#its because as soon as its removed from the context of its box there is no brand or name associated with it

[fall-inside-a-hole]

why is it easier to find this set sealed than used

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

Word I think you know my request before I'm even done typing it. Ofc its Aiden! I'm thinking, since Aiden and Spirit both like horror movies, they do a little spooky movie night where they get to binge on sweets and its all fine and what not, until the last (more gross) movie, that cause Aiden to be sick in the now empty candy bowl and Spirit is being v teasing saying he got sick bc of the movie, but nope, its because his silly ass ate ALL the candy

Anon: Hi can you have one of your ocs eating too much halloween candy? It can be any reason other context just to much candy.

Two requests for my sweet boi overstuffed on sweets!! Ask and you shall receive!!!!

(P.S. Surprise ending👀👀👀👀👀???????!!!)

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

“You’re going where?!”

“Hallo-scream at Bush Gardens, because your dad is a fully-grown 2-year-old,” Aiden’s mom said, and Aiden could almost hear her eye roll.

“So, you’re going all the way to Florida? Tonight?!” Aiden began to pace on the sidewalk outside of the college’s entrance.

“Yeah. And we were thinking about visiting your auntie there for a while, so we’ll be gone for the Trunk-or-treat this weekend.”

Aiden couldn’t help but pout. He loved Halloween, and so did his parents. Every year, they bought two giant boxes of candy: one for Halloween night, and one for the local Trunk-or-treat event in his hometown. And he was gonna drive home that very weekend for Trunk-or-treat.

“And you’re taking dad’s truck to the airport,” Aiden sighed, disappointed. “So, I can’t even do it on my own.”

“I’m sorry, Aiden,” his mom apologized. “I’ll tell you what though. We have this giant box of candy, and the airport we’re going to is near where you live, so I’ll bring you a grocery bag full of candy on our way there. You can share it with friends or something. Okay? I promise, we’ll be home for Halloween night.”

Aiden sighed, smiling a bit at the fact that his mom was clearly trying. “Yeah, it’s perfectly fine, mom. I’ll see you when you’re on your way. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Aiden hung up. He knew he should be happier for his parents. Especially his dad since the guy could barely ever go out to enjoy himself anymore while paralyzed from the waist down. If his dad wanted to have fun, he shouldn’t stop the guy. And if he didn’t have school still, he honestly might’ve asked to go with them.

Suddenly, as if a lightbulb turned on in his head, Aiden grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Spirit. He knew she wouldn’t see it till she got out of class for the day, but still. He sent a message saying ‘On a scale of yes to YESSSS, how much do you like candy??🍬🍭🍫‘, and then he made his way to class.

— — —

Aiden was in the middle of getting ready for his security shift at the mall when his phone started ringing with a call from his mom.

Putting on a smile, he made his way out of his apartment and downstairs to the parking lot where his dad’s truck was, window open, his mom driving and his dad smiling in the passenger seat. “Special delivery,” the smiling man said. “Did someone order a bag of candy and two parents he’s ashamed of?”

Aiden rolled his eyes, smiling as well as he made his way over to his mom’s open window. “Hey,” he said. “Excited for Florida?”

“For Bush Gardens?” his dad said. “Yes. For seeing my sister?” he pretended to shudder, and his wife rolled her eyes at him. “Rachel isn’t that bad.”

“Try being related to her, honey.”

Aiden chuckled. “When are you two coming back?” he asked.

“Two days before Halloween,” his mom stated, turning in her seat to reach for something in the backseat. When she turned around, she had a grocery bag full of candy.

“You’ll be pleased to know that your mother removed all the Tootsie rolls for you.”

Aiden smiled a bit wider. “Thanks,” he said, taking the bag as his mom handed it to him. “Shoot me a text as soon as you land, okay?”

“We will,” his mom assured him. “Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, mom.” He looked at his dad. “Love you, dad.”

“Love ya too, kiddo. Enjoy the diabetic goodie bag— hEY!” he exclaimed as his wife slapped his arm. “Okay okay, love ya, Aiden. Bye.”

Aiden grinned as his mom shut the window, and he waved as his parents drove off.

With the bag of candy in one hand, he took out his phone with the other and checked his messages. Spirit had texted back, ‘On that scale, maybe a 8.5 out of “YESSS”, as you so eloquently put it. Why do you ask?’.

— — —

Spirit was a fucking sight.

Of course, she always was in Aiden’s eyes, but something about her outfit when he opened his door for her made his heart and stomach simultaneously leap.

Baggy black jeans with rips that sat a bit low on her hips, and he could see fishnets through the rips. The fishnets peeked out past the top of her pants, and stopped at her midriff, which was exposed because she was wearing a cropped green-and-black-stripped sweater. She has a few chains on her belt loops, a spiked choker, and her streaks had been touched up and were bright red again. Her hair was loose, and almost down to her waist.

Aiden had no idea he was staring, till Spirit gave him an embarrassed smile, wrapping her arms around her waist to hide her exposed stomach. “I don’t dress like this usually,” she said. “I get a bit carried away with outfits in October.”

Her cheeks were reddish with embarrassment, and Aiden sighed and smiled, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he told her, his own cheeks red from the sight of her.

Spirit’s cheeks only reddened more, but her smile became happier.

Spirit came inside and saw a notebook on the coffee table in the living room, as well as a humongous bowl filled with candy.

“Damn,” she chuckled. “Your parents gave you all of that?!”

“Yup.” Aiden grinned as he and Spirit sat on the couch together. “And this,” he picked up the notebook, “is our movie itinerary. You said you don’t have classes or work tomorrow, right? Cuz this will take us well into the hours of morning.”

Spirit shook her head, still smiling. “Free all day tomorrow,” she stated. “So, what movie’s first?”

“Well, I have a system,” Aiden said, sitting up straighter as he showed the list on the notebook. She almost laughed at how messy the page was, with bullet points, pros and cons, crossed out words, and even little doodles.

“How this works is that we start with a very non-scary movie, and slowly work our way to scarier and scarier movies until we get to the scariest movie I could find that wasn’t ‘The Exorcist’ since I know you’ve watched that five times. It’s called ‘Terrifier.’.

“Okay then,” Spirit grinned, looking at the list. Her smile faltered slightly at the forth movie. “Um, can we skip ‘The Reef’?”

“Oh,” Aiden said, grabbing a pen that was also on the coffee table. “Sure. Have you seen it? Is it bad?”

Spirit shook her head. “No, I’ve heard it’s a good movie. I just. . . I really hate shark movies. They’re terrifying in a not-fun way.”

Aiden did notice the way her voice deepened a little as she said that, but he chose not to say anything since he got the feeling Spirit wouldn’t want the mood to be ruined.

“Okay. I was debating between this one and ‘Unhinged’, so we can watch that instead.”

Aiden put on the first movie: ‘Hocus Pocus’. From the candy bowl, Spirit grabbed a blue FunDip and he grabbed a king-size Twix bar. He hadn’t had chocolate in a surprisingly long time, and was more than happy to enjoy it.

By the end of the first movie, Aiden had eaten two Twix bars and a bag of gummies. Spirit had her FunDip and a few caramel candies.

The next movie was ‘Gremlins’. Spirit had to pause the movie for ten minutes just to rant about the time Isaac had worn a Gizmo onesie for Halloween.

By the time they got to the third movie, ‘Coraline’, Aiden had a pile of empty wrappers by his side. Spirit, blissfully taking her time munching on a Caramello bar, was unaware of Aiden’s pile which was much larger than hers.

At around 1 in the morning is when they started ‘Unhinged’. It was the first movie that actually gave both of them some chills. He couldn’t help but wince and look away at some parts, and Spirit cringed at them but comforted Aiden by keeping her head on his shoulder.

“I never want to drive again,” Aiden said after that movie was over. “I’m now terrified of every idiot I’ve ever flipped off or honked at on the road.”

“Don’t be. Anything someone tries to do to you, I’ll do it unto them tenfold.” The way she said it so casually made Aiden feel that she literally would.

“Y’know, I’m both terrified and in awe of you.”

That made Spirit smirk. “As you should be. What’s next?”

The bowl was nearly empty by four in the morning, when they finally got to the last movie.

In all truth, Aiden had started feeling a little nauseous by the time they were halfway through ‘Unhinged’. Still, he ate habitually while watching movies—a habit—and he just couldn’t stop, ignoring the nausea as long as he could.

Spirit was only occasionally eating an M’n’M or two as their last movie began, whilst Aiden moved on to his seventh Twix bar of the night. He knew he should stop, but between his habit and the slight lingering disappointment about not getting to do Trunk-or-Treat, he just couldn’t stop.

Aiden reached into the bowl one last time, only to realize it was actually empty now. More than half that candy was in his stomach now, and without being able to distract himself by eating more, he could only feel the stuffed, sticky feeling in his body.

His mouth was flooding with saliva that he kept swallowing. Not to mention, watching TV so late was making his eyes and head hurt a bit.

He had no idea how Spirit looked just as awake and happy as she was when she got there. Witchcraft, he thought to himself jokingly.

But in all seriousness, he was actually feeling sick now, and the movie really wasn’t helping. It was gory and disturbing, and that was only making his nausea worse.

It was at a particularly horrific scene that Aiden felt his head spin and his stomach revolt. He sat up leaning forward slightly and forcing Spirit to sit up since she’d been leaning against his shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked as he just stared at the floor, swallowing the water filling his mouth.

He didn’t answer, and Spirit put a hand on his back. “Is it the movie? Too much?” There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Aiden wanted to shake his head, but knew that doing so would only make him sicker.

“We can turn off the movie if you want to. If it’s too much, we can—”

Aiden interrupted her with a gag that came right after a loud jumpscare, and he fumbled for the empty candy bowl, barely managing to lean over it before disgustingly sweet puke poured into the bowl. He vomited harshly between gags, his stomach deciding to rid itself of all the sugar.

Spirit’s hand didn’t move from his back, and she cupped his forehead with her other hand to help him aim.

Aiden groaned, spit dangling from his lower lip. “S-srry,” he slurred. “T-too much—” he didn’t finish that sentence before gaging and puking again.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Spirit said, grabbing the remote and turning off the movie. “This really was a super intense horror movie. It’s fine if it’s too much for you.”

Aiden blushed. “N-not the movie,” he stated nauseously. “The c-candy made me sick. Too much candy.”

Spirit’s eyes widened, and she looked past Aiden and saw the pile of wrappers by his other side. “Oh, damn,” she sighed, the hand on his back reaching up to his nape, her fingers scratching the lower back of his head, making him let out a small, pleased groan.

He felt his stomach squeeze again, and he projectile vomited once again into the bowl, almost missing and trembling from the force. “This sucks,” he mumbled, spitting into the bowl. “I’m sorry I’m ruining the night.”

“It’s fine, honey,” she said without thinking, and Aiden’s eyes widened slightly, the nausea vanishing the moment he registered what he’d just been called.

He lifted his head from the bowl, looking at her. “‘Honey’?

Spirit must’ve not even noticed she’d called him that because she suddenly looked surprised, blushing furiously. “S-sorry. That just. . . came out for some reason.”

Aiden opened his mouth to say something, but Spirit interrupted him, asking, “Are you empty? Or still nauseous? Maybe you should lay down. I can clean up here.”

Aiden just looked at her and sighed with a small smile. “Still a little nauseous, but I think I’m empty. I feel way better. Less stuffed, y’know?” It wasn’t a lie at all. He really did feel better now that he wasn’t stuffed with sugar anymore.

“Okay,” Spirit said, taking the bowl from him. “I’ll clean up, and you should lay down. It’s really late anyway. Or, early, I guess.”

Aiden couldn’t say anything before she stood and walked away to the kitchen to clean out the bowl in the sink. With a heavy sigh, Aiden turned the TV off and stood making his way to his bedroom, first washing his face and brushing his teeth before crawling under his sheets, hugging his stomach since it was still churning a bit.

Spirit came to his room, hovering in the door. “You still feel sick at all?”

“Nah,” he said. He waited for her to come in, but she stayed where she was.

In the dark, he couldn’t see her blushing, but he could hear it in her voice as she said, “D-do you mind if I crash on your couch for the night? I just. . . I-I think it’s a bit late for me to be driving home, and—”

“Cuddle me,” he said, straight to the point.

He knew he must’ve caught Spirit off guard because she was speechless.

“You shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch while I’m in a bed,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend.” He paused for a second before sitting up slightly. “I-I mean, only if you’re comfortable with that,” he said quickly. “If you prefer the couch, then absolutely! I was just saying that if you want to cuddle and spend the night, then—”

Spirit came into the room and said, “Scoot.”

Aiden smiled widely, scooting over so she could climb in with him.

She didn’t touch him, and he didn’t touch her, both of them feeling hesitant.

Spirit took a deep breath. “W-want me to rub your stomach?”

Aiden let out a small sigh, smiling. “Yeah.” He turned onto his back, and Spirit moved closer. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, and her hand rested on his stomach, over his shirt.

She started slowly rubbing, silent and still completely flushed.

“You called me ‘honey’.”

She almost combusted with embarrassment. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry if it was weird or—”

“I like it.”

Spirit froze, looking at his face that she could see better with her eyes adjusted to the dark. He was looking at her as well, smiling. “I mean, we’re a couple now. Couples are supposed to have nicknames, right?” He smirked. “Right, babe?”

Spirit felt her whole body burn, and she just stared silently at him. His smirk faltered at her silence. “Spirit? Are you—” he didn’t finish, silenced as Spirit suddenly leaned forward and kissed him, her hands coming up to cup his face.

Forehead kisses were one thing, but this. . .

When Spirit pulled away, Aiden’s eyes took a moment to flutter open again. He stared at her, wondering if that had really just happened.

Spirit’s face twisted slightly when he didn’t say anything and she sat up, feeling her throat constrict and her eyes burn a bit. “S-sorry,” she said, trying not to sound all choked up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

Aiden instantly came back to his senses and sat up as well. “Hey hey, it’s fine,” he said, but Spirit shook her head, curling up slightly.

“I-I should’ve asked. That was out of nowhere, and you probably weren’t ready for that, and I just—”

“Spirit, shhh,” he said, one arm circling her and his other cupping her cheek. “Don’t apologize. Really, it’s fine.”

“I just—”

“It’s fine.”

Spirit met his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You sure?”

He smiled, answering her question by kissing her this time. She kissed back, and Aiden felt his heart all but burst.

He loved this girl. And he wanted to make sure she would always remember that.

When they separated, Spirit hugged him, burying her face in his chest and sighing deeply. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “The only thing you have to thank me for is for brushing my teeth so I didn’t have puke breath for that kiss.”

Spirit laughed. “Yeah. Thanks for that, too.”

[goldammerchen]

a bizarre cold war cooperation

(remind me to make a better title)

T+ drabble. One sided Bela.rus x Russ.ia; Rusprus (Yukiusagi). Hints of AmeBela, RusAme (AmeRus), AmeGer. Some ableist language. // AO3 LINK

Something is missing.

Under the light of a lamp, Gilbert leans with both hands on a table, sighing. The table is covered in tools, with a mysterious elongated box with a handle on one side, and an oblong opening at its center. Attached to the side of the opening, a metallic lid painted in black and yellow stripes was pushed aside, while the acrylic sheet that used to be over the opening was removed, allowing access to electronic parts that included powerful light bulbs. Other pieces of the box, such a fuel pressure vessel and another container that was inside, had been dismantled.

He scratches his head, having black working gloves on, so it barely does anything. A door opens behind him—Crap.

“Any progress, comrade?” asks Ivan, his mouth corners pointing up.

As he turns around, Gilbert resists the urge to groan. “Any progress with the interrogations?”

Ivan hums, his smile fading away. “Still nothing I haven’t said to you before.” He examines his bloody knuckles, already healing, faster than most of their kind (except Alfred, and likely Wang Yao, but Gilbert hasn’t seen the second since a very long time).

“Well, at least Natallia isn’t following you.” Gilbert squeezes his eyes shut: he was supposed to say anything to keep Ivan away from his work (Olga was better than him with sciences), but not this.

For Gilbert’s surprise, Ivan laughs—that either could be good or terrible.

“You really don’t think before speaking, friend…”

“Uhhh…” Don’t fuck things up again.

“…Natallia is keeping an eye on Alfred at the moment.”

“Huh!” Gilbert exclaims, wanting to slap himself in the face right after. “I mean, good thinking.”

Ivan shrugs, leaning on a wall behind him, likely not wanting to get too comfortable before having to leave again. Gilbert mirrors him, semi-sitting on the table edge. Ivan looks up for a second, moves his head to a side, then opens and closes his mouth.

“Do you think I should permit whatever Natallia is plotting?” Ivan asks. “Because I’m sure she is up to something.”

Gilbert gulps, but can’t help but also smirk. “Anything that keeps her busy from stalking you should be a plus.”

“I think she’s trying to get rid of Alfred…”

“Oh, for sure.” No doubt. “Away from you.”

“…Get rid of him for good…” Ivan squeezes his hands in front of his face, staring at them with the fascination of a kid destroying one of its toys, before lowering his arms again.

“You know that won’t work! At least not forever.”

“Yes, true, besides, I should be the one getting rid of Alfred.” Ivan giggles, then furrows his eyebrows. “Natallia still could get in trouble.”

“She’s a big girl!” argues Gilbert back. Psycho should be able to handle psycho, right? “She should be fine.”

Ivan narrows his eyes. Those kinds of problems would drag Ivan, obviously, and he would blame Gilbert for opening his goddamn mouth—even when he was asked for his opinion.

“Look, she might become obsessed with Alfred instead, if that is fine…”

Now Gilbert scratches his chin, begging in his mind for Ivan to leave as soon as possible. In the meantime Ivan stares at the ceiling absent-minded, pondering.

“Natallia could still get in trouble,” Ivan finally replies, “but I guess seeing what could happen is worth it! Sometimes I get tired of Alfred always getting in my way, even when I’m not doing anything important—or anything at all… Gilbert, if anything goes wrong—and I hope it doesn’t—I will have some words with you.” His mouth curves into a smile.

Chills run down Gilbert’s spine. "Nah, don’t worry too much…”

“Is funny, that you encourage me to let my little sister to be with our enemy…”

“Context, Ivan…”

“…When I don’t tell you who should Ludwig be with.”

Gilbert tenses his jaw. “Because he has nothing to do with this…?”

“Oh, funny you say that, when in my eyes it is crystal clear your little brother is very close to Alfred, if you haven’t noticed.”

“He’s not—!” Keep my brother out of your mouth; control yourself. “They are both young, and on the same side, nothing else.”

Ivan giggles. “Are you sure?”

Instead of answering, Gilbert turns around, back to his work.

“Gilbert…” Ivan has lowered his voice, making it deeper. “Are, you, sure?”

“I—I don’t know!” Oh, Ludwig… Gilbert knew him well, as he also knew Ivan would continue pressuring him for a more concrete answer. “Maybe!” He turns, throwing his arms into the air. “Don’t you have things to do?!”

Shit. Fuck. Gilbert turns around to the table again. He hears Ivan walking behind him, towards him. A hand lands on Gilbert’s waist, while Ivan rests his chin on Gilbert’s shoulder.

“I could help you.”

Gilbert sighs, then licks his lips. “Not now, Ivan…” As gently as he can while displeased, Gilbert grabs Ivan by the wrist, removing the hand from his body. “You can help me finding out what the fuck they did to the people that used these contraptions, there’s something else…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, hearing Ivan heading for the door.

Ivan says:

“You still need to figure this out before your brother.”

“I know.”

“Understood?”

“Yes.”

The door closed. Gilbert should have requested something to test the strange liquid found in a canister inside the strange box, a new game changer that this time wasn’t a bomb.

[deliasamed]

Preposition - "Off"

  Preposition "Off"

  The preposition off has various meanings and can be used in different contexts. Here are examples:     Away from a starting point or position:   She ran off in the opposite direction.   He drove off as soon as the light turned green.         Disconnected or turned off (referring to machines or devices):   Please turn off your phone during the movie.   The computer is currently off, so I can't check my email.         Not operating or functioning properly:   The alarm system is off; we should have it checked.   The heating is off in the building today.         To indicate a reduction or subtraction:   Take 20% off the original price during the sale.   If you take 5 off 10, you'll have 5 left.         To express a break or cessation of an action:   She called off the meeting due to bad weather.   Let's call off the search; we've found what we were looking for.         To indicate a state of being free or released:   The bird flew off into the sky.   He jumped off the diving board into the pool.         To indicate a state of no longer being involved or part of something:   She's off the team due to injury.   He's off the project because of his conflicting schedule.         To express the source or origin of something:   The information came off the internet.   These ingredients are fresh off the farm.           To describe a sudden change in a particular state or condition and position:   Condition: The weather went from sunny to stormy all of a sudden, catching us off guard.   His mood switched off from cheerful to upset after the news.   Position: He carefully lifted the lid off the box.   She slid the book off the shelf.    State:  The alarm system is off; we should have it checked.   Is the oven off, or is it still on?       These are just a few examples of the various meanings and uses of the preposition off in different contexts.       Preposition off for movement:   Here are some examples of how the preposition off and its opposite, on, can be used to indicate movement or position:   Off Examples:   She stepped off the bus and onto the sidewalk.   Take the book off the shelf and hand it to me.   The cat jumped off the table and onto the floor.   Please get off the phone; we need to talk.   I took my jacket off when I entered the warm building.     On Examples:   He placed the cup on the saucer.   The keys are on the kitchen counter.   The picture is hanging on the wall.   Can you put the groceries on the table, please?   I found your hat on the chair in the living room.     In these examples, off indicates movement away from a place or position, while on indicates placement or contact with a surface or location.   Preposition off with the meaning  a detached or missing part of an object:   When describing an object and using the preposition off to indicate that a part is missing from the whole, you can use it like this:   A piece of the puzzle has come off the edge.   The wheel fell off the bicycle.   She bit a small piece off a cake.     In these examples, off is used to indicate that a part of the object has become detached or is missing from the whole object.        

