’s childhood with No.1 Hero All for One as his abusive father.

Age 4 when his quirk never comes in and All for One abandons all pretences of loving him. Age 6 when he realises his son is intelligent and has a use as a lab assistant for the doctor. Age 8 when Bakugo first realises something is wrong. Age 9 when his father is almost killed by the No.1 villain All Might. Age 9 when he’s made to work in the labs with the doctor.

Age 14 when he meets All Might. Age 15 when he makes it into UA.

Darkness Growing (The Light Ever Smaller)

Villains take over Japan after the current arc, leaving all heroes and students that don’t switch sides on the run. 1A is instantly separated with a few of them  being killed, most of the living students with Aizawa and Izuku and Bakugo by themselves, both too stubborn to leave the other.

Aizawa is desperately trying to get to Izuku and Bakugo in an attempt to keep them safe, while the two of them are avoiding Aizawa to keep the rest of their class safe(er), all while avoiding the villains, turncoat heroes and police out to get them. Public support is spotty at best with anyone found ‘harboring a criminal’ given the same punishment as the hero.

Lost soul of last hope

The first wielder has been Izuku’s imaginary friend since he can remember. He’s not very imaginary.

Featuring Izuku with the world’s strangest older brother, Inko coming to the realisation her son can see a ghost, but only one ghost and no one will believe them, Izuku’s quirk being listed as Inko’s because the first wielder can help him fake it, and Izuku wondering why first looks so much like that picture of his father on his mother’s bedside table.

The kids the system failed

100% The 1A run aways au with 1A, Aizawa and Mic being runaways kids of various ages that band together to stay alive and maybe do a little vigilante work on the side.

Izuku has All for One and uses it like you’d expect a traumatised kid to - cautiously at first but when he gets the hang of it there are suddenly no more criminals with quirks in their area, and it looks suspiciously like Uraraka can fly.

Just a second to soon? For the Fic thing?

Aizawa struggles and gets knocked out just before Shigaraki lunges at Tsuyu. She and Izuku are left horribly injured by his quirk with massive facial scarring, and in Tsuyu’s case, the loss of an eye.

Daze

An illusion/fear quirk makes his teachers look like villains and convinces him he’s in danger. They try and stop him without hurting him but it’s difficult considering Izuku is convinced he’s protecting his friends, considering he can only see them broken and bloodied with villains he thought were locked away loaming over them.

Even as Aizawa cuts out his quirk Izuku still tries to shield his friends, snarling ferally.

Morning Glories and Forget-me-nots

A memory quirk of unknown duration hits Izuku, leaving him remembering none of his life. 1A starts to fall apart without one of their pillar’s.

hopeless but not broken

The Long Con au where Izuku asks All Might if he could be a hero without a quirk - he’s really asking if he can stop pretending to be a villain, if he’s worth anything without the quirks he’s been given, if he’s worth something as himself rather than the limited use he can provide. He doesn’t know how to say all of that, so he just asks if he could be a hero.

All Might says no. And Izuku basically decides right then that the only way he’ll ever be able to help people is by being a mole for the heroes like he’s been since he was 10 - that he isn’t worth anything because he’s quirkless and to be considered just as valuable as the people around him are he needs to give his life and more.

He shows up to the bar crying because of All Might and Shigaraki moves his murder plot forward a few months.

Sunflowers and Summer Gardens

All Might starts a garden on campus and 1A like to help. He uses it as a nice place to chill and as physical therapy. He likes to give the different classes bunches of flowers when they sprout.

For Dos and For Donts

Izuku runs into some of his old bullies when out with some of his friends. Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, Shinsou and Asui intimidate the fuck out of them, and Izuku realises hes not scared of them any more. Then they get frozen yoghurt!

your mistakes, my unbecoming

Aizawa assigns a project on quirk related issues, Izuku ends up with quirkless discrimination, Aizawa assumes his discomfort is just him being upset he doesn’t get to talk about quirks. He doesn’t realise his mistake until he finds Izuku dissociating on the roof.

one and one into the vast

Original Sin AU, All for One and Izuku seeing the vestiges together. One for All sees his brother for the first time and Izuku learns a lot about the voice in his head.

All for One has a mini-crisis about his not son learning he’s a horrific villain, especially considering he has the power to cast his soul out at any time, killing him at will. Izuku doesn’t kill him. He admits its probably not right of him to let AfO remain considering the things he’s done, but All for One is a part of him now and it would be like killing a friend.

All for One quietly decides to hold off on the villainy until all of 1A is dead, for Izuku’s sake.

between the stars of our souls

Izuku and All Might are old gods who keep getting reborn into human forms with their memories regained when they turn 4. Normally finding each other takes a while, and their last reincarnation they never found each other, so this time he resolves to make himself as easy to find as possible, all while saving as many people as he can.

Izuku, aged 4, memories fresh in his head, makes it his mission to get into contact with the man he knows is his father/mentor’s reincarnation. All Might’s agency was not expecting a 4 year old to repeatedly try breaking in to their office, and they especially weren’t expecting him to be so good at it.

you really should have thought this through

Different (and ill-advised) attempts at special moves or team up combo moves. Featuring:

Izuku managing to break Kirishima’s nose.

Uraraka sending Bakugo so high he broke the sound barrier coming back down to earth.

Kaminari and Shouto managing to electrify ice.

Izuku, Todoroki and Bakugo levelling a whole suburb (at least it was condemned???)

I'll Break Anything You Give Me

Different times Izuku desperately tried to repair his relationship with Izuku over the years and the one time Bakugo fully grasps how much he fucked up and reaches out his hand to try to fix it for the first time. Probably includes a lot of screaming, Bakugo learning how to say sorry, a field trip and them having a conversation on Aldera’s roof.

Sinking

One for All kind of possesses Izuku during a quiet night at the dorms. One for All, made of 8 people, 7 of which are dead and had their last experiences in life be rather painful and violent, breaks down, Izuku alone not enough to drown them out. They lash out at anyone who tries to touch them, their quirks tearing Izuku’s body apart.

All Might’s vestige reaches out a hand to Izuku to keep his mind from being torn apart as 1A set about both trying to protect Izuku and get Aizawa who was off campus on patrol.

Feat. Bakugo and All Might being the only people with any idea about what’s going on and getting more and more stressed each second that passes. Iida, Uraraka and Todoroki being good heroes and even better friends. Blood King deciding he’s never watching 1A for Aizawa again, and Aizawa deciding he’s never leaving 1A alone ever again.

A Long Way From Home

Shirakumo wakes up in Kurogiri’s body in Tartarus with only shadowed memories of his time as a villain. He’s scared and alone and he just wants to see his friends again, even if he’s scared they hate him because at least that’s something he knows.

Too Far Gone

The other side AU, it comes out Izuku is a villain with (knockoff) All for One and he has a showdown with Mirio. He and Izuku trained together under All Might and Mirio tries to plead with him but Izuku has to basically tell him to go to hell to not ruin his placet as crown prince of the underworld.

Of course, he’s not only doing this to save people, he’s also doing it with All Might’s blessing - taking over from All Might himself serving as a villain after he killed All for One to prevent a power vacuum.

Doesn’t mean that his friends in 1A know that.

Snowy hills and sunlit peaks

Probably an AU about All Might being a mountain spirit with a little shrine that Izuku is the only one who visits - Izuku gets in trouble and All Might manifests himself, saves him, and tells everyone to keep their hands off his human son.

Wilting

Izuku gets sick and he tries to hide it because he’s scared its something serious but he just gets worse and worse. His friends are the ones who eventually step in and comfort him.

I’d probably write two endings with one being a bad end and the other a good end.

My wish came true without me realising 

Izuku wakes up one morning, comes downstairs and just starts crying. Everyone panics and he reassures them they are happy tears and that he's just glad to be here. They all call him sappy and give him a hug. Later in the day he and Bakugo chat and Izuku reveals he never even expected to live this long, let alone become a hero. Bakugo grumbles that he’s too stubborn to die, and not to get too cocky. Izuku promises he wont.

[rwriting]

the last victim // sayu yagami (deathnote)

description: gosh, i love sayu yagami so much. i have so many headcanons for her –  it’s a little embarrassing… i really wanted to write this piece! it’s post canon with a few dark themes. i’m of the opinion that sayu’s a character with so much potential, so little of which is explored in the canon. hoping you all enjoy! 

word count: 1.6k

content warnings: light yagami (ha, ha…), implied self-harm, self-hatred (?), the term psychopath (ableism), magazines being gross, sibling and parent death, bullying… sorry, i know that’s quite a lot to bear with. please take care of yourself!

 Breathe.

She’s trying, she really is.

Breathe.

Her hands spasm and reach for her throat.

Breathe.

She forces her hands to her sides.

Breathe.

She opens her eyes.

Sayu Yagami stares at the ceiling of her apartment, head fuzzy with… she wants to say the remnants of a dream, but perhaps a nightmare is closer to the truth. She can’t quite remember. Besides, her waking, no matter the night she’s experienced, is never pleasant. It always involves too much breathlessness, too much begging, too much… emotion.

Sayu feels torn about that. Too much emotion. It seems weird to think that she could be overwhelmed with emotion, when she spends so much time simply without it. She’s not sure what is worse: drowning beneath the waves, or feeling as if she’s dying of thirst.

Maybe I deserve them both, she thinks. It’s a recurring thought – she can never be rid of it. It sneaks up behind her, holds her hand. Offers comfort, somehow. There’s a reason for this, it whispers. Sayu thinks she likes reasons, likes logic, likes… explanations. That’s understandable, they all say. You want to know how one of your own hurt so many others.

I don’t, thinks Sayu. She doesn’t know if it’s a lie or not. How odd to not even know if you yourself are telling the truth.

Desperate not to get stuck in a loop of contemplation as she’s prone to (she’s spent days like this before; lying in bed, pondering and pondering and pondering), she swings her legs off the bed and plants them on the cold, cold, floor. The sensation of the frozen tiles and the jolt they send through her is oddly pleasant; it’ll prevent her from falling back to sleep at the very least.

A quick walk to the bathroom and she considers herself fully awake. Well, as awake as she gets; too many days of hers are spent in a daze, a state so distanced from reality she can hardly call it a state of being awake. A state of dreams and disillusionment.

She takes in her face in as she stares at the mirror. For a terrifying moment, her eyes gloss over her own reflection as if there is nothing there – as if it the face of someone else, or simply a smudge. Or a ghost… she thinks, and smiles in spite of herself. A ghost. That is what she feels like so often, floating from minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day… or place to place, though she rarely leaves her home. The high rise apartment with its large windows and intimidating staircases isn’t exactly comforting, but that doesn’t mean she’s not enamoured with it – obsessed with the way it makes her feel. The way it makes her feel. Calm, mysterious. Like she has a plan. Like him.

She focuses once again on the mirror, on her reflection. All her features are accented, more obvious, more vivid. No. All of his features are more accented, more obvious, more visible, no, wait, all of a sudden they’re the only ones there, and he’s here in the mirror, she can see him, she can touch him, she can let him out!

The mirror cracks as Sayu’s fist makes contact with it, the sound loud and unforgiving. Unforgiving also is the gift it gave her – an open wound, leaking blood. She watches the blood trickle slowly, dripping down into the sink. She doesn’t bother to wash it away. Somehow, to do so would feel like a betrayal. To what, she’s not sure. Maybe she wants evidence. This happened. Or maybe it’s to do with the blood – maybe she considers it proof her existence, her being, her living.

There are other ways to see that blood you know…

The thought is not so much a thought as a temptation; a beg disguised as a calm offer. No, she thinks sternly. She almost wants to say it out loud, but there is something sacred in the silence. Even her footsteps seem more quiet than usual, the sound of her bare feet not muffled by socks but just by the air itself.

Her feet take her away, to kitchen, where she reaches up to a shelf, to grasp in her hand (the one free of blood) a small medical box, filled mainly with bandages and gauze. She tends to her hand, and for a few seconds wishes she had someone to do this for her, with her. It’s a bad idea, a bad thought. Not only is it a foolish longing, but it leads to a reminiscing; an unearthed memory which she wants to hold dear. If only it weren’t so tainted.

Her knowledge of how the memory will make her feel, her warning to herself – none if it seems to help, to stop it as it takes shape in her mind. She’d have been eight when it had happened. She’d planted some flowers on her windowsill and had cut her hand on one of the small terracotta plant pots. Downstairs she’d gone, tears welling in her eyes. And there he was, washing his hands in the sink, turning to meet her with a small smile on his face. Okay, what’d you do this time?

She’d stuck out her hand to show him, and his eyes had widened almost imperceptibly. That looks a little serious, Sayu. Despite the pain, she’d stuck out her tongue at him cheekily, at which he had offered a slight grin. Alright. Sit at the table and I’ll tend to it. Even at eleven, he’d had a presence – a sort of commanding aura which made one want to heed his words, hold them close. Obey him. She hadn’t though it dangerous then, it was hard to think of it as anything but now.

My brother. It’s the only way she can think of him. His name… his name invites too much. Personal effects gone through, a computer dragged away by two men in suits. And headlines, so many headlines. Who knew how the press got hold of the information; who cared. All it mattered was that she could no longer see his name - in her mind or written on paper – without every article she’d ever read crashing down on her, words, words, words. Genius. God complex. Misguided youth. Psychopath. Saviour. Killer. Kira. That one hurt almost as much, despite how impersonal it was, a moniker started by… who even knew? The internet was a cluttered, anonymous, graveyard and, beyond that, a mystery. Who cared enough to track down the first person to gift her brother with this title, to find them out?

She thought of this annoyingly often. Maybe if her brother had been given a different title, no title at all, things may have progressed differently. It was so, so foolish. She knew this. It sounded like a time traveller’s pathetic attempt to change the future without destroying the past. Pathetic. The word repeat itself a little in her mind, echoing.

There were articles on her too, of course. Complicit? they said, the question mark seeming more for show than anything else. Yagami sister involved in killings? Imagine that. Her, an accomplice to the Kira killings, and not questioned by the great detective L simply because he thought her young and girlish. Complicit… the word reverberates and she questions it, pulls it apart. Was she complicit? Did she know of her brother’s actions before they were revealed in the news? She was more observant than anyone gave her credit for, but Light (LightLightLightLightLightLightLight) ‘s change in demeanour could have been down to any number of factors, including adolescence, or even his father’s work. Our father’s work, Sayu corrects herself. He belonged to both of them. And now he belonged to the earth.

I lost you both, Sayu thinks. Although she’d previously envied her father and brother’s strong sense of justice, now she felt quite thankfully to not share it. In a way, it led them both to their deaths. One at the hand of the other.

As she looks out the wide window of the apartment, she feels lonely. There are a few precious memories involving both her brother and the night skies, but they’re not what evokes this emotion. Seeing how much there is out there, the bright lights of all the other people living lives like hers, makes her realise how few people there are in her life. She’d maintained no friendships from her school or university, nor her bonds with her mother. Not that the former had many any effort on their own parts – any interest displayed in her was as ‘the sister of Kira’. She could recall so many times, the insensitive questions, the pulling of her hair, the tearing of her clothes. They’d scream at her.

Did my uncle deserve to die, you stupid girl? Did you agree with your brother? Did you go to sleep every night knowing what he was doing in the next room? Did you care?

Her own thoughts, both then and now, are a mirror.

Did my brother deserve to die? Did you disagree with him? Did you wake up every morning to watch the news and fear for your life? Did it scare you?

They’re ugly thoughts, but anger doesn’t need to be beautiful. Neither does justice.

And there’s no justice, she thinks. There never was.

[sidecarghost]

My Reaction to Destiel in Spn 15x18 to 15x20

Notes: this will contain spoilers for up to series finale 15x20.

I am in LGBTQ+, and this is my personal opinion on the treatment of Destiel, Dean, and Castiel in episodes 15x18-15x20. The LGBTQ+ community is complex and varied, just like any community, so I do not intend for my views to be seen as representative. I think any reaction is just as valid as mine.

Castiel’s Declaration and Dean’s Response

I personally thought Misha Collins’ performance of Castiel’s declaration of love was earnest and authentic. It was beautiful, and I loved every word of it. What bothered me about 15x18 was Dean not reciprocating. I understand that love doesn’t always work out, but this is a LGBTQ+ relationship. There are so few LGBTQ+ relationships on tv, so it’s difficult to understand why anyone would see the need to add an unfulfilled LGBTQ+ relationship that leaves the queer character unloved. LGBTQ+ are just as worthy to be loved as cishet. Before this viewers could use their imagination, but now it’s pretty final that Dean never thought of Cas as more than a friend, and that Dean is vaguely to deeply disturbed by his BFF being in love with him.

I think 15x20 tried to firmly establish Dean as cishet (retconning any prior subtextual queer coding) by having Dean show more affection to his car joining him in Heaven then he had to his LGBTQ+ friend near death. I hate that Dean is so cold to Cas during that declaration scene, and then no other insight into Dean’s feelings is ever shown. So we can only infer Dean’s feelings from that scene and the reaction reads confused, disturbed, shocked, and disbelieving. And I feel second hand crushed for Castiel. That would not be a happy moment for me at all. Just because Dean doesn’t feel any attraction to Castiel I don’t think that excuses his coldness during the declaration. This was a heartless way to react to a close queer friends admittance to an attraction, and the cold shoulder reaction seems really OOC for Dean.

Dean is typically much more sensitive about other people’s feelings. I know he is often painted as tough and unfeeling, but that’s really when his own feelings are in question. Usually he seems very in tune when someone else needs emotional support, and here he is just like mentally checking out. Dean appears to be thinking “Oh my BFF is confessing his love, I will just gawk at him like he is some kind of crazy.” Then Dean’s last words to Castiel are “Don’t do this, Cas,” because he’d like his final message to be invalidating. And then there is HUGE problem that Dean was so disturbed by Cas’s declaration that he never mentions it over the course of 15x19 and 15x20. Even though his friend gave his life for him.

Bad Representation more Harmful than No Representtion

I could be wrong, but I feel like the inclusion of Destiel this late in the game just to make it unrequited was malicious. And that’s because Destiel is a big thing for fandom and especially LGBTQ+ in fandom. Even non-Spn fandom LGBTQ+ know all about Destiel. I never dreamed the ship would go canon, and that was fine because the show could play out and I could read and write fic. Destiel was a fun ship, because the characters had wonderful development from the show, and the actors had great chemistry and were good looking and talented. Dean and Cas were complex and multi-dimensional and ready to run a coffeehouse or become pop star wannabes in a televised singing contest.

The show never told fans Dean and Cas wouldn’t love each other, so it was so easy for me to imagine they would love each other. That has changed since I watched the finale. I personally can’t ship Destiel anymore because all I remember now is the angel giving the hunter his heart, and Dean being so cold and uncaring. Dean stays so far away from Cas like he can’t stand to be close to him. When the two characters used to be in each other’s personal space all the time. It’s like the show wanted me to know how wrong I was to ever read a romance there. As though I had personally offended Dean Winchester. I always thought Dean could be bi, but now he is canon cishet to me. Because if he was going to be attracted to a guy it’d be Cas, because he is the most badass character on show. I’m okay with explanation that Dean was shell shocked in 15x18, but Dean’s continued indifference in 15x20 makes it more likely to me that the show intended for Dean to just not feel that way about Cas.