Off as an adverb:

  When off is used as an adverb with most verbs to indicate the action of removing or leaving a place or position, it often denotes a sense of separation or departure. Here are some examples:   She peeled the sticker off .   Please brush the crumbs off.   He carefully lifted the lid off .   They pulled the curtains off  to let in more light.   She slid the ring off and placed it in the jewelry box.   I peeled the label off to see what was inside.   He took the hat off and hung it on the hook.   In these examples, off is used as an adverb to describe the action of removing or leaving a particular place or position in relation to various verbs.         Preposition off in word expressions:   Here are explanations and examples of expressions with off:    Be off: Meaning: When someone is off, it means they are not at work or not available. Example: She's off today, so you can't reach her at the office.     Get off: Meaning: To disembark or leave a vehicle, such as a bus, train, or plane. Example: We'll get off the train at the next station.     Put off: Meaning: To delay or postpone an event, task, or meeting to a later time. Example: They had to put off the meeting until next week due to scheduling conflicts.     Take off: Meaning: To remove something, such as clothing or an object, from a surface or oneself. Example: She took off her jacket when she entered the warm house.     Set off: Meaning: To start a journey or trip, or to trigger something, like an alarm or an explosion. Example: They set off early in the morning for their road trip. Example: The fireworks set off a beautiful display in the night sky.     Pay off: Meaning: To yield positive results or achieve success, often after a period of effort or investment. Example: Their hard work and dedication finally paid off when they won the championship.     Brush off:            Meaning: To dismiss or ignore something or someone casually or without much consideration. Example: She brushed off his comments and continued with her work.     Show off: Meaning: To display one's skills, abilities, or possessions, often in a boastful or prideful manner. Example: He likes to show off his new car to everyone.     Run off: Meaning: To leave a place quickly, often in a hurry or to escape from a situation. Example: She had to run off to catch her flight.     Rip off: Meaning: To overcharge or deceive someone by selling something at an unreasonably high price or providing poor quality. Example: I felt like I was ripped off when I paid so much for that meal.     Back off: Meaning: To retreat or move away from a situation or confrontational position. Example: He told them to back off and give him some space.     Write off: Meaning: To consider something as a loss or failure, especially in financial or accounting terms. Example: The company had to write off a significant portion of its debt.     These expressions provide additional ways off is used in various contexts to convey different meanings and actions.                     Preposition – “Off” Preposition – “Of” Preposition – “Inside” Preposition – “From” Preposition – “During” Preposition – “By” Read the full article

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's [30-08-2021 - 05-09-2021] reading log is here! I didn't read as much this week because I had quite a busy week but I still have a few fics I really want to share because they were so lovely! There's a mix of different ships this week, though the majority is still Stucky.

Favourites are marked with 🌻, Tumblr-Only fics are marker with 🍀.

Truth or Dare by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 665 words, Teen]

It all starts with a dare, as so many things tend to do.

Au-Gust day 29: Pretend relationship

🌻 the dizzy, dancing way you feel by its_tortle @its-tortle [Evanstan, 4,4k words, Teen]

“We should go to Disney World,” Chris announces in the car.

“Haven’t you been, like, a dozen times?”

Chris looks up from his phone, his eyes dancing. “The magic never stops, Sebby.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but he already knows he’ll cave. It really isn’t his thing, but he likes Chris more than he hates roller coasters. Likes him too much, that is.

🍀 Body Talk by @boxofbonesfic [Bucky x Reader, Explicit]

You’re determined to come out of this breakup a better you, but Bucky likes the you you are. 

Loosen Me Up by this_wayward_life [Stucky, 4,8k words, Explicit]

"Please tell me there are no more appointments and we can close early."

Darcy looks down at her computer, giving the keyboard a few taps with her long, bright red acrylics. How she even manages to type with those things on, Bucky has no idea.

"Just one more. A Steve Rogers coming in at seven. Says he thinks he strained a muscle at the gym."

"A gym junkie?" Bucky grimaces, and Darcy clucks sympathetically.

"Hey, at least it's not another divorced mother who'll try and take a bite out of you. Or another old man who's just there to get his rocks off."

"You know this isn't a brothel, right?" Bucky frowns, making Darcy grin.

Or: Masseur Bucky gets a lot more than he bargained for when he takes Steve Rogers on as a client.

🌻 to changing by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Stucky, 10,9k words, Mature]

Steve and Bucky's first evening out on a date goes wonderfully and as they get closer and learn to open up to each other, they deal with the shift in their relationship.

Written for Stucky Week 2021 | Day 6 - Kisses

Paused by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 679 words, Teen]

It’s been a year since that day. Since Bucky had woken up and found the world had ended. Well, not so much ended as… stopped.

AU-gust day 30- The Day the World Died

🌻 Five More Minutes by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 3k words, Not Rated]

Bucky leaned against the counter, still looking pale but better than when he’d first woken up. A mug of coffee was cupped between his palms. He brightened when he saw the two of them. Setting his coffee down, he held his arms out for Cat. Steve passed her over, but not before giving Bucky a kiss. His lips were dry, but he didn’t seem as warm as before.

“Papa’s sick?” Catríona asked as soon as she was on his hip.

“Papa’s fine,” Steve heard Bucky say, his voice a little hoarse, as he made his way back upstairs to get dressed. “Your dada’s just a little overdramatic.”

🍀 Stucky fic by @ipoiledi [Stucky, Explicit]

“Oh,” Steve moans. “Oh, you ain’t playin’ fair, Barnes.”

“When in our lives,” Bucky asks, “Have I ever played fair?”

🍀 Stucky fic by @misspluckyplum [Stucky, Mature]

Based on Wreckless Love by Alicia Keys

The hat was dusty, musty. Steve had found a hat box at a Marshalls, maybe, and stored them away for Bucky.

🍀 Stucky fic 2 by @misspluckyplum [Stucky, Mature]

Based on Ice Cream by Sarah McLachlan

“We’ve really come a long way.” Bucky snorted, looking up from over the pint of mint chocolate chunk they were sharing. “In uh, what context there, sugar,” he asked, winking. Steve rolled his eyes at him.

🍀 Chris x Reader fic by @laurenwritesfics [Chris x Reader, General]

You never would have guessed that in 48 hours you'd be married. + Steve Rogers

Eyes of the Forest by lordelannette [Stucky, 20,1k words, Explicit] (5/8 chapters available)

When Omega Bucky Barnes comes to Eagle Lake, it was in search of wolves, a creature that had not been seen in the area for decades.

What he finds instead is Steve Rogers, a handsome, though quiet Alpha who seems to be everywhere in the forest.

Grab Me a Cup, Doll? by oldasyouromens [Stucky, 2,1k words, Teen]

Steve moves to stand from the table, running his hand across Bucky’s back and murmuring something about getting coffee.

Bucky’s sleep-addled brain takes a minute to catch up, but he calls to Steve over the hum of conversation, “Can you grab me a cup, too, doll?”

“Excuse me?”

-

Some miscommunications at the weekly Avengers Sunday Brunch.

🍀 Pre War Stucky fic by @moonykat & @turtle-steverogers

pre war stucky staying the weekend at bucky’s aunt’s house because she lives upstate. she’s gone for the weekend and so they have this house to themselves, and it’s further removed from a lot of people, so they have the privacy to explore each other

[antiochean]

bleeding paint - banter #2

Hi! BP is the title of the rewrite of V's route and after ending that I'm working on, where V is not romanced. Posts tagged banter will be just that - drabbles between two characters that you can read in any order and nothing too plot-heavy happens. I do them to get a feel for the characters and they're a lot of fun to write, so I thought I'd share!

This one is mostly Jake. It contains one reference to banter #1 (the remarried parents line), but otherwise works as a standalone.

Pairing: CMC (Jake Park) x Vanderwood

Setting: the cabin, around what would be day 9

Warnings: swear words; baked potatoes heavily featured

Word count: 1,148

[Madeline Miller, Song of Achilles]

"You want to send..." one of Vanderwood's eyebrows is arched as they look at me. "Emails?"

"...Yeah?" I don't get the confusion. Every day I send emails. "I mean, I just wanted to know if one of the laptops would be free any time soon, if not it's absolutely no-"

"No, no, it's not that, it's just that..." Their eyes return to the laptop screen and their right middle finger skillfully goes about its business on the touchpad. "I mean, the cult's still actively looking for us, and you just got out of a hostage situation. People who get out of hostage situations usually want to, like, call their family..." could it be that they know this from actual experience handling these people? It's funny that their highly adrenaline-heavy and probably sketchy profession only comes up when briefly mentioned like this - and, just like that, it's gone again. "Not send emails."

I let out a short, weak chuckle.

"If you knew the amount of emails I had to send while the cult still had me," I slide my fingers underneath my glasses and rub my burning eyes. "You'd be horrified."

"That charity gala they're making you organize?"

"Mostly. But also college stuff. I'm more worried about the college stuff right now."

I have been confronted with the reality that the cult that kidnapped me is making me coordinate a charity party several times before. But I'd never heard those words coming from someone far removed enough from the context to really grasp the absurdity of it.

I feel almost... ashamed? Do I fear Vanderwood will assume I'm partially to blame for the absurdity?

Sometimes I wish I could pretend to be a little more normal in front of them.

I wish we could have met at the grocery store. Gone for the same box of cereal at the same time.

"Go ahead." They push the laptop away from themselves and get up. "I've been meaning to get some more sweet potatoes anyways."

"Yeah man, thanks. Go get your proteins."

They pass me on their way towards the kitchen and I take their seat. I hear the metallic sound of the oven opening up - I open incognito mode - and their voice coming from past the archway.

"Still. Your priorities surprise me sometimes."

"What, cause I'm still doing college stuff right now?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," I employ my mocking tone, "tell me you don't have Asian parents without telling me you don't have Asian parents. If I was still in the cult when the term started, my dad would still give me a hard time about missing it."

The caramel scent of the baked potatoes fills the room as they return.

"Wait - that's right," they take a seat on the table across from me, "you're on spring break right now." Two parted baked potatoes with spoons dug into their orange meat. One for them, the other set down neatly by the laptop. And I try my very best to hide the smile I feel coming up, because - what were their exact words again? 'You're pretty bad at pretending you don't care'? And the response that's been echoing in my mind ever since: it takes one to know one. God. I open my inbox. "Do they still have you do 'college stuff' while you're on break?"

"It's - uh - it's thesis stuff," I reply absent-mindedly while I scroll for the email containing the museum contact information. When I look up from the screen, their eyes are fixed on me, and I realize they're expecting me to continue. "It's - uh..."

"You don't have to tell me." They break eye contact. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No - hey, I pry into your shit all the time. It's only fair. I'm just kinda... slow right now." I blink hard. "Anyways, my thesis. Have I told you what it is?"

"You haven't."

"So basically... I'm building a timeline of autobiographical - I mean, basically it's letters and journal entries from the Vietnam War. Some museums and Estates hold those as like museum shit. Right? God fuck it I'm doing such a bad job at talking right now." I let out a nasal laugh. They smile. Like, proper, both corners of their lips curved smile. Their laugh lines become visible to me for the first time ever - they stretch downwards towards their chin a little, and I have to put conscious effort into not melting into my seat like a shoujo anime girl. "Uhm," Right, words. Verbs, nouns. I find myself rubbing my eye again. "Historical artifacts, is the term I was looking for. To be able to see some of them, you have to schedule viewings in advance. That's what I'm trying to do right now."

"You have to schedule viewings? Never heard of anything like that."

"Yeah. I've already had a couple of those, and the conclusion I've come to is that some families don't want word to get out about the war crimes they were doing just a generation ago."

"I see. You've chosen a pretty lighthearted theme for your thesis."

"Tell me about it." I stretch my arms over my head for a second. Then, I grab my sweet potato. "If I had to choose a topic today I'd have picked something infinitely more fluffy." I was a different person when I started working on this. A completely different person. "I wonder if you could write a thesis about - what're those books you like - A Song of Ice and Fire."

"Several."

A natural silence as we eat. The sun is almost completely covered by the treeline we can see from the window at this point. I put the half-eaten potato back down and wipe my hand on my sweater.

"Gross. Who raised you?"

"Happily remarried middle-class parents."

I rub my eyes - again. I gotta stop doing that, it's probably not good for you. They're really tired and dry and uncomfortable. I'm holding my eyebrows up just to keep them open long enough to finish this goddamn email business.

"Hey, look, you look like shit." Their tone of voice is completely neutral. Two in a row, though? Just say you have a crush on me. "Remember what I told you in the car."

You said I was being stupid and inefficient, and that I needed to take the advice I was giving to V about wearing yourself out while trying to help others. The bottom line was that you want me to eat and sleep enough.

"I do. Thanks, mom."

"You know what? That one was on me. I was too nice." With one elbow on the table, they lean over and seize my sweet potato. "No sweet potato for you."

And, 'you bastard,' I think. Because now i have no choice but to grab your arm to stop you, and I'll be thinking about it for the rest of the week.

[shiversdownyerspine]

9. Closer

Just gonna sliiiiide this over here.

You are finishing up the last of the scramble on your plate, fighting off the lingering fuzzy embrace of sleep with the help of your coffee. So the suspense wouldn't kill you, you had asked Axel if their coming questions had to do with your ability. After all, the three hadn't asked all that much about it.

Axel confirms, and you ruminate over the approaching task, how best to handle it...but are distracted when Oscar and Otto return.

The younger brothers look scratched up and dirtied, but overall in good condition. Although it was kind of difficult to tell who looked worse...maybe Otto. Poor man was still in his long johns. 

Grinning, you tease, "You two alright? Both of you look like you dove headfirst into the blackberry brambles."

Axel snorts. You're not far from the truth.

He subtly signals the two with a pointed dip of his head in warning; their feet are filthy and they are about to track a mess into your kitchen. Sheepish, the younger brothers share a look and head back outside, probably to make good use of your garden hose. 

Not wanting to put it off any longer, you ask for a change in scenery for this interrogation once you are dressed. In the garden, specifically. Axel regards you curiously, but agrees to your request.

You wander over to the sink to rinse your dishes when he taunts, "Thinking of running? We will catch you. No contest."

You blink, "No no, no running. I'm just...eager? To get started? Or maybe to get finished..."

Throwing a look over your shoulder, you return the taunt, "But if I did run, and I made it into the forest? I think I could surprise you."

Indeed, you are a good deal faster and more reactive while in your Phase. At least when you're prepared. It certainly helps having nearly all of your senses improved, but playing hide and seek with three trained assassins? It would be difficult to say the least...but in your forest and lake? Your second home? 

You would have an advantage, even being technically untrained. Perhaps you could give them a run for their money...at least for a little while longer than if you had tried in the tight spaces of your cottage.

Speculation and theorizing is cut short when the lone man in your kitchen says quite matter-of-factly, "Otto caught you."

Pride ruffled, you can't help but bristle, "Okay. That? Was a series of unfortunate events. And in my defense? I didn't have anything to run from, nothing was threatening me. It was just a spider bite."

The eldest doesn't reply, just quirks an amused eyebrow at the memory of you, perturbed and fluffed, wrapped up in his puzzled brother's arms. It was...an interesting day, no doubt.

You fiddle with your wet plate, frowning.

"I was distracted with my lack of gloves, that I had let something so simple slip my notice. Dug my own grave in a matter of seconds. Then I heard the door, and there was Otto and...I froze. He lunged and I couldn't move."

Axel contemplates for a moment, "You wanted to run. Not attack."

He says as a statement what should have been a question, never one to be all that subtle with his demands. You feel your stomach drop a little; given the pieces of your revealed history, maybe he was now beginning to reconsider the threat you could have posed to Otto. To all of them.

Acknowledging his concern was easy, but explaining yourself was going to be a bit complicated.  

"I..I think I have an answer for that? But it's something I'd like to address with all of you. I'm going to get dressed first, I've been in pajamas for far too long."

You know he could simply repeat what you said to his siblings, but it was the principle of the thing. That and you really wanted to take a quick moment to yourself before this all goes down. He doesn't stop you.

Toweling your hands dry, you head for the couch to gather up your sleeping kittens and make your way to your bedroom. Axel returns his attention to his brothers who were currently fussing over the hose; Oscar was currently trying to convince Otto to look inside and see what was blocking the water, all the while he held a section kinked in his hand, waiting for the right moment.

The eldest sibling shakes his head.

Butternut and Pumpkin are curled at opposite ends of your bed; one buried in the pillows at the headboard, the other stretched out dramatically at the end. Both chirp a greeting as you open your door and step inside.

Thing 1 and 2 in hand, you deposit the wiggly babies into their 'room'. The two look at you with what you can imagine is disapproval, breaking your heart as they toddle towards the bathroom door with noisy complaint.

"Don't worry, you'll be let out again soon."

Their litter box training had been going swimmingly. Maybe it was about time to expand their territory? You think it'd go rather well, you'd just have to keep an eye out. Make sure they don't try to leave any little surprises for you and develop a nasty habit from it.

You swear their incessant meowing is growing louder. You sigh, shaking your head.

"The book was spot on when it called this breed talkative."

Taking advantage of the lingering warmth of your sleep with Otto, you decide upon a floral tunic dress with leggings instead of your usual chunky sweater and jeans. It's rare that you can wear a lighter ensemble like this, you'll have to find some way to thank Otto.

He does seem to really enjoy your baking, so maybe something in that vein.

As you dress you find your thoughts sombering as the previous conversation slowly ties you into a knot. You try to reassure yourself and soothe your nerves; you wouldn't have lashed out for no reason, wouldn't have killed them in cold blood. You have control. Besides, you're not a violent person. Surely they know that?

That fateful morning, if Otto had reacted with violence towards you, you would have defended yourself to the best of your ability and removed yourself from the situation once the opportunity presented itself. There had to have been a way around him, around his brothers, right? 

If Axel had decided you were too much of an unknown threat and had shot, you would have feigned death until you could slip outside and decide on the next step. You're fairly confident you could play dead and pretend well enough, despite the pain. The blue-clad man wouldn't have just emptied his entire clip into you, right? 

If you were being realistic, you were only considering the best case scenarios for you and the brothers if things had played out a bit...differently. Because if you thought too long about the worst outcome, your heart would squeeze unbearably tight in your chest and your eyes would water uncontrollably. 

You didn't want to think about what you would have done if the three had subjected you to too much injury and triggered your second Phase.

There was no denying it, you were incredibly fond of the three.

Maybe even a bit...smitten? 

At the errant thought you slap your burning cheeks with your palms, fighting against the helpless fluttering sensation of the heated butterflies in your stomach. Not the time. 

...Wait, does that mean there will be a time?

Focus.

Focus, focus, focus.

With a steadying breath, you head back out into the kitchen. There's something you need to grab first.

"One last thing..."

Axel watches curiously as you pop open a kitchen drawer and rummage around its contents for an item you have stashed away.

"Here we go."

You find what you are looking for wrapped in a familiar kitchen towel; an old paring knife, kept clean and disinfected. You unwrap it a bit, just to check on the condition of the blade as the light glints off the metal.

A minor laceration from this would be just what you needed to keep you in your Phase long enough to hopefully answer all their questions.

You weren't sure you could count primarily on verbally explaining all the aspects of your ability. Some things you had nothing to compare with, not to mention how tongue-tied you were before. You're not all that confident when talking about your ability, as discussing it is still incredibly new to you. Demonstration could be a good approach, all things considered.

As you turn from the counter, a rough hand grips your wrist and pulls your arm up, leaving you to sway unsteadily nearly on tip toe. In your personal space, you can feel the warmth of him without needing to touch. It feels like if you could steal a speck of body heat from one of these men, you'd never feel the cold again.

Axel stares you down, lips pulled into a tight scowl, frowning with familiar furrowed brow.

Oh. 

Probably not a good idea to bring out a knife without context, especially around an assassin. Maybe next time explain first.

"...Sooo...um. I can't...will my ability to activate. I-it's a defense mechanism, remember? It needs something to trigger it."