LGBTQ+ Character Erased

The show ended 10 days ago, but many LGBTQ+ spn fandom members are still reeling from Castiel’s erasure from the story as soon as he came out. There was so much hope that the show was giving LGBTQ+ fandom a ship they never expected in 15x18. The way everything seemed to signal that Dean and Cas would be brought back together in 15x20. And theories abounded on possible scenarios. My personal favorite was Dean rescuing Castiel from the Empty in 15x20 as a reverse of Castiel rescuing Dean from Hell in 4x01. This felt historic to see an actual fandom mlm ship finally get validated on the show, like LGBTQ+ were being seen and told we were just as valid as cishet by the show we loved.

But in the end, the LGBTQ+ relationship was just a tease. A queer angel declared his love and died. Then Dean died so he’d never get chance to process his feelings (if he had any). Dean and the viewers learned Cas had been saved, but Dean never bothered to pray to Cas or make any other attempt to reconnect with him. Had Cas escaped before Dean’s death? Had Cas just let Dean die? We never find out. Whether intentional or not, Castiel no longer had any significance in the life or death of the man he loved so strongly. If you related to Cas the exemption was a gut punch. I saw Cas as important and he was my voice and my story, and then 15x20 had Castiel as unimportant to the story and he was silenced.

The Bury your Gay trope

Cas had come out, and now his last scene was his death. Castiel was written out of the show, and no one seemed willing to give him more than a passing thought. The series regular and reoccurring character of 12 years was treated like he was never very important to Dean or Sam. This wasn’t historic, this is the “bury your gay” trope and a real problem for LGBTQ+ representation in movies and shows.

Negative impact of teasing LGBTQ+ romance in movies and shows

15x18 didn’t just feature Cas coming out, his coming out could have been handled just like Chuck’s in season 11 by dialogue stating he liked guys too. Castiel’s coming out was part of a declaration of love to his best friend. This teased a possible LGBTQ+ romance between two male leads with no intention of follow through. Heteronormative fans can state my perspective was invalid, but I’d like to challenge them to see LGBTQ+ as just as valid and normal as cishet romance.

If unintentional:

this was insensitive and bad representation

If intentional:

at best queer baiting (Dean was cishet so any fans that thought reciprocation was possible were wrong. Never mind all the subtextual queer coding of Dean that non-heteronormative viewers had observed.)

at worst outright homophobia (if you read Dean as a closeted bisexual that is fridged before he has chance to come out)

The Intention of C* Spn?

I have to wonder what the LGBTQ+ in Spn fandom ever did to make the show runners so mad at us. I would really like to get the perspective of the show runners, because without that, it is just too easy to believe the worst.

Perceiving the Finale Message of We don’t Belong

And the worst is heart wrenching. The marginalized members of fandom that related to the outcast angel were excluded from the Winchester’s ending. Even though we cared about them so much over the years. Many members of fandom had found families, and were validated by the reoccurring theme that family doesn’t end in blood.

But the finale retconned that message. Castiel was queer, and he was erased. He wasn’t a part of Sam and Dean’s ending. Fandom that related to Castiel could see our affection for the brothers wasn’t reciprocated. We just helped when we were useful but in the end unworthy of love. Family actually did end in blood, and we were naive for believing otherwise.

Spn queer baited LGBTQ+ one last time to drive up viewership, so the marginalized part of the audience could bear witness to Castiel’s exclusion from the Winchester’s finale. We never belonged. This wasn’t our story. This was the story of cishet white brothers, Sam and Dean, that were the product of their cishet white parents, John and Mary, that lived up the road in their Heaven. The queer angel of the lord was not going to intrude in their story any longer, despite his devotion to them over the past 12 years. We didn’t belong, because Castiel didn’t belong.

Other Views are Valid

I just want to reiterate that everything I’m saying is just my own opinion. If other LGBTQ+ thought the episodes were perfect that is also very valid. If you are not a LGBTQ+ then I appreciate your support, and ask that you check any biases before disagreeing with my opinion. Cishet will never be made to feel marginalized, inferior, or abnormal because of their sexuality or gender. And if you want to save LGBTQ+ lives you can try to change your view to see queer as normal and become a LGBTQ+ ally.

TLDR;

Misha’s performance was amazing. Bobo Beren’s writing was brilliant. After 15x18, the romance was like a puzzle that had all the pieces carefully together except the last one. Then 15x20 took that beautiful, nearly complete puzzle and dumped it in a metal trash bin, soaked it in lighter fluid, and burned it to ash. I blame the showrunners. They should never have had a LGBTQ+ come out to have his love unrequited, die, and then get erased from the story. Bad representation is worse than no representation.

[floraone]

So, Rec'tober is almost over and I come in at the finish line.

But I wanted to write a special kind of fic rec, something beyond what I normally do. And so I target this post not towards our little corner of the internet that have read every big fic that was posted in the last two decades, but towards those who pop in from time to time, to those that loved Sailor Moon in their childhood and youth and feel that pinge of nostalgia for the world. This post is for you!

Not everything in the Sailor Moon franchise survived the test of time. There are parts of canon we REMEMBER differently - we remember what it made us feel at the time, but re-watching it, it just doesn’t have the same impact. We grew up, and we STILL LOVE THE FRIGGIN CONCEPT, but we notice the flaws we didn’t notice before. But we want that back - we want the feeling that we had watching the show when we were little. We want that wonder, that newness, that full heart about how GOOD and wholesome Usagi is, we want the miracle romance, we want our favorite characters but how they grew with us in our heads.

And well, there IS a place where we can find this fix of what it felt like. And it’s preserved in a treasure box of fanfiction. Of people who write these characters as they might be today, of people who take their essence and make it new.

So, this list is filled with tons of fics that tried to re-create canon with that affectionate, nostalgic feeling. I specifically for this list chose fics that dealt with canon themes - either through fix-it fics that took specific episodes and put their own spin to it, or to spins on canon, the what ifs - what if this specific choice weren’t made, what if the break up arc didn’t end, what if we took this plot point and spun it somewhere new, playing with the things we vaguely remember to have loved so dearly. (Though, of course, the world of Alternative Universes and Non-Senshi fics is vast, and if you are looking for a fix of that, please check out @uglygreenjacket ‘s elaborate worlds and @queenrisa14 fantastic AU spins out especially for this purpose!)

(Take note that these stories prominently feature stories revolving Usagi and Mamoru and the Miracle Romance, since that is my absolute jam. (Though it didn’t even used to be my most favorite part of the story growing up!) And some categories feature more stories by the same authors (for instance those that just like to dabble in What Ifs  - a not all TOO common trope, though I hope it were!))

So, let me transport you back into your childhood:

What If’s:

Forget Me Not by Antigone2 What if, post-stars, Usagi was suddenly the one to forget Mamoru for once, and he had to try really hard to make a new good first impression? This plays off all my buttons, and @idesofnovember is a master of making you remember the small details of these dorks that were so special.

What If by Antigone2 Canon had the habit of making Mamoru forget his memories, and @idesofnovember is a master of taking this trope and making it better. Here, Usagi wonders if Mamoru would have ever dated her if it weren’t for their history, and Setsuna, fed up, makes it happen.

Desperate and Divine by Antigone2 (Rated M) This story will always have a giant place in my heart: What If Mamoru never remembered after Beryl’s defeat, and Usagi was trying to get that one special night of closure. This had such an impact on me, reminding me how much I loved these characters, that it caused me to start writing fanfiction once more.

Royal Pain and Similes by Antigone2 What If the Senshi had found out Usagi is Serenity, but never that Mamoru is Endymion in this spectacular pinefest that will make your heart bleed.

Coming Of Age by Kasienda What if the R story arc surrounding Chibi-Usa was a little more sensical, a little more tragic, a little more realistic? This kid shows up in front of Mamoru’s door, Sailor Pluto informing him she’s from a great war in the future and him being the only one of age, he is now her legal guardian. Watch Mamoru and Usagi becoming parents to a war-traumatized Chibi-Usa, and all the struggles with it.

The Reveal by Kasienda This is a series of unconnected fics set in first season primarly and beyond, and it reinvents that crucial moment where the superhero personas of our favorite characters are revealed over and over and over again, because that moment can never be special and new enough.

A Craving for Milkshakes by Kasienda What if during first season, a monster-of-the-week had caused Tuxedo Mask and Sailor Moon to be telepathically linked? Watch how it would progressively have changed their dynamic in this endearing, sweet story!

Wring My Emotions and interpret canon anew:

Six Birthdays by Kiyoshi Dot This Fic reads like a poem, and it runs your through the ups and downs of the Miracle Romance via gifts Usagi receives forher birthday through the years, and it has the feeling of the Manga written all over it.

Aisuru, Mamo-chan by ellephedre Post-stars, Mamoru receives a package from Harvard. In it are all the letters Usagi wrote to him while he was dead during Stars. And yes, this read is as painful and therapeutic as you imagine it is.

Song for a scribbled out name by Antigone2 Centered in the first season during the anime’s Evil!Endymion arc, this little story teases you with what might have become of this enticing little nugget of piney, deliciously angsty plot!

The Odds Considered by Kiyoshi Dot Takes you through the secret romance of Usagi and Mamoru in the first season in this hauntingly beautiful way of forming words, and made me hurt in the way I always wanted the manga to hurt me.

Resiliency is My Mask by MamaLadyKT This is an episode fix surrounding the time Usagi was nearly suffocated by a monster-of-the-week in the infamous Saori-episode, and Mamoru cares a LOT about it.

Feel Good Little Moments with these characters as we remember them:

Je t’aime by Antigone2 A snapshot moment where Usagi uses the disguise pen to sneak into a university event of Mamoru’s and takes him for a little test. This little story feels so delightfully, essentially THEM in the way they behaved during later seasons of the anime that it makes my chest feel light and happy!

Day Of Delinquency by UglyGreenJacket A snippet of a moment that captures the humor of the series as my heart remembers it, in which Haruka takes Usagi on a joy ride, Usagi lands them in jail, and Mamoru and Michiri have to bail them out.

Distractions by Antigone2 follows Mamoru unsuccessfully trying to help Usagi study and it feels like home.

The Untouchable King in the Day and Night Lacunae Series by Tina Century What if we let @tinacentury show King Endymion the Sailor Moon Crystal series? This is exactly as delightful as it sounds.

A Romance For The Small Things by amomo Newest on this list, @spider-momo wrote these fall-themed snippets of Senshi interactions in the way that feel so painfully right and homey and warm they are bound to make you ache to re-acquaint yourself with these old friends of yours.

Public Eye by Antigone2 Canon never gave us a terrible lot of interaction between Usagi and Tuxedo Mask or Mamoru and Sailor Moon. This is a cheeky and delightful little ficlet about Mamoru having to pretend he has No Relations Going On With This Superheroine.

Rainbow by Kasienda I’m pretty sure I put this fic on every fic rec list I ever wrote, but @kasienda encapsulated everything I love about Mamoru and Usagi’s dynamic in the first season of the anime and made my heart ache in its simplistic beauty.

The Space Between by Uglygreenjacket This series of ficlets explores the space between R and S and gives you that sweet feeling of Usagi and Mamoru tender baby love as we were used to in S!

A Week With Mamoru Chiba by Dreams In Pink This fic takes us through a series of Mamoru-centered mini-stories in a mostly first season second that feel so delightfully warm and funny it will warm your heart.

Flower Power By irritable-vowel-types Do you miss the absolute ridiculousness that were these show’s monster-of-the-week, or Tuxedo Mask’s outrageous speeches? This fic is a crackfic, and yet it somehow manages to feel EXACTLY as ridiculous and not a tad more than those original canon monsters.

All’s Fun With Love and Orbs by irritable-vowel-types This is set in Super-S, and reads like an episode as it should have been. What if one of the Amazon Quartett’s shenanigans was to flip all love into hate for one delightfully hilarious read?

The Thing About Your Transformation by AngelMoon Girl Delightfully funny, this little ficlet explores the fact that Mamoru can’t quite deal with the fact that for a short moment before every battle, Usagi may be all glitter, but she’s also briefly naked as she transforms.

Shall We Dance by ncisduckie A snippet in time and a secret relationship as Serenity and Endymion share a bittersweet dance.

And, if you still want more, I wrote my own canon spins, too. Most notably, the Ikigai and Yugen duo (Rated M), in which I tried to hand-pick everything I loved about the Sailor Moon story, manga and anime and all, of all the seasons, and tried to reinvent it in a way that felt contemporary and told one consecutive narrative within the anime setting. And in contrast to that for the manga meets anime setting, my story Priorities (Rated M) tried to encapsulate what the feeling of reading the Manga for the first time felt like to me, but now with a very adult and mature and heart-aching spin to it.

This list I gave you is non-exhaustive. There are many, many more where they come from. And if you need a fix of Sailor Moon nostalgia, they are waiting for you. Have FUN!

(And if you liked any of them, please consider leaving the author a review, so they will keep motivated to supply us with such beautiful, free, nostalgic treasures!)

[bubonickitten]

TMA fic: Night Terrors

Summary: At first, Jon assumes his nightmares are just that: bad dreams. But it's only a matter of time before he is forced to acknowledge what it means to be the Archivist.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

[Spoilers up to MAG 132. CW for canon-typical horror, unsettling dream/nightmare imagery (think MAG 120), some passive suicidal ideation, and some spider mentions here and there.]

Jonathan Sims has had the same nightmare since he was eight years old, with only slight variations.

Sometimes he is the fly in children’s overalls being offered up as a meal. He can feel the anxious buzz of the delicate wings on his back, a foreign and sickening vibration humming its way across his exoskeleton. Four feet rub together nervously in front of him in an uncanny, insectoid pantomime of hand-wringing. The looming form of Mr. Spider is made all the more horrifying by his hundredfold vision and his inability to blink.

Sometimes he is the larger fly, offering up a victim as sacrifice. He can feel his face contorting, features molded into the horror-stricken face of Mr. Horse that still haunts him on sleepless nights. He is forced to watch his offering devoured, slow and excruciating. After, the monster turns its eyes on him.

Most often, though, he is the spider. Or, rather, he watches from the spider’s perspective, a prisoner trapped behind the creature’s many hungry, glinting eyes, as helpless as a fly caught in a web. The dream sequence unravels in slow motion and he is forced to witness the weeping faces of his intended prey for what feels like hours. Enormous block letters bear down on him, announcing the spider’s insatiable hunger, its demand for more, more, more.

Finally, blessedly, he is allowed to close his eyes, but the relief is always fleeting, for when he opens them seconds later, he sees the aftermath of a massacre: smears of reddish-brown blood coating the walls, the floor, the wilting flowers in their vase.

Then, he hears a knock on the door. He sees many – too many – hairy black limbs reach out to open it. He catches a glimpse of a terrified, familiar, but still nameless face through the crack. He always awakens just as the victim opens his mouth and begins to scream.

Jon may have managed to wrench himself away from Mr. Spider, but the fear and the guilt still cling to him years later, like the wispy strands of a broken web. It’s only right that they follow him into his dreams.

~~~

Jon isn’t sleeping well lately.

Well, that isn’t new. But he’s sleeping even worse than usual.

It shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, Jon tells himself. The new job is stressful.

The Archive is a monument to entropy. A tornado could have swept through and blown things into a more sensible order than the previous Head Archivist left them. The Archives contain nearly two centuries’ worth of case files, and they're scattered about with no discernible system of organization. Material isn’t sorted by format: cassette tapes are thrown haphazardly into the same boxes as loose leaf paper. It isn’t sorted chronologically: case material from the mid-1800s can be found mixed in with recent statements from the 2000s. As far as Jon can tell, it isn’t even sorted thematically; on a cursory perusal, the statements boxed together seem to vary wildly in content, comprehensiveness, and verifiability.

In fact, the conspiratorial part of Jon’s brain can’t shake the feeling that there’s an eerie sense of curation to the disorganization. The more rational part of him knows that Gertrude Robinson was simply elderly, set in her ways, and secure in a position that she had held for decades. Elias isn’t one for hands-on management in the best of cases; there was little to no risk of him actually making his way into the Institute’s basement to observe the way Gertrude ran her Archives, let alone to actually discipline her for lax work ethic.

Either way, though, the result is the same. 

The first thing Jon had noticed when he walked into his new office a week previous was a stack of unmarked boxes against the back wall behind the desk. They were partially covering what at first glance appeared to be fingernail scratches on the floorboards, but he told himself that he didn’t have time to dwell on that and deliberately pushed it to the back of his mind. He could deal with it later – or, with any luck, not at all. 

The first box he opened contained a handful of unlabeled cassette tapes, a stack of blank index cards in a plastic sandwich bag, an empty manila folder, a nonfunctioning USB thumb drive, and a mess of loose papers with no coherent theme: some fragments of personal correspondence (unsigned and handwritten on yellowed paper in nearly illegible cursive), the scattered typewritten pages of a statement (pages 2 and 7 of 10 missing, presumed lost), and a hand-drawn map of what looked like a labyrinth. The second and third boxes contained more of the same: scattered documents and a yawning void of context. The fourth box was completely empty. The fifth contained only a single matchbook with a faded spider printed on its surface, rattling around the bottom of an otherwise vacant box. 

Unmarked boxes, improperly-preserved documents, no rhyme or reason, a layer of dust, and an ignition source. It wasn’t a good start – and, unfortunately, it seemed representative of what the job was going to look like, at least for the first few months. 

But beyond that, Elias had been insistent that Jon begin creating audio recordings of statements as soon as possible. Jon had initially chosen to interpret “as soon as possible” to mean “as soon as everything is organized,” and after seeing how big of a task that was, he was careful not to promise a time frame. After the third email from Elias inquiring about Jon’s progress with digitizing the old statements, though, Jon was honest: every day, he found himself adjusting the project timeline as they found more and more statements misfiled or missing.

“I believe it would be best for you to begin recording the statements as you go along,” Elias said. It was obviously an order, but he masked it as a friendly suggestion. Jon hates when he does that; it feels manipulative and condescending, like a parent (or grandparent, in Jon’s case) presenting the illusion of choice to a child and daring them to call it out for what it is.

Jon never was good at keeping his mouth shut, though.

“My first priority is to ensure that everything is cataloged and stored properly. Digitization will go more smoothly if everything is in order before -”

“You have three perfectly competent assistants,” Elias interrupts. Jon bites his tongue before he can make a snide remark about competence. “I’m certain they can handle a bit of filing without your close supervision.”

“But we -”

“I want you to begin making audio recordings, Jon,” Elias interrupted, finally adopting a tone that brooked no argument. “It all has to be done eventually, and it doesn’t matter what order you go in, so you may as well pick a place and start.”

“Some of the documents are incomplete.” Jon couldn’t quite manage to keep his annoyance out of his tone. “I found pages of the same statement scattered across three different rooms -”

“Start with the statements that seem complete, then. If you find more related case material elsewhere later on, you can simply make supplemental recordings.”

And with that, Elias had walked away before Jon could protest further.

So, yes. He’s stressed. The Archives are an unmitigated disaster, Jon only has three assistants to help him put them back into some semblance of order, and Elias wants him to embark on a massive digitization project when they still haven’t even inventoried the contents of most of the unlabeled boxes piled around the place. It’s like standing in the immediate aftermath of an earthquake and being told to start construction on a new building before the damages are assessed or the rubble is cleared. Oh, and he isn’t given any blueprints for direction.

Sleep troubles are to be expected.