His face is worryingly expressionless as he looks to the knife in your hand. With deft fingers, he plucks the tool from your grasp, leaving you with the empty towel as he slips it into his pocket without a word.

Did he seriously just...

"...Really?"

The audacity.

Radiating cool smugness, Axel strolls to the screen door and looks pointedly at you. Waiting.

You don't budge.

Turning your attention to your knife block set, you hum, "You know I could just grab one of these, right?"

You assess the assortment, paying less attention to the man now stalking back to you.

"Although I'd much rather these be used for cooking, but what choice do I have? Apparently you have your heart set on being a mother hen-"

Your tirade is cut short as Axel's hands grip your waist to turn you to face him. He bends, curls an arm around your legs, and hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dumbfounded and indignant, your lips part for some sort of reprimand to leave your tongue. But you stumble over the words.

With an arm across the backs of your thighs to lock your legs in place and keep you steady, he walks completely unburdened once more to the screen door. You brace your hands on his back, feeling muscle shift underneath the material of his white Henley with each step. Well, needless to say, you can't really think of a retort at the moment. Hopefully your dress isn't riding up too much.

You can't help but wonder; is it just your imagination, or are the brothers getting a bit more...grabby with you? But more importantly, you cannot let this man have the last 'word'.

Fighting down the butterflies that have returned with a vengeance, you grumble, "Don't complain if I can't give you all some clear answers without my knife."

The large palm loosely holding your thigh gives a squeeze, followed by Axel throwing a comment over his shoulder to you, "We'll see."

Well now. Axel is honest to god mother-henning you. This was...unexpected? Infuriating? Kind of sweet?

...Oh yes. They're most definitely getting more grabby with you.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #8: River Rockman

Words: ca. 2,000 Setting: canon Lemon: no CW: none

River Rockman The sound of a river stream echoed through the trees and the golden leaves. Autumn meant it was cold, but not cold enough to freeze the shallow stream of clean running water. Maybe at different times of the year that whole area could be a river, Anna would never know. She was too young to even know for sure where this memory was. She knows her age and has a vague idea it couldn’t be in their kingdom because it was the only time the whole family exited Arendelle. Nowadays Anna would guess her father was on a diplomatic trip, but with all the other details fuzzy she can’t find out. She only knows how old she was, because… A platinum white braid swayed behind a young girl as she held the hem of her skirt to avoid getting it wet. Black polished shoes hopped on stones, crossing the water.

Yes, Anna couldn’t be older than five if Elsa was there. Elsa started tossing stones to try and make them skip on the water like they sometimes would on the fjord. The water was too shallow for that, but neither girl knew that back then. They spoke something about needing to find a perfect stone and that would make it work. Anna was more than eager to join, to help, to participate and follow her bright sister’s ideas. Elsa seemed so big and wise. Three years older feels like a decade when you’re five. The little red haired princess searched with fervor… for half a minute. She ended up distracted by the movement of minuscule fishes –were they even fishes?– when she heard Elsa squeak. It wasn’t a bad squeak, it was a good squeak. Her tiny legs barely had enough coordination to keep her from falling into the waster as she rushed to Elsa’s side. What did her sister see? She wanted to know right that second. She didn’t want to be left out. “Anna, look!” Anna remembers when Elsa opened her palms and the gasp that escaped her own lips. “It’s a snowman!” Saying it looked like a statue would be a stretch, but for a five and a seven year old the pareidolia bordered perfection. All the main elements were there; three connected spheres –not quite– of diminishing sizes and some bumps and crevices that made a decent impersonation of a snowman face and nose. All it missed was the arms. The girls squealed with delight. Finding a naturally made snowman before winter felt like finding a treasure. Nowadays, knowing that gemstones and precious metals can be found in rivers, Anna would compare their joy with the one of a lucky miner. Anna is sure what she remembers is not exactly what happened, for a long time she wished she didn’t, so perhaps she simply doesn’t. Her own feelings got muddled then as she saw the precious find in Elsa’s hands. Her sister held it with the same poise she would anything else, her slender fingers delicately scanning the stone surface, still discovering its secrets. Elsa’s fascination made Anna feel odd. During her childhood Anna lacked the tools to understand the context of the memory; her memory had been robbed and never returned, but now thanks to her new knowledge, a knowledge she had back then, it made all sense. Elsa had found in nature what she herself could create. It must have felt like finding a piece of yourself, carved and left for you to find by fate. “We should give him a name,” Elsa said almost to the air instead of at Anna. Good and bad emotions warred inside the little princess. She wanted the prize for herself, but it was Elsa’s discovery, so it was hers. Anna wished she found it first so she could have been the one to show it to Elsa and cause that face of wonder, that calm contentment. She wanted to be the reason Elsa was happy. Her chubby hands shook as all her preferred scenarios crossed her mind. She just had to choose what mattered the most. Anna was taken by surprise in her focus when Elsa held her hands and pushed the stone into her distracted palms. “Here.” Anna blinked, astonished. Was Elsa giving the treasure to her? What would make Elsa do that? She wanted to accept it, but what would she do with it? Everything seemed ruined now because she couldn’t simply give it back after taking it. Her possessive feelings clashed with her desire to see Elsa happy with a thoughtful gift from her younger sister. “No!” Anna tried to push the snowman back into Elsa’s hands. Elsa was confused, and while back then it didn’t make sense, now it is crystal clear. Elsa saw Anna’s frustration and figured it was because her sibling wanted it for herself, which was partially true. Anna’s refusal probably looked like stubbornness, reluctance or even petty jealousy. Anna wished that at five years old she had been wise enough to know that nobody was to blame for what would happen next. The sisters firmly pushed the proffered snowman back and forth between themselves, both reluctant to keep it and be the cause of the other’s unhappiness. “No, it’s yours! You found it!” “It’s a gift! You want it. It’s yours!” Thanks to their most selfless selfish argument –Anna is sure it was her fault because Elsa was too coordinated to be blamed– the precious snowman slipped from their grasp and fell into the water with a terrible cracking noise. Elsa covered her gasp with her hand and Anna let out a mute shriek. The younger princess quickly retrieved the snowman from the water, as if she was fast enough she could undo the damage. Tears welled in two sets of eyes as they each saw the new fissure in the stone. The damage hadn’t been strong enough to break the snowman completely, but the face was now scarred by a diagonal gash that crossed the whole body vertically. Their treasure hadn’t lasted five minutes before Anna had destroyed it due to her petulance. It wasn’t truly broken, but she ruined it all the same. She marred it with a scar not unlike the one she would someday have herself. Anna doesn’t remember what happened next. Did they argue? Did Elsa cry? Did she cry? Maybe they both cried? She does remember getting back into the carriage and how Elsa silently held the wounded snowman all the way home. - “Hi.” In the present Anna leans on the wall in the study, watching Elsa get lost in the details of their once precious treasure as she cradled it in her hand. “Hi. I was just searching for a letter opener…” Elsa trailed off. She doesn’t move her gaze from the little snowman. Anna smiles as she watches Elsa. The snowman doesn’t look like what it was when they found it (or broke it). The entire body is now covered in an uneven coat of white paint and it now has a red scarf around its neck with delicate branches glued to its sides, mimicking arms. Elsa’s slender fingers explore it delicately like they did so many years ago and Anna knows Elsa is lost in her own memories now. “Good memories?” “I tried hard to fix it,” Elsa says, putting it back inside the drawer where she found it. “I didn’t know you kept it. It wasn’t in the box along with the other Olafs.” “Well…” Anna approaches Elsa, taking it out from the drawer again. “This is the first Olaf isn’t it.” Anna smiles as she caresses it. It feels much smaller now in her hands. The paint is dirty or cracked at some places, revealing the stone beneath. “So you noticed,” Elsa mentions quietly. “It had the same shape! I remember back when you first introduced Olaf to me. You made it move with your arms and said in a pathetic gruff voice that he liked warm hugs.” “And you loved him.” “And I loved him.” Both sisters chuckle and a comfortable silence falls between them. “I thought you didn’t want to play with me anymore because I broke it,” Anna starts then pauses. “At least I did until it showed up one day in the middle of the clean laundry.” “Oh, Anna.” Elsa takes Anna’s free hand in hers and squeezes it. “I didn’t know… I thought fixing it for you would make you happier, but…” Elsa grimaces. “Looking at it now I did a really bad job fixing it.” Anna can’t help but laugh. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s fine work for a seven year old.” “I could have done a better job,” Elsa insists looking at it. “I could have made him a little top hat. And not have borrowed the scarf from Sir Jorgenbjorgen. And I could have asked to buy real paint instead of…” Elsa trails off. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that last part,” Anna tries to say evenly. “It’s nothing.” Anna can feel the unspoken words trapped in Elsa’s head from the way her sister looks to the side. Elsa tries hard to mute her body language, being the Queen. But when they’re in private or when Elsa is comfortable… She just slips and Anna loves pushing her sister’s reactions. “Ohhhh.” Anna purrs like a happy cat. “Is that a secret I smell.” She nudges Elsa.Elsa winces. “Don’t make me say it out loud.” Anna nudges her, knowing her sister is not really distressed. “Come on, big sis. Confess.” She knows Elsa will spill it out. They always share embarrassing childhood tales. Elsa makes an indignant noise. “I could not haven stolen the paints from the royal painter. He was doing that portrait of Father and… I just didn’t want to admit what I truly wanted the paint for and I didn’t want to lie.” Anna can’t help but chuckle at Elsa’s expense. “Are you telling me Prim and Proper Elsa committed a crime to avoid committing a crime? I. Am. Shocked.” Anna feigned her best appalled expression. Elsa swatted Anna’s arm, who kept laughing to herself. “I don’t know why I thought it looked good. You can even see the crack.” “About that…” Anna stopped laughing and fidgeted with the figure in her hands. “I kind of broke it again.” She was barely audible. “Hmmm, what was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Elsa grins. “Fine!” Anna is as red as a tomato now. “I broke it again as soon as I got it back! But it wasn’t bad, look.” Elsa watches as Anna removes scarf from around the snowman with care and places it back inside the drawer… only to unceremoniously split their treasure in half. Elsa’s jaw drops open and her brows knit together in worry as she tries to make sense of what’s happening. Anna hands her one half and she understands after careful examination. Inside both halves of the snowman were covered in crystals as blue as a clear sky and between those and the outer shell of rock was a layer of smaller white crystals. The overall effect reminded Elsa of- “It reminded me of you,” Anna commented, looking at her own half. “I couldn’t remember why- I didn’t know why snow and ice crystals reminded me of you… But looking at it made me really happy. I was less lonely.” Elsa didn’t know what to say. Her mouth ran dry. “Is it celestite?” she tries instead, feeling the spiky crystals, rough to the touch. “Yes! Who knew our snowman was a geode all that time right? It is funny how-” “How some things only are revealed after they break.” “Yeah…” Their eyes connected and they silently gazed at each other for a long time. It was a comfortable silence filled with words unsaid. That is, until… “Oh my. Was that me?” Anna blushes and removes her hand from Elsa’s palm to cradle her stomach, and hopefully quell it from making another embarrassing noise. Elsa chuckles and takes Anna’s hand again. “Let’s get you something to eat before we uncover the monster that lies beneath.” “Meanie.” They place the two halves together again on top of Anna’s desk as they leave for dinner. A perfect fit with no missing parts along the crack. Aside from a scar, the halves fit like they were never broken.

[stormkrigeren]

Whumptober Day 6!

Link to the Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/85417618

Title: Bruises - Clark

Prompt: No. 6 ‘Touch And Go’ - bruises, touch starved, hunger

Word Count: 1231

Clark gingerly touched his shoulder, which was quickly turning a dark, clouded purple beneath his shirt, and glanced through the sparse contents of the little medicine cupboard in the bathroom. Superman had heard the hill tremble right before it collapsed but he had been focused on the evacuation efforts and hadn’t really had the time to move out of the way when six-hundred cubic meters of dirt and rocks hit him full force. Any humans that may have been caught in the slide might have been killed almost immediately, though luckily everyone nearby had been moved a safe distance away and the only victims were a few head of cattle and Superman - who despite his extraterrestrial invulnerability was having a bit of a bad day and was pretty decently bruised.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, he told himself. He healed fast, especially in full sunlight, but today really wasn’t his day considering how overcast it was in Metropolis. The bruise would probably take a few hours to patch itself up before he could go back to using all of his limbs normally and painlessly. That’s why he was in the medicine cupboard - Clark was pretty desperate for some pain meds.

“Smallville?”

Clark nearly bumped his head on the counter, he looked up so fast at the sound of her voice, and he quickly located the source of it leaning against the open bathroom door, watching him with a look of curiosity.

“What’re you doing in the tampon cupboard, babe?” Lois asked, folding her arms over her chest with a playful smile, “Nosebleed?”

“No,” he answered shyly, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand despite himself and glancing back at the shelf to confirm that yes, Lois’ collection of feminine products was conveniently situated right beside the box of Nyquil and bandages, “I was looking for some ibuprofen… or something...”

“I thought your metabolism was too fast for any of the over-the-counter medication,” Lois pointed out, and he shrugged. A Kryptonian metabolism was much faster than a human one, resulting in Clark constantly being just a little bit hungry and having generalized immunity to everything from coffee to poison to alcohol and even most medicines. Lois was right - he would need to overdose on ibuprofen to feel so much as mild relief.

“While we’re on the topic, are you going to tell me why you were looking for meds in the first place?” she spoke up, interrupting his train of thought and dragging his attention back to her. Clark paused at the question despite himself, resisting the urge to touch the bruise covering most of his left side as he answered quietly.

“I was feeling a bit sore.”

Lois’ eyes narrowed instantly, and he knew what she was thinking because he was thinking it too: soreness usually came from an injury of some sort, and Clark never got injured.

Or at least, not very often.

“Ooooookay,” she said slowly, drawing the word out as she stepped closer to him, “Any particular reason you might be feeling sore? Something you’re not telling me about?”

“It’s not a girlfriend, I promise,” Clark joked half-heartedly, but one look at her face and he knew that it had been a bit out of taste. This was Lois Lane, after all - Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative reporter and generally someone not to be messed with (not to mention absolutely perfect in every way, if Clark was making the list) - and given the context of the situation, she had been clearly asking about world disasters and not a nonexistent affair.

“I got a few bruises after getting caught in a landslide,” he sighed, “Nothing big, just-“

“Where?”

“Venezuela.”

“Fuck, no, I mean where are you bruising?” Lois corrected herself, and Clark glanced sheepishly up at her from his spot on the tiled bathroom floor.

“My left side mostly, though it’s not that bad and will heal soon. I think I threw my shoulder out of socket, but it healed as I got home so it feels almost fine now-“

Clark knew his reflexes has slowed quite a bit, but he was still surprised to discover that they were slowed enough that Lois was able to pull up the hem of his shirt before he got the chance to react, her eyes widening at the sight of the faded yet still quite large purple and green bruise covering most of his back and side.

“Shit, Clark, it looks like you got hit by a bus!” she exclaimed, “When did this happen? Recently?”

“Maybe forty-five minutes ago. It’s not that bad, it felt way worse when I first got it.”

“Did you ice it as soon as you got home?” she pressed, only for Clark to shrug an obvious ‘no, I didn’t think of that’.

It was at that moment that realization dawned on Lois, and it suddenly occurred to her that this Kansas farm boy who never got into fights or earned so much as a scratch or bruise in his daily life had no idea what to do when the unexpected happened. She sighed, “You have no idea how to treat a bruise, do you?”

Clark, being Clark, flushed bright red and stared at the floor, thoroughly embarrassed as he shook his head, “I always just sat in the sun for a bit. It seems to work just fine.”

Lois didn’t know enough about that particular aspect of alien physiology to argue with him, so instead she shut Clark up by sitting down on the floor beside him and yanking open a different cupboard door. After a brief scrounge through its contents, she found what she was looking for: a small stash of HotHands packets purchased for her return to trip to Ellesmere Island during her search for the Kryptonians. There were still a few left, so she promptly pulled one out and snapped the activator, shaking it a little bit to get the warmth to spread faster while Clark looked on with interest.

“Always treat bruising with ice ASAP. It helps to slow the flow of blood and prevent the clotting we see as a bruise,” she lectured, pressing the packet against the discolored skin beneath his arm and silently noting that he didn’t even try to resist or ask what she was doing. It briefly reminded her of all the times she had treated her own injuries in the same way while growing up on various army bases doing dangerous shit, and later embedded in military conflicts whilst still doing dangerous shit. But Clark didn’t need to know that.

“Since it’s a bit too late for icing it, we’re going to use heat instead to encourage blood circulation and remove the clotting,” she continued, “It’ll still take a bit, but it’s hopefully faster than waiting for your magical plant powers to kick in.”

“I thought you decided to call it ‘charging’. ‘Sunlight charging’, or something along those lines. We both know I heal faster when energized,” Clark teased, and Lois had to bite back a chuckle at his attempt at snark.

“Well ‘Bond, James Bond’, I’ve decided that you are now a plant and would photosynthesize a bit better if we sat in the living room with the curtains and windows open,” she snarked back with a grin, “It’s a beautiful evening, and it’ll do you some good to sit in the sun.”

[zirkkun]

Yo you have every right to be upset about things! You're still a person with your own feelings and deserve to be treated kindly. No one should come at you for making things you enjoy or for misunderstandings. I hope things get better for you even if I wasn't here for when all the drama happened (or maybe I was and just wasn't aware of it? I tend to avoid drama as much as possible tbh)

I didn't really post about it much. I think I answered about 4 asks about it (three of them in the same post because i was sure it was the same anon due to the similar string of seemingly continued messages) and the rest I just deleted as soon as they came in, but I got... A lot. A lot of mean things said too. Kinda hurts when you wanted to make something because you knew this work was highly criticized and wanted to let people give it a second chance only to be shot down by the people you were hoping to defend lol

In short, and a lot of it I missed because I was blocked by a lot of people so my friend sent me screencaps; someone took I believe only the old ask box post I had for ULR, which at the time was called "Underlust Rewrite," and was disgusted at the fact that everything was revamped and "made for kids" (because it's not 18+ explicit content, but as I've said before, it's just cause I'm too scared to be horny on main, and I've literally made a whole different biological system for ULR so I can write the necessary story ""sex scenes"" without it being human-like sex or otherwise uncomfortable or too explicit for me to draw, but I still consider it a mature story overall), so they blocked me instantly here and on twitter and then made a callout post on twitter itself. People were telling me originally to stop calling the AU Underlust, and I didn't really get it at first, because like, what's the difference between my spinoff and, say, Underlust Gold, Swapfell Indigo, TS!Underswap, you know, names that have add-ons from the original title to differentiate it but still connect it to the source. So that's what I said, as well as if I removed the Underlust name, it would be considered stealing to me, because I'd be disconnecting it from the source. But apparently, instead, what had been the concern was that it was just being called "Underlust" and the "Rewrite" aspect was implying I was replacing the original story, which like, had never been my intention and I've made a bunch of things with both the ULR and UL cast together and love the idea of Lust and Ace meeting up and just being a disaster duo of not working together at all. I just adore Underlust like it's in my pinned FAQ, Lust's been in my banner for months now, and he's practically my staple pfp character on every account but here atm.

It took like 3 days for it to actually click what was going on, because once I finally got the chance to have a conversation with someone where they weren't telling me I was the scum of the Earth -- which, honestly, bless the three people I talked to, they were so sweet (which actually included someone from the Japanese side of the fandom whose art I loved too... yeah it got pretty far. Once I sent them a message though it was cleared up quickly and they did post a clarification post about ULR and me, so that was nice to see.) -- I finally got the chance to realize that this was a misunderstanding from the beginning, from both sides, where people coming at me were saying I was doing all of the stuff above and probably more but those stuck the most, while I was confused as to where this information and accusations were coming from and what they were referring to in the first place. They probably never explained it in the anon asks because, well, they probably assumed I knew what I was doing, but when they came at me about something I didn't do with vague context of something I did do, I was very confused, and got really defensive really quickly, and really honestly snapped pretty hard. After my first initial explanation post and people were still trying to tell me to stop ULR/don't call it Underlust/whatever else there was, I just got tired and told people to block me if they didn't like it. But that didn't really stop anyone and honestly made it worse because that's when I started getting really nasty messages. I like... Specifically remember one where someone called me a lowlife and a thief, and that one stuck the most, but I tended to not read through them before deleting them for my own sanity. I actually did this to one of the people who'd later talked to me calmly about it at first too, because I had just woken up, and really didn't want to read an essay lecture on everything everyone's been telling me at the crack of 7am when I was borderline ready to delete my account and start over lol

Some people I do remember were accusing me of trying to censor nsfw content or erase it as well because ULR isn't 18+, and I'm out here on my horny ass like "wh. What are they talking about, where did you get that idea, have you SEEN my ao3 recommended list," /j but in all seriousness I really didn't understand that accusation at all because I've never been against nsfw content in the slightest and lowkey? This is very dumb -- but like, you know how they say when you get hate mail, you know you've made it? Well, for me, my thought has always been, "When there's 18+ fancontent of my OC's, I'll have finally made it." This is... Not a joke, some of my friends think its very weird LMAO oh well. I've been on the internet for far too long at this point -- like, definitely since I was far too young, probably, and being with a family of the next youngest being 12 years older than me, I really dove into stuff pretty quickly I definitely shouldn't have, but hey that's life -- I'm really unfazed by mostly anything now. Hell, me making ULR was honestly half motivated by me wanting to make others more comfortable with this kind of media, discussing sexuality and otherwise sexual-considered topics, without really being embarrassed or bothered by it. Because, people talk about death and killing and whatever other gorey stuff just fine, but the moment sex comes up, people just gasp in awe, y'know? I kind of grew up that way myself but like... ironically, in being more comfortable with my asexuality, I realized that it's honestly not that big of a deal. Sure, we don't need to hear the details of everything. We don't need to hear the details of a murder either. But I will never understand how murder is always the lowest on the "morally wrong list of things to not to" to so many people and that it's fine to mention, but even consider bringing up anything else and it's like, a sin and you're a bad person. Even racism is like, higher up on there for a lot of people, which it's like... this is an issue that needs to be discussed, or it can never be solved. You can't just kick that away and hope it goes away on its own, that's never how it works.

Ah, well, now I've gone off tangent lol. Sorry to make you read a blob of text lmao but having things in a cohesive format of what I've been thinking does feel a bit better. Thank you for the support regardless, and I do want to keep making what I really enjoy, because frankly, I really want to make things that make people take a step back and think for a moment, y'know? Things that invoke like a realization in yourself about something you didn't even know. That's how fiction's always been for me, so I want to give back by making it that way too. ... maybe my horny content is exempt from this however. That's just. Self indulgence LMAO.

Probably helps that I'm actually talking this all out for once, too, since before any of this I tried to keep as much of the situation contained to myself as possible in hopes I could clean it up before it got too bad. That was, in hindsight, probably a terrible idea lol. But I didn't want to be a source of stress for anyone following me or become the new creator-to-defend that like, 50% of people hate and 50% of people love and that you're either on one side or the other and there's no where in between. (I feel like Arin Hanson comes to mind for me every time I think of someone like this.) I know I can't please everyone and I knew internet hate would come eventually, but like, didn't expect it to be over a name or tag choice. I thought that would be a simple enough DM or clearable thing but apparently not, especially since I saw someone a few weeks ago delete their blog over a similar thing (though, the opposite, in a way: posting nsfw in a sfw tag by mistake). It wasn't in the UT fandom so y'all probably weren't following them (tbf I wasn't either, I just witnessed it happen from start to finish), but it was still disheartening.

Anyway, thank you, and sorry to make ya read all of that (if you actually did vahdbs don't blame you if you don't it's a lot of thought dump lmao)💕💕

[missdawnandherdusk]

Tale As Old As Time

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four    

Part Five    Part Six    Part Seven    Part Eight

Part Nine   Part Ten

Summary: The Yule Ball is finally here and maybe just once you get to be the princess in a fairy tale.

A/N: Guys, guys, this chapter IS SO SWEET AND SOFT AND I’M ASDKJDADGAD anyway. Hello to those of you who are new! I love you all so much (and if anyone would like context or a visual for this chapter see Cinderella or ya know your favorite Disney princess dance sequence... there are so many) I love you all! Please let me know what you think! Also catch this on AO3 soon!!

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur​ @belcvayelena​ @moviesbooksandfandoms​ @howdycharlie​ @littlethingsinmymindla​

Christmas Eve and it seemed like the week had passed faster than the week before. Between finding a last-minute present—and a letter to Mrs. Weasley to see if a miracle could really happen—and wrapping the ones I already had, I was exhausted come Christmas Eve, so I did what I did every year: I read a book.

“So, do you have a dress for the Ball?” Hermione asked as we lounged in the Common Room watching the boys play chess.

“Yeah, my mother sent me one, it was the parcel I got the other morning,” I noted, my eyes not leaving my book—A Christmas Carol.

It was the evening before the Ball as well, and we were enjoying the buzz of the common room as Christmas approaching in the morning had everyone in a stupor. I had seen Draco at dinner, but Hermione stole me back for the evening, well, she tried.

Penelope swooped in and a letter landed in my lap.

“Oh, come on, I just got you back in here,” Hermione groaned. “Doesn’t he have his own party at Slytherin?”

“Maybe he’s invited her. I’ve heard so much about how good Slytherin parties are,” Ron looked up hopefully.

I smiled and rolled my eyes, breaking the seal and opening the letter. 

~

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower as soon as you can, dress warm. 

Draco

~

Three pairs of eyes were on me.

“I... have to go?” I offered sheepishly.

“A party?” Ron asked.

“No, just... never mind. It’s not a party.” I shrugged as I got up and stretched.

Grabbing my winter boots, scarf and fur lined jacket—that my mother also sent—I headed own the drafty halls and up to the Astronomy Tower.

“Draco?” I called as I reached the top step. He turned, a smile making its way to his face.

“Hey,” He helped me up the stair, taking my gloved hand in his. “These are new?” He mused, eyeing the black leather fur lined gloves.

“Mother sent them; someone must have told her that I was cold.” I gave him a side eyed look. He chuckled and pulled me close

“So, the ball is tomorrow,” He began

“Yes, that is how time works,” I mused. “I believe it is Christmas as well,”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten,” He scoffed with a smile. “And I assume, since you weren’t... here growing up, I assume you have no idea how to dance,” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, and you do?” I scoffed.

“Yes,” He answered simply. “This isn’t my first Ball Y/n,”

“So, you’ve danced with other girls before?” I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t as jealous as I let off, it was just fun to watch him scramble over something so simple.

“Yes,” He sounded strained.

I smiled and pulled him to the center of the walkway, pulling him close.

“Teach me then,” I took his hand and he pulled me close, into first position. “You’re right, I have never danced before,” I confessed.

“I know,” He mused. “This is going to be horrendous,”

A laugh escaped his lips and mine. I sighed and took his hand as his other rested on my waist and mine on his shoulder. Music came from somewhere, but I didn’t question it, I was too focused on not stumbling.

“It’s a pattern,” He told me. “One, two, three, four,” He instructed.

It took a few—hundred—tries, but Draco was persistent. Soon I was tripping over my own feet less and spinning around the Tower laughing as I danced almost flawlessly in sweatpants. Now only if I could do it in heels and a dress.

Draco pulled me in and be began to speed up the pace, leading me into new steps before his hands moved quickly and he easily dipped me.

“Draco!” I exclaimed and gripped for him as he righted me.

“Did you think I was going to let you fall?” He teased as our dance stilled, the two of us closer than ever.

“Haven’t you already?” I asked, my hands drifting to their familiar place around his neck.

“Have you fallen for me then, Miss Lupine?” He asked softly, the electric current growing stronger as the distance between us closed.

Staring into blue eyes, I felt the coolness of a river, and the gentle waves of the ocean, comforting me with their chill. An entire world laid behind them, one that I yearned to explore and know every part of.

“I think so,” I whispered the confession. “A Lupine and a Malfoy,” I scoffed softly. 

“What an idea,” He pondered. “To fall for someone like you,”

I smiled and pressed my lips softly to his, basking in his warmth. Now that we had stopped dancing, the winter air began to seep through my clothes. When I shivered, he pulled away and chuckled.

“You know, with all the spell and potions and charms out there, you would think there would be something to keep you warm,” Draco baited.

“I have you, don’t I?” “I suppose you do,”

Draco walked me back to the Gryffindor portrait in comfortable silence. Another fleeting goodnight kiss and I was far from being cold.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow then? Seven forty-five?”

“Are you sure about this Draco... your father and the Ball...” I looked down, still worried.

“Stop it Y/n,” He chided. “It will be fine. We’re safe here.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Now go get some rest.”

“Goodnight Draco,” I whispered. “And Merry Christmas,”

He eyed me and an amused smirk played at his lips.

“Happy Christmas,” I couldn’t tell if it was a correction or if he had meant it. “Goodnight Y/n,” 

Again, we exchanged a glance, three words unspoken between us: I love you. 

_____________________________

Draco woke early Christmas morning to Penelope fluttering annoyed at his side, cooing for attention. He had half the idea to shove her off the bed and go back to sleep, but you couldn’t really push a bird anywhere and expect it to stay away.

Groaning and sitting up, he saw that Penelope was sitting upon two parcels, and a letter accompanying each. It dawned on him that it was Christmas morning, not just any morning, and these must be from you.

Taking the one that had your letter attached—marked by your red wax seal—he opened the letter.

~

Merry Christmas Draco,

We had these sweets (we called them candy) in America, I had my mother send me some, and thought you might want to try them. Sour Patch Kids are my favorite, I’m not one for chocolate, but I did include some for you to try. If not, I’m sure Crabbe or Goyle wouldn’t mind having them.

Mother also sent all of my Latin books to you because you seemed interested in it the other night. Please be careful with them, they’re worth more than you can imagine, they belonged to my great great something grandfather. I will kill you if you ruin them. Though I suppose they are yours now... still.

And, from me... well, I got you a fountain pen. It was my grandfathers, a gift from a Muggle. I know, I know. But, it’s so small, and very useful. You use it like a quill and ink, but it doesn’t splotch or smear and dries instantly. I rewrite all of my class notes with a pen so that they’re neat, and I thought you might appreciate one as well. If you don’t want it, that’s fine too...

I hope you have a merry—happy Christmas morning. I await our dance tonight, 

Yours,

Y/n

P.S. I sent a letter to Mrs. Weasley as well and I do believe that she sent you one of her hand knitted sweaters, so don’t be surprised if you get one. It was me. Again, if you don’t want it... it’s okay. I know it’s a lot.

~

Draco tossed the letter aside and tore open the package that accompanied it. Inside, as you had said, was a few thick books, come colorful plastic wrapped candy, and a long black velvet box.

Taking the box, he discarded the lid and nestled inside was a sleek silver cylindrical object. Removing it, Draco stared at the small thing, wondering what use it had and how had Muggles ever used this when ink and quill worked just fine.

Pulling of the cap as he would an inkwell, a small golden tip greeted him, similar to the ends of his quills, but less fragile. Taking your letter, he leaned it against one of the books you have gifted to him and he wrote his name with the pen.

It glided easily across the page, leaving dark ink in its wake, spelling his name delicately. There was no need to dip it back into an inkwell, and running his finger over it, he discovered that it didn’t smear or stain his fingers.

As much as he wanted to hate it and dismiss it, claiming that nothing smart logical or good came from Muggles, he couldn’t. This pen was something else. It was useful. And he hated it. But he also loved that it was from you and that you had clearly spent a lot of time trying to figure out what would prove worth to him even though it was Muggle.

He set the pen back into the box and placed it on his desk. Having a good idea what was in the other package and who it was from, he begrudgingly opened the letter attached.

~

Mr. Draco

I was quite surprised when I got a letter from Miss Y/n asking for her to make this for you, but I couldn’t say no to her—she is quite persuasive and truly seems to care about you having a good Christmas this year and who was I to refuse?

Have a Happy Christmas Draco, because someone out there really cares for you. 

Mrs. Weasley

~

Dreading opening the package, knowing exactly what was inside, Draco opened the parcel and found an emerald green and grey striped knitted sweater. There was no sign of the god-awful initial of his first name. No, it was just a normal sweater, as if you knew what to ask for and what he would wear.

A smile touched his lips as he slipped the sweater over his head and picked up the book you sent: Wheelock’s Latin. Flipping through a few pages he could see you steady writing in notes littering the margins and little bookmarks placed in odd places to him.

The room around him started to come alive as the others around him awoke, and began to tear through their presents, but he remained on his bed in his own little bubble, leafing through the books and making his way through the American sweets you had sent—particularly enjoying something called Mike and Ikes.

Because of you, he had one of the best Christmas mornings that he had in a long while. He hoped that you were as well.

___________________________

The excitement of the morning had me awake earlier than normal and I saw that Hermione was already awake. Smiles spread across our faces as we wished another a Merry Christmas then began to open the presents that laid at the foot of our beds.

Hermione had gotten me a book—the same book that I had taken from Malfoy in the library— “so that you can have your own” she explained. Harry and Ron had joined together and gotten me a new set of inkwell and quill and a bound book of parchment in emerald and gold. Mrs. Weasley went above and beyond as normal with snacks and the usual sweater; this year it was a deep red with a forest green trim and gold accents. There was another set of graphite pencils and sketchbook from my mother and new diamond earrings from my grandparents.

On its own, on my bedside table was a small package in silk green wrapping and a letter with a matching green seal. My heart fluttered as I picked it up, knowing that it was from Draco. I hope that he had gotten what I had sent and that he had accepted it.

Opening the letter, it was short and unbearably sweet:

~

Dearest Y/n,

For you, to remind you that we are more than names and houses. 

Happy Christmas. I’ll see you tonight,

Yours,

Draco

~

Smiling I opened the small box and inside cushioned was a necklace. It held neither an emerald nor ruby, instead a sapphire, the color of the sea, the color of his eyes, the feeling of Animi Amoris. On a delicate silver chain and lain in a diamond encrusted heart the sapphire sat, smiling at me.

“Oh Draco,” I murmured softly.

“What he get you?” Hermione asked, grinning, coming over to my bed in her Weasley sweater.

I showed her the necklace, not letting it leave my hold.

“He really is a sap, isn’t he?” Hermione sighed

“Yeah, he is,” I smiled, putting the necklace on. “He’ll never admit it though.”

Harry and Ron met up with Hermione and me in the common room, and we went down to breakfast together. I didn’t catch sight of Draco at breakfast and I wondered where he was. Deciding not to fret too much I spent the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents—as I was, starting to sketch with my mother’s present.

Lunch was just as extravagant and featured so many turkeys I wondered exactly how long it had taken for them all to be cooked. I did see Draco at lunch, but other than a wave and a smile, there was no time for a proper hello in the fervor of the festivities, not that we didn’t try.

Time flew and soon Hermione and I were up in the Gryffindor Tower getting ready for the Ball. I had to help her with her hair and makeup, knowing a bit more in the area.

“He asked you out last night to teach you to dance?” She squeaked. “That is the cutest thing, I honestly don’t believe it,”

I rolled my eyes and pinned her hair into place.

“I think he’s been so worried about keeping up his reputation that he doesn’t know who to be, ya know? He doesn’t have the parents we do... or the friends. He’s just...” I trailed off.

“I understand, it’s just odd.” Hermione smiled.

“Yeah, but he’s still himself... just good.” I placed the final pin. “There, that should stay for the rest of... well forever.” I grinned. “No one will know it’s you Cinderella,” I teased.

“Oh, and who does that make you?

“Your fairy godmother of course,” I mocked a bow

“I’m pretty sure that makes you Belle and you’re living Beuaty and the Beast,” She pointed out mischievously.

I laughed and started to work on her makeup. She then helped me curl my hair and place it into a plaited bun. It was great fun. I teased her about Krum, and she teased me right back about Draco. We finally had time to sit and talk without anyone prying and without a deadline.

The time came and we both got into our dresses, doing finishing touches. Hermione held herself higher as we looked in the mirror, her periwinkle dress playing off of my crimson red one. Draco’s necklace hung at the hollow of my chest.

We both left the fray a bit early, I had to meet Draco and she had to meet Krum. Just as he had promised, Draco met me outside the Common Room, looking nervous and very handsome. His suit was well tailored, the stark black and white playing off another.

“Wow,” He breathed out, making me look down, blushing the color of my dress.

“My mother does have a dramatic flair, doesn’t she?” I asked, running my fingers through the layers of tulle and speckled diamonds that danced in the candlelight.

“I don’t think she has anything to do with how breathtaking you look right now,” Draco offered his hand.

I took it, taking careful graceful steps in the heels that my mother also sent me.

“You look quite handsome as well,” I complimented. “Quite a change from school uniforms is it not?”

“One that I rather enjoy,” He smiled as I held onto him, descending the stairs toward the Great Hall entrance.

Everyone in the hall stopped with the sight of us, gawking. A hush fell over the crowd as we entered the mass of students, all dressed for the occasion, all gaping—or glaring—at the two of us. I tried to not let it bother me, but I couldn’t quite let it go.

“People are staring,” I whispered.

“Y/n I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in a mirror, you are more than worth staring at.”

I looked down, suddenly very focused on not tripping. When the Great Hall doors were opened, I caught sight of Harry and Ron with their dates, the Patil twins, and gave him a small wave as we were ushered out into the lawn.

It was captivating, the sight of it all. I leaned against Draco, marveling at the fairy lights and enchantment of it all. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

“Like a fairy tale,” I whispered, letting my eyes wander.

“Shall we then,” Draco asked, leading me to one of the front tables where my—our friends were sitting.

“If he’s the Slytherin Prince then no doubt tonight you’re the Gryffindor Princess,” Fred muttered in my ear.

I let out a small laugh and looked to Draco, who raised an eyebrow in question, but I shrugged and shook my head, taking his hand in mine. With the Triwizard champions having sat and Dumbledore beginning the feast, the Hall was filled with talking and laughter and merriment.

It was comforting, watching it all. Draco fit in with the crowed around us and Hermione and Viktor were having what seemed like the best time at one of the head tables. I was happy for her; she finally was seen on the outside who she was on the inside.

Dinner had come and passed and with a wave of his wand, Dumbledore transformed the Great Hall into a dance floor. Anxiety fluttered in my chest at the thought that I would have to dance in front of people soon.

“I can hear you worrying,” Draco murmured softly, as he stood behind me his hands at my waist.

“I have to dance,” I fretted. “I’m going barefoot, I hope you know that,”

He chuckled and nodded, whether in acknowledgement or permission, I wasn’t sure. Soon other couples began to join the champions. I broke from Draco’s hold and discarded my heels under a nearby table. When I went back, I couldn’t find Draco. My eyes scanned the crowd until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Relaxing I turned and saw gentle blue eyes.

“May I have this dance?” Draco bowed slightly, offering his hand out again.

“You may,” I grinned and took it as he led me to the dance floor.

“I won’t let you fall,” He promised in a soft voice as we fell into a familiar pattern, learned only the night before.

The world faded around us as he guided me on the dance floor. My eyes never left his and a smile never left either of our faces. It was our own little world as we waltzed across the floor.

The moment held another sort of magic, one where we didn’t have to do anything but fall into step with another and dance upon the notes left by the music around us.

“Ready?” He whispered and I nodded.

Gently, as the music ended, he dipped me, father than before, but I wasn’t afraid. 

He wasn’t going to let me fall.

.

.

Part 12?

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Women in SPN—Is it Really That Bad?

TL;DR: Somewhat, yeah, it kinda is.

This is going to be a series of long ones, people.

Before I jump head first into this giant vat of weird toxic shit, let me say something:

The thing about most of the female characters is that on their own? They’re perfectly fine, ranging from serviceable to the occasional flash of thematic brilliance. Barely any of them qualify as “this is hateful on its face and incompetent regardless of context and the writers should feel bad for ever conceiving of it”, i.e. the normie benchmark for justified criticism. It’s only when you put these characters next to each other that a worrying pattern emerges;

Although discussions about sexism in the media were very much a thing in the mid-2000s, as well as shows with characters whose primary role wasn’t to serve a man’s needs, I can’t honestly claim that the flaws of SPN are out of the norm for its time; and

The first few seasons could really do with a PSA at the start of each episode, something along the lines of “A part of the reason why female characters are killed off or written out with such regularity is rabid superfans who couldn’t abide anything with tits brushing against J2, srsly, the writing team and the 2000s’ fan base were a match made in hell, except it wasn’t the writers who couldn’t do with bitching on their LiveJournals about the gall of women to exist in the show, choosing instead to harass the creators and actresses and wives and call them every sexist insult under the sun AND I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE HAS THERE EVER BEEN A CESSPIT AS DISGUSTING AND NUKEWORTHY AS THE SPN FANDO—“

Anyway.

SPN has a legacy (as a posterchild for not knowing when to bow out gracefully, but legacy nonetheless) and isn’t watched in 2005 but in the year of our Lord Today. Meaning that as time goes by, the issues surrounding the show’s production retreat into the background and only what’s on the screen remains, to be judged on its own merits.

So let’s run down a list of the more noteworthy and relevant female characters of the first arc, focusing on their characterization, role in the narrative, and end. In the conclusion to this series of posts, the sum of characters will be analyzed as a whole to see if there are any unique tendencies in the show’s handling of women as opposed to that of men. I’ll do this for the original five seasons as the recent finale went out of its way to say that nothing after season 5 was strictly speaking necessary so why bother.