~~~

These nightmares are new.

It isn’t that all of Jon’s nightmares involve spiders. He does occasionally have standalone nightmares that are perfectly spider-free: finding himself back in uni and failing a class he’s never attended and doesn’t remember signing up for; being chased by something sinister and tripping over nothing, only to wake up just as its teeth puncture his throat; waking in an unfamiliar place surrounded by things just to the left of human, hiding behind names he knows well and faces he does not recognize.

But this is the first recurring dream he’s ever had where spiders do not feature prominently.

At first, all he can see is the fog, pressing in on all sides. If the dream lent itself more to cartoon logic, it’s the type of fog that could be molded like putty. He doesn’t make the conscious decision to move; the dream simply puppets him forward and he lets it take him. He doesn’t even notice the open grave until one foot is suspended over it, and when the dream loosens its grip on him, he throws his weight backward, swaying off-kilter and nearly stumbling into another pit that has appeared just behind him.

The fog recedes just enough for him to make out the dozens of empty graves now surrounding him.

Then it starts to move back in, tendrils reaching out to him like the myriad limbs of a living, breathing creature, coating his skin and filling his lungs, and all at once he is pummeled with the overwhelming revelation that he is alone. It’s not just that there isn’t anyone around for miles. It’s not even just that he will never again see another living person. No. It’s that he is, for all intents and purposes, an island. No one knows him. No one ever has, and no one ever will. And he has never known anyone else, either, only carefully constructed personas meant to mask the self – if there even is such a thing as the self.

He will die here, and nothing will remain of him, and no one will notice that he disappeared. And that’s… that’s okay. It’s right. It’s exactly as it should be.

Someone is screaming. Actually, he realizes belatedly, someone has been screaming for a while now, but only now does it manage to reach him through the haze.

Once again, the dream forces him to move. It maneuvers him around the vacant graves, drawing him ever closer to the voice. When he is finally brought to a stop, he is wrenched forward and his gaze is forced downward to behold a shivering figure sprawled six feet beneath him in the earth and mud. She looks familiar, but it takes a few moments before he can place her.

Naomi Herne.

She nearly weeps in relief when she sees him, another living, breathing person after so long lost in the mist. She reaches up to him, begs him to help her, but when he tries to kneel and extend a hand, he finds that he cannot move. He cannot speak. He cannot blink.

He can only watch, and so he does.

The seconds stretch into minutes stretch into hours, and the whole time she pleads with him to say something, to say anything. He watches as her fingers dig deep furrows into the walls of her prison and eventually her pleas dissolve into hopeless whimpers.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling as if he never slept at all.

Untangling himself from the sheets, he stumbles into the bathroom, turns on the faucet, and splashes cold water on his face. As he stands and stares at his reflection in the mirror, he notices how pronounced the dark circles under his eyes have become. Naomi Herne’s statement had been unsettling, certainly, but apparently it’s affected him more deeply than he had initially thought.

It’s not all that surprising, he supposes. There have been a lot of changes in his life recently. The content of the statements he reads is… upsetting. He’s stressed. It would be strange if he didn’t have trouble sleeping.

It’s fine. It’s normal. He’s fine.

  ~~~

 The next night, he dreams of Naomi Herne again.

And the night after that. And the night after that.

Every time, she begs him to say something, to take her hand. She needs to hear another human voice; she needs to feel a human touch; she needs an anchor, anything to chase away the isolation.

At some point, though, she begins to curse him. He is her jailor, her tormenter. She would rather be completely alone, to be left to suffer in dignified privacy, than to have her loneliness amplified by that unwavering stare. Why is he doing this to her? Why won’t he just say something?

As usual, he cannot make a sound, and he cannot look away.

~~~

Jonathan Sims and Melanie King rubbed each other the wrong way from the moment they met eyes, and she is no more pleased to see the Archivist in her dream that night.

They both watch as Sarah Baldwin pleads with an unseen, unforgiving assailant. They look on in revulsion as she staples her skin back together. The scene plays over and over and over again, and eventually Melanie wrenches her gaze away from Sarah and hones in on the Archivist. All of her fear transmutes into anger and she unleashes a torrent of accusations, railing against him for his arrogance, his callousness, his foolish conviction that he knows better than everyone else, that he understands anything at all.

He can’t open his mouth to argue with her, but even if he could, he’s not sure that he could counter her allegations.

Melanie is still shouting at him when he is pulled from the hospital and finds himself in the graveyard again. Naomi Herne is huddled in the corner of her grave tonight, knees hugged tight to her chest. She is utterly silent. He wishes he could look away, but the dream has his head locked in place and his eyes plastered open and he watches her for the rest of the night.

Jon wakes up all too aware of his skin and what lies beneath it.

~~~

The tables in the dissection lab are piled high with pulsating hearts, quivering lungs, and writhing bones.

Hand trembling, scalpel in hand, Dr. Lionel Elliott slices into an apple as if demonstrating how to dissect a human heart. The Archivist catches the glimmer of tooth enamel, the glint of a silver crown on one of the molars, and a shared wave of nausea crashes over both of them. The professor begs the Archivist to take the apple from him, but as always, the Archivist is immobilized. He can feel every ounce of the Elliott’s helpless fear as if it is his own.

The Archivist knows what Elliott is thinking. He wants to run. He wants to curse. He wants to beg. He wants to bury the scalpel in the Archivist’s unblinking eyes. Instead, his blood curdles and his limbs contort and his joints dislocate and he writhes like a live butterfly pinned to a board in front of an uncaring, ceaseless watcher.

The Archivist feels all of it along with him, and neither of them can scream.

It’s only a dream, of course, but Elliott feels so alive that Jon wakes up with a sense of pity all the same.

~~~

 The Archivist wants to tell Helen Richardson not to open the door, but his jaw is wired shut with invisible thread.

The Archivist has lost count of how many times he has been forced to watch as the Distortion’s maze devours her, the scene playing recursively in its mirrored hallways.

Of course he dreams of her. She disappeared right in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it. In quiet moments, the scar that the Distortion gave him still twinges, and brings with it the deep ache of guilt. It’s to be expected that it would bleed over into his dreams.

  ~~~

 Letter by letter, Tessa Winters consumes the keyboard. An eerie, cold glow highlights every detail of her pained expression. Although the Archivist’s mouth will not open, he feels one of his molars crack under the crunch of plastic, and as Tessa moves on to the monitor, a shard of glass slices into the roof of his mouth. The blood pools on both of their tongues, trickles down their throats, and they both wish they could gag.

The Archivist's thoughts unravel into acute angles and sharp edges, shredding his consciousness to ribbons. He is a collection of garbled text and rogue characters, of noisy pixels and castoff artifacts, of corrupted extensions and crossed wires.

It’s cold, and it hurts.

       IT%’s/ côLd &&;t <<hurts>>.

                 I̴t̸'̴s̴ ̵c̸o̸l̶d̵, ̵a̵n̶d̴ ̸i̴t̴ ̸h̶u̸r̵t̸s̶.̸

                                                                                                                                                             Ï̵̡̻ͅț̴͘'̴̰̙͒̌͠ͅs̶̻̿̎ ̴̞c̵̮̒̾ơ̴̞͕̕͝ļ̴̱̅d̶̥̣͎̈ ̵̨͕̀̿̊a̵̗̪̽̆n̶͕̩̞͆d̵̦̮̳͐̏͗ ̵̢̻̑ȉ̷̪t̸͓̉͒ ̶̮͉̹̇͠h̵̳̻̞͝u̴̢̬̣̒ř̴̠́t̵͍̟͛ṡ̷̨̤͓͒̾.̸̦̭̓

                                                                                                                                                                          I̶̢͚͓̤̗̹̱̠̱͚̤̾t̶̛̳̏̑͐͗́̍̈̿̄͒͗́̔̈́̈́̈́̚̕͠'̵̡̧̦̖͚͓͙͙͕̜̻̣̙̲͓̑͂͋̾̊̄͌̀̑͒̚ͅͅṣ̶̛̻͚͓̫̜̀̂͌͌̈̈́̃̽̏̐̔̌ ̵̗̫̓̊̾̇͆c̷̨̑̀̈́̇̊̇̑͊́̂̊̇͘̚͘̚̚̚͝ǫ̵̈́̎̿͑̔̔̑͛̀͋̉̋̓̾l̷̙̯͙͍͇̟̭̳͉̹̳̖͎͇̲͖̝̖͈̺̍d̴̡̫̼̗̮̹̎̌̽̏̂̐̑̈̏̀̃͆͗͂̓̚͝ ̴̧̛͈̭̼̭̰͔̥͓̟̲́̒̊̍̉̌͆̇̆̑͗̑̿̉̅̑͒̽̈̿a̵̳̰̽̌͆͂̏͒̌̓̔̈͐̆̿̕͝n̸̨̢̧̧̲̺͙̗̪̻͎̥͉̥͔͇̠͙̫͒̌̅̃͒́̌̈́͐̀̈͘̚͘̕͝͝ͅḋ̵̢̡̧̜͇̜̤̠̺̜̦̲̳͓̼̩̣̼̭̱͐̿̿̍̿̀͌͊̃̿͊̕͠ ̶̭̩̥̲͈͚̟͇͒́͑̌͒͐̕͜��̹̼̩̪̙̱ỉ̸̲͇̬͓̫̪̞̜̱̪̻̲̎̿́̃̽̕͘͠͝ţ̸̗͙͍͍̫̞͚̞͓̙̼̝͚͕̮̋͋̏̌͂͗̈ ̵̨̟̗͉̯̘̙̫̱̹̱̲̘̪͖̤̱̟̦̘̹̟̎̐̌͗̾̋̿̄͜͠h̴̢̡̨̢̛̫͓̠̤͉̠̩̮͙̞̪̏̇͊̈͂̿̅͋͌͘̚͠ư̵̰͙̯͖̈́̄̊͌͐̾͐̃̈̈͒̑͠ͅr̷̨̛̗͈̣̰̘̲̩̦̙̅̃̽͛͒̈͜͠ͅṯ̶̮͕̺͖̹̺̺̦͈̰̮͚͇̳̘̺̤̹̭͐͊̏̓̅̊̏͌́̒́̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͠͝s̶̺̻͔̹̙̟̭̜̏̆͗͂̔̄̔͋́͆̀̋̈́͌͂̚͝.̶̘͚͚͓͕̝͖̪͔̼̙̲̞͎͉̩̳͍̙̩̋̆̅͒̇̅͌̆͗̉̋͊͒͐̔̅̏̕͜͝͝ͅ

    ~~~

When Jon finally bolts upright into wakefulness, he knows.

These are not his nightmares.

They are shared dreamscapes.

No, not shared. Invaded.

Just recently he had noted how long it had been since last he was the spider in his nightmare, but maybe that was premature.

At least the others showed up at the Institute to give their statements on their own. Tessa Winters, though, was his fault. He wrote the forum post that drew her to him. She wouldn’t be in his dreams if he hadn’t cast that net. He spun a web and waited for the prey to wander in, all because he needed to know and was willing to lure someone in under false pretenses just to get the answers he craved. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t intend this – the consequences are the same.

And Tessa Winters knows it. She meets his gaze, equally unblinking, baleful and accusing. He is a thing with too many eyes, gorging himself on her suffering, devoid of empathy or humanity. When she looks into his eyes, she sees a ravenous, pitiless voyeur, and even if the Archivist was allowed to speak, he would not dispute her claim. After all, the Beholding is the feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch, and the Archivist is its pawn and its representative and its instrument. Tessa's eyes pin him in place just as effectively as the ever-present Eye in the sky.

He is becoming – has become? – that which he fears, and he cannot look away.

It really isn’t all that different from the spider dreams after all, except this time there are witnesses to his sins.

  ~~~

 The words on the paper are blurry and his head feels full of cobwebs. His eyes itch and sting in equal measure, making it ever more difficult to keep his heavy eyelids from drifting shut. He keeps nodding off, leaning forward and jerking upright as soon as the sensation of falling grips him.

“-n? Jon!”

“Wha-” Jon startles as Martin’s voice finally reaches him through the fog. “I – what?”

Martin has a concerned look on his face. That seems to be his default state these days, Jon thinks distantly.  

“I kept saying your name but you were just… you weren’t answering.”

“Oh.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Jon can tell that he wants to say something, but he just stands there waffling, and –

“What?” Jon snaps, and then he and Martin wince at the same time. “I’m… I’m sorry, Martin. I – I’m just tired.” He rubs his eyes furiously, trying to chase away the haze. “I’m sorry. Did you need something?” 

“I… Jon, when’s the last time you slept?”

Silence.

“Maybe you should have a lie down? I made up the cot in the storage room, and –”

“I’m fine,” Jon replies through gritted teeth.

“You’re falling asleep at your desk. Actually, um,” – a small, cautious grin crosses Martin’s face – “I don’t know what paperwork you used as a pillow, but you have ink on your face.”

Jon groans and scrubs at his face with both hands.

“You really do need to sleep, though,” Martin ventures again, gentle but firm.

“I… I don’t want to,” Jon says stiffly. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he curses himself for the honesty – Martin is going to want to talk about that now, and –

“Why?”

Jon is silent, steadfastly refusing to look Martin in the eye.

“Fine,” Martin sighs, exasperated. “But you can’t go forever without sleep, I don’t care how stubborn you are.”

He’s right, Jon knows.

Jon did manage a full 70 hours awake before he started nodding off in spite of himself. For the past few days, he’s been allowing himself short naps, setting his phone alarm at hour intervals to wake him long before he can enter REM sleep.

It isn’t sustainable, but the alternative is haunting people’s nightmares, looking into their eyes and Beholding what they see when they look at him: Cold, calculating predator. Unblinking voyeur. Too many hungry, prying eyes, feeding on their terror, stripping them of their dignity, soaking in their trauma with cruel fascination –

“Jon.”

“Fine,” Jon grumbles. “Sixty minutes.”

  ~~~

 Whenever he slips into the dreamscape, Daisy promises to hunt him down. Finish what she started. Bury him in a shallow grave and leave him to become yet another mystery.

The Archivist wonders if being killed in the dream would wake him up, spare the other dreamers from his scrutiny for just one night.

He wonders how Daisy would react if he was able to tell her that he resents the absence of her knife at his throat just as much as she does.

  ~~~

 Six months.

For six months, he wanders, an uninvited, hated guest in those familiar dreamscapes.

The Archivist wants nothing more than to throw himself into an empty grave, to turn the damp earth into a prison with six-foot-high walls, to break his legs in the fall so that even when his resolve crumbles and he tries to clamber out of the hole, he will be unable to do so. The other dreamers would be safe from him, then. There would be nothing for him to watch but unyielding soil and the chill, impenetrable fog above.

He Knows that the Eye is still there behind the veil of fog; he can feel its unceasing gaze, but at least in the lonely cemetery, he cannot see it.

There is an open grave in front of him, its waiting maw calling him forward, promising to shackle him, to hobble him with blindness and paralysis. He stands at the edge, knees locked and eyes peeled, staring down into a plot that he desperately wishes belonged to him, and him alone. The dream keeps him there for what seems like hours, taunting him, holding relief just out of reach.

Then, the dream turns him around and pulls him inexorably toward his true objective. Once again he is forced to watch as Naomi’s freezing, bloodied fingers scrabble uselessly on the walls of her prison. Her tears have left trails in the mud on her face, and when she looks up at him, she asks the same question she does every single time: Why are you doing this to me?

Eventually – after far too long standing statue-still, eyes locked on Naomi’s pained, desperate face – the Archivist is yanked onward toward the waiting carnage of the dissection lab, the mournful singing of the coffin, the undulating mass of ants.

When Jane Prentiss shambles toward him, he can feel the worms burrow into his skin all over again. He wants to scream, to scratch, to grab a corkscrew and start digging – Dig, comes the intrusive thought, blinking in his mind like a marquee: Dig. Dig. Dig. – but his mouth and his hands are not his own, and his eyes – so many eyes, so reminiscent of the spider – are fixed on Jane. Her otherworldly screams pierce the night as she burns, and the Archivist desperately wishes he could clamp his hands over his ears to block out her death knell.

Being brought before Georgie Barker is almost worse than confronting Jane Prentiss. If she could still feel fear, the Archivist is certain she would wear the same expression as the others. Instead, there is only a mix of pity and resignation. Over and over again, Jonathan Sims has walked into burning buildings for even the slightest chance of having a question answered. She wishes she was more surprised to see what he has become, but she is so intimately familiar with his pattern of self-destruction and stubborn curiosity, and she has long since recognized it for what it is: a fatal flaw, coaxing him toward tragedy like a moth to the flame.

The exterminator makes no distinction between the Archivist and the Flesh Hive, and Georgie Barker likely wouldn’t, either. As always, the Archivist cannot find it in himself to argue.