(Also because I died of frustration in season 8 and vowed not to subject myself to any more of the post-apocalypse fanfic era)

Angels, while strictly speaking genderless clouds of energy, will be classified as men or women depending on the apparent gender of the vessel they spend most of the time riding. The same goes for demons where I also take into account their stated gender while they were alive. That’s because although beings like Meg, Ruby, Anna, or Lilith can’t technically be considered women in the show’s present day, their consistent preference for conventionally attractive and/or female vessels throughout the original arc makes claims of genderlessness essentially meaningless. For all intents and purposes, we’re watching girls and women on screen.

Baby—the only true NB of the first run

All right, time to jump.

Say hi to our ladies!

Mary Winchester

Killed in the very first scene to give the story a reason to exist, she remains an active presence throughout the first arc where she has a wide-reaching influence on the plot and characters, driving the conflict on several levels. Fleshed-out more and more with each appearance to be more than just “the dead mom”, she’s portrayed as protective, pro-active, capable, and assertive, mirroring the duo’s desire for normal life and their inability to have it. Her story comes full-circle in season 5 when the personal tragedy of her fate is embedded in the wider tragedy of the Winchester family curse and the overall theme of destiny.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major

On her own: Textbook example of fridging… and that tropes aren’t bad in and of themselves.

Jessica Moore

Comparatively, if anyone doubts fridging can evolve into something meaningful, Jess drives the point home by having no personality and no point but to prop up her boyfriend before she ends up pinned to the ceiling, the reveal of which is the most interesting thing about her entire existence. At best she’s a symbol of Sam’s civilian life, at worst an obstacle to be removed for the story to happen.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major in terms of manpain, non-existent otherwise

On her own: A cardboard cut-out, barely qualifies as a character

Missouri Moseley

A psychic and the primary reason why John Winchester even knows to wipe his ass. Appears once over the course of the first arc yet everyone wants her to come back years later—that’s how awesome she is. Has this fantastic trait of being compassionate and empathetic while not taking a single speck of shit from anyone, especially when it comes from the two main dumbos who might just as well have been raised in a barn. Is very particular about the pristine state of her coffee table.

Status: Alive as of s5, killed in s13 (wait, what?)

Importance: Major…ly wasted potential

On her own: As strong a character as Bobby Singer, and as worthy of being elevated to the main cast.

Lori Sorensen

The writers can’t figure out why anyone in the universe would care about Jess either so they insert an intentionally awkward romance subplot to convince people the time’s not yet ripe for Sam to stop grieving and start slaying. The result’s… erm… well, awkward. Lori’s naïve, sheltered, devout though accepting of her non-repressed friend, and sort of on a religious crossroads because of her hypocritical preacher father. I guess the virginal power of her virginal virginity does… something in the plot? Primarily a vehicle for Sam to mark the stages of his moving on.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: A bit done. Like a bit lot. Like a “could be a trope namer” bit lot.

Meg

Boom, baby!

Arguably the chief antagonist of season 1 and one of the best things about it. The first one to point out the pervasive toxicity of the Winchester family business, so props for perceptiveness. Possesses the standard qualities of a lower-level henchman—manipulative, no-nonsense, and quietly sinister which, while not exactly groundbreaking, sets her apart from the other bad guys in the season as they tend to have no distinguishing characteristics at all. Plus Nicki Aycox makes the role seem more unique and “lived-in” by projecting a sense of understated amusement at the two main chucklefucks. Is one of S1’s turning points in blurring the lines between monsters and humanity. Has a face transplant twice—once to have revenge (good on her) and the other time to pursue someone else’s goals again before getting stomped into the ground like a mook.

Status: Alive as of s5 (?), killed in s8

Importance: Major

On her own: The actresses do most of the heavy lifting. Which doesn’t mean I don’t love watching the character burst onto the scene and announcing the end of the Winchester brand of bullshit.

Layla Rourke

A terminal cancer patient in a religious cult, she’s a more mature take on a Lori-type character and the themes of faith and doubt. Serves as a conduit for Dean’s budding survivor guilt, self-loathing, and sense of worthlessness. Is kind and cheerful, with strong hints that she’s relying on forced optimism to get through the days; also understanding of the circumstances of others while realistically freaked about the possibility of death. Weirdly, she enters the episode already in a state of acceptance and leaves it just as accepting when it’s confirmed that yeah, she’ll die soon. All expressions of anger at the injustice and senselessness are left to her mother which somewhat undermines the “struggling” portion of Layla’s character and renders the final scene where she makes peace with her fate a bit hollow.

Status: Implied dead

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Dean’s development

On her own: I want to like her, I really do, just… if only she were allowed to get pissed, once.

Cassie Robinson

Dean’s ex and that’s pretty much all there is to her. I struggle to pinpoint a single personality trait of hers—the 2000s idea of a “strong woman” and “not like other girls”, perhaps? Undermined as a love interest because TPTB don’t show the happy or any parts of her relationship with Dean so really, why should anyone care if two sniping assholes with little to no chemistry get back together? Memorable for being in a horribly scored softcore scene which YouTube tries to convince me lasts for shy over a minute, not the week I remember it to. Involved in the show’s first and last attempt at incorporating the issue of anti-black racism.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: She’s in the racist truck episode. ‘Nuff said.

Sarah Blake

A sophisticated people-person conversationalist with a love of high art and a deep sense of introspection. Ascends to the state of godhood by being able to pull off pigtails while adult. Bonds with Sam over responding to loss by crawling into a shell but deciding to move on. Doesn’t care for your fancy schmancy fine dining, Romeo. Isn’t ashamed to openly talk feelings which includes her explicitly asking Sam if they have a thing going on (honestly, this is such a breath of fresh air for a normcore romance). Despite being scared out of her wits, she refuses to be shoved into the helpless civilian box after learning about the existence of the supernatural; Dean creates a Pinterest wedding board in response.

Status: Alive as of s5, pointlessly dragged back to be murdered in s8

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Sam’s development

On her own: A great love interest that has enough writing behind her to fool you into thinking she’s something more.

Up next, whenever I feel like it, seasons 2 and 3!

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG178~!

- Notable thing this episode was the intensity of the sounds (understandable given where they were), almost covering Jon’s words at some point, and the fact that once again… we got statements-specific ones. It used to be a bit unclear whether the sounds we were hearing belonged to the scenery around Jon or if they were emanating from the statement itself: for example, the sounds of the war (MAG163) were surrounding Jon&Martin before the statement while they were immersed in the domain, same with the carousel (MAG165) or the burning building (MAG169); and likewise, the wailing of the worms (MAG166) was audible outside of the statement (surrounding Martin at the end of the episode, when he wasn’t even in earshot of Jon)… but the squelching we could hear during Jon’s statement was a manifestation of what was happening in Jon’s narration. The hooks attacking Francis (MAG172) were a bit more ambiguous: were they audible outside of the statements, and Jon was commenting on them as they were happening? (Jon himself, after all, was described as present in the audience in the statement itself.) In The Extinction domain (MAG175), were the scuttling and hisses of the creature audible anyway around Jon? Or were these sounds created by Jon’s statement?

It’s been a bit clearer with these last three episodes that Jon’s statements seem to be creating/emanating these sounds, or allowing them to be heard: we could hear the sounds of running footsteps and pants while Jon was unmoving (MAG176); we heard the clock of the room, the chair creaking or scraping, the pills getting swallowed, the altercation, the distant wailing, the peeling of Doctor David’s face… and these sounds disappeared (including the clock!) when Jon got out of his statement, while the tinny muzak reappeared (MAG177). This time, Jon was stated to be in a closet: yet, we heard the factory gates opening, the grunts of the “things”, the tools they used, the sizzling of flesh, the cutting… and same thing, they faded once Jon was done with the statement.

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood-scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. [IN THE BACKGROUND, CONSTANT SOUND OF A CHASE IN THE FOREST: FEET RUNNING, PANTING, SHUFFLING OF LEAVES AND BRANCHES] Teeth smile. Ready to kill. [SHUFFLING OF BRANCHES]”

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHING] If you say so…! [INHALE] [STATIC RISES] [DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES] [FOOTSTEPS, A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] [CLOCK TICKING IN THE BACKGROUND] [STATIC FADES] ARCHIVIST: “Hi. How are we doing? You can call me Doctor David. […] Like I say: we have all the time in the world! [STATIC RISES] And good old Doctor David isn’t – going – anywhere.” [STATIC FADES] [SOUNDS FROM THE STATEMENT FADES] [THE TINNY MUZAK RESUMES]

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “The only smell… is the smell of cleaning products. The door finally opens, [RUSTY DOOR OPENS] and another thing stands there. […] Finally, he is led over to a grate on the floor. [SWIFT METALLIC NOISE] He barely even has time to register the red-hot wire cutter [SLASHING SOUND] before it is in and out of his left arm with practiced, professional ease, neatly removing a small wedge of muscle. […] [SHUFFLING, CRACKING AND ELECTRIC SAWING SOUNDS] The last thing he sees before returning to the processing line… is everything going into the garbage. There wasn’t a single, suitable cut.  [ANGRY FOOTSTEPS] “Useless,” one of the butchers says. And Tyler is gone.” [STATIC RISES] [SOUNDS FROM THE STATEMENT FADES] [STATIC FADES]

Is Jon “creating” them through dream-logic? Could Martin&Basira hear them, if they stayed around as Jon’s audience, or are these sounds only present on the tape we’re hearing? I’m keeping in mind that the tape recorder is not acting like an out-of-the-box machine: through Jon, it seems to be able to “interact” with the content of the domain/the stories Jon is describing, as affected as the characters…?

  - Jon explaining how this domain worked was super interesting (and terrifying):

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] Technically, a lot of them… actually aren’t people? BASIRA: … Come again? ARCHIVIST: A–a lot of them are created by this place as, uh… “set dressing”, I suppose? Th–this domain, the fear of it requires these… queues, these… this, uh, intricate hateful bureaucracy o–of hundreds of thousands of doomed souls, it needs far more than the number of people who actually ended up here. MARTIN: Wait–wait–wait, so… so it just… makes the rest of them up? ARCHIVIST: Er, maybe one in a hundred or so are actually real? The rest are there to make those people’s fears more acute. MARTIN: … That’s… Ugh, that’s somehow more disturbing.

… because it felt almost like some level of consciousness was at work? Or, well. Once again, a symbiosis between the Fear and its victims, the fact that the domains are literally their fears given enough autonomy to construct that reality and hurt them even more. (I’m thinking back to Jon’s “You want to talk about psychological projection, try viewing the metaphysical world through the lens of a being that is, by its very nature, a reflection of your own obsessions and fears.” from MAG175: he was, in context, talking about his own relationship to The Eye, but that… actually applies to every victim in the domains.)

Things getting me in the statement: the implicit rules/functioning of the domain being so unpredictable and odd that Tyler couldn’t expect them (“He looks around, unable to find a pen, a pencil, anything. The thing sat behind the desk does not respond to his questions. Finally, Tyler takes his fingernail, now long and ragged from his time in the queue, and painstakingly scores the words into the paper.”), the hurt and the pain never being factored by the creatures around him, the fact that his reactions were never timed exactly right (didn’t try to flee when he could have; would like to flee later but knew it was too late in the line), the fact that trying to find a meaning in his own sacrifice was utterly denied (“Is it not better, at least, to be useful? […] The last thing he sees before returning to the processing line… is everything going into the garbage. There wasn’t a single, suitable cut. ‘Useless,’ one of the butchers says.”). There were such a range of different fears in the whole statement: the anguish coming from limited options, the idea of suffering for nothing, of being evaluated and imprisoned into categories outside of one’s control, the crushing feeling of inadequacy, of accepting sacrifices and yet being labelled as a disappointment. Jon described it as an “intricate hateful bureaucracy of hundreds of thousands of doomed souls”, and there was indeed a big aspect of it evoking modern workplace environments (… unfortunately).

Even with the description and the beginning of the statement, I was surprised that this one was a Flesh domain! I do get the “Meat is Me” aspect (the idea of being reduced to meat and value, of being stuck in an abattoir), but I reaaaally felt a Vast vibe in it (being one amongst thousands, of time and space spreading, of being meaningless) with dots of Web (being absolutely dispossessed of agency, having the “choice” to rebel and being conscious enough of the decision not to) and maybe of Lonely (disconnected from the others, lost-in-the-crowd yet unable to reach anyone). One gigantic blob of terror, I know, but it’s a nice feeling when Jon labels a domain and I got a slightly different vibe, while seeing and understanding Jon’s logic!

  (- Re: time, it was also very striking in this one that Jon is not exactly describing things as they are happening, but condensing them, since this one would spread through “years”:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “Time has no meaning in this place – but that does nothing to lessen the certainty that Tyler has been in this line for years.”

Or. Well. That time experienced in the domain is an absolutely subjective experience, to the point that it might be possible that, actually, Jon is still telling the story as it happens although there would be no way for his words to match the rhythm of the events he describes? It’s still dream-logic, so whatever can happen.)

  - ;; Once again, domains affecting victims’ abilities to remember or be conscious of anything that happened to them before the Change (or creating memories to hurt them more efficiently):

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “Next to him, Charlie saw Ryan, who he’d known since childhood – though the other details were hazy. Ryan gave him a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile – before his face exploded inwards to a sniper’s bullet, peppering the boat with shards of bone and gore.”

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where nobody could stomach to check, where good neighbours wouldn’t dream to speculate.”

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: “Its pace remaining as it ever was, it does not care for coming pains as you are torn. Doesn’t it know who you are? No…  And soon… neither will you. […] You will be someone again, someday. […] “I’m still Hannah!” you try to scream, but are you? No. Perhaps there’s some Veronica as fragments there, or Julian, or Anya, but… no. You feel the last of names and “who” you might have been be torn away and borne towards new bodies. New pages, blank; determined to be people.”

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this “forever wall of earth”? Sam did not know. Time had no meaning here. […] His existence was static, and eternal. Immutable. “Sleep” was only a memory, because even the prospect of unconsciousness might have made his present state slightly more bearable. Food as well, he knew, must be a thing, for he could feel the hunger, but his imagination failed to picture it. The only smell he knew was the damp, and the dirt.”

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “How long as she lived here? How long have these cramped, dingy rooms in the back of this sprawling rundown tenement been the place her heart calls home? She cannot recall, but long enough for her to grow into love for it, to cherish every rusted appliance, every crumbling piece of plasterboard, every – flickering – lightbulb. […] Sabina cannot… picture their faces, but knows that should they wake to see the state of the place… their anger would be blistering. […] What floor was her flat on again? Surely, it can’t be this high. […] Limping and desperate, she turns to see her furniture in flames, the bookshelves full of memories, that she can’t quite place [STATIC RISES] but knows are precious to her, curl and float away as ash. The photos on the wall of her family whose faces seem indistinct but she knows that she loves, begin to blacken, as the glass pops out of the frame.”

(MAG170) MARTIN: … It’s sort of weird, isn’t it? [CREAKING] A smell can trigger memory so… powerfully. Like this one; it, it–it makes me think of… [INHALE] Hm. [INHALE] Hm. I, I don’t know. Is it a person? A place? No, no; people, people don’t smell like that. Besides, I’m all alone. … I’m, I’m all alone. [CREAKING] Why, why am I alone? I, I shouldn’t be alone! There should be people! It’s such a, such a big house, my house, there mu–, there must be other people! People who care. Unless…

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: “When it had first covered her home, bathing the street beyond her window in unexpected shade, she had thought it an eclipse. There wasn’t supposed to be one then, she is… sure of that – although if pressed, she could not have told you what day it is today. Before the shadow fell, she is sure that the sun was shining brightly – although, if pressed, she could not have pictured it. And the humid heat of a lingering summer had left the world sleepy, and unprepared – although, if pressed, she remembers the heat, but not the season. […] Mehreen cannot quite make out their faces as she bundles them into the car, old and shuddering as it coughs into life. Does she remember having a child? A spouse? Does she remember her mother having such a cruel sneer? It doesn’t matter. They are here now, and she has to save them.”

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “It’s faded now. He remembers aches and worries and, sometimes, something that might have been joy…! But it’s far away now, like something seen projected on a distant wall.

I still wonder if that situation will evolve, by MAG200… Jon said that the Fears would stay as long as there are people to fear them, and the current status quo is that victims are imprisoned in a loop – their fears made manifest, torturing them in turn, leading to more fear, their perceptions and memories biased to prevent them from feeling something else. We’ve seen how anchors could work as a point of focus to get out of their grasp; it’s not possible with how the world is shaped now, but if the victims could remember something else than their fears, maybe…?

  - Oh! I hadn’t noticed/wondered if there was an echo of Beholding in the domain itself in a while, but:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “Even if he had the will to, Tyler could not have struggled: the movements of the things scrutinising him are as gently unstoppable as a piston.”

… that’s a big Eye mood.

  - Same as in the Slaughter domain, it seems to be a loop of fear:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “There is a rumbling in the earth around him, as a tank speeds along its unstoppable path, and Charlie is immediately pulled under its tread. He has a moment of shocked horror, before being reduced to a smear in the mud. […] Next to his bleeding corpse, Charlie wakes from what passes for sleep in this place. A sergeant is yelling at him, screaming for him to take his gun and get into the waiting transport.”

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: “The tragedy of Francis. A comic puppet show, in all acts. Act 48067”. […] And so it will be until the curtain descends at last, and THE SPIDER resets the scene, its belly already beginning to swell once again with replacements for the creatures it so gorily birthed. AUDIENCE (BACKGROUND): [LAUGHS] Pause, for laughter. AUDIENCE (BACKGROUND): [LOUD CLAPS] And so the curtains descends.” AUDIENCE (BACKGROUND): [LOUD CLAPS AND CHEERING] [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: “The tragedy of Francis. A comic puppet show in all acts. Act 48068.”

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “The last thing he sees before returning to the processing line… is everything going into the garbage. There wasn’t a single, suitable cut.”

(And I’m still dubious of Oliver’s claim that The End’s domain was better than the others and would deliver it for real! Though Jon mentioned dream-logic as the rule at work, to explain why Daisy wouldn’t be coming back if killed… so maybe enough belief in The End as an absolute ending makes it real in that world. Mm…)

  - Back to Martin worrying over victims’ feelings, and being vocal about it!

(MAG163) MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. MARTIN: Don’t be a prick, Jon. Hey! I’m, I’m sorry about him. He’s–he’s going through a lot – well… we all are, I suppose, but well… “Hi”, I guess. [SILENCE] Hello? ARCHIVIST: They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die. MARTIN: Jon…

(MAG178) MARTIN: [HUSHED] Oh, would you both just keep it down, please? ARCHIVIST: They’re not aware of us, Martin, I keep telling you. MARTIN: Yeah, I know, but it’s not okay to talk as though they’re not there. They’re still people. […] [MARTIN JOSTLES A BODY] MARTIN: Excuse me. ARCHIVIST: [EXASPERATED] Martin, they can’t hear you. MARTIN: [SHARP] I know, Jon, that’s not the point. ARCHIVIST: … All right…!

He hadn’t been vocal about it in a long time! (And he had felt a bit disconnected about it, to me, with the worms and the carousels.)

In comparison, I do understand Jon’s pragmatism in the uselessness of trying to Know who is real and not:

(MAG178) MARTIN: Wait–wait–wait, so… so it just… makes the rest of them up? ARCHIVIST: Er, maybe one in a hundred or so are actually real? The rest are there to make those people’s fears more acute. MARTIN: … That’s… Ugh, that’s somehow more disturbing. BASIRA: … How do you tell which is which? ARCHIVIST: I mean, you could ask me, I suppose. B–but I don’t… really see the point. Would it help you to know whose suffering is real and… whose is just a… grim reflection? [SILENCE] BASIRA: No. ARCHIVIST: Well, there you go then.

… but still, a bit aouch about that logic – it’s true that people in the domains are not aware of them, so taking them into account doesn’t change anything, but it still means ignoring real people. (I wonder if they will end up in a domain where victims are aware and conscious and a potential threat to them, if it’s the point of the domain?)

  - I’m glad, however, that Jon was trying to make them avoid the avatar of the place, because it was contrasting a lot with Jude:

(MAG169) MARTIN: That turn…! You, you took a hard turn after the roots back there. I knew that was a thing! Why are we here? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] It’s just… [INHALE] When you said… [SIGH] MARTIN: Jon, why have you taken us here? ARCHIVIST: Jude Perry. … This is where Jude Perry rules.

(MAG178) BASIRA: So who’s in charge, here? ARCHIVIST: Not anyone you’re familiar with. We won’t be meeting them. MARTIN: You’re not going to… y’know? [MARTIN VOCALISES AN EXPLOSION] ARCHIVIST: No. Even if I wanted to, he’s in the, uh… Main Processing Room, and believe me when I say that’s… not somewhere you want to be. MARTIN: … Yeah. I guess.

(And even with Oliver: Jon had made the decision that he wouldn’t pursue Oliver, but it had been shown as a rare act of mercy in the face of Oliver’s actions. Here, it really sounded like he wanted to spare Martin and Basira more suffering, didn’t want to put them in an upsetting situation.)

… a bit worried that Martin still hasn’t let it sink in that Jon didn’t want to go Kill Bill anymore because he felt that it was detrimental to himself, but to be fair, Martin sounded like he had asked just to clear it up and wasn’t pressuring, just checking.

  - OHOHOHOH about Martin’s frustration feeling extremely… meta (it’s something an audience would say):

(MAG178) MARTIN: [INHALE, EXPLOSIVE EXHALE] God, I hate all of these… loose ends…! ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s, it’s fine. [INHALE] We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go!

Both the thread imagery and the storytelling aspect are screaming a bit “Web?” (THIS IS HOW WEB!MARTIN CAN STILL W–)

  - I’m still a puddle on the floor about the fact that:

(MAG178) MARTIN: … Yeah. I guess. [INHALE, EXPLOSIVE EXHALE] God, I hate all of these… loose ends…! ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s, it’s fine. [INHALE] We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go! ARCHIVIST: Hm? MARTIN: [SIGH] Around Elias’s neck. ARCHIVIST: … Ah.

MartinElias. The MartinElias in season 5 is so delightful *snif*. Strangulation? That’s such an intimate way of killing… It’s what Will described as what his preferred method for killing Hannibal would be… My MartinElias rights…

I love how. Martin. Just brings up Elias so much this season.

(MAG161) MARTIN: Elias won, and there were some tapes he’d kept for himself, and he wanted to gloat. So, he sent them! ARCHIVIST: He’s not… MARTIN: I–I don’t see– ARCHIVIST: … “Elias”. MARTIN: Jonah, then. I don’t know, I find it hard to think of him as… I don’t really like to think of him!

(MAG162) MARTIN: Do you think it’ll do anything? Confronting Elias?

(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias?

(MAG170) MARTIN: I mean, the interview was weird, I… I don’t really remember the man who talked to me. Just his eyes. They stared at me; th–through me, and… and, I–I knew that he knew what I’d done. God, I…! I was so scared, but… but then he smiled and shook my hand…! What was his name? [CREAKING] He said I “had the job”…! [CHUCKLE] That he “looked forward to working with me”! … I was still so scared I could barely move my arm…! I was so terrified I’d let him down…!

(MAG174) MARTIN: … Hang on, you’re still down to kill Elias, right? Uh, oh, Jonah, whatever.

(MAG177) BASIRA: … So what’s your plan? MARTIN: Long-term? Elias. He’s up in that that… “Panopticon” tower thing.

(MAG178) MARTIN: God, I hate all of these… loose ends…! ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s, it’s fine. [INHALE] We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go! ARCHIVIST: Hm? MARTIN: [SIGH] Around Elias’s neck.

* “I don’t really like to think of him!” said Martin Blackwood, before proceeding to mention Elias at every turn. (And still “Elias”! Jon and Martin seem to have completely given up on calling him “Jonah”. He’s still “Elias” for them, even though they know who he truly is.)

* Oh, Martin… He really seems to have decided that “killing Elias/getting revenge on Elias” was their goal, and that it would do anything good. Jon has already proven that killing avatars in domains didn’t free victims, didn’t improve their situations; that the domains just… kept going, even “unsupervised”. Even if Jonah is still around in some shape or form (in his old decaying body, in “Elias Bouchard”’s body, merged with the Panopticon, anything), and even if he is the ruler of the Panopticon (not a given, since Jon said that they were heading towards his own domain: unclear if it was the Archives, the Institute, the Panopticon, or all of them)… killing him would not fix the world. Is Martin absolutely in denial about this? Or does he need a small goal to keep going and process his feelings?

(;; And there is just a huge chance that… Martin is mostly feeling guilty about what happened, about the fact that he had the chance and opportunity to kill Elias but refused to do so, and that it led to Jon getting his last mark with The Lonely (with potential additions of not having checked the package they had received, and having chosen to leave Jon unsupervised while he would read a statement). The episode was about Basira knowing all along what was happening but trying to pretend she didn’t, and how this prevented her from reaching her goal (Daisy); I wonder if Martin will soon have to undergo the same process, to allow him and Jon to reach the Panopticon…)

  - About Jon’s need for a stop:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Left. [INHALE] Just up ahead. [STATIC FADES] Although, uh… Hum… Actually, you might want to head through that door and… wait. BASIRA: Again? Already? ARCHIVIST: There’s a lot of fear in this place. […] MARTIN: New plan. We wait in the corridor; you go in the spike cupboard and tell your story to all the… hooks and stuff.

Once again, it’s definitely presented as Jon having to unload an excess, and I’m really interested in Martin’s lexicon. In MAG177, he called it a “statement”, and this time, presented it as “tell[ing] [his] story to all the hooks and stuff”: “story” had been how Fanshawe had described Albrecht von Closen pouring out his horrors, and Martin’s formulation took into consideration the need for an audience. Jon did introduce the tape recorder as a necessary audience in MAG163 while he was giving the domain’s statement (and he had mentioned how “pouring out” into them had helped him to understand what the cabin was doing, in MAG162), but really, I’m struck with how similar Jon sounds to how Fanshawe had described Albrecht?

(And what is happening with the tape recorder, what is Jon creating through them…)

  - Uh! So it seems like Basira got Enough already, by listening to Jon last time. Not keen to reiterate the experience, uh. (Well: it’s mostly Jon who, first and foremost, took it as a given that Basira wouldn’t be listening either.)

  - I’m fond of the fact that:

(MAG178) [DOOR OPENS AND METALLIC JANGLING IS HEARD] MARTIN: [EMPHATICALLY] Nope! BASIRA: … What the hell sort of tools are those? ARCHIVIST: “Flesh” factory, remember?

The tools weren’t described. Some things better left to imagination, nondescript but evoked through characters’ reactions, uh?

  - ;w; Is Jon still worried about Martin potentially losing himself in a domain? He really almost lost Martin in the Lonely house, and Martin had wandered away too deep in the Web one:

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: Oh, Martin! Thank god, I, I was… I–I thought you were behind me. [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: I thought you’d left me behind…! Gone on without me.

(MAG172) MARTIN: No, I… Not for most of it. I just thought I heard… something. Whatever. I went exploring, all right? I don’t know why; I shouldn’t have. ARCHIVIST: No, you–you shouldn’t have!

(MAG178) MARTIN: New plan. We wait in the corridor; you go in the spike cupboard and tell your story to all the… hooks and stuff. ARCHIVIST: … Fine. Just don’t wander off.

… I really wonder if, at some point, Jon will try to come back to Martin&Basira, and they’ll be just… gone, because of Helen, Annabelle, or the domain’s work. (… It might be how Daisy could appear? While Jon is focusing on a statement and unaware that she reached them first?)

  - Martin has his Limits and will be vocal about it:

(MAG178) MARTIN: [EMPHATICALLY] Nope! […] New plan. We wait in the corridor; you go in the spike cupboard and tell your story to all the… hooks and stuff.

… but mostly, I’m snickering so hard, because. It was.

It was.

It was Martin refusing to go into the closet. I’ve been snickering about it for a week, alright.

  - … I really wonder what Martin was talking about with Basira:

(MAG178) MARTIN: –I know, I know you find it hard whe– … Done already? ARCHIVIST: Yes. [INHALE] Talking about me? BASIRA: … I assume that’s a rhetorical question. ARCHIVIST: I am trying to keep my powers to myself. BASIRA: Sure! MARTIN: I was just… giving Basira some advice. ARCHIVIST: [GOOD-NATURED] Avatars are from Mars and humans are from Venus, that sort of thing? MARTIN: [TINY CHUCKLE] I mean… yeah? Sort of? ARCHIVIST: [BRIEF CHUCKLE] MARTIN: Well, w–we were pretty much done anyway.

… Jon’s shitty sense of humour… (Was that an allusion to the feared vs. the fearful, as Helen made the distinction? To the Jon/Martin relationship as avatar/human? x’))

Was Martin’s “advice” about how to not take what Jon was saying too badly, how to try to talk with him constructively since she and Jon had grown sour towards each other in season 4? … Or does Martin have a plan in the making, that requires Jon to not know about it? Because this episode and the previous one made a point to remind us…

(MAG177) BASIRA: … What’s it like? Being with someone who can see the inside of your head? MARTIN: Hm? Oh! Oh no, he doesn’t. I told him not to, and so he tries to… look away? BASIRA: And you trust him to do that. MARTIN: [DECISIVE] Yes. I do.

… that Jon doesn’t know what is happening in Martin’s head since Martin asked him not to “know” about him…

(I’m glaaad that Martin and Basira are talking outside of Jon!!)

  - I like the contrast between Jon absolutely knowing what he was doing, where he was leading Basira and Martin… and the fact that Basira didn’t know about it.

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Next one’s through here. BASIRA: Next one? ARCHIVIST: Her latest victim. [DOOR IS WRENCHED OPEN WITH A METALLIC CREAK] MARTIN: [REELS] Oh… [SOUNDS OF FLIES BUZZING]

Not exceptionally great from Jon, but typical from season 5 – it just highlights how much Jon knows how the world operate, what is around them, is indeed almost completely omniscient… and forgets how others aren’t.

  - I really, really love how Daisy’s victims have been introduced for these past two episodes:

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: We’re here. [DOOR CREAKS] MARTIN: … Oh! Jesus… [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: Yes. Horrible way to go…! BASIRA: You’re sure this is Daisy’s handiwork? ARCHIVIST: Positive. […] I could tell you. BASIRA: [EXHALE] Don’t bother. I know who he is. MARTIN: What? BASIRA: [SIGH] Noah Thomson. That… nasty piece of work. Crossed him a few times when we weren’t doing sectioned work. Last I heard, he’d dodged a GBH charge Daisy brought him in on. Blinded a guy during a robbery. I guess she didn’t forget. MARTIN: Wait. Wait, so… so, she’s hunting down criminals? People who she… thinks got away with stuff? BASIRA: … Sure. ARCHIVIST: Really? As simple as that? BASIRA: What’s your point? ARCHIVIST: What, you think he ended up in Wonderland House at random? We’re just going to ignore it, and write him off as a “nasty piece of work”? BASIRA: We don’t have time for this. ARCHIVIST: Then we should make time. You want to hear how he ended up blinding that man? Because it wasn’t a robbery. He was running away from Daisy, lashing out in a panic. The court believed it. But you believed her…

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Recognise her… BASIRA: … No… I don’t think I do. ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t a question. It was an instruction, we can’t… move on until you do. MARTIN: Jon, what are you getting at? ARCHIVIST: This isn’t just a journey through spaces. BASIRA: … Fine, I recognise her. I don’t know her name, though. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Isabelle Moran. Shoplifter, drug addict. [STATIC FADES] Daisy was certain she was dealing as well, derailed her recovery twice.

Jon asking Basira to “recognise” the victims is such a significant move? It’s about giving them some dignity back: we’re given their names and last names (which… is more than what we’re getting in the domains’ statements; it feels more real); we’re being introduced to who they were through their identity, their history, what was done to them, the wrongs done to them… both as humans actions (the hurt Daisy caused as a police officer, although influenced by The Hunt) and as monstrous actions (Daisy butchered them as a beast). It feels very striking that most of the violence inflicted upon them is… not especially the fact that they’ve been murdered in these domains (Jon implied they should respawn?), but really, about what was done to them before, and how fundamentally Daisy’s behaviour had hurt them.

I really like how Jon is pushing Basira to acknowledge all of this, to process Daisy’s responsibility (and indirectly, hers, as someone who let it happen)? There is something very empathetic, very powerful in the fact that what needs to be done is about seeing the harm, understanding how it happened, before being able to proceed to the next step and take actions?

  (- Basira, serial Sayer Of Fuck And Swears:

(MAG143) BASIRA: [SIGH] So, what, this was another waste of time? What, no Church, no Dark Sun? … I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch…!

(MAG148) BASIRA: You sent us to the North fucking Pole for no goddamn reason. ELIAS: A, a–hem… miscalculation.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [DEEP EXHALATION] … Satisfied? BASIRA: Ff… Fuck.

(MAG178) BASIRA: Don’t give me that patronising, ominous-oracle bullshit, Jon. I’m not an idiot…! […] Of course I fucking care!

Now she’s on equal ground with Jon!)

  - Basira broke my heart into tiny pieces this episode, because all her prickly behaviours were bad, as she was put in that uncomfortable situation and trying to flee (while Jon relentlessly pushed her to see)… and it felt so human in its own way?

(MAG155) BASIRA: I’m trying to convince her to go after them. To, er… “Hunt” them. ARCHIVIST: Why? BASIRA: Because I’m not going to lose her. ARCHIVIST: She goes Hunting again, you might anyway. BASIRA: And if she doesn’t, she might die. ARCHIVIST: Something you’re fine with in certain other cases. And something she’s made peace with. BASIRA: Because of the guilt she feels over the stuff The Hunt made her do…! It’s not her fault. ARCHIVIST: Earlier, when she was still out of it, I, uh… I “saw” some of the things she was talking about, some of the things she did, while she was police. I’m not convinced I disagree with her assessment. [PAUSE] Do you want me to tell you? BASIRA: No. No, I don’t. ARCHIVIST: … You knew, didn’t you? You knew the sort of things she did, and you let her. BASIRA: No, not exactly. I thought… [PAUSE] It’s not that simple. ARCHIVIST: It never is. But that doesn’t make it okay.[SILENCE] BASIRA: None of us are who we were, Jon.[SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: No. I suppose not. In many ways, it’s simpler now, isn’t it? At least now, our demons have names. BASIRA: Mm.

(MAG178) BASIRA: Fine. Noted. Can we just move on please? ARCHIVIST: I’m afraid not. BASIRA: Why not? ARCHIVIST: We aren’t finished here. BASIRA: Is that a threat? MARTIN: Guys, come on, don’t do this, not here. ARCHIVIST: I told you before, we can’t hunt a monster you refuse to see. BASIRA: Don’t give me that patronising, ominous-oracle bullshit, Jon. I’m not an idiot…! ARCHIVIST: I never said you were. MARTIN: Guys… BASIRA: [ANGRY] Look, I need you to lead the way. I don’t need your advice, and certainly don’t need you stood there judging me! MARTIN: [LOUDLY] Enough, enough! Someone has died! Show some respect. Or don’t you care? BASIRA: [INCENSED] Of course I fucking care! … [QUIETER] That’s the problem. MARTIN: I… I don’t understand. BASIRA: … I just… I don’t need him laying everything out for me like I’m some kind of idiot. I know, all right? Daisy is the only person I could ever rely on and… [GETTING QUIET AND SHAKY] And she… she did things, terrible things, and I… [SIGH] I refused to see it or… said it was my duty, or whatever. I don’t know. MARTIN: Basira…

Basira’s discomfort had to do with her feeling judged, criticised, leading her to get so defensive, all of which we’d already seen a lot in season 4! It’s a defence mechanism! And we finally could see what she was hiding, the feelings she didn’t want others to see! It was long due, and it was such an amazing pay-off!!!

I feel like it’s the equivalent of Melanie in MAG131, and Daisy in MAG132, when they explained themselves to Jon, gave him the keys to understand what was happening in their heads and why they behaved like they did, and, once again, it was such a precious, sensitive moment?

(MAG178) BASIRA: I care, I just… I don’t need to wallow in it. I need to end it. All of it. MARTIN: … We’re here for you. BASIRA: No. She was there for me. ARCHIVIST: … “Cops versus robbers and monsters”… BASIRA: I thought we were doing good. I really did…! I knew there was some bad shit, I knew Daisy was into a lot of it, but… I thought it balanced out. [WEAKLY] … I thought we were good. ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] I know how that feels. BASIRA: … I wanted to help people, you know? When I first joined. Protect people. But then I saw what some of those same people were capable of, and… something changed. I wanted to hurt them, the ones that deserved it, and it… it felt good, it felt… righteous. I thought I could feel the line, though, I really did. Eventually, though, it was… too much. [PAUSE] I was going to quit. I couldn’t… take what I saw myself becoming, but… then I got sectioned, and suddenly… suddenly it turned out there were real monsters out there, and… Well, that just made the power feel better. So things kept slipping. But… Daisy was always there for me. MARTIN: All those innocent people… BASIRA: Were they? Innocent? ARCHIVIST: Some. And if not? [INHALE] What crime warrants what was done to them? Theft? Violence? Disrespect?

* Honestly, the raw vulnerability, melancholia and sadness? It was my favourite performance from Frank ever.

* I really love how it tied in with what Basira had already said about her relationship to police, that she had never really felt extremely attached to the profession (MAG117: “I don’t want to be here. But by the end, I didn’t want to be police either, so… guess I don’t really know what I do want, which… maybe that’s just as well. My options… they’ve gotten a lot narrower over the last year.”). It’s just such a sad story because, in her case, she hadn’t gone there for the power (unlike Daisy); as she explained, she had good intentions… and the structure in place tends to sour and corrupt, encourages its agents to abuse their power, won’t make them become better persons (will only make them worse), and turns out to be a threat for the vulnerable instead of protecting them. It’s even sadder that Basira thought about quitting shortly before she got sectioned because, with the timeline in mind:

(MAG043) BASIRA: Okay, well, the first time I got hit with a Section 31 was five years ago, August 2011. I’d got my badge the year before that, and was still getting used to some of the more stressful bits of the job.

It happened barely a year after she joined the police. And she was already aware that she was becoming someone she didn’t like, that she was doing terrible things, and was considering quitting because of it…

* The “I wanted to hurt them, the ones that deserved it” reminded me a bit of Melanie explaining her anger in MAG131, and I’m sad in retrospect about how… Basira and Melanie could have understood each other much better in season 4 if the circumstances had been different…

* I also like how the existence of the supernatural goes hand in hand with Daisy’s side of things: the monsters and the avatars were a pretext for Hunters to unleash their violence. It was never about protecting the population from dangerous people; it was about having easily digestible targets, which allowed them to feel good about being violent (since, after all, they were only eradicating threats, right?). As both Basira and Jon pointed out:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: … “Cops versus robbers and monsters”… BASIRA: I thought we were doing good. I really did…! I knew there was some bad shit, I knew Daisy was into a lot of it, but… I thought it balanced out. [WEAKLY] … I thought we were good.

It wasn’t a clear-cut situation – there were monsters out there. But we’ve also seen how so many of these monsters had initially been preyed upon by the entities, had initially been trying to survive, and how the line about their “badness”… wasn’t as easy to establish as characters would have liked. (And, in Daisy’s case: indeed, it wasn’t worth it anyway to… push struggling people deeper into misery, just because she had power over them, and Daisy, in season 4, was the first to remind people of it.)

* T__T I really love the… complexity of Basira’s situation? How would you react if the person there for you, representing a fixed point (your anchor?), turned out to be doing wrong things? In theory, it feels easy to answer that the good behaviour would be to turn your back on them, or to try to make them improve; and in practice, in Basira’s case, it meant allowing her whole system to collapse, and having to rebuild from there. I’m really fond of how she explained that she wasn’t stupid, that she was still aware of what was happening: that she still chose the pack mentality over a rejection of that system, but that she was already disillusioned with it. Basira had often felt a bit… emptier than the other characters; we only knew of a life-lesson given by her father, and the rest of her life seems to have been tied to the police force for the past few years, before she joined the Institute. It has really felt like Daisy was what brought her stability and peace. And yet: Daisy did awful things, Basira enabled her by trying to think it was for the greater good (MAG091: “But I… I always thought you just killed monsters.”), and Basira wasn’t even able to make the most of her return in season 4, when Daisy wanted to improve, since Basira was stuck on the idea that they needed a strong defence against threats… (And I wonder how much of Basira’s initial rejection of Daisy in season 4 had to do with the fact that… allowing herself to understand and hear the “new Daisy” would mean having to acknowledge that the old one had been bad and wrong; that Basira had allowed her to be monstrous, and that they both shared responsibility in those crimes.)

  - Really loved Martin’s attempt, too:

(MAG178) MARTIN: … We’re here for you. BASIRA: No. She was there for me.

Because it said so much, that Martin used a present tense while Basira answered in the past (as if, after Daisy, there couldn’t be anyone else). It also put back in my mind how Basira had tried to be a bit softer on Martin at first, after his mother died (MAG127: “But I didn’t want to push it. He was in a… bad place, what with the attack and his mum and everything, so I didn’t press it.”) but didn’t provide comfort either; and how, even earlier, Basira and Martin had tried to be there for Melanie when they learned what Elias had done to her (MAG110). There’s still a lot of ice, but I’m glad that Martin offered, and that Basira didn’t attack him on it either – she’s mourning (that past tense in “she WAS there for me”…), but not… absolutely rejecting him either.

  - In the moments of small understandings, Jon’s was also noteworthy:

(MAG178) BASIRA: I thought we were doing good. I really did…! I knew there was some bad shit, I knew Daisy was into a lot of it, but… I thought it balanced out. [WEAKLY] … I thought we were good. ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] I know how that feels.