When at last he finally awakens, he is not surprised that she leaves with such finality, her parting words condemning him as a lost cause. He pushed on past the point of no return, just like she always feared he would, and she has no desire to watch him burn.

  ~~~

 Jon may not have been allowed to toss himself into a lonely grave, but the coffin welcomes him with an eager appetite, and imprisons him in much the same way. He may be unable to move, but at least his body is his own, unlike in his dreams; he may not be able to escape, but at least he can speak.

“After the mission. I was planning to kill you,” Daisy tells him, matter-of-fact. He knows why the moment she starts talking about her dreams. “Realized you weren’t human. Needed to die, as soon as it was safe. Never mind Elias and his… insurance.”

“And now?”

“Don’t know. I – I miss dreaming. You don’t sleep, down here.”

Jon finds the prospect of eternal wakefulness in this place downright horrifying – the endless boredom alone sounds like torture – but... no sleep means no nightmares. 

“Daisy, you should know, I – I’m… if I wasn’t human before, I’m, uh – I’m even less now.”

The distant rumbling of the shifting earth picks up in volume until he can feel it in his teeth.

“Yeah.” Daisy doesn’t sound surprised. “Well, at the moment, I don’t care.”

“And if we get out?”

“But we can’t get out.”

“No.”

The noise grows in volume, drowning out his voice.

I really should have known better, he thinks to himself. Of course his rib wasn’t a strong enough anchor. He’s so alienated from his own body at this point, so far from human that he couldn’t even die properly. How many times has he found himself thinking, What’s another scar? In a way, he feels just as detached from his body when he’s awake as he does in his nightmares. The idea that a part of his body would call to him from outside the coffin… it’s just as ridiculous as his rushed, irresponsible deductions about the NotThem’s table.

“I’m s – I’m sorry,” Daisy stammers, snapping Jon out of his reverie. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

“So am I,” Jon replies. For everything, he does not say.

The rumbling fades, and silence descends on them in a rush.

“You know,” Jon begins after a minute, choosing his words carefully, “I… I didn’t know, at first. That the nightmares were real.”

Daisy says nothing, and Jon interprets it as permission to go on.

“I – I thought that they were just my nightmares. That the first statements I took hit me harder than I’d expected. I was so dismissive to the first few people who came in to give their statements in person, and I assumed that my – my guilt over how I treated them was manifesting as nightmares, since I refused to process it in real life. That I was just…” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That I was just stressed about the new job.”

“When did you figure it out?” Daisy asks levelly.

“I… I think I suspected after a few months? But I just – I told myself that I was being ridiculous. I went through a bit of a – a paranoid phase, and I thought that I was just… overthinking things. I tend to do that, to just – obsess, and let my imagination run wild –”

Daisy snorts. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

“I – I've had a lot of practice with denial, I suppose,” Jon says, sheepish. “Or feigning denial, at least. Playing the skeptic was… safer. Admitting out loud that I believed in – in monsters felt like it would… draw unwanted attention, I suppose. That it would somehow provoke the thing watching me to strike. I convinced myself that pretending to be ignorant would keep the monsters at bay.”

“That’s…”

“Stupid, I know.”

Daisy gives a dry chuckle.

“I had to give up the act after – after Prentiss attacked the Archives,” Jon continues. “Even after that, though, I still wanted to believe that the nightmares weren’t real. But then one day I woke up and – and I just knew –”

The dirt around them begins to press in again, forcing the air from his lungs. Jon feels Daisy’s fingers brush his wrist and he takes her hand. Not alone. Not alone. Not alone.

Then the pressure lets up all at once and they are both left gasping in its wake. 

“Keep talking?” Daisy’s voice has that desperate, pleading edge to it again. It’s so at odds with the Hunter that Jon knows, more like prey than predator. “I – I need – I don’t want to be alone.”

“Not alone,” Jon murmurs, as much for himself as for Daisy. “The dream that made me realize – her name was Tessa Winters. I took her statement, and that night she was in my dreams. The way she looked at me, I just… I knew. She was really there. Her eyes were so – so accusing, like she knew that it was my fault that she was there. And – and it was. The other statement givers came to me on their own, but she likely would have never come to the Institute if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh?”

“I – I posted on a message board, soliciting supernatural experiences related to technology.”

“You can use a computer, then,” Daisy teases, a smirk in her voice.

Jon smiles too, and for the briefest moment he forgets where they are. “I just turned 30 this year, Daisy,” he says, rolling his eyes, and she snorts.

“Still, I can’t picture you making forum posts.”

“I had an ulterior motive,” he admits, his smile fading as the old guilt bubbles up. “I had found Gertrude’s laptop, and I needed help breaking into it, so I – I figured maybe I could lure in someone who knew computers, take their statement, find a way to casually ask them to have a look at the laptop for me. It worked, but then she appeared in my nightmares, and – if I hadn’t drawn her to me, she wouldn’t be there.”

Daisy makes a noncommittal sound. Jon shuts his eyes tight and takes a deep, faltering breath.

“And then – after the Unknowing, I – I should have died. I was dead, technically. My brain was still firing – dreaming,” he says with distaste, “but I had no pulse, no respiration, no… no other signs of life.” He feels the pressure of tears in his eyes and he fights to keep his voice steady. “You should have seen the way the doctors and nurses looked at me as they were explaining it. A – a medical mystery – a marvel, really – the sort of thing that most professionals would kill for a chance to study – but they couldn’t wait to get away from me, to hurry me out the door.” He pauses to take a deep breath, but between the crushing earth and his own grief, he can’t fill his lungs. His exhale comes out shallow and shaky. “And – and Georgie, and Basira, and Melanie, and –”

Daisy tightens her grip on his hand. It’s so surreal that Jon almost laughs. This is Daisy. Daisy, who seized him by the throat, who tried to kill him, who enjoyed seeing him terrified and begging for his life, who took such pride in the scar she left him with – and now she’s comforting him. He isn’t sure how to process that turnaround, so instead gives her hand a squeeze in return, clears his throat, and continues.

“So – so for six months, I was in a coma. If you can call it that. But the whole time, I was dreaming. For six months, I walked through the same nightmares, over and over and over again. There was no waking up to escape it, and – and it meant that the other dreamers couldn’t escape me, either. Up until then, if I was awake while they were asleep, they could get away from me, but – but I was in the dream every hour of every day, so I was there every night they slept. And the way they look at me – like I’m a monster – it just… they’re not wrong, but I just wish – I wish I could tell them that I’m sorry, that I don’t want this either, that I don’t want to watch. The Eye doesn’t let me speak, though – or move, or – or blink. I am an observer, and an observer does not interfere.” He laughs then, a little hysterically. “It – honestly, it felt like longer than six months. I lived through the same scenes so many times that I started to feel so numb to it all.”

“What about my part of the dream?” Daisy asks quietly.  

“I – ever since the Unknowing, whenever I get to your segment, there's nothing but the coffin. I always enter it, but it never brings me to you. Until now, I suppose,” he says with a humorless chuckle. “Oddly enough, though, I always found myself wishing you were there.”

“Really.”

“Yes, I – it’s hard to explain.” He hesitates for a moment before settling on honesty. “You always looked at me like I was prey, instead of predator. Or – or maybe like I was a predator, but a – a weaker predator, something that could be killed. A monster that could be vanquished. I… I wanted you to catch me. I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe if I died in the dream, it would end the cycle, and release the other dreamers from the Eye.”

“Might have killed you in real life, though,” Daisy points out. “If the dreaming was the only part of you that was alive.” 

“It may have,” Jon agrees.

Daisy lets that linger for a minute, heavy and revealing.

“I… I don’t think I want to die,” Jon eventually continues, “but I can't stop thinking that maybe it would be… better, if I did? All that would happen is that the world would lose another monster, and – and that would be fine. It would be right. But I still…” He chokes on his words, something between a laugh and a sob. “God, when did not wanting to die start to feel selfish of me?” 

The dirt around them shifts, sibilant and imposing. They hold their breath, as if speaking might provoke it. Daisy waits for the rustling to settle again before she speaks.

“Why did you come here, Jon?”

“To – to find you, to get you out ���”

“Yeah, but why? I nearly killed you. Would have tried again. Would have liked it.” She huffs. “I know you didn’t come here out of any loyalty to me. So, why?”

“I…”

“To get yourself killed?”

“No, I – I really did want to get you out of here.”

“Why did you come for me, then? Out of guilt? To justify not dying?”

“I…” Jon sighs heavily. “Yes, I – I suppose. And - and Tim was dead. Sasha is dead, and Martin is... gone, and when we found out you were still alive, I just - I didn't want to lose anyone else. I couldn't just leave you here, not if there was a chance I could bring you back.”

Daisy is silent. Jon knows that she wants him to say more, and he takes a deep breath.

“The others don’t trust me – not that I blame them, I don’t trust me, either. Martin is… he has his own plans. Georgie wants nothing to do with me. Melanie hates me for not having the decency to die, blames me for everything that’s happened. Doesn’t even think I’m me anymore, just – just some monster wearing a familiar skin, and – well,” he laughs uncomfortably, “I have a hard time arguing with her assessment.” He takes a deep breath. “And – and Basira, she… she doesn’t put much stock in my humanity, either. Sometimes she sees me as an asset to be used, but…”

He trails off, feeling faintly guilty for his mixed feelings on Basira. She encourages him to use his powers when it will help further their goals. She doesn’t go so far as to claim that the ends justify the means, but she does frequently remind him that they need to be pragmatic, like Gertrude. The rest of the time, though… she looks at Jon like he’s a dangerous animal, unpredictable and poised to strike. He knows that she’s fully prepared to put him down if it starts looking like he’s too dangerous to be allowed to live, and although that hurts, he’s also glad that there’s someone who he can trust to put an end to him if he loses himself.

Nonetheless, it’s frustrating to be hated and feared for what he can do – to hate and fear himself so thoroughly – while still being expected to embrace those powers whenever it’s deemed useful. He’s more of an instrument than a person now, a tool to be used and then locked safely away once he’s fulfilled his purpose. At the same time, though, it at least offers him some semblance of control. He may be a vehicle for the Eye’s machinations, but perhaps he can balance it by giving their side an advantage in whatever way he can, principles be damned.

And he did give Basira explicit permission to use him.

Sometimes he wishes he had Gertrude’s certainty, or Basira’s resolve, or any sort of confidence in his own convictions. Most of the time, though, he fears what he could become if he was more decisive. He doesn’t trust himself to live without doubt.

He doesn’t know how to explain all of that to Daisy, though.

“I don’t – I don’t expect them to trust me,” he says instead. “Or like me. It seems dangerous to be near me at all, and I’m not exactly” – he huffs out a short, bitter laugh – “I’m not good enough company to risk it. It hurts, and it’s lonely, but I – I do understand. But I can at least make myself useful –”

Without warning, the Buried constricts itself around them in a rush, strangling his words and stealing the air from his lungs. This time, it feels like hours pass before it finally relaxes its chokehold. The only conversation that passes between them for a long time is synchronized, frenzied gasping for what little chill, stagnant air the Buried deigns to permit them.

“We’re the same, you know,” Daisy says eventually, forcing the words out even as she struggles to catch her breath. “I'm afraid of what I am, or - or was, or could be again. I needed the Hunt. Liked it, even – I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the kill. But now I – I look back and I’m disgusted. I hurt people who didn’t deserve it. Even the actual monsters were… I wasn’t killing them because I cared about justice, or protecting others, not really. I was feeding on the fear of the prey. It made me feel alive –”

An abrupt coughing fit interrupts her then, and several minutes pass before she’s able to continue speaking through the grit coating her tongue.

“All I’ve felt since I came down here is fear and pain and guilt. I accept that – I should feel guilty, and I – I probably deserve more punishment than this. But still, I… I want to see the sun again, to breathe fresh air, to –” Her breath hitches. “I – I want to see Basira again.”

Jon can just barely hear her sniffling, but knows better than to draw attention to it.

“But – but if I leave here, I – I know I’ll hear the blood again. I don’t know who I am without the Hunt, but I – I still don’t want to go back to it. I deserve to be here – but I also want to leave – and that feels selfish. But I suppose it really doesn’t matter, does it?” When she laughs, it almost sounds like a bark, hollow and brittle. “There’s no way out.”

“No way out,” Jon repeats. “But maybe… maybe the world is safer without me in it – without… without either of us, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Daisy chokes out, her voice hovering between a laugh and a sob. “That’s – that’s pretty messed up, isn’t it?”

Jon lets out his own tearful chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He pauses. “You said that – that you don’t sleep down here, that you don’t dream?”

“Yeah.”

“That's probably for the best,” he sighs. “At least this way, the Eye can’t reach the dreamers anymore.”

“And at least we’re – we’re not alone?”

“No. Not alone.”

“I’m glad that you’re here, Jon,” Daisy blurts out in a rush. “I know that’s horrible of me, but – but it’s the truth.” She takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m… I’m glad I’m not alone.”

“I’m… I think I’m glad, too,” Jon admits.

He wasted so much time pushing people away, refusing to trust, rebuffing any offer of help. Georgie told him that he needed human connection to help him stay human, and she was right, but when he finally admitted that – by the time he finally resolved to trust the others, regardless of his doubts – it was too late. When he woke up in the hospital, there was no one left to offer their hand when he reached out for help. Even worse, he can’t exactly deny that it’s his own fault.

But now, trapped here in the cold and the damp and the cramped, suffocating dark, Daisy holds his hand. The firm pressure of her grip is comforting, despite the clamminess of their skin. He can’t remember the last time he was touched with anything less than malice.  

“I’ve been alone since I woke up,” he continues, “and – and afraid of what I’m becoming. It’s nice to have someone who – who understands what it’s like. I think this is the most companionship I’ve had in… in a long while. It’s nice to be the one seen for once – by something other than a monster.”

Daisy tightens her grip further, and Jon marvels at how such a simple gesture is so much louder than words.

A silence falls on them then – a bizarrely companionable one, so incongruous with their current predicament. They clutch each other in the dark, focusing on one another’s breathing to coax them through the irregular ebb and flow of the earth pressing down on them, peppering the gloom with quiet conversation whenever the Buried gives them an inch to breathe.

Daisy talks about her childhood dog, and The Archers, and how people are always surprised to learn that she has a sweet tooth. She tells Jon about the first time she and Basira went camping: They had stretched out beneath the night sky and Basira taught Daisy the constellations, the origins of their names and the legends they represented. Affection welled up in her as she listened to Basira muse about how even though the constellations vary across time and culture, humans have always shared this collective impulse to look up at the sky and make meaning out of randomness.

For the first time in a long time, Daisy had been truly present in the moment; for once, she wasn’t gnashing her teeth, impatiently anticipating the next hunt. Basira’s voice anchored her in the present, and the call of the blood was drowned out by a flood of warmth and devotion.  

Jon talks about the Admiral, and his brief foray into AmDram at uni, and how he's always hated poetry, but then he read some of Martin's, and, well... some of them were quite good, actually. Jon confesses that he too has an unexpected sweet tooth. Martin somehow guessed; whenever Jon was having a particularly rough day, Martin would make his tea sweeter than usual. Martin never drew attention to it, and Jon never commented on it, but it was... touching, if he's honest with himself. He wishes that he had told Martin then that he noticed, that he appreciated the gesture - that it made him feel seen in a good way for once.

Jon misses Martin desperately, worries for him fiercely. Worse, he knows with a certainty that Martin will never know just how much he is missed. He spent far too long underestimating Martin, taking him for granted. Sure, Martin had stumbled a lot in the early days, but when Jon learned that Martin had lied on his CV, he was actually impressed. It's remarkable how competent Martin managed to be with no prior experience or qualifications to speak of. Daisy listens as Jon rambles on about how Martin is so much braver and cleverer than Jon or anyone else ever gave him credit for, and how much he wishes he could tell him that now.  

They go back and forth like that, confiding in each other about their regrets, and the apologies they will never get to make, and all the things they miss. They talk about fears, and monsters, and what it means to be human. They talk about choices.

Jon does not dream. Daisy does not hear the blood. Together, they listen to the quiet.

[ariainstars]

The Rise of Skywalker or Well, It Seems Santa Won’t Come to Us This Year

Warning... this is a long entry.

A satisfying ending to such a universally beloved story after 42 years and 9 episodes, in the hands of one of the most renowned and expert film studios in the world ought to look different. As the final chapter and with the way laid out by Rian Johnson, it could and should have been epic. But for some obscure reason, the Disney studios decided to let JJ Abrams f*** it up royally. As if they did it on purpose.

Honestly, what did we expect? Abrams is a copycat, we saw that with Star Trek, too. He can tell old stories again in a rather fresh way, but he can’t think up anything really good of his own.

I admit that at first, I didn’t like the sequels much. They seemed adamant to tear down the past, no wonder so many fans got upset. Besides, I was devastated by Han Solo’s death at the hand of his own son.

But then I warmed up to the other characters, and I said to myself that it’s not wrong to start afresh and give a new generation a chance. The old doesn’t become bad because new things come up. And our heroes Han, Leia and Luke had their happy ending; it wasn’t cancelled. It was interesting to think, “What happens after a happy ending?” (For the record, it seems war heroes do not exactly make good parents / uncles. I guess you need other qualities for that.)

Honestly, I did have a vaguely bad feeling a few weeks before TRoS came out; I couldn’t say why. Anyway, looking back there were a few giveaways that the story would end the way it did.

1. The title: “Rise of Skywalker”. Though the last of the Skywalker blood, Ben technically was a Solo (Organa-Solo to be exact). He did redeem himself, but he did not rise above it all.

2. Kylo’s light sabre is the only one which looks like a cross. Anakin was a child without a father. Both suffered terrible pains and then died - due to other people’s sins.

3. The saga’s themes are many and a lot was set up in Episodes VII and VIII. It was to be expected that one film wouldn’t be enough to wrap everything up. TLJ had a new and fresh approach; but apart from the fact that so many fans hated it, it packed the film so full of new themes and subjects that it took us as fans months to inspect it all. We should have guessed that there wouldn’t be enough time in TRoS to finish the old story, start the next one and wrap that up, too.

4. Circumstances be as they may, Kylo / Ben is still a patricide. He did evil things before, but killing Han definitively damned him. And very many people unfortunately take these films at face value and do not go into depth. If TLJ stirred up a wasp’s nest, I don’t want to know what would have happened if in TRoS he would have been redeemed and had survived, and maybe also found his happy ending. Much as I love him, from a moral standpoint it sounds somewhat ambiguous.

The Rise of Skywalker assuredly is Star Wars-y. But is that really more important than making good and uplifting films?

Rogue One was so Star Wars-y that fans almost went nuts about it; I still remember my shock when I actually watched it and found it a deeply sad, melancholy story, thematically the exact opposite of A New Hope’s joy and optimism.

Rose was detested by many fans because she was a quirky personality and so unlike Leia: no wonder she almost disappeared. And her relationship with Finn, which was set up as perfectly fitting, vanished as well: no, no, no, we always have a trio in the middle of the story. More than three heroes, that’s not Star Wars-y. Rey’s spunky, sassy personality reminds of Leia, so she is seen as Star Wars-y. And fans couldn’t accept that she comes from nowhere because in Star Wars it has to turn out that you’re related to someone: so she had to be Palpatine’s granddaughter (ugh) and Saint Rey at the same time.

Fans were hurt by Han Solo’s death in TFA, but at least got to see him being cool and swashbuckling. Luke died in TLJ, but as far as I know fans didn’t send a petition to Disney asking to take TFA from canon: they only did so after TLJ. Reason? Because as it seems, they could forgive anything that was done to Han, but not Luke’s green milk.

Ben Solo, the last of the Skywalker blood, was judged an unworthy heir to Darth Vader due to his emotionality, that’s why everybody left him to rot in a pit. Who hated him for being a “whiny sissy” at least will be content now.