Since he also had to face the reality that the Archives team hadn’t really been doing “good” either, although he had tried to cling to the idea:

(MAG150) MELANIE: Because this place is evil, Jon! And so… doing this job… ARCHIVE: [LOUD EXHALE] MELANIE: Helping it out… even in small ways, i–is in some way… evil too! Every time we try to use it to do good, it just seems to make everything worse, and… and I will not be a part of that anymore. ARCHIVIST: What about The Unknowing? We, we saved the world! MELANIE: Did we? I… I mean, I–I think it was the right thing to do, but how many people were killed to do it? We, we weren’t even a neutral party; we did it as agents of The Eye, because Elias told us to. ARCHIVIST: An–and then you put him in jail! MELANIE: Martin put him there. And, and–and he’s still doing harm.

(With the additional fact that Jon had indeed saved Melanie and Daisy, but had attacked five people during the season; that The Unknowing would have failed anyway; and that ultimately, a lot of Jon’s “good” actions had also marked him as a preparation to Jonah’s ritual.)

Re: Jon’s situation, it’s the same thing with Basira’s declaration about caring:

(MAG178) MARTIN: [LOUDLY] Enough, enough! Someone has died! Show some respect. Or don’t you care? BASIRA: [INCENSED] Of course I fucking care! … [QUIETER] That’s the problem. MARTIN: I… I don’t understand.

(MAG152) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … When does it stop? HELEN: What? ARCHIVIST: The guilt… The misery… All the others I’ve met, they’ve been… cold. Cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does The Eye… make me monstrous?

It had been Jon’s “problem”, too: how he was conscious and aware of the suffering he caused, and how he had to live with it, wasn’t okay with it. I really like how it feels like, finally, after season 4, Basira is able to participate in a conversation where they’re opening up, talking in good faith, trying to understand each other and… not hurt each other anymore? How they can relate, or just listen?

  - I’m back to sobbing about Jon and Daisy’s relationship in season 4 because:

(MAG178) BASIRA: [SHAKY] … You knew her. She was trying to be better…! ARCHIVIST: She was. But she never asked me to forgive her. BASIRA: Forgive her? ARCHIVIST: … I’ve been scared, terrified for my life so many times these last few years, but I’ve never, not once, felt so horribly, abjectly powerless as when she… took me into that forest to kill me. I’ll never forget it. MARTIN: … You never said. ARCHIVIST: It’s not easy to talk about. MARTIN: Oh, Jon… BASIRA: … And would you have? Forgiven her? ARCHIVIST: No… But she never asked me. She knew she had no right. [SILENCE]

… It’s still “aouch”, but not surprising: Daisy had been terrifying in MAG091, absolutely hammering in that Jon’s life was in her hands, that she had decided who and what he was and what he deserved. It had been a very hard scene, cruel and violent, a demonstration of what Daisy could do (and had done)… and I really don’t feel like it negates the moments she and Jon shared in season 4, it mostly just casts another dimension on it? How Jon was a bit tense and awkward around her, and slowly mellowed down:

(MAG133) DAISY: You sure? ARCHIVIST: No, uh, it’s, hum. It’s fine. DAISY: It’s just… Basira’s busy. ARCHIVIST: I–I understand. Ho–honestly, er, I’d actually appreciate your insights, er, for this one, just… You know, keep quiet during the statement and that. DAISY: Sure. I, I can do quiet. ARCHIVIST: Right. Er, oh, do you want a chair? DAISY: No. ARCHIVIST: Oh. Okay.

(MAG136) MELANIE: W–well, I’ve kind of got to… uhm. I’ve got somewhere to be. Do you mind if, if… she hangs around, with… ARCHIVIST: Er… I suppose… Not at all. She’s very welcome. […] Are you alright? DAISY: Asked me that already. ARCHIVIST: Right. Sorry. DAISY: I didn’t ask her. To do that. ARCHIVIST: I–it–it’s fine. […] DAISY: Get over yourself! You’re always talking about choices – we all made ours. Now I’m making the choice… to get some drinks in. Coming? ARCHIVIST: I d–… I… [SIGH] … yeah? Okay. DAISY: Melanie’s out, but I’ll go get Basira. ARCHIVIST: Is she… W–will she want to join us? DAISY: If she doesn’t, I’ll rip her throat out. ARCHIVIST: Uh… DAISY: It’s a joke, Jon. ARCHIVIST: … oh. Hahah…! Yes… Uh, I–I’ll get my coat.

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: The others are doing… better, I think. Basira’s busy doing research for something secretive, unsurprisingly. But she seems to be adjusting to, uh… the new Daisy. I actually like Daisy now, which is a… really weird feeling.

(MAG153) ARCHIVIST: Are you alright? DAISY: [BREATHLESS] Don’t touch me. ARCHIVIST: Christ, he was right, I, I didn’t… When did you get so thin? DAISY: I’m not, it’s fine. ARCHIVIST: … It’s The Hunt, isn’t it? Without it– DAISY: I’m fine. Just haven’t been hungry. I’m strong enough. ARCHIVIST: Clearly. […] Even so, if it’s having this much of an effect on you– DAISY: I’m not going back. I can’t let it in again. ARCHIVIST: But it– … What if it kills you? DAISY: [CHORTLE] Always said I was dedicated to justice…! ARCHIVIST: Daisy! It’s not… You can’t think like that. DAISY: Jon. Do you have any idea how much damage you can do if you’re a police officer who wants to hurt people? How much the system will protect you? ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INHALE] DAISY: I managed to keep most of it from Basira, but… ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t you, that was The Hunt! DAISY: … [SIGH] We were the same. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … You’d never known anything different. [SILENCE] DAISY: Because I never wanted to. All that time trapped was good for one thing: thinking. And I did a lot of it. I’ve made my choice.

I feel like… there is a form of deep respect from Jon, when he explained how Daisy didn’t ask for forgiveness – because it proved, in a way, that Daisy was very aware that the harm she had done was too huge to be forgiven, and that she couldn’t ask that from him (and that it might be a reason why Jon accepted to get closer with her in the first place: because she wasn’t lying when she said that she now understood how terrible she had been). We’ve seen, however, how Daisy was quick to apologise:

(MAG132) DAISY: [CRIES OF PAIN] I’m, I’m sorry… I’m sorry Jon… I’m sorry…

(MAG142) MARTIN: I know. [PAUSE] Not nice being interrogated, is it? DAISY: I… [EXHALE] Oh. MARTIN: Yeah. [SILENCE] DAISY: [INHALE] I’m sorry, Martin. MARTIN: It’s alright. Wasn’t you. [INHALE] Not really. DAISY: No, it was. I hate… a lot of what I did back then; doesn’t mean I’m not… responsible for it, doesn’t mean it… wasn’t me.

But indeed: never asked to be forgiven. And it might strike a very personal chord for Jon, since… he knows, first-hand, how it is to not be forgiven:

(MAG119) TIM: Jon, I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can… ARCHIVIST: [FAINTLY AND FAR] Tim…? TIM: I don’t forgive you. But thank you for this.

(If I remember correctly, the only time Jon had asked to be forgiven had been to the assistants through the tape recorder, when threatened by the Not!Them and panicking. But, same as Daisy: afterwards, he said “sorry”, and didn’t ask for it.)

  - There is another thing, not mentioned but hard to forget if we’re talking about Daisy’s victims, including Jon: what about Jon’s? What about the statement-givers who were plagued by the nightmares, and specifically the ones he attacked knowing the harm that he would do to them? We’re exploring the harm Daisy caused to her victims, I wonder if we’re heading towards what Jon did to these people, too… (Are they waiting at the Panopstitute or the Archives, since it’s “Jon’s domain”? He used to terrorise them through the nightmare zoo, and had claimed them for Beholding: but in this new world, he doesn’t sleep anymore. It would feel logical that… they’re still trapped and victimised by The Eye as of now.)

  - Early season, Jon had really felt like Virgil leading Dante (Martin) through the circles of Hell, and there is a bit of that with Basira too! Except that it’s not a didactic exploration of divine retribution/punishment, but… precisely, it is about how the “punishments” were the problems, how nobody was inherently unsalvable (or even, how everyone was plain pushed towards misery because of a biased repressive system)? There is still that idea of guiding Basira, both physically and mentally, through a terrible and hard journey, to make her able to see the reality of the world and reach her goal… (and that makes Daisy “Beatrice”. Who is… already dead TT__TT)

  - From MAG163 to MAG177 (excluding MAG167, which was Jon&Martin taking a break and Jon giving the statements about the Archives during Gertrude’s tenure), we crossed through all the Fears present in Jonah’s invocation, minus Beholding itself and plus Extinction. MAG178’s was explicitly labelled as The Flesh; although it was another aspect from Jared’s garden, it’s still a “repeat”. I would infer that, either Jon&Martin’s journey has been set aside and put on hold right now (since they’re focusing on finding Daisy), and they now will be able to reach the Panopticon as soon as they’re done with this current quest… either no, going through one domain of each Fear wasn’t the point of Jon&Martin’s journey to reach the Panopticon, and it is something else. Since they left the cabin, Jon had mentioned multiple times that their journey wasn’t a purely physical one, that there was a meaning underneath it:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: Geography doesn’t work anymore. Space… doesn’t work. MARTIN: … All right. So what does that mean? ARCHIVIST: It means the journey will be the journey, regardless of how we choose to make it. […] You see that tower, way off in the distance? MARTIN: Yeah. [PAUSE] [SIGH] It’s watching us, isn’t it? [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: The Panopticon and the Institute. Merged into something entirely new. MARTIN: Wha–, what? No, th–there’s, there’s no way we could see it from here. We, we must still be a hundred miles from the border, never mind London! ARCHIVIST: You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between.

(MAG164) MARTIN: How much further do we still need to go? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: A long way. Through many dark and awful places… […] MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched.

(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: She was here, but the corridors of this place are… Rushing isn’t going to close the distance faster, it’s more about how we choose to move through these domains rather than our speed. BASIRA: What does that mean? MARTIN: I’ve been with him the whole way and I still don’t know. ARCHIVIST: It means we’ll reach her quicker if you stop tearing off, and let me concentrate on finding a proper path through this place. […] BASIRA: [ANGRY] I told you not to look in my head! ARCHIVIST: I didn’t. And I won’t. But you can’t hunt a monster that you refuse to see.

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t a question. It was an instruction, we can’t… move on until you do. MARTIN: Jon, what are you getting at? ARCHIVIST: This isn’t just a journey through spaces. […] We aren’t finished here. […] I told you before, we can’t hunt a monster you refuse to see.

What is Jon’s and/or Martin’s journey? Basira has to learn to see/acknowledge the monster in order to hunt it; what is the mental process that Jon and/or Martin have to go through in order to be able to reach the Panopticon again? Is it about guilt, about their active responsibility (vs. what wasn’t their fault)? Is it about the line between victims and culprits not being that simple to establish, and them being unequipped to judge? Is it about their own fears?

  - It felt like Basira made a lot of progress in this episode. She finally opened up and admitted how turning a blind eye had made her complicit. She implied that she had indeed tried to flee the responsibility of having to kill Daisy:

(MAG178) BASIRA: [QUIET] … I really am going to have to kill her, aren’t I? ARCHIVIST: There’s no way to bring her back. Not any more. At this point, if I tried to take away her fear… it would destroy her anyway. BASIRA: Am I even going to be able to? ARCHIVIST: Yes. BASIRA: And she stays dead? ARCHIVIST: In this case… yes. MARTIN: What about the powers? ARCHIVIST: Dream logic remember? She won’t come back. Trust me. BASIRA: … Does she want me to kill her? ARCHIVIST: She asked you to, didn’t she? BASIRA: No, I mean, right now. Is she suffering? ARCHIVIST: … No. Right now, she’s… She’s happy. MARTIN: [DEJECTED SIGH]

* Before this episode, Basira would probably have been unable to do it. Jon’s certainty contrasts with what he used to say about it:

(MAG164) MARTIN: What’s Basira going to do? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted. MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see.

So it feels like he, too, thinks that she’s now ready.

* I was wondering about whether or not Jon would be able to do anything to save Daisy with his powers: I was mostly waiting for him to explain whether he could or couldn’t help, I’m fine with this explanation (which makes sense in context). It also strikes me that… he had probably been mourning her for a while during that journey:

(MAG164) MARTIN: And Daisy? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: Bestial. Brutal. [STATIC DECREASES] [INHALE] Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood. … Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry…

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: Basira and Daisy. We’re close. MARTIN: Wait, what? Wait, really? B– Th–that’s brilliant! What are we waiting for, let’s go! ARCHIVIST: Uh, y–yeah, i–it’s… It’s not… it’s not going to be easy, things aren’t… good.

The fact that, despite Daisy’s murder attempt and the fact that it deeply traumatised Jon, they were able to form that friendship, feels so fragile and precious at the same time? Jon didn’t want to lose her. He’s not allowing her or letting her die because it feels like a fair punishment or the only way to deal with Daisy; it really feels like… it’s to honour Daisy’s last wish, as a person who wanted to be better and who got caught up by The Hunt.

* I’m a bit more curious about Jon explaining that Daisy would stay dead because of “dream-logic”: is it because of Jon’s own feelings influencing the world (if he feels like she’s dead for real, then she is)? Is it because, as long as Basira goes through that inner journey, killing someone in these circumstances can grant a “permanent” death unlike the domains? Is it because of their connection to The Eye…?

* é_è Basira’s last questions about what Daisy currently wanted broke my heart… and Jon’s answers did, too. It really feels like “Daisy” truly died in MAG158, uh? That what matters is what Daisy wanted while she was still herself, even though the beast she turned into is “happy” in this state. (And it requires a bit of faith: who is the real Daisy, which wish should be respected? The beast happy to hunt or kill? Or the assistant who was sorry about the harm she caused, withering while trying to “listen to the quiet”?

* Martin’s dejected sigh said a lot… Until now, he was mostly optimistic about the possibility of finding their “friends” back, of helping them. I don’t think he had envisioned that… no, Jon couldn’t save Daisy, could only “help” her by helping Basira to respect her last wish. (Martin was mostly withdrawn from that last conversation, and… yeah, it might have been a lot to internalise for him, too. Jon seems to have borne that knowledge for a while; it might even have contributed to his perception that he couldn’t improve the general situation whatsoever? While Martin, who was lacking the keys, had kept hoping that they could… do something good. Killing avatars, saving the children, helping their friends, maybe getting Daisy back. I wonder if the current circumstances are making him more susceptible to reach for Annabelle or answer her call a next time, since she had offered her “help” and Martin has been realising, lately, how powerless they are…)

  - This episode was a Lot of processing and of sadness, and that last note…

(MAG178) BASIRA: Killing her won’t undo any of it. But… that’s not the point. ARCHIVIST: No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.

* Killing Daisy will be hard, and indeed. It won’t even change the harm she caused, won’t change the apocalypse. It won’t even be a matter of “retribution” or “justice”; but I’m glad that Basira is aware of that already, and that “the point” lies elsewhere. In this context, it’s really about respecting Daisy’s choice and what she wanted, to allow her to escape The Hunt one last time – even if it means killing her, and to prevent what she became to cause more harm. It’s about Daisy. (Which requires, to reach her, to go through what she had done: the person she had wronged and whose story had been hidden until now.)

* … I really loved Jon’s sad insight about this world. It is an unfair world, an unfair system, quite often echoing what the old world was: Daisy’s victims were, after all, already crushed and pressured by an unfair society, already pursued by their own fears (MAG177: “it’s the worry that everything is, is awful, and it’s actually… your fault. That, that you made it up […]. What, you think he ended up in Wonderland House at random? We’re just going to ignore it, and write him off as a ‘nasty piece of work’?”; and it’s meaningful, in the same way, that in this episode, Isabelle Moran was found in this factory, where people are pressured and pushed around and ultimately labelled as “useless”).

* I still really wonder what all this means about Jonah. He was initially afraid to die, or to be subjected to a different apocalypse, so is he also a victim of “whatever hurts him the most” in this new world…? (I still really wonder how Jon will behave in front of Elias. We’ve seen, again and again, how labelling someone/something as a “monster” doesn’t cover the whole reality of it: the “criminals” were mostly dragged down by society, the cruel “avatars” had often been preyed upon when they were vulnerable… I can still dig Jonah as TheWorstTM, the selfish asshole who doomed the world for his own benefit; but I also feel like it would be very in synch with this season to… mostly have Jon spitting to his face about how pitiful and afraid he had been, and how fear had motivated his actions way more than he thought?)

* What is “what hurts Basira the most”, then? Is it to have to kill Daisy? To see and acknowledge their past actions? I wonder what will happen to her next: will she be pulled back in into a domain? Will she be spared because of Jon’s presence, or because of her connection to The Eye because she’s still an assistant? (I’m thinking again about the possibility of Jon’s victims being in the Panopticon right now: the assistants were protected from the nightmares once they had signed the contract… but Martin, Basira, Melanie and Georgie had all given their statements to Jon. Would they happen to all be journeying towards his domains in a way, because they belong there because of the statements they gave…?)

* Big question being, of course… what is “what hurts Jon the most”. Is it the guilt of having launched the apocalypse and having to benefit from it despite his disgust (he’s not hungry anymore, he’s aware that it does feel good in a way that he hates)? Is it to have to be a passive voyeur in this new world? Is it to lose his friends, first with Daisy? Is it The Web dancing around Martin? Is it something he knows about their journey or about the Panopticon, and doesn’t want to tell Martin yet…?

  - You could really see Basira’s progression through the episode, as she dealt with how Jon was leading the way:

(MAG178) BASIRA: … You’re sure she came through here? ARCHIVIST: Have I steered you wrong so far? BASIRA: I don’t know, do I? We haven’t actually found her yet. ARCHIVIST: We’re getting closer. BASIRA: Great. […] ARCHIVIST: Great. Well, in that case, shall we move on? BASIRA: After you. ARCHIVIST: … Right. […] BASIRA: … Can we move on, now? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Yes. I believe we can. This way.

From being distrustful of Jon to… being way more humble about it, and accepting that he knows what he’s doing and that it’s in her interest, too. From being suspicious and defensive, to cautious and strategic, to confiding and relying on him.

  - Overall, I’m “!!” because this episode… managed to sell me on Daisy’s death, while I was really dubious about it?

I was pre-emptively a bit disappointed about the possibility of Daisy coming back as a Hunt beast just to get killed, because I felt that it was a bit pointless to make it drag for so long, while she… could have died on her terms in MAG158 instead. But here, where to reach Daisy, in order to fulfil her promise, Basira has to see, process and acknowledge the harm Daisy had caused and that she had herself enabled? It works for me! It finally unlocks Basira’s own development, that I was hoping for; it’s sad as hell; and it’s not portrayed as Daisy’s punishment or retribution. It’s about both acknowledging the harm and damage Daisy had caused (as the process to be able to catch up to her), and about respecting Daisy as an individual who was capable of growth, exercised it, was aware of the wrong she had done and firmly owned up to it, and didn’t want to return to that life – but was forced to by a power too big and crushing, and circumstances playing against her. It’s not done as an act of hate or revenge, or because Daisy’s crimes are too heavy for her to be allowed to live. It’s not a death sentence. It’s both about acknowledging Daisy’s crimes and how she had wrecked people’s lives, how she had been allowed and enabled to unleash her violence and unfairness, how Basira had willingly decided to ignore most of Daisy’s actions, and it’s because Daisy didn’t want to be a “sadistic predator” again, and asked Basira to stop her, respecting the fact that Daisy had improved as a person (to the point that she knew she couldn’t ask for “forgiveness”). So, I’m relieved about how things are heading: it’s sad as fuck, I’m going to be miserable, but so far, things sound incredibly satisfying, narratively?

 (We know that The Eye might influence Jon to only see the worse or more painful side of things, so I’m not entirely ruling out that there could be a surprise, Martin doing something, or Annabelle, or Georgie&Melanie appearing with a solution? But I doubt it: I’m satisfied with the explanations given, how we’re prepared to say goodbye to Daisy, how respectful it is both of her victims and of her awareness of the harm she had caused, leading to her decision to be better… So, really, I’m fine. Crying in advance but FINE.)

    MAG179’s title screams “Basira!” (but could technically apply to Annabelle or Helen, or Jon himself…). I’m not sure Daisy is getting killed this episode, but we might get a whiff of her? Or a cliff-hanger about her towards the end?

Domain-wise, mm… Could be a pause like MAG167, could be Hunt or Slaughter, Corruption? (It does feel like an anti-Lonely title, mostly!)

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 13: Worst Fears

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve

Word count: 2040

Trigger warning, graphic descriptions of phobias, including arachnophobia, trypophobia, nyctophobia, extreme pain, and sleep paralysis. End of fear sequence is marked with .xXx. if you want to skip to the end for some fluff. Next chapter will be posted today as well

As soon as the toxin took hold, the room grew dimmer. In fact, it seemed to Elianna that the lights in the bedroom turned off completely, and her surroundings were illuminated only by the light coming in from the living room and the large window overlooking the city.