As for us, who have looked more in depth at the saga as a whole and its themes, we can go home with hollow hearts and feeling numb.

My compliments, JJ. You managed to destroy both the probably most famous and beloved film franchises in less than ten years. And you have spoilt our Christmas.

Worse, you have ruined the franchise for the many, many children who grew up loving Kylo Ren and Rey and rooting for their happy ending together. I have heard that a lot of parents had to bring their kids home weeping. Do you believe they will love the saga now still? They will probably only remember it as a terribly sad story and not want to have anything to do with it ever again. And this from the Disney studios, experts for children’s stories, fairy tales and happy endings. A few days before Christmas. I never would have guessed that making older fanbros happy would be so much more important. At least their heroes had their happy ending, their successes, their friendship. Ben Solo had nothing. And this was the very last episode, so we can’t even hope for the future.

I myself right now don’t know whether I can ever watch anything about Star Wars again. I was so elated, so sure of a happy ending after 9 episodes and 42 years. Now every time I will think about watching something related to SW, I will be reminded of how sadly it all ended. And with no warning, mind you. At least watching the prequels we all knew how it would end.

Rian Johnson had set everything up beautifully. I can’t believe that Disney studios and JJ can have been so blind as to not see it, they’re supposed to be experts and to be paid for storytelling. To me it was abundantly clear that

- Ben Solo’s redemption were the children (an inversion to the Jedi Temple carnage, and a parallel to Leia’s meeting with the Ewoks where she immediately became motherly)

- Rey would fall to the Dark Side something ugly and then understand that she had no right to judge Ben

- Ben and Rey would be together and have their happy ever after

- They would take care of the children together, learning from their own upbringing to be protective and understanding parents

- Ben would be the Good Father opposite to Darth Vader the Evil Father and this would “finish what he started” (excuse me, why choose an actor for the role who has Vader’s stature but whose features are the exact opposite? Who has repeatedly proven that he deals well with children in films? Why not use his potential??)

- They would start a new Jedi training or academy, where children would no longer be taught to suppress their emotions

- Rey would in this way finally find the family she craved

- Balance would mean a rainbow or a prism, not Black against White, or Grey

  What I still can’t believe

I guess most of you have read some of my meta’s. They were written after thorough researc of the saga’s themes. And I still can’t believe that I got it that wrong.

Yes, as I already wrote above there still is the fact that Kylo / Ben is a patricide and that having him survive after he damned himself like that might have been a bad message. But I still believed that he was in for redemption and survival, and that he was meant to be a father figure.

What about all the messages in TLJ, which all seemed to point to the future?

- The hand-touching scene with the set-up which was exactly opposite to Anakin’s and Padmés wedding? Why did both couples have to end tragically?

- Why were enslaved children introduced in a sympathetic way, the film even ending showing one of them being a Force User and dreaming of being a Jedi? What about Anakin’s promise that he would come back and free the slaves on his planet? That promise was never kept.

- What will become of new Force Users? The last person who was taught both the Jedi and the Sith knowledge is dead.

- Why did Maz Kanata announce to Rey that “the belonging she sought was ahead of her”? She is on the planet that both Anakin and Luke ardently wished to leave. How is that belonging? She knows who she is now, but she is just as lonely and overburdened as when she started. She has not found the family she sought, and she hasn’t founded one of her own. And where’s the ocean she used to dream of?

- Rey had told Ben that “she saw his future”. What future was that? “You will be a hero for ten minutes, have almost all your bones crushed, get a kiss and then die”…?

- Why did Leia ask Han to bring their son home? He saved his soul, but as for finding home, not a chance.

- Luke had promised his nephew that they would see each other again. Nope. And both he and Leia took Rey’s side, abandoning their nephew and son in favor of the offspring of their worst enemy. This is destroying their legacy, not the green milk. Luke panicking and contemplating to kill Ben in his sleep lasted a few seconds. It is not understandable why Luke and Leia should believe in Rey while they were afraid of their own flesh and blood. Because she’s cooler, I guess.

- TRoS destroyed the Jedi’s legacy as well, respectively proved once more what terrible people they were, ready to sacrifice everything for their victory. All of them spoke to Rey, not one to Ben. As if he didn’t even exist. He wasn’t useful to them, that was all.

- After the victory of the Light Side and the Dark Side, logically Balance should have come. Where and how did we ever see this balance? Oh, the bad guy is dead again, that’s good. If at least his granddaughter was dead, then maybe the galaxy would finally have some peace! But that besotted idiot had to resurrect her. Out of love.

- In the end, who won? The Skywalker Curse. The last of their blood is dead. Their name lives on, together with the flesh and blood of Palpatine. As if all had been for nothing.

- Rey is not the winner in this story. She did not inherit the Skywalker name, tokens, emotional support, memories, lessons: she is a usurper just like her grandfather. Except that she didn’t do it on purpose.

- What is the future of the galaxy now? Rey lives, thank to Palpatine’s and the Jedi’s power and Ben Solo’s love. But what is the political future? What became of the First Order? What will become of the future Jedi, or will there be any at all? This whole mess doesn’t seem at all a reason to rejoice.

- What did Anthony Daniels mean when he twittered that the ending of the saga would contain a message for all of us? Almost everybody dies, that’s great, Merry Christmas? ☹

The Last Jedi was packed full of wonderful messages: you can be a nobody and still carve your way in life, failure is the greatest teacher, war makes unscrupulous people rich, good and bad are made-up words (you blow them up today, they blow you up tomorrow), you have to save what you love not destroy what you hate… and so on. Luke’s lesson explaining that the Force is not some kind of superpower was tremendous and necessary for all fans to hear. His confession of the Jedi’s sins and his decision that they had to end was the right conclusion after all that we learned about Anakin. But alas, the older fanbros hated each and every one of these messages and lessons. Star Wars may be for twelve-year-old, as Lucas once said. But twelve-year-olds are supposed to grow up, some day or other.

The Force Awakens had not promised anything. If you believed that the old trio would be back to kick ass, watch it again. It’s clear from the start that this time it’s up to the next generation. Our heroes had not only grown older, they were visibly tired and disillusioned. And there obviously was a whole baggage of secrets and problems to be unpacked. Did anyone honestly believe Luke would jump right back into the fray, like he was not an exile by own choice but some kind of Robinson Crusoe who simply hadn’t found home again?

The Last Jedi, by comparison, had opened a whole treasure chest of promises for love, hope, future and homecoming. And The Rise of Skywalker spat them almost all into our faces. It almost seems like the petty work of an envious man - like children who mob and publicly humiliate one particular child because it’s more intelligent and has achieved more than them.

So, what’s the moral for Ben Solo at the end - see to it that you’re not in the wrong place at the wrong time? Don’t trust anyone, not even your own family members, not even the greatest hero of your time?

Anakin won the pod race, he destroyed the star base over Naboo, he became a valiant Jedi, he married the love of his life. He once said, “This is the happiest day of my life.” But apart from a childhood that was probably more or less positive, as far as we know Ben Solo had nothing but pain and sorrow from life. He wasn’t torn from limb to limb and burned alive and then had to live on for decades, but he lost his home, his integrity and his life, merely due to… fate. Twenty years of struggle, frustration, loneliness, anger, death, sorrow and destruction. The only glimpse of hope he saw was in Rey’s eyes as they connected in TLJ, and his only moment of happiness when he sacrificed his life to save her (I will never forget that smile). Reylo was canon for a few seconds… and the SW couple with the strongest chemistry did not even get a love theme. ☹

I admit I was doubtful whether it would have been a good idea to let Ben survive and be happy after all the bad things he had done. But the message we got now is infinitely worse; and being an abuse victim myself it is a personal hurt to me. So, if you become the victim of abuse because nobody was there to help you, you are doomed and can only escape through death. And we saw nobody grieving for him, no Force Ghost among the others, no grave, no body to burn as in Vader’s case. As if he never existed. Another unsung, unhappy hero without an epitaph like the ones from Rogue One - it seems that viewers liked that, so let’s give them some more of it. Even if we’re called Disney.

The prequels look positive in this light. At least we always knew they would end as a tragedy, and there was hope in the end. Rey is left with nothing but sad memories. The prequels had a story arc; they told the story they wanted (the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker) in their own way; they were a massive, ambitious project in the style of colossal movies like The Last Day of Pompeji or The Fall of the Roman Empire. In this light they’re pretty good, the OT fans simply didn’t like them because they weren’t Star-Wars-y enough. The sequels tried to patch that up and ironically, the best sequel is the middle one, which was hated by the OT fans for trying to open the way to something new. And maybe the sequels never were meant to make a real wrap-up, to give us a satisfying happy ending; because the more fans protest, the more it will give the studios the chance to explore the possibilities for new stories. It’s in their right, I guess. But nevertheless, it leaves a bitter aftertaste.

And sorry, this whole story proves to me once more that the Jedi were nothing but petty little f***s who cared only for letting Their Side Win no matter the cost and didn’t care in the least about the human lives and happiness involved. Anakin, Luke and Ben all wanted to be pilots, not Jedi! Anakin’s tragedy was that he had to become a Jedi instead of being himself. His grandson’s tragedy was the same. He was targeted from birth not only by Snoke but also by his uncle and his own mother who saw nothing but his potential for the Force - not a young man like any other who wanted to be happy, to love and belong like everybody else. Only exception, Han. To him, his son was always simply his son, whether he was powerful in the Force or not. No wonder Ben loved Rey to death: after his father she was the only one who ever saw and loved him simply for being himself. The Jedi all spoke to Rey encouraging her to stand up against Palpatine; the last son and heir of the Skywalker was ignored by his own flesh and blood, because to them he was officially “Dark Side” and thus not interesting for the final fight. They did not even care whether Rey died after the victory; the supposed “bad guy” had to come and rescue her. Out of love, not because of her power. And the Jedi are supposed to be some kind of heroes and glowing examples. What a terrible sarcasm.

Ever heard of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?

No?

Try the tragedy of Ben Solo the Fucked-Up Loser Who Just Wanted to Be Himself.

  What I hope for…

I want to spend my time in other ways from now on. I will read meta’s and fanfics about Star Wars still, but not so assiduously.

Maybe this entire f***up was a well-planned strategy in order to make us wish and ask for another sequel, so that the Star Wars story can go on like an endless soap opera. And the studios make money while we wait for every single scrap of news.

And yet, I can’t accept that this was supposed to be all. The saga is at its end, but is Ben Solo really finished?

Rian Johnson confirmed that he is working on a new trilogy. I can only hope that he will pick up the themes which he started in TLJ and finally give us the happy ending we craved. The next film starts in 2022 if rumors are right.

In a way, it is understandable that Ben Solo’s arc had to finish here and without a happy ending: after all he is not a Skywalker but a Solo. In the end, it was not his story. Who knows what the Force has in store for us. 😊

I would love for Johnson to come back and give our hearts what we wanted after Abrams satisfied (it seems) the fanbros of the original trilogy who hated TLJ so much. Everybody would get what he wanted; fans of OT could simply not watch / ignore the continuation and we could root for Kylo / Ben to our heart’s content. I figure that would be a fair compromise. And if it is indeed a trilogy, there would be plenty of time to explore the family / father / mother themes, and create a new life and identity for Ben. (Who, I am saying it again, assuredly deserved better.)

However, that is all in the future. I haven’t a clue what Johnson is planning, I only think that it would make sense if he explored TLJ’s themes more in depth and with more time.

I really want to pester Rian Johnson right now to give us Ben Solo’s story and to make it happy at last. (Pretty please with cherries on top. 😉)

If you are interested, there is already a petition: https://www.change.org/p/lucasfilm-continue-ben-solo-s-story

  What has actually improved for me

1. In my youth I had to spend a large portion of my life under very disagreeable circumstances and I learned to zone out mentally to this or other “dream worlds” as a meaning to cope. (“Dreams Are My Reality” was my song, growing up. 😊) My life is much better now, but the tendency to zone out is still there. Now I remind myself every day that dreaming is good but that no one ought to spend so much time dreaming that his actual life passes him by. I don’t need to escape into dreams any more, I can just enjoy them. So, I feel more grateful.

2. I have learned a lot about myself these two years. I question my intelligence less and I overestimate other people less. I am less timid. I notice that I am calmer and speak slower and do more small talk. The reason: I have realized that many, many people value “coolness” most of all in fictional as well as real people and that one of my main problems is that I am oversensitive and doubtful, similarly to Kylo / Ben. No wonder he’s hated: not so much because “he did so many evil things” but because he is seen as a whiny sissy. (Vader did much worse things, but his “untouchable” attitude made up for it.) I found out that many people mistake a haughty or nonchalant attitude with strength. I don’t need to feel ashamed because I am willing to learn and develop my mind. Anyone who takes me for a fool because of this, it’s his loss. Vader was over-the-top cool, but lonely and miserable. For happiness, we need other humans. Not superhumans.

3. I have spent two very agreeable years exchanging points of view with other fans in this community and I have learned a lot about narratives. I have gone in depth in the Star Wars saga and now I appreciate it much more than before. (I actually consider watching the prequels again to get over TRoS. I never would have believed it if anyone had told me, a few years ago. 😊)

4. I feel closer to my husband. We’ve spent so many evenings apart the last two years because I was elbows-deep in Star Wars! Now we talk more, go out more and watch more films or TV shows together. (BTW, I read many fanfics were Ben and Rey had a playful, teasing relationship. Now I tease my husband more and our marriage is improved. 😊)

5. I used to laugh at who detested TLJ and / or the prequels and to think that who didn’t get the messages was just too lazy to think about them. I do not think that the original characters were ruined in these films at all, but fans who expected them to kick ass until retirement and beyond of course were disappointed. I figured that to make a credible sequel you had to lend more depth to characters and themes and couldn’t just start off again like nothing happened. Most reboots are like this and that’s why they fail: a film is not the same as a TV show. I found Star Wars’ approach more intelligent. But I disrespected other people’s hurt and irritation… and now I find myself in the same situation. I count myself lucky because I waited only 2 years and not 30 years like other hardcore fans.

We are depressed now and feel that Christmas is ruined. Hardcore OT fans must have felt the same two years ago - I remember quite a lot of meta’s and videos where people vented their rage and frustration, some going so far that they declared they wanted to abandon the franchise for good. They felt betrayed. As do we now: we feel that TLJ set up the stage for a brilliant redemption arc and love / family story, and now here we are, looking like fools.

Maybe next time we ought to be more specific with our wishes. Reylo is canon - what did that mean to you? I never hoped for Ben to be redeemed through Rey’s love, that would have been mushy. But I did of course hope for them to have a Happy Ever After. What did Bendemption mean to you? I of course hoped he would redeem himself and survive. The meanest thing about this film is that it gave us what we hoped for only to take it away again... And differently from the OT fans, we can’t say to ourselves, “Well, there’s still one film to be done, let’s hope it will make up.” Nostalgia has won. Not compassion, or the willingness to look beyond one’s nose.

  Lessons learned

1. Try not to get so worked up about a film. After all, it’s just a story. It’s not our fault if studios, directors and story writers are little sh**s who like to have us build our hopes up and then deflate us.

2. Appreciate the world around you. It’s more complicated and frightening because contrarily to your dreams you can’t keep it in control. But it’s real. It makes you a more real person, and also the ones you interact with.

3. Make your own happy ending. a) That a hero you identified with didn’t get his happy ending doesn’t mean you won’t get yours. If you are already in a satisfying life situation, be grateful for what you have. If you’re not, roll up your sleeves more and do your best to escape reality less. b) Write stories that go the way you would have wanted them to.

4. Start something new to clear your head. A new project you didn’t have “time” for or perhaps not enough courage. Pour your energies into that.

5. Question yourself. Why did this story, these characters intrigue you so? You do not live in the galaxy far, far away after all. If you identify with Kylo / Ben, why? If you would like a partner like him, why? What can you do to implement your wishes into your life?

If you feel with lonely, misunderstood people, reach out in real life. The prequels were a cautionary tale about a good boy becoming a monster because he was overburdened from early age and left alone with his fears and doubts. Society had created its own monster. Don’t let us contribute to that kind of society.

I was adamant that Ben Solo was supposed to become a caring father figure in TRoS. Ironically, I have no children of myself and I don’t deal well with other people’s: I don’t dislike children, I just don’t have practice with them. If Ben didn’t get the chance to be a loving and caring figure for abandoned children, I think I ought to do something for children myself.

  In the meantime, merry Christmas. We will always have each other. 😊

[possiblyimbiassed]

What happened to Sherlock? Part VIII - The Sign of the Hetero Norm (2)

This is the second installment of my meta about the significance of Mary in BBC Sherlock and hypothesis #8 in this meta series; that John is not the father of Mary’s baby. It follows directly on the first installment, which you can read here. 

(For the record, I’ll also repeat the disclaimer: My suspicion here only concerns John’s biological offspring. It would still be possible that John, and perhaps also Sherlock, might father the child - if it exists - by adoption. It does not exclude a metaphorical reading where the baby represents, for example, Sherlock’s and John’s relationship. i also want to stress that this hypothesis is an attempt at logical reasoning based on observations in the show and in ACD canon; it’s not meant to be ‘gossipy’ and has nothing to do with whether I would actually like to see this happen or not - that’s a whole other story. ;) ) 

Mary’s background and canon similarities

The first time Sherlock meets Mary in TEH, he deduces a series of things about her, most of which we haven’t seen explained this far. But there’s one thing in particular that seems to stand out to him: that she’s a liar.

In HLV we learn that Mary has lied about her background to John, and she keeps lying and deceiving in S4. But even if HLV and S4 aren’t ‘real’, and Assassin!Mary only exists in Sherlock’s imagination, this doesn’t mean that his first deduction was wrong; the fact that Mary’s lying trait is repeated later seems to indicate that it’s important. Mary might be lying about other things instead. Like, for example, about who’s the father of her baby. (Continued under the cut)

Some other deductions in this scene might also be significant; that Mary ‘bakes her own bread’ might refer to the idiom ‘a bun in the oven’, slang for being pregnant. A hint that John will not be responsible for her later pregnancy?

Another ‘feature of interest’ about Mary is her possible US connection. America is definitely a recurring theme in BBC Sherlock; the US or ‘America’ is referred to over 20 times throughout the show. These references occur on a plethora of different occasions, and in three specific circumstances the CIA is mentioned. In one of them (HLV) we learn from Magnussen that Mary has been doing “wet jobs for the CIA”. Sherlock also suspects that while Mary’s accent is English, Mary herself is not. So, Mary might have some kind of connection to America - at least in Sherlock’s mind. The idea is hinted at, but never developed.

Mary Morstan’s British background may be described in canon, but ACD’s original stories contain even more US references than BBC Sherlock. Big parts of the novels A Study in Scarlet (STUD) and The Valley of Fear (VALL) take place in America, and many characters have connections to the US - the most prominent of them perhaps Irene Adler in A Scandal in Bohemia (SCAN), who was born in New Jersey. 