Already, El felt herself growing nervous. It seemed silly as an adult, but she had always been afraid of the dark. Jonathan usually left the bathroom light on when they would sleep, but the light coming from the living room was far too dim to stave off her anxiety.

As she stared at the doorway, trying to focus on what little light she could see, a figure slowly came into view, effectively blocking the door and dimming the room even further. It was the shape of a man with no discernable features, flat black in front of the light. She recognized the figure from her occasional episodes of sleep paralysis; she knew it wasn't real, but oh god, when it started walking toward her, she nearly forgot that it wasn't. It was tall; the top of its head had nearly touched the top of the door frame.

Her teeth dug into something as the figure drew closer, carrying a box, and she suddenly remembered the belt. Jonathan. She turned to look at him for some reassurance, suddenly needing to convince herself that this wasn't real, but what she saw wasn't Jonathan. She made a strangled noise, not quite a scream, when she saw that another shadow creature now occupied the chair that he had been sitting in, but this one was...different. It was covered in dark grey markings, just barely visible over the void of its body, and it took her a moment to recognize them.

Tally marks.

Zsasz.

At that point, her fear got the better of her, and she pulled experimentally at her arm restraints as she turned to look straight up at the ceiling, trying and failing to keep her breathing controlled and quiet.

However, when the other approached from the other side of the bed, she couldn't help but give it her attention, eyes wide and fearful, her breathing labored and loud around the belt. The first shadow was now hovering over her, barely a foot away from her face as it seemed to examine her.

Her mounting fear grew every second that it remained in that position until tears began to prick in her eyes. She wasn't sure if it was from her seeming inability to blink or the knowledge that this was only the beginning of what was sure to be a life-changing experience.

Finally, the figure straightened up, now towering over Elianna's vulnerable frame, and lifted the box high, holding it over her body. El resumed her struggle to get free; she didn't know what was in the box, and she didn't want to find out.

After holding it over her for almost half a minute, listening to her muffled whimpers and cries of terror, it finally upended the box over her.

A cascade of spiders, varying in size and species, cascaded in slow motion onto her abdomen and immediately begin to spread out, agitated by their fall. Only then did El begin to scream in earnest, her voice too quiet to hope for help around the belt still held clenched in her teeth. She tried her best to shake them off, but no matter how hard she tried, the thick cuffs securing her limbs reduced the movement to restricted thrashing, only angering the arachnids more.

No no no no NO NO get them off, get them off of me, PLEASE!

Elianna watched in horror as a particularly large one on her thigh appeared to open its mandibles, frightened by her sudden movements, and bite down hard on her leg, just below where the material of her pink pajama shorts ended.

A dramatic, searing pain surged through her whole leg, and the tears finally fell; she couldn't help the cry of pain as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, the shooting agony sending a wave of nausea through her stomach.

When she opened her eyes again to see the wound, she was instead met by a tight cluster of holes in the soft flesh of her thigh, slowly spreading down her leg. At that point, she was thrashing and screaming in earnest, unable to think anymore.

The shadow man was real; she knew that now. She couldn't have made this up; she couldn't have, could she? And piling onto the pain and the terror, there was the betrayal. Jonathan had just left her there, and that thing had taken his place. El began to cry, really cry. She cried from the abandonment, the pain, and the sheer, unadulterated fear that was overtaking her.

More and more of the spiders were biting now, each one leaving another cluster of holes in her skin, but it felt to her as though her distress had reached a plateau.

However, the shadow figures seemed to realize that, and the one in the chair stood opposite the first, creating a towering wall of darkness and menace around her, closing her off from anything and everything else.

El's eyes frantically darted between them, her fear mounting again as they waited to do whatever it was that they were going to do. Suddenly, they were each holding her, one hand around her wrist and one around her ankle, effectively removing all ability she had to move.

Together, they began to squeeze her joints, gradually applying more and more pressure until it hurts, and they didn't stop for a second. Finally, they were squeeing so hard, constricting her blood flow, and El began to feel her bones shifting, groaning, grinding together, and then cracking, shattering underneath their grip, the enormous pressure that they exerted, and they still didn't stop.

The pain was unbearable, and El screamed as loud as she could, the sound still barred by the belt between her teeth as the lining finally gave way, and she finally bit through it and into the thick, supple material that it was made of underneath.

Her mind could only take so much of the pain and the terror, and she felt her vision finally, mercifully, going black around the edges. The pain dulled to numbness. Fear, to numbness. Everything was dull, and she felt heavy and dizzy and numb all at once and then finally

nothing.

.xXx.

Jonathan had sat through many of these experiments, and when it started, he had thought that he would be able to sit through this one just the same. He had told himself that just because it was Elianna, that didn't mean that it would be any different.

He was wrong. At first, everything went as normal. There had been times before when they slept in the same room, and she had woken him up with a nightmare, so the initial labored breathing had been easy enough to sit through.

But that had changed when she had turned to look at him, looking for a lifeline, and instead found something else. She had made a sound of distress, quiet and pathetic, and jerked her gaze away quickly. From that point on, he had felt a growing and genuine concern that he wasn't used to, and soon after abandoned his notes. It was an old recipe anyway, already tested to hell and back.

For a while, he had thought about leaving, moving to the other room to avoid the feeling but feeling that he couldn't. To know that he had indirectly caused this for her, and then to leave her on her own through it...he knew when he had the thought that he wouldn't be able to handle it, and although he couldn't do anything to stop it, he stayed there in his seat out of principle.

It seemed like a lifetime of watching and listening to her struggle and cry before she finally began to lose consciousness. Slowly, her eyes finally fluttered closed, and her body stopped twitching. He quickly checked his watch to record the time (he had abandoned his notes, but he knew that they would talk about it the next day) and pushed down the unwanted anxiety as he checked her pulse.

Good.

Boy, that was really something, wasn't it? Maybe we should do it again tomorrow; it was fun to watch her squirm. Real fun...

Jonathan ignored Scarecrow, angry that the straw man could still think about their friend in that context after what they had just watched. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he pried the now ruined belt from her teeth and undid the cuffs that held her spread eagle, and gently moved her up near the headboard with the pillow still under her head in the hopes that she would sleep soundly.

He was still distracted as he dressed for bed and finally laid on the other side of the mattress, carefully pulling the blankets over her. He laid in bed for a minute before getting up to turn on the bathroom light for her, hoping that the combined lights from there and the living room would help her to relax if she woke up.

After returning to bed, Jonathan stared at the ceiling, pondering over what had happened. He wasn't confused per se over the feelings of worry that he felt for Elianna. He had felt that plenty, but never so deeply. His thoughts were interrupted when the fitfully sleeping Elianna made a distressed noise and rolled over, reaching for something. He frowned as he looked at her, silently reaching out to touch her arm. In an instant, she was gripping his wrist tightly, using it to pull herself closer, until she was curled up at his side, holding his arm like a lifeline and her face pressed into his bicep.

He sighed deeply, deliberating over what to do. Before too long, he decided to go ahead and remove his arm from her grasp, only to carefully pull her closer, tucking her head against his chest and putting his arms around her. It wasn't something he would usually do, not even in the few times that he had been intimate with somebody, but he El had done the same for him countless times in Georgia, and he found himself still trying to repay her kindness after all these years.

It was strange for him to feel indebted to someone in this way. His connections with the mob, with Ra's Al Ghul, the favors given to him were repaid easily, through favors and money. But Elianna's sacrifice of time and care and support were so different and had to be returned in kind. He suspected that if she slept through the night, she would never know that he had done this, as he was sure to wake up before her.

That reminded him; he fumbled for her phone, which she had placed on the nightstand next to him. It took only three guesses for him to find her password and turn off her alarm for work—another favor.

That being done, Jonathan was finally able to settle in, and as though she could sense that, El wrapped her arm tighter around his torso, squeezing herself close. Jonathan rested his free hand on her arm, keeping her in place, slowly dozing off to the familiar sound of her soft breathing as she slept.

[aion-rsa]

Why Chronicles of Narnia’s Santa Claus Celebrates Christmas with Weapons of War

https://ift.tt/3n3CscT

Anyone who adapts the works of C.S. Lewis for the screen will find they have a few odd things to contend with. We have never seen a screen version of Prince Caspian, for example, in which young children Susan and Lucy go around cavorting with Bacchus, the god of wine, and his wild Bacchants, for the very good reason that it comes across as seriously strange and more than a little disturbing.

But the oddest moment in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Lewis’ first written The Chronicles of Narnia novel and the most often adapted, cannot be so easily lifted out. In that fantasy epic, the first major sign that the White Witch’s eternal winter is fading is the appearance of Father Christmas (aka Santa Claus), who has been kept out of Narnia ever since the Witch arrived.

Father Christmas gives three of the four child protagonists magical gifts that are both far more impressive and far more dangerous than most children expect to find waiting for them on Christmas morning, and these gifts play important roles in the story, not only in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but in its sequel Prince Caspian as well.

How Father Christmas Signals Springtime

Lewis’ friend J.R.R. Tolkien famously disliked the Narnia Chronicles, as he told David Kolb in a letter. Lewis’ biographer George Sayer and Tolkien’s biographer Humphrey Carpenter both suggest that one of the reasons for this was the mixing of mythologies in the Chronicles. Carpenter particularly singles out the combination of Father Christmas—a mythologized Christian saint—with Greco-Roman fauns and nymphs, and talking animals, as one of Tolkien’s main issues with the stories. Too many different things all jumbled up together.

Other scholars have doubted whether this in particular was the cause of Tolkien’s dislike, but it’s easy to see why it seems a likely factor. Tolkien was a firm believer in the importance of believable, consistent secondary world creation, and the appearance of a Christian saint in a world dominated by characters from Greco-Roman and Norse pagan mythologies seems rather strange. Tolkien is far from the only reader to find the big bearded man’s sudden appearance odd—and his disappearance, never to be heard from again, for poor Edmund never even gets a single present from him despite living in Narnia and reigning as King for 15 years.

Lewis, however, was determined to keep Father Christmas in the story and not everyone finds his presence a problem. When Lucy Pevensie is first told that the White Witch has made it “always winter, but never Christmas,” she responds the same way any child would, crying “how awful!” The primary target audience of the Narnia stories is children, and the story is told in a way that’s meant to appeal to children.

Lewis clearly realized that a child’s response to an eternal winter would quite likely be “goody, it must be Christmas every day!” and that the lack of Christmas needs to be specified to show how awful the Witch’s winter is. Andrew Adamson’s film version from 2005 shows the same understanding. When young Lucy lays eyes on Father Christmas, she yells “Presents!” That’s what Christmas and Santa Claus means to young children, after all.

How have Narnians, living in a world where Jesus’ role is fulfilled by a talking lion, come to have an understanding of the Christian festival of Christmas? P.H. Brazier points out that, as Lewis later established in The Magician’s Nephew, (British) humans have been living in and ruling Narnia since it was created. So in story, it is not actually that strange that Narnia’s British-descended kings and queens introduced Christmas and the name of Father Christmas for the red-coated man who brings presents at that time of year into Narnia, even without bringing the story of Jesus along with it.

Additionally, the British name “Father Christmas,” like the French title of “Pere Noël,” (and unlike Americans’ use of “Santa Claus”), avoids any clear connection with the Christian “Saint Nicholas.” It also opens up the possibility of this being a mythological figure connected to the more secular side of Christmas.

Let’s face it, if we’re going to start getting really picky about these things, then what exactly are we going to do with the “holiday” lands in The Nightmare Before Christmas and other fantasy versions of Santa that are far removed from their Christian original story?

And Father Christmas has an important role to play in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. His appearance is the very first sign that the Witch’s hold is weakening and the long winter is ending. Although the British Father Christmas has more or less become the American Santa Claus these days, his origins aren’t just in the story of Saint Nicholas. He is also a character in medieval Mummers’ Plays, which celebrated the annual death of vegetation, crops, and so on in autumn and winter, and their resurrection and re-birth in spring.

Father Christmas was a personification of Christmas, and so represents when the darkest time of year also brings light and joy before the turning of the seasons towards brighter days. The usefulness of this symbolic figure for the story of Narnia and how its endless winter becomes spring, alongside the death and resurrection of the Christ-figure Aslan, thus becomes inescapable.

Father Christmas/Santa Claus is also, of course, a Christian figure, and Disney and Walden Media’s marketing for their 2005 adaptation leaned heavily on its Christian themes, especially in certain parts of America. The previous year’s The Passion of the Christ had broken box office records and was for some time the biggest earning R-rated movie ever made (until Deadpool de-throned it in 2016). The Christian market was suddenly on movie studios’ radar, and an adaptation of Lewis’ famously Christian-themed books seemed perfect to cash in on this new discovery. It’s no wonder, then that there was no strong desire to edit out this most obviously Christian element of the story.

Why Christmas Means War in Narnia

There’s another important aspect of Father Christmas’ appearance in the story though, and one brought out especially effectively in Adamson’s film. That aspect is the wartime setting of the story, and the surprisingly violent nature of the gifts Father Christmas gives the three children he meets. (The third Pevensie sibling, Edmund, isn’t with the others when they meet him, because he has temporarily defected to join the White Witch—a choice he comes to regret pretty quickly!)

All three children are given weapons along with some advice about how to use them. Oldest sibling Peter is given a sword and shield and told that they are “tools, not toys”—Peter will soon be required to use these weapons in war and to become High King of Narnia afterward. The need for him to grow up almost immediately is clear. Susan is given a magical horn that will summon help, and a bow and arrow, which in Lewis’ original book, she is told to use “only at great need.”

Lucy, the youngest, is given magical healing cordial, and a small dagger, also to be used “to defend yourself at great need.” In the book, both Susan and Lucy are firmly told that they are not to fight “in the battle.” The girls are therefore put into traditional wartime roles for women as helpers and healers, and Peter is left to lead the fighting.

The violence of the story reflects the background violence of its setting. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was written in the late 1940s, a few years after after the end of World War II, and is set during that cataclysmic war. The year isn’t specified, but the children are evacuated from London, which suggests 1940 during the Blitz bombing of London and the Battle of Britain as a likely setting.

This date was later confirmed by Lewis himself when he put together a timeline of Narnian history some time after finishing the whole series. This is one reason why Edmund is so excited at the prospect of eating Turkish Delight—he is living in a country in which sugar is rationed and sweets are a rare treat. Which doesn’t excuse him for betraying his brother and sisters “for sweeties,” as the White Witch puts it in the film, but it does provide some context for how important Turkish Delight seems to be to him!

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Adamson’s film emphasizes the wartime setting of the story far more than earlier adaptations, opening on an air raid over London and showing the children racing to escape the falling bombs. The children talk about the war and about their father being away fighting in it, and directly compare their Narnian experiences to their earthly ones far more often than in other versions or in the original novel, where their evacuation is largely an excuse to get them staying in Professor Kirk’s house, and is based on Lewis’ own memories of having evacuees stay with him.

A wartime Father Christmas giving weapons of war to wartime children also requires a serious-looking figure, someone who makes the children feel “solemn,” as Lewis describes it in the book. The appearance of Father Christmas/Santa Claus in modern pop culture became fixed when Coca-Cola started using him in their advertising campaigns, dressing him in their company colors of red and white. Before that, he was just as likely to wear brown, or green, like Charles Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present (who is very similar to him).

Actor James Cosmo’s Father Christmas (who is not named on screen, to avoid confusing British audiences expecting “Father Christmas” and American audiences expecting “Santa Claus”) is not the Coke-drinking Santa. His robes are red, but they are a dark, maroon-red, fitting in better with the earthy tones of a snow-covered Narnia. Cosmo’s performance is carefully balanced to match. He laughs and is reasonably jolly, but he is also serious, bringing enough gravitas to the role to go with the very serious presents he’s giving.

Father Christmas’ gifts and advice are put to use at the climax of the story when Peter is required to lead an army into war without even Aslan’s presence to help him, Aslan having been inconveniently sacrificed at the altar of the Stone Table the night before. Of course the death of the Hero’s Mentor is a common trope in stories following Joseph Campbell’s template of the Hero’s Journey, allowing the Hero to prove their own worth independently before the end of the story. But expecting an untrained child to lead an army is a fairly extreme example.

Perhaps this was also part of Lewis’ ability to tap into young children’s games and fantasies, since plenty of children have played with toy swords in mock battles, but putting it on screen does have the potential to look rather strange.

In Adamson’s film, this problem is solved by changing the ages of the two older children. Whereas the four children in the BBC’s earlier adaptation all appeared to be very close in age to each other, Adamson’s Pevensies split neatly into two groups—a considerably older Peter and Susan (William Moseley was 18 by the time the film came out) and a much younger Edmund and Lucy. At the very beginning of the film, Peter glances uncomfortably at a solider barely older than himself, and during World War II many young men of Moseley’s age would have been fighting already (or serving in the Home Guard).

So Peter and Susan become characters who might more reasonably be expected to start taking on adult roles. The younger Edmund is initially kept further back from the battle with Mr. Beaver and the archers, while the older Peter actually leads the charge.

The sheer sexism of Father Christmas’ original advice in the book also presented a potential problem for a movie released in 2005, a time when women were still not allowed to fight on the front lines in the U.S. or UK armies (this changed in 2016 in both cases), but were serving in many other roles in armed forces around the world. When Lucy says that she is brave enough to fight in the battle too, she is told that “battles are ugly when women fight.” The implication seems to be that they are not ugly otherwise, which is very strange—and what is it that is so unnatural and ugly about women fighting, anyway?

Adamson’s film cleverly sidesteps this issue with a tweak to the dialogue. As we’ve seen, Peter and Susan are both far older in this version than they are implied to be in the books. Edmund is absent from the Father Christmas scene, so we see the much older teenagers given weapons to use, but he gives the much smaller child just a dagger for self-defence. When Lucy objects and says she thinks she could be brave enough to fight, Father Christmas says nothing about women, but just tells her that “battles are ugly affairs”—implying that it is her young age that he’s thinking of, not her gender.

When the much older Susan asks him “what happened to ‘battles are ugly affairs?’” on receiving her bow and arrow, he just laughs a little—in this version, there is no instruction for Susan to avoid the battle, and a brief moment is added in the eventual climax when she saves Edmund with a well-timed arrow before Lucy fulfils her job as a wartime nurse by healing him.

As Father Christmas drives away in the film, Lucy smugly tells her older sister, “I told you he was real.” It’s very funny and also fits rather nicely into some of the film’s overall themes, as Susan is always the sceptic, the Doubting Thomas; in Prince Caspian, she steadfastly refuses to believe Lucy has seen Aslan to the point it nearly gets them killed.

This is another aspect from the books played up in Adamson’s films, as Susan constantly doubts whether they can achieve anything in Narnia. When Peter first tries to use his new Christmas present, ‘sensible’ Susan screams at him, “just because some man in a red coat gives you a sword it doesn’t make you a hero!” as he tries to hold off a wolf attack on a frozen river, cheerfully ignoring the fact they still have a missing brother to find.

But just as young men and women had to become “heroes” in World War II, all four Pevensies eventually find their inner hero over the course of the story—in three cases, helped by the immensely practical, if violent, Christmas presents they’ve been given.

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DIY for Transmasc Minors/Those still living with unsupportive family

For context, I'm just turned 17, still living with my parents and live in the USA. This is just my experience! It may not be the best/easiest way to go about DIYing. I'm going to do my best to make this as comprehensive as possible, and please let me know if anything if incorrect or if I should add anything.

Firstly, if you're under the age of 16, I don't recommend this at all!! DIY should be a last-ditch effort, after you've tried all else. Please seek therapy, a supportive friend group, and a good community before turning to illegal means, because, yes, purchasing and being in possession of T without a script is illegal.

What's it Gonna Cost?

For cost, you're going to need about $60 - $115 of reliable income a month. Depending on the site you use, and how many millilitres of (injectable) T you purchase, that's going to vary, but $60 is the typical minimum I can find. Don't forget shipping is going to be around $15-30.

This only includes the T!! Don't forget you're going to need needles, bandaids, and alcohol swabs if you're injecting, as well as blood tests.

What Kind of T?

Whether you use gel or injections is entirely up to you and your comfort. However, please avoid orals! Those are just gonna wreck your liver, no matter how painlessly tempting they may be.

Gels run more expensive, but with injectable, there's extra purchases/packages to be had.

Hang On, Blood Tests?

To make sure your levels are in a safe/normal range, you're going to need a blood test. If possible, look for Quest or LabCorp-esque places to get proper bloods done. I was too nervous to do that, given how closely my parents track my every move while I'm not at home, so settle for finger prick at-home tests if necessary. Unless the site advertises Discreet Packaging, I highly recommend having these sent to a friend and picking them up at school/when hanging out.

Do one before starting T, one at Month One, Two and Three, respectively. Based on your levels, adjust or figure out your dose. If everything is typical at Month Three, you don't have to test again till Month Six. After that, check at your One Year mark, then yearly thereafter.

Where/How Do I Get