The Noble Bachelor (NOBL) is particularly interesting in this context. In the beginning of the story, Watson points out that it happened “a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street”. I believe this talk of Watson’s marriage might be significant mirror-wise. The case in NOBL is about a bride - an American woman - who disappears directly after marrying the British nobleman Robert St. Simon, because she learns during the wedding ceremony that her beloved former husband, who she thought was dead, is still alive.

(X) The bride doesn’t reveal this during the wedding, but an hour later she is gone. So legally she was still married, and the new marriage to the nobleman would therefor be nullified - hence the story title of ‘bachelor’, I believe. On Lestrade’s questions about the case, Holmes answers:

“Just one hint to you, Lestrade,” drawled Holmes before his rival vanished; “I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person.”

This is, more or less, the role I think Mary Watson plays in canon after SIGN; she’s a myth, a heteronormative façade (see reasoning in the first installment of this meta). In fact, I don’t think she ever appears in canon under the name Mary Watson (please correct me if I’m wrong). Now, if Sherlock’s deductions about Mary’s background in HLV would be true (in spite of all the other things about this episode that might be his mere imagination), that Mary Morstan is a false name and she has lied about her background, this would technically also nullify her marriage to John, wouldn’t it? You can hardly marry someone who doesn’t exist. ;)

There’s also a literal hint in TAB that Mary might soon be on the run, just like the bride in NOBL:

In this scene, in the midst of Sherlock’s Victorian Mind Palace dream, Watson is suddenly dressed as the modern John and seems more angry than worried about Mary’s disappearance. So I can’t help wondering: Does Sherlock foresee this outcome from his subconscious deductions about Mary and the baby?

A possibly vengeful bride

In TSoT we learn more about Martha Hudson’s late husband Frank, when Martha talks to both Sherlock and John separately about how “marriage changes you as a person”. Her marriage was like a “whirlwind” at first, which Martha felt “swept away” by. Her best friend Margaret seemed to have been devastated and left the wedding early. But we also learn that Frank Hudson ran a drug cartel, was sentenced for murder and had several other women, that Martha found out about after they had moved to Florida, USA. Martha was actually relieved when he was arrested for “blowing someone’s head off”. From ASiP we also know that Sherlock was the one who made sure Frank was executed (by lethal injection according to TSoT).

There seems to be something still missing from the plot narrative here, though; in what way was Frank’s death beneficial to Martha? And I can’t help wondering why the Frank Hudson case is even brought to our attention? Why give us these details that don’t quite make logical sense, and then nothing more? And why are we being told, again and again, that “marriage changes you as a person”?

In ACD canon there’s nothing about Mrs Hudson’s husband, as far as I know. There is, however, a sailor named Hudson in The Gloria Scott (GLOR), who comes to blackmail Holmes’ friend Victor Trevor’s father and threaten him with exposing him to public shame and dishonour by revealing his criminal past. Hudson manages to literally frighten Mr Trevor to death. In The Five Orange Pips (FIVE) there’s also a mentioning of someone named Hudson, who is associated with the KKK. So even if Mrs Hudson’s criminal husband in BBC Sherlock is non-canonical, the existence of at least two criminals named Hudson is clearly canon.

Anyway, what has all this to do with Mary? Well, this is very much speculation of course (and not originally my idea; I'm pretty sure someone has posted a theory about it - I just can’t find the reference at the moment. Please alert me if you know who, so I can give proper credits!): What if Mary is Frank Hudson’s daughter and her mother is one of those “other women”? And what if she’s out for some kind of revenge against Sherlock, who made sure her father was killed? After all, the whole Victorian part of TAB - which we know happens in Sherlock’s Mind Palace, where he goes back to solve a case by first solving an older one - is focused on vengeful brides (’Un-Dead’, as it seems - I see you there, Dracula! ;) ). The Emelia Ricoletti case also has clear connections to America.

Could Mary have hired a ‘consulting criminal’ (Jim) and got the advise that burning Sherlock’s heart out by marrying John would be the best way to take revenge on him? Or could she even be paid by Jim to fake a marriage? 

Just speculating, as I said… :)

The revelation at the wedding

One of the strongest arguments for the baby not being John’s is, I think, the scene at the wedding reception in TSoT, where Sherlock deduces Mary’s pregnancy. At the revelation, both John and Mary look terrified, like they’ve seen a ghost or something:

Seeing as these guys had lived together at least for a year, their panic reaction doesn’t quite make sense to me - especially since they’re both trained in medicine! If Mary wasn’t even medically tested yet, why panic? Why would Sherlock’s ‘deduction’ seem more reliable to her than her own knowledge of the matter? After all, she had morning sickness. How many women in this world need a male detective (rather than a doctor) to tell them that they’re pregnant? I think Mary rather looks like someone being caught lying, with dire consequences to expect. John doesn’t expect this and seems totally shocked. Neither of them appears happy about the revelation. I think the sum of the couple’s reactions fits better into a scenario where Mary has been cheating on John, and is therefore not protesting at John’s negative behaviour regarding the pregnancy. But she knows she is (or might be) pregnant and has perhaps tried to hide it to John.

Mary is a smart person, and must definitely know what Sherlock actually means to John. She has seen his grieving for a long time and also witnessed his violent reaction once Sherlock returns. She even teases both John and Sherlock about their obsession with each other. Why isn’t she jealous? How can she go on and marry someone who is clearly in love with someone else, and who actually pays her very little attention in comparison? There’s something fishy there...

And what about John himself? There’s an entry on the blog where John Watson’s deductive reasoning skills seem to reach a new low mark (which is a bit strange, seeing as he has been working together with Sherlock Holmes for years at this point):

In short: Sherlock helps a same-sex couple to get together by showing one of them a path out of her arranged marriage. This woman has been threatened with exposure; an abusive person who is out for her money has literally blackmailed her to marry a man and choose a heteronormative life. But John’s conclusion is still this: “I swear that my forthcoming wedding has softened Sherlock.”  “Naturally, I assumed it was because he saw me and Mary together and just wanted to make someone else happy.” So John is utterly convinced that his own, heterosexual marriage plans are what inspired Sherlock to help this gay couple out of an arranged, heteronormative marriage? Sherlock, who has been against all John’s girlfriends so far and also clearly stated from the beginning that girlfriends are “not really my area”? Good thinking, John -- not! :)))

And still John seems utterly surprised and terrified when his good, happily married heterosexual wife turns out to be pregnant, after living together with him for a year? Hmm...

Why the “why” is more important than the “how”

I’m going to go out on another tangent of speculation here, just to illustrate the extent to which I think heteronormativity increasingly rules this show, but also how I believe Sherlock’s and John’s emotions play into it. Even if Sherlock seems to have no prejudices regarding gay couples (as demonstrated by the blog case above), when it comes to John and him, I believe Sherlock has bought the hetero norm hook, sink and line. And ‘Mary’ is a metaphor for this, becoming more and more blatantly obvious as the show goes on. To Sherlock, she symbolises exactly “what John needs”: an ‘ordinary’ life and marriage with an interesting but ‘ordinary’ woman. But Sherlock’s subconscious is telling him something different about her, which I think he fails to fully recognise, no matter how much psychological evidence his mind collects.

And the main problem is Sherlock’s repression of emotions; this problem is at the same time cause and effect. His unwillingness to show or talk about his emotions towards John makes him appear as a cold-hearted person, mostly called a ‘sociopath’ or ‘psychopath’. Which makes John not want to risk the stigma of coming out, or even recognise his own feelings to himself. Adhering to the hetero norm is much safer, and it allows John to escape from his emotional dilemma in an unsatisfactory and hypocritical way: to marry a woman whom he hardly even knows. Which in turn makes Sherlock believe that John living with a woman is the only reasonable option. And so on and so forth, until eternity. The example below is from TEH, John’s reaction to Sherlock’s return.

JOHN: Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?

Sherlock doesn’t respond to this, but tries to avert the question by talking about John’s moustache. What could John, in his highly emotional state, possibly make of this? This is where he becomes violent, and Sherlock doesn’t defend himself. John grabs Sherlock and punches him (which is confirmed by his blogpost about this: “He genuinely thought it would be funny to surprise me. I think he was more surprised when I nutted him.”). And it goes on and on:

JOHN: You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick. SHERLOCK: What? JOHN: I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why.

I think John makes it very clear in TEH that - unlike Watson in canon’s EMPT - he is not interested to know how Sherlock survived the Fall. John doesn’t give a rat’s fart about the method he used to fake his own death, neither is he interested in knowing why Sherlock found it necessary to fake his death to Moriarty and his henchmen. But Sherlock doesn’t get this because the question is entirely emotional; John could just as well have asked ”Why did you force me to live without you for two years; why did you abandon me? Don’t you care about me, didn’t you even miss me?”. But he doesn’t ask this out loud, since neither of these guys are honest about their feelings - not even to themselves, as it seems. And apparently it totally escapes John’s conscious mind that Sherlock might have had an emotional reason to come back precisely to interrupt his proposal to someone else.

I suspect (speculation again) that the ‘why’ of John going on to marry Mary after Sherlock’s return was not only about convincing himself that he needed a “normal” life and submitting to the hetero norm because John is closeted. It was at least just as much about punishing Sherlock on an emotional level, letting this ‘sociopath’ know exactly how it feels to be abandoned, not knowing if the other even missed him. It was revenge and punishment in their eternal, on-going game with emotions, where neither of them is letting his guard down to show vulnerability towards the other. But this was probably subconscious and nothing John would freely admit to. Consciously, this arrangement allowed John to simply register that Sherlock apparently was fairly OK with things, since he even went on to organize John’s wedding. Thus, John could reason, his feelings for Sherlock couldn’t be requited anyway.

I also suspect, however, that the concept of ’Mary’, as we see this character from HLV and onwards, is Sherlock’s way of punishing himself for abandoning John. The wedding planning and the ‘vow’ in TSoT, in my view, was a very special sort of self-harm, where Sherlock tried to sacrifice himself to pay off his emotional debt for having hurt John, by doing his utmost for John to be happy with his choice. 

But apparently this wasn’t enough, so when ‘Mary’ shoots Sherlock in HLV, even this is (supposedly) Sherlock’s own fault. I think ‘Mary’s shooting Sherlock symbolises the blow to the heart that Sherlock received on the wedding. But why was this a ‘blow’, one might ask, if Sherlock himself was prepared for the marriage and even helped planning the wedding? Well, there was a second blow on the wedding reception, wasn’t it? (Just as there were two murder attempts depicted in TSoT; one before the wedding and another during the wedding reception). The second blow was when Sherlock deduced Mary’s pregnancy. Because a child would most probably cement John’s relationship with Mary forever. Not only would the baby’s presence be an obstacle for John spending any time with Sherlock; it would also erase any attempt from Sherlock to confess his feelings to John in the future, since it would make him guilty of disrupting a family involving a third, innocent little person.

Mary definitely works as an internalised hetero norm. In his own view, Sherlock has no value, and he doesn’t deserve John. Thus, ’Mary’ is needed to keep John happy, and comes back to haunt Sherlock’s mind, even after she’s (supposedly) dead. No matter what atrocities she commits, ’Mary’ is always excused by Sherlock. In many ways, she’s the new ’Sherlock’: solving crimes, being passionate, leading John into adventures, using disguises, speaking (supposed) words of wisdom and even dressing like Sherlock. She fills in an empty space that Sherlock refuses to fill in himself, because a) he doesn’t consider himself worthy and b) he wants to avoid ‘Sentiment’. Instead of facing reality and try to do something about it, Sherlock tries to have a place in John’s life through ‘Mary’ and other invented avatars.

I think John makes it clear on his blog that he does not intend to forgive Sherlock any time soon: “Turns out he’d faked his death because Moriarty had threatened those close to him. Including me. He’d gone into hiding, happy to leave me and everyone else thinking he was dead. He’d done it to save us but he hadn’t trusted us enough to tell us what was really going on. Not sure I’ll ever truly forgive him for that but as the saying goes, life goes on.”

But then he’s back to talking about the cases and his own motivation to keep his friend after all: “So I ignored him and got on with my life. But God, it was dull. I knew he was back. I knew that he was out there having the time of his life and I was… working”. The image John gives is actually that he keeps hanging out with this ’sociopath’ for the sole reason that he can’t resist the danger, the ’thrill of the chase’. In other words; Sherlock seems to be right in HLV when he claims John to be a sort of adrenaline junkie who craves danger and therefore needs a dangerous wife (to replace Sherlock, who is not good for him because he’s a real junkie and a man to boot, but he doesn’t say this).

John’s ’deeper’ question of why rather than how in TEH (which doesn’t apply to Sherlock’s supposedly ’scientific’ world view where emotions always are a problem risking to bias his conclusions) has its complete repetition in TLD. Once again Sherlock tries to convince John that he can predict the future. Sherlock expects to impress John with the explanation of how:

JOHN: How did you know?

In fact, I think a great deal of what we see in TLD is Sherlock’s mental repetitions of what happened between him and John after his ‘return from the dead’ in TEH. However, in TLD (as in all the episodes from S3 and onwards) John is not impressed by Sherlock’s intellectual shenanigans; he hasn’t seemed to be for a long time, but especially not after the treason Fall. In TLD John may have started by asking “how”, but in the end he just wants to know why Sherlock has lured him to come to his rescue when he’s in trouble.

JOHN: Never mind how. He’s dying to tell us that. I want to know why.

Sherlock tries to explain that he needs John’s help with a case because he ‘can’t do it alone’. But John doesn’t buy it this time either; his disbelief and judgment of Sherlock is even harder and more emphasised than in TEH. And this is, i believe, the key question; to answer it honestly Sherlock has to talk about his feelings, show his emotional vulnerability. Which he still isn’t ready for. So this is why ‘Mary’ and 'Rosie’ keep popping up until the end of TFP; they stand for Sherlock’s heteronormative alibi to avoid talking about feelings. Even if Sherlock comes a long way with hugging John in TLD and hugging Eurus in TFP - basically to comfort them - he still hasn’t told anybody about his own feelings, has he?

Sherlock ’had chips’ with ’Faith’. (Dinner!) But we never see him eat anything, he just goes on impressing Faith by telling her about how his deductions about her private life work. It’s the scientific ”how” rather than the more emotional ”why”.

I’ve also been wondering about Mary’s traveling around the world in TST, ’on the role of a dice’ when she learns that Ajay is after her. This is the cold assassin who tried to kill Sherlock and lied to her husband about her background, and yet she is suddenly ”moving the target away” from John - why? In HLV Mary claimed that the truth would break John and therefore he could never know that she lied to him. What’s actually going on here? To me this seems more like Sherlock trying to justify to himself his own fake suicide and his following absence for two years in order to ’protect John’ from Moriarty’s network. The whole ‘Mary-the-hero’ plot line is an indulgence in Sentiment, complete with self-sacrifice and a tearful self-absolving note. But this over-romanticized scenario gives Sherlock no satisfaction, since it ends with John’s grief and sorrow and alienation. Conclusive discovery: escape is no solution; it just postpones the problem.

OK, this has been a looong meta, and a bit speculative. For the finish, I’d just like to summarise a bit about Hypothesis #8 and why I suspect that John is not the father of Mary’s baby. Here’s my TL;DR:

John wasn’t even aware on the wedding that Mary might be pregnant - and he’s a ‘bloody doctor’!

None of them seems happy when Sherlock deduces Mary’s pregnancy; Mary appears shocked that he noticed it and John seems shocked before the unexpected task of fathering a child

Their relationship doesn’t strike me as honest and genuine on either side; they’re not really into each other

Mary is a liar who conceals her background to John

It’s suspicious (but also canon consistent) that Mary encourages John to spend a lot of time with someone she should know that he’s in love with; why would she want to start a family with such a guy?

David seems to remain too close to Mary for being an ordinary ‘ex’; he might actually be the father of the baby!

The Watsons have no children in canon

Rosie in S4 doesn’t strike me as a real character (Mary’s pregnancy in S3 might still be ‘real’, though)

The whole concept of John’s wife is a heteronormative façade (which goes for canon as well); why then would John’s fatherhood be real?

And, finally, just one more thing that occurs to me:

The baby is a perfect plot device to keep John and Mary together in a modern time when divorce is common, and also to keep Sherlock guilt-ridden about confessing his feelings. A revelation that John is not the father would likely mean a breakup of the couple, with the possibilities that this would open for the ‘Johnlock’ option. ;)

Thanks for bearing with me in meta-marathon, and Happy New Decade! :)

Tagging some people who might be interested: @raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @sarahthecoat​ @gosherlocked​ @loveismyrevolution​ @sagestreet​​ @thepersianslipper​ @tjlcisthenewsexy​​ @elldotsee​​ @88thparallel​​  @sherlock-overflow-error​​ @yeah-oh-shit​

[judesowndaughter]

#JustMarshSistersThings

Some assorted headcanons about Lynn and Emily under the cut because I need a place to put this stuff just so things aren’t so incredibly vague about them. Consider this a quick little reference guide to these two. 

Ages and Birthdays: - Kate’s birthday is the same as in canon: September 12th, 1995. - Emily’s birthday is February 14th, 1999. - Lynn’s birthday is July 22nd, 2003. - The ages for the Marsh sisters during the events of L.IS are as follows: Kate is 18, Emily is 14, and Lynn is 10. Barring some exceptions, most verses will have all three girls as 18, 14, and 10, respectively. - After the Storm verse jumps around in terms of the timeline, but generally I prefer to set it around 2017-ish, where Kate is 22 and Lynn is 14. - Kate’s U.ntil Dawn verse has her at 19 years old, with Emily at 15 and Lynn at 11.  Appearance: - As of the events of L.IS, Emily is the tallest of her siblings at 5′5″. Lynn is only a little shorter than Kate, measuring 5′1″. - All of the girls have long, undyed hair, although this isn’t necessarily by choice; Helen believes short/dyed hair on women looks “ugly” and “lesbian”, and therefore forces her daughters to have hair past their shoulders at the minimum. When Helen dies or is kicked out of the family, Lynn and Emily both cut their hair short. Lynn to a (dyed) bubblegum pink mop that falls just below her jawline, and Emily to...a pixie undercut. - Kate cuts her hair to shoulder-length shortly before leaving her hometown or after she quits drinking. - Of the Marsh sisters, Emily takes after Helen the most. Mother and child share ash blonde hair, a long, oval-shaped face, and a thin, straight nose. Much like Richard, Emily’s eyes are a light hazel, and are frequently mistaken for green. Due to spending so much time outside, Emily has sun spots dotted along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She habitually smiles with her mouth closed since getting braces at the age of 13. A light scar runs across her right eyebrow (a mark she gained from a soccer-related injury).  - Lynn inherited Helen’s big blue eyes and her maternal grandmother’s heart-shaped face and lopsided grin. Her light blond hair darkens to golden brown in adolescence. Like her oldest sister, Lynn gets freckles easily, and her arms are dotted with little reminders of playing outside in the sun. Lynn’s dimples, nose, and chin bear more than a passing similiarity to Kate’s features. Interests and Hobbies:  - A classical music enthusiast, Emily is a member of the church choir, and a clarinetist in her school’s orchestra (second chair, much to her chagrin). She is a voracious reader and frequents the town library whenever she can which is very convenient when she wants to get out of the house. - Emily’s favorite novels are T.homas Hardy’s J.ude the Obscure, S.hirley Jackson’s H.angsaman, and G.illian Flynn’s G.one Girl. Books centering around domestic strife, the turmoil of womanhood, and the hypocrisy of the church or whitebread c.onservative A.mericana are things she takes comfort in. The aforementioned themes make her feel less alone in her own tumultuous home life. - Lynn is, of course, a horror movie enthusiast. While her access to sci-fi horror and psychological thrillers is carefully monitored by Kate (no blood-spattered gorefests for the ten year old) she’s well-versed in H.itchcock’s filmography, the first two films in the A.lien franchise, kitschy 50s B-movie horror, and early horror films like The C.abinet of Dr. C.aligari. At the age of 10, her favorite horror films are N.ight of the L.iving Dead and The T.hing from Another World. - Beyond horror movies, Lynn also loves astronomy, poring over star charts and online citizen science projects. - While Lynn’s sisters are classical music nerds, she herself finds classical boring, preferring her “nostalgia music” (AKA fa.ll out boy, p!atd, the k.illers, m.argot & the nuclear so and so’s, and mark li.nkous). - Of the three sisters, Emily is the most athletic; an avid soccer player, she is her team’s go-to central midfielder.  - While Lynn is active, she’s not much of a team player, and vehemently opposes joining a sports team. Skateboarding is her passion, and if she can’t do that? Catch her wandering into places where she really shouldn’t be.  Dreams:  - From the time she was in third grade, Lynn wanted to be an astronomer. Whether that pans out for her depends less on her drive and more on her family’s financial situation. She’s especially fascinated by stars and how their gravitational pull affects the orbit of surrounding stars and planets. - Emily aspires to be a juvenile defense attorney, specifically for marginalized children. While Emily is privileged by virtue of being white, cis, and wealthy, she is still at the mercy of her abusive mother and understands that many children have it worse than she. She’s adamant that kids in dire straits be given a fighting chance at freedom when confronted by a biased and punitive court system. Identity and Religion: - Emily identifies as cis female and straight. She was the first person that Kate ever came out to, and she accepted her sister completely (although with some curiosity about “what” being a lesbian entails, i.e.; “so you’re not attracted to boys? like at all?”) After some fumbling, Emily grows into allyship and becomes supportive of Kate, encouraging her older sister to imagine a life outside of the closet.  - Lynn identifies as cis female and bi, developing crushes on both boys and girls around middle school. Thanks to Kate’s coming out and (assuming she is alive) Emily’s supportive attitude, Lynn has little trouble accepting herself.  - Religion is a point where each sister diverges wildly from the other. Emily is an a.theist, and as staunch in her belief as Kate is in her faith in c.hristianity. In contrast, Lynn grapples with her faith for most of her adolescence, having believed as a child that an omniscient evil was real and that there was no all-powerful good to counter it. She bounces between agnosticism and theistic s.atanism (with lucifer as the “big good” to god’s “big evil”).  - Kate still loves and supports her siblings no matter what/who they choose to worship (or don’t). Physical Health: - Lynn and Kate were both born prematurely, Kate at 30 weeks and Lynn at 35 weeks. While Lynn suffered no adverse effects in the long-term, Kate later developed asthma. - Kate is the only one of her sisters to have an allergy (to peanuts) and a.sthma (childhood-onset, and currently in remission). - Emily is near-sighted and requires glasses to see at a distance. At the start of L.IS, she is currently making the case for her father to get her Ortho-k lenses to correct her (moderate) nearsightedness. Any post-L.IS verses set after a certain amount of time will see a glasses-free Emily (she still has to wear her corrective lenses at night, though). - Kate and Emily are both right-handed, whereas Lynn is left-handed. - Only Emily has had any kind of major surgery: an appendectomy in the sixth grade.  Mental Health:  - Lynn has ADHD (inattentive-type) and dyslexia. While Lynn is diagnosed with dyslexia in primary school, it takes several years for her to recieve a diagnosis of ADHD (at the age of 14). - Due to witnessing (and experiencing) physical, emotional, and verbal abuse from her mother, all of the girls develop PTSD. However, Emily differs from her sisters in that she suffers from chronic migraines, some of which are so debilitating that she has to lie down. - Emily also suffers from claustrophobia, a fear stemming from Kate hiding her sister in enclosed spaces when their mother grew physically abusive. She goes out of her way to avoid small spaces, up to and including taking several flights of stairs instead of an elevator. - All of the sisters suffer from depression, although Emily and Lynn both struggle with irritability. - Kate’s s.uicide attempt and (depending on the verse) the trauma of Emily’s death OR the severe beating that Kate sustains leads Lynn to develop a fear of abandonment. Lynn is thus hypersensitive to any perceived threat to herself or to her loved ones, and lashes out at the threat as a defense mechanism.

[voiceofghilannain]

The Voice of Ghilan’nain: Introduction to my Blog

My beloved subjects: This is my first post on this blog so I will take a moment to introduce myself. My name is Gerasimos (though Jerry is what I usually introduce myself as out of courtesy, as both my name and surname sound like gibberish to most people). I’m a 23-year-old male biology student currently studying in Greece, and an aspiring entrepreneur with quite a long way ahead until I make that dream come true.

Before I introduce you to this blog, I would like to say a few more words about myself. I am a firm believer in education (scientific, technological, and financial) and I do enjoy learning new things, especially if they can be used to solve problems. I am interested in astronomy, biology with emphasis on plant biology, game design, and video game art. I also enjoy walking outdoors, cooking, relaxing at a beach while stargazing, talking about politics and money, teasing the cat (my friend, not the feline pet) and playing video games. 

In regards to the latest subject, Bioware’s Mass Effect was the first RPG game I ever played. Though it took me a year to appreciate it due to its lackluster gameplay and limited weapon options, I eventually managed to see it for what it was rather than what I wanted it to be. I played through the trilogy with a dictionary next to me as my English skills were laughable back then. It was through Mass Effect and later Halo that I built my English skills, with the later giving me the opportunity to be part of a great community filled with incredible members such as Haruspis, Covenant Canon, HiddenXperia, LateNightGaming, and Halo Canon. I also had my ride as part of the Halo Archive community, with wonderful discussions and theories throughout the years, and I was fortunate enough to watch the community grow from 40 to over 2000 members and survive several crises until its eventual collapse. During the three or so years that I was part of the Halo Archive (known there as Faber of Will and Might), I got to see video games as far more than just games and develop a passion for delving deep into the lore of video game franchises and their extended media. It is for this reason, that I would like to take a moment and thank every member of the Halo Archive for the incredible conversations and debates we had during that time and particularly Haruspis, whose incredible analyses partially inspired me to start this endeavour (You can visit his blog by clicking here: https://haruspis.blog).

It was during the end of my first year at University that I got into tabletop gaming, but it took several years for me to discover the existence of Dragon Age. Eventually, both the release of disappointing games, like Halo 5: Guardians and Mass Effect Andromeda, and toxic fans caused my interest in these franchises to wane and the Halo Archive to fade. This caused me to search for new franchisees to fall in love with and this is how I got into the world of Dragon Age, starting with Inquisition. THE Dragon Age Setting is currently my favourite fantasy setting and the reason I started making “my own” tabletop RPG for it in order to play Inquisition with my friends. I used the quotation marks in the previous sentence because I started by homebrewing for the Official Tabletop DA RPG with each update and homebrew rule making it more and more distinct from the RPG it derived from and pushing it closer to the feel of the games, with mechanics like Barrier, Guard, Status Effects, Critical Hits, the addition of several dozen warrior, rogue and mage abilities and spells, the removal of the stunt mechanic, the introduction of sustained abilities and many more features.

I have always found Medieval English themed settings and happy worlds boring and dull. I don’t see fiction as escapism from problems but as an opportunity to do things I would normally be unable to do, such as setting foot on alien worlds, standing against the Covenant as they kill billions in their genocidal campaign or simply playing as an elf that throws fireballs at sleeping targets in the midsts of a death cloud and then paralyzing them or scaring them to death by casting Horror. Due to my bias against the classic medieval fantasy setting, Ferelden is the least interesting part of the Dragon Age setting for me. I do enjoy the extravagant gold and blue themes of Orlais, the Necropolis of Nevarra, the villainous city of Kirkwall, the Blighted Anderfels, the decadent Rome/Byzantium inspired Tevinter cities, the war-torn Seheron, the pirate heaven of Estwatch, the exotic Rivain and Par Vollen, the assassin filled Antiva and the mystery of the tainted Black City far more than the mostly bland Ferelden. It is thanks to these locations and their stories that, for me, Thedas trumps any setting with a million races each worth half a page of text or settings made for adventurers that go on a killing spree to get rich within a fixed world that refuses to change.

Thedas is a continent that never stops changing. Old feuds are resolved and new conflicts emerge. Racism, blood magic, squandering nobles, the blight and other horrors make the life of most people in the setting a challenge at best and a nightmare at worst. Within the span of three games, the setting has changed dramatically and the world has moved forward. Thedas is thus very different from what it used to be when Dragon Age Origins released. Being dynamic and reacting to player choice is a very important aspect of the setting, which is both a testament to Bioware’s own talent and the setting’s innate simplicity.

Thedas’ richness doesn’t derive from an army of races or from endless classes and deities, but from its smaller scale, with fewer races and emphasis on the dynamics between their societies and the struggles that various groups, societies, scholars, nations and individuals face. With fewer things in the setting, there is more room for them to be fleshed out and explored in depth. Furthermore, Thedas has a rich history, exposed to players mostly via codex entries written from an in-universe perspective. This allows events to be portrayed differently depending on whose perspective they have been witnessed by, encourages fan discussions and theories, turns new contradicting information into a quest for the truth that often results in revisiting old passages and finding new meanings after certain revelations. Unlike most fictional universes, Dragon Age’s lore takes effort to extract and while this might not be for everyone it has kept the community far more engaged and alive throughout the years.

Thedas is a land full of mysteries filled with danger. The Horror of Hormak, the Black City and the Blights, the Old Gods, Arlathan, the curse of Nahar, the Pyramids of Par Vollen, the Kossith, the ships from beyond the Volca Sea, the Executors, the history of the Dwarves, the Second Sin, the Cekorax and many more are all shrouded by the element of the unknown, which drives the curiosity, fear, dread, nostalgia and most feelings associated with them. It is elements like these that make me want to write about and share with others stories set in this world, whether official or my own.

Thus, after several months of thinking about it, I decided to create my own blog about Dragon Age. The Voice of Ghilan’nain is a blog named after my favourite Elven Goddess, Ghilan’nain, with me acting as an echo of her guiding voice through the world of Thedas. Just like She focused on creation, so will this blog focus on the things that can be, the transformation of what exists and the discussion of content that many people don’t talk about, navigating through the darkest, deepest and most obscure parts of the lore in search of stories, characters, creatures and their potential, expressing it either through my analyses or through attempts at poetry and short story writing. I will also make some posts that serve as feedback for Bioware on issues regarding gameplay mechanics, UI and story and if people are willing I can provide a few builds or ideas for DMs who want to introduce their friends to the world of Thedas through tabletop gaming. With that said, I hope you enjoy reading my future posts and I am looking forward to your feedback, suggestions and comments.

And now the melody begins, calling you to the depths of darkness:

Na melana sah’lin, La mala suledin nadas. Vir’enfenim ghilana Sulevin’an. Ma garas mir renan La ir las mir enansal.

[jupitermelichios]

Batman & Robin is the only good live-action Batman movie since 1966. No really.

(To be clear, when I say good in this case, I mean the only good adaptation, not the only well-made made film. Joel Schumacher has never made a competent film in his life, and while I’m fairly sure Christopher Nolan doesn’t have a soul, he is definitely a skilled technical film-maker).

So a quick run-down of live-action Batman movies to date:

1. 1989′s ‘Batman’ desperately wants to be something other than a superhero movie. This will be a running theme in what follows. The decision to focus on the romance to the exclusion of almost every other relationship was a really bad choice that I can only put down to a strong desire to be making a Bond Film instead. Also that version of the Joker is just... really bad, honestly. Mark Hamill’s joker is creepy, Heath Ledger’s Joker was manic, even Leto’s Joker had a kind of dream-like quality to him (which owes more to the camera work than the acting, but I’ll take it). Nicholson’s Joker is just sort of... there. The only compelling thing about him is the score, which is working so hard to try and make us care. (Seriously, try watching any of his scenes with the music off. What little tension there was vanishes instantly).

2. 1992′s Batman Returns. Why is Batman in this movie? Could Burton not get funding for the sexy mental patient fights freak-show survivor movie he actually wanted to be making? So little would change about this movie if you took Batman out of it, but I guess if we did that we’d have to give Selina Kyle a personality beyond ‘outdated and uncomfortable even for the 90s attitudes towards female sexuality’. (Get it, if a woman is sexually available she must be crazy!) I do fully admit this is a fun movie, and I dig the aesthetic it’s going for, it’s just a bad Batman movie.

3. 1995′s Batman Forever. I think we can all agree - fuck this movie. Joel Schumacher is not a good film-maker on his good days, and this is not one of his good days. The script is weak, Val Kilmer won’t stop pouting, Tommy Lee Jones is trying but he’s the only one who is and he’s not trying very hard. The decision to add a Robin was good, the decision to make that Robin in his mid 20s and easily the second worst thing about the movie was absolutely not. Everything Jim Carey does in this movie is terrible. (Everything Jim Carey does in most movies of this era is terrible, because you should only ever hire Carey if you want the film to be about him and absolutely no one else. He does not share the frame well.) Also this movie fucked over Billy D Williams, who had accepted a bit part in Batman Returns on the understanding that he would play Two-Face in the next movie.

4. 1997′s Batman & Robin. The film so bad Clooney would reportedly refund you the cost of the cinema ticket out of his own pocket if you told him you’d seen it. The only good one. Okay, technically this movie is bad. Joel Schumacher had not got any more competent since 1995. However, a combination of performers alternately chewing the scenery and trying not to corpse and a surreal neon asthetic that no one asked for but which would go on to be ripped off by so many video games, make this one of the very few actually fun Batman movies. But we’ve already established fun =/= good adaptation, so why’s it a good Batman movie? Because it gives a damn about its source material, and that source material is not Batman comics of the 80s and 90s (which is good because they were still letting Frank Miller write for them back then) but the 1966 TV Show/movie. The bad jokes, the sudden inclusion of Batgirl, the leotards, the kooky asthetic and ‘everyone’s at least slightly drunk’ tone, the super-styalised version of the Batsuit (like them or not, Bat-nipples are as memorable as 1966′s Bat-eyebrows), all of these can be traced right back to ‘66. This movie is a neon love-letter to Adam West, and it is the only love-letter in the entire Bat-movie canon, which is why it’s the only good one.

5. 2005′s Batman Begins is what you get when you combine a director who doesn’t like Batman with a writer who doesn’t like Batman and a producer who doesn’t care about Batman. It’s a technically competent (if poorly cast) film, that Ayn Rand would almost certainly have enjoyed immensely, and that desperately doesn’t want to be a Batman movie. This is a Serious Movie you guys, not like Batman Returns and Batman & Robin, this movie is above petty concerns like fun or asthetics. The target audience for this movie a) people who don’t like Batman or superheroes in general and b) the kind of Batman fans who claim Stephanie Brown was never Robin because she’s a girl. The sort of fans who purchased All-Star Batman & Robin and TDKR II. The only redeeming feature of this film is Cillian Murphy.

6. 2008′s The Dark Knight. You probably remember this movie being fun, and you’re not wrong exactly, but what you’re actually remembering is Heath Ledger. Ledger is fun in this movie, and he’s so god-damned fun he comes really close to redeeming the entire film. With a different film-maker he probably would have done, but this is Nolan, so instead of being a fun stupid romp, this another Serious Movie. The camp is undercut but the seriousness, the seriousness is undercut by the camp, the script makes no sense whatsoever, and the result is so confused that, like Suicide Squad, viewers find they’ve forgotten a lot of what they actually saw and just remembered the points of interest. Every time I rewatch this film I’m surprised by half of what happens in it, because my brain has blocked out everything that it’s Heath Ledger or Michael Cain, and I’m definitely not alone in that. Also it’s a Nolan movie, so it desperately doesn’t want to be a superhero movie. Superhero movies don’t win Oscars and Oscar nominations are the only way Nolan can feel joy anymore. (Obviously that’s a joke. Christopher Nolan has never felt joy.)

7. 2012′s The Dark Knight Rises is actually my favourite of the Nolan films, despite being technically the worst. The plot is so nonsensical and confused that it actually forgets to be a Serious Movie for whole minutes at a time and becomes something approaching a Batman movie. A lot of that is Anne Hathaway, who is doing the best job of elavating a terrible script through great acting that I have even seen. The fact that you like or care about her character is down entirely and exclusively to Hathaway’s charm and charisma. Apart from that it’s another Nolan ‘Batman is stupid that’s why I made three movies about him’ movie. Also the fight choreography in this is really bad. Like, form an orderly queue inside the shot so we can all atttack Batman one at a time but the audience can see us waiting our turn Bad. The only person doing a good job with the fighting is Hathaway’s stunt-double, who is doing it all in one of the most impractical outfits ever put on screen.

8. Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Some people liked this film, and that’s fine. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with liking a bad film - hell I almost exclusively like bat films. Batfleck was pretty good casting, and Henry Caville looks a lot like Superman. Snyder is for the most part a very good technical film-maker, who has a lot of fun with the camera. Amy Adams is woefully miscast, but it’s not like she’s not a great actor. It’s just... I’m sorry guys, I know that saying a bad film is bad is now seen as a personal attack on the people who liked it, but it’s just a bad movie! The editing is terrible, the script is dire, laughably bad in places, and worst of all, it hates Superheroes. It hates Superheroes so much the only DC canon it could think to adapt was Frank Miller’s extended fuck you to comic-book fans. The picked as the source material for a movie with Superman’s name on it, a comic by a writer who openly hates Superman! Also there’s plot contrivances, there’s plot holes, and then there’s people thinking Superman shot someone. With a gun. When he has lazer eyes. David Ayer has never written a good script in his life, and if he worked in any other industry he’d have stopped getting work two decades ago, but this is probably the worst thing he’s written.

So yeah, Batman & Robin is the only good Batman movie, because it’s the only one that is about Batman. It is totally shameless, high camp that knows it’s high camp, knows Superheroes are inherently stupid and that that’s not the same as worthless or uninteresting, knows Batman is only as interesting as his supporting cast, and revels in it. (And the most frustrating thing is, given a better script this is exactly the kind of movie Snyder would probably have made. More gold and abs and less neon, but kooky over-the-top fun that doesn’t think a film has to be art to be worthwhile. Fucker Ayer and the people who hired him for denying us that.)

[thetranquilteal]

An Leabhar Dìlseachd [AO3] by @thetranquilteal

Ch. 1 

Claire Fraser had always known she was a witch. Her affinity for healing hinted at it and her ability to time travel confirmed it. What she didn’t know was that she would come into her full power the day she became a mother. Concerned with how her pregnancy is progressing, she seeks the help of Apothecary Master Raymond in the hope that he will be able to teach her how to utilise her newfound power and protect her family from disaster. A canon-divergent AU told through the pages of the Fraser Grimoire ‘The Book of Faith’.

A/N: @just-a-kid-at-heart - once again this one is for you! Thank you so much to @moghraidhjamie for organising this year’s Secret Santa Fic Exchange and ultimately encouraging me to write more.

Chapter 2: To Guard Against Miscarriage

Red Raspberry Leaves  Vitex Agnus-Castus Berry Powder False Unicorn Root (alt: Wild Yam Root) Amethyst (alt: Moonstone, Malachite, Rose Quartz, Agate, or Ruby) Length of Rope (pref: Green) Baby Blanket Physical Item of Love

Sécurisé dans mon ventre, une graine d'amour. Là pour grandir et s'épanouir jusqu'à sa libération par la nature dans [nombre de] mois. Entouré de sécurité, de santé et de complétude vous resterez jusqu'à ce que ce nœud soit défait.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Claire whispered to herself. “It’s too early.”

The red stain on her undergarment had her heart racing. She was a trained medical professional and she knew that she needed to stay calm. But, by God, she couldn’t control it. And she was starting to panic.

“It’s too early.” This time she said it louder, stronger. She placed her palms on her swollen belly and took slow, deep deliberate breaths in an attempt to lower her heart rate. “It’s too early.” 

Spotting during pregnancy wasn’t unusual and a sensitive cervix could easily be to blame. Perhaps.

Despite resuming their sex life after Jamie’s ordeal at Wentworth and their subsequent time spent at Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré, intercourse remained infrequent and was unlikely the cause. What then? She started running through other alternatives, everything she had ever read, everything she had ever learned or overheard someone else explain to a patient but soon stopped herself. The darker her thoughts the faster she noticed her heart beating in her chest.

She pulled off her undergarment and went to the chest of drawers in search of a replacement. Usually she had help dressing and undressing - something she came to appreciate more and more as her stomach continued to swell - but this she was determined to deal with on her own. There was no need worry anyone, not yet.

Finally redressed, this time with a clean rag nestled between her legs, she slipped on her shoes and made her way down to the dining room. As usual, there was a pot of tea and buttered toast waiting for her on the table.

She contemplated her options as she ate and only grew increasingly frustrated. For longer than she even had even known for certain that she was pregnant she had been having a number of increasingly clear dreams, all featuring the colour blue. Just two nights previously she had dreamed of the soft soul of an unborn infant, her own she had assumed, that was starting to crack. She had traced the line with long feather and sealed it in blue. But what was the point in dreaming of powers that she herself had never possessed? She had too many questions and little way of finding answers. What she really needed was some help.

“Suzette,” Claire called as she placed her empty cup down on its matching saucer.

“Oui, madame?”

“Please organise for the carriage to be ready. I must go to the Rue de Varennes as soon as possible. And if you can find Fergus, send him up to see me, please.”

“Oui, madame,” Suzette curtseyed and left the room quickly.

Despite the length of time she and Jamie had spent at Jared Fraser’s home on Rue Tremoulins here in Paris, Claire didn’t think she would ever get used to people being at her beck and call. Yet, today she was especially thankful for it. Rushing around and organising things was the last thing she ought to be doing yet they needed to be done. Without people like Suzette, Magnus and Fergus in her life… she couldn’t bear to entertain the thought and was grateful that Fergus chose that moment to come through the doorway and into the dining room.

Claire stood and walked to meet him halfway.

“Fergus,” she placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, finding strength in his stature. “Go to L'Hôpital des Anges and tell Mother Hildegarde that I will not be in attendance today.”

“Oui, Milady,” Fergus stood tall and nodded his head, looking much older than his 9 years of age. “I will go at once.”

Normally his youthful eagerness to complete any task asked of him would make her smile fondly but even he couldn’t bring any joy out of her when she had more pressing things on her mind. She followed him out the door and at such a slower pace he had completely disappeared from view by the time she was walking up to the carriage waiting for her.

The ride to Rue de Varennes was thankfully unimpeded by other traffic and before long she was making her way inside Maître Raymond’s store. Delphine looked up at her from behind the counter and abandoned her work to call to someone out the back.

“Ah, Madonna,” Master Raymond walked out to meet her and take her hand. “I was wondering when you might grace us with your presence here once again. Tell me, how may I assist you?”

“I don’t really know,” Claire admitted and looked around the store to make sure that she, Master Raymond and Delphine were the only ones there. “But I can say that it is of a… délicat matter.”

“I see,” Master Raymond nodded and let go of her hand with a pat. “Follow me.”

Entering the shop’s secret room for the second time was no less fascinating than the first. There were items on shelves and table tops that were either new or she had simply missed earlier, overwhelmed by the amount and variety of stock kept hidden from prying eyes.

Drawn to statue of the Titan goddess, Leto, Claire moved to the shelf and picked it up to admire it from all angles.

“Something is on your mind.”

Claire smiled, unsurprised by Master Raymond’s intuition, and put the statue back down in its original place. “Yes. I have an ailment and I believe my skills as a healer are not adequate for address the problem.”

“Tell me, have you noticed anything else?”

“Anything else?”

“Oiu. Perhaps you have noticed an aversion to a particular food or drink… or there has been a sudden change to your physical status?”

“Well, you might think it foolish of me… but I have been having dreams of late.”

“That does not surprise me, Madonna. Many women who are with child do. The details are of little concern but what themes have you noticed time and time again?”

“The colour blue,” Claire shared without hesitation. “Souls, I think. And me… healing them.”

Master Raymond considered her for a moment and then moved a step closer. “Here, let me see your hands.”

Claire held them out and allowed Master Raymond to study them. She watched with one eyebrow raised as he closed his eyes for moment and nodded.

“It is fausse couche that you fear?”

“Oui,” she confirmed.

“Mmm…” he let go and set about collecting a number of items off shelves and out of bowls.

Claire took a seat on a nearby stool to watch while she waited.

“Are you familiar with the casting of spells?” Master Raymond asked as he climbed a small step ladder to reach something.

“No. I’ve seen it done by others,” she admitted, thinking primarily of Geillis Duncan, “but I have never intentionally cast a spell.”

“It’s simple, really. There are five things you must do. Cast a circle, state your purpose, perform the chosen action, give thanks and, when all of that is done, reopen the circle,” Master Raymond noticed the look of trepidation on her face as he moved back down to solid ground and smiled softly at her. “All you must remember is that intent is the most significant ingredient and love the most powerful of all. One day, with enough practice, you will be able to do this on your own just by simply feeling it. There will be no need for stones, potions or anything of the like. But for now… you will need a little help, Madonna.”

Master Raymond handed her the basket and Claire glanced inside. Small jars of herbs and powders were accompanied by a collection of stones and a length of green rope.

“Rope?”

“Oui, Madonna. You must knot the rope to stall delivery. After the spell has been performed you must keep this knot wrapped up in a baby blanket and keep it in a safe place. When the time comes for your bébé to be born you must untie said knot. Do not forget,” he added pointedly with a slight smile to the corner of his mouth before leading her out to the front counter.

Generous as ever, Master Raymond only let her pay for the stones claiming that the rest were a gift for her and Jamie’s unborn child.

“Thank you,” she said even though the words didn’t really seem to be enough.

Once home, she made sure she was alone on the top floor before gathering some items from around the main room and then locking herself in the bedroom. In what seemed like no time at all she was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a ring of candles and a feeling she couldn’t quite describe thrumming through her veins.

Studying everything in front of her she had the feeling that something was missing. She double checked the list Master Raymond had provided along with all the items from the store. Red raspberry leaves, vitex agnus-castus berry powder and false unicorn root now combined in a small metal pan. Five stones of assorted shapes and colours surrounding the pan and, of course, the length of green rope. It was all there plus the embroidered baby blanket that she herself had added to the collection when she had returned home. Despite reassuring herself she had everything she needed, the feeling that something was missing remained.

“The most powerful ingredient is love,” she murmured to herself.

Claire stood and walked over to the dresser where the box of silver apostle spoons resided on top of it. She lifted the lid gently and considered its contents. Twelve individual spoons… supposedly for the twelve children they were sure to have - or so Jamie had told her the night he had given her the gift. She smiled at the memory and picked up the silver spoon that sported Saint Andrew on the handle. The Patron Saint of Scotland. She closed the box and returned to her spot on the floor, the apostle spoon still in hand. She placed it down on top of the baby blanket and picked up the already lit candle. In a clockwise motion she turned, using it to light each of the candles that surrounded her.

With her first task now complete she replaced the lit candle at the top of the circle. She picked up the green rope and tied it tightly around the handle of the spoon before reading the incantation out loud.

“Sécurisé dans mon ventre, une graine d'amour. Là pour grandir et s'épanouir jusqu'à sa libération par la nature dans quatre mois. Entouré de sécurité, de santé et de complétude vous resterez jusqu'à ce que ce nœud soit défait.”

Claire glanced down at the spoon still resting on the baby blanket. Nothing was different, nothing had changed. This time she picked up the spoon and cradled it close to her chest with both hands. She closed her eyes and repeated the incantation louder, all the while focusing on the unborn baby inside of her.

“Sécurisé dans mon ventre, une graine d'amour. Là pour grandir et s'épanouir jusqu'à sa libération par la nature dans quatre mois. Entouré de sécurité, de santé et de complétude vous resterez jusqu'à ce que ce nœud soit défait.”

Her hands tingled and she peeked down at them with slight trepidation. Much to her delight a soft blue was glowing in the palm of her hands. It was reflecting off the metal of the spoon and the green rope tied around it was now tinged a shade of teal. She smiled and closed her eyes before repeating the incantation once more.

“Sécurisé dans mon ventre, une graine d'amour. Là pour grandir et s'épanouir jusqu'à sa libération par la nature dans quatre mois. Entouré de sécurité, de santé et de complétude vous resterez jusqu'à ce que ce nœud soit défait.”

Now content, Claire placed the spoon back down and picked up the piece of parchment. She held it against the flame of the one of the candles long enough for it to catch alight and then dropped it into the metal pan. Smoke curled up as the botanical ingredients burned along with the words and she found herself unable to look away from the glow until it had fully dissipated.

Without waiting for the smoke to clear, Claire wrapped the spoon up tightly in the blanket and then used her thumb and forefinger of her right hand to extinguish all of the candles one by one. Holding the bundle carefully, she stood and walked over to the small cupboard by the bed. She crouched down as best she could and tucked it away in the back corner, confident that no one would find it there not even by mistake.

—–

Claire’s back ached and no matter which way she turned she couldn’t get comfortable.    

She was eight months pregnant and she was grateful for every single day their baby remained safe inside her, she was. She knew it was best for not only her but also Jamie and their unborn baby to stay in bed for a few more weeks but she felt like she was going to lose her mind.  

The stress of Jamie being arrested for duelling Black Jack Randall had caused her to lose so much blood that she had been confined to L'Hôpital for a number of days. Knowledge of her situation had evidently spread as Master Raymond, himself, had visited her during her stay   . Initially he had been pleased, assuring her that the spell was holding strong and she needn’t worry about the baby, but then had moved on to assess the rest of her and adamantly insisted that she take better care of herself.

She adjusted her pillow and turned on to her other side. She let out a frustrated sigh when she found that to be even worse than her previous position.  

Ever since being ordered by Mother Hildegarde almost three months ago to convalesce at home until the time came for her to give birth, she found it hard to sleep at night. More often than not she would lay awake thinking about Jamie locked up in the Bastille Saint-Antoine and in the early hours of the morning when she finally fell asleep she would dream of his death, herself forced to watch with her hands bound in black rope. While Jamie would suffer a different form of capital punishment each time she was always guaranteed to wake up sweaty and with her heart racing.  

To make matters worse, she often felt like she was dreaming during daylight hours.    

Despite Mother Hildegarde’s warning that the King would expect some sort of payment in exchange for Jamie’s freedom she hadn’t hesitated. She knew that pregnant women were protected by the crown, even to the point of pardoning any woman previously sentenced to death who proved she was with child while on death row, and had prayed to whatever God that might be listening that the King himself would not expect a heavily pregnant woman to service him. What she hadn’t expected was to find herself judging the fate of not only Master Raymond but the Comte St Germain, too.  

Since then, memories from that day would play through her mind on random occasions, often prompted by the smell of incense or the sound bells tolling in the street. She couldn’t help but wonder what had become of Master Raymond and she prayed for forgiveness for what she had inadvertently done to the Comte.  

Still, it meant Jamie being released and she would do it all again if it meant they could be together. All three of them.  

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door followed by a muffled “Madame?”  

Intrigued by the excited tone of the voice she recognised as Suzette’s, Claire climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe as she walked to open the door.  

“Yes?”  

“You must come, Madame.”  

“Wait, Suzette. Come? Where?”  

“Downstairs,” Suzette grabbed her hand and held it in both of her own. “Everyone is so pleased.”  

Still perplexed by what was happening, she tiredly followed Suzette all the while holding in the yawn that threatened to escape. She held on tightly to the railing as they made their way down. It was dark with only candles lit here in there to guide them but she could see and somehow feel the glow coming from below. As they reached the landing Suzette bobbed to curtsey someone in front of her and promptly walked away.  

Claire stopped and so too did her heart. There waiting for her was Jamie, looking up at her with shadowed eyes somewhat hidden by the long curls falling around his face. His clothes were the same as he had worn the last time she had seen him except now they were torn and faded in places. All of this accompanied by the long beard that had grown during his time at the Bastille he looked like a completely different person. And somehow exactly the same.  

“Claire.”    

His voice was raspy, as though he had been ill or perhaps even crying recently but it was the best sound she had ever heard. She pulled up the skirt of her robe and rushed forward only to be reminded of her large stomach as she flung her arms around him and pulled him into a crushing embrace.  

“Claire,” he said again and this time she was certain he was crying. He raised his arms and embraced her back far more gently than she had him. After a time he released his grip and she pulled back to watch him bend down to place his hands on her stomach. “The bairn?”  

“Safe,” she replied. With anyone else her answer might have seemed rather out of place, most likely expected her to use a word like ‘healthy’ or perhaps even ‘growing’ but she knew that Jamie would understand her meaning. “My nose, however… is not. You stink to high heavens and are in desperate need of a bath.”  

Jamie laughed and wiped his eyes. “Aye, Sassenach. That I am.”    

Suzette was correct that everyone in the house was pleased by Jamie’s return. They set about preparing a warm tub and fresh clothes for him in the bedroom while Jamie tried to insist that she return to bed while he bathed but soon realised that it was going to be a battle he was never going to win. She suspected he might not have wanted to, either - he didn’t even hesitate to lean forward when she moved to scrub his back gently with a cloth. She bent down and followed the cloth with soft kisses to the back of his neck. Goosebumps rose and she smiled to herself.  

“I can hear ye smiling from here, Sassenach.”  

“I was wondering if you could still do that.”  

“Do what?” Jamie turned his head to look back at her and she pulled back slightly so that he wouldn’t have to crane his neck so much.    

“Know everything about me, without sight nor sound.” This time she kissed him on the lips long and slow, as if attempting to make up for all the time they’d spent apart. Eventually she pulled back and ran the palm of her hand down the side of his still furry jaw line. “Let’s get rid of this shall we? I want to be able to kiss you and not be prickled all over.”  

“All over?” Jamie smirked at her. Both his words and his expression were half-hearted but she couldn’t have cared less, simply happy that his natural forever-youthful state was starting to reappear. She slapped him on the shoulder playfully with the cloth before dropping it into his lap.    

“Only if you’re lucky,” she teased and went to over to gather the razor and soap.

She could remember shaving Frank’s face for him, once upon a time in her previous life. She had always felt it was an intimate act, trusting someone else to do it and she had been so proud of the fact that he would ask such a thing of her. But shaving away the remnants of Jamie’s beard, of his time in confinement, she found it to be even more intimate than any other. Jamie’s physical body not only relaxed and surrendered itself to her hands but his soul was hers to hold as well.    

It was late by the time they climbed into bed and they laid in silence for a time simply enjoying each others presence.    

“How long?” She finally asked.    

“Two weeks.”  

Claire nodded and pulled his arm tighter around her middle. She had know all along that his return was only temporary. The King would never allow for a convicted Scottish criminal to not only be pardoned but remain living on crown land. She also knew that Jamie would have a plan. “What are we going to do? I don’t think I can go anywhere right now.”  

“Nay,” Jamie confirmed. “Fergus and I will set sail for Scotland at the end of the week. We will make our way to Lallybroch and send word when we have arrived and preparations have been made for you and the bairn.”  

“I’ve only just gotten you back,” she pouted and Jamie kissed her lips with a chuckle.    

“I dinna wish to part from ye either, Sassenach, but ken that I also willna leave ye alone. Murtagh has agreed to remain here with ye and then escort ye home to Lallybroch once you and the bairn are well enough to make the journey. But dinna fash,” Jamie slid his hand down over her hip and grabbed a hold of her buttock, “for I’m here now.”  

“Yes, you are,” she agreed and leaned up to kiss him properly.  

As tired as both of them were, their affections remained chaste and before long the two of them had fallen asleep in each other’s arms with their unborn baby nestled between them.  

—–

Every day for the past week she had considered untying the knot around the apostle spoon and each time she walked past the cupboard in which it resided the idea had only become more tempting.    

That morning when she couldn’t even keep her breakfast down she had finally given in and untied the rope.    

She was well aware that still being pregnant was a miracle, one that may never have come to fruition had she not performed the spell.  But now she was nine months pregnant and increasingly desperate to not only give birth but also be reunited with Jamie. She couldn’t deny she was being selfish but her back hurt, her abdomen felt stretched to the limit, contractions seemed to be increasing at a horrendously low rate and all she wanted was to receive some affection. Preferably from her husband - the man very much responsible for her current predicament - but at this point she thought she might accept it from anyone. Or perhaps no one.  

For hours she had been walking around the house in an attempt to not only encourage active labour but also keep her somewhat distracted, hoping to prevent her from dwelling on what was to come. A sudden pain had her bending over and gasping for air.  

“Milady?”    

Claire reached out and gripped onto Magnus, suddenly thankful that the house was always teeming with people. She looked down and saw drops of red blood on the floor boards. She pulled up her skirt and found more soaked into the leg of her stocking.  

“Milady? Should I call la sage-femme - the midwife?”    

“L'Hôpital, Mother Hildegarde,” she gasped out and fell to the floor relying on Magnus to help her. 

—– 

Claire started to wake. Her hands moved down to cradle her belly but instead of taught rounded skin she only found a soft, flabby surface. Her heart started racing as flashes of the past few days came to mind. Arriving at L'Hôpital des Anges. Laying on the table and staring at the ceiling while people bustled around her. Someone - a man - barking orders. Fever. Dreams. A blue herring. She pushed away the sheet that covered her and moved to sit up.    

“Where’s my baby?” Claire turned to find Mother Hildegarde standing over her with a hand on her arm. “Where is my baby?”    

“Madame, do not trouble yourself. You must save your strength,” Mother Hildegarde replied and offered her some water. She barely resisted knocking it away.    

“I don’t want any water. I want my baby. Bring me my baby. I want my baby!”  

“Shh. Madame, Claire. It’s all right. Here she is.”  

Panting, Claire followed Mother Hildegarde’s gaze to find one of the nuns walking towards them with a wrapped up cotton blanket.  

“Oh!” The bundle was placed in arms and she relaxed, quite simply stunned by what she saw. She was holding a little girl with a head full of beautiful copper hair and, while her eyes were closed, she could tell they were slanted a bit like Jamie’s. She pulled back the blanket to count all ten fingers and ten toes, just to double check. The fresh air caused the baby to fuss and so she replaced the blanket and bounced her arms gently in an attempt to calm her. “Shh…”  

“I baptised her. And gave her a name. Faith. You must understand, I worried that you… “ Mother Hildegarde started to explain and Claire nodded. She was far more taken by the infant in her arms than worrying about names. “Ta petite fille est parfaite, Claire. She is perfect.”  

Claire couldn’t take her eyes off of her, not even to thank the Mother or even as tears began to blur her sight. She ran the back of her finger down Faith’s warm cheek and smiled.  

“You are so beautiful, Faith” she whispered, her daughter’s name rolling off her tongue as if she had been saying it all of her life.    

“Aye,” Murtagh said gruffly as he came to join them. “And yer father canna wait to meet ye.” 

End Note: “Secured in my womb, a seed of love. There to grow and blossom until released by nature [number of months] hence. Surrounded by safety, health, and wholeness you shall remain until this knot is undone” (incantation courtesy of google - original source unknown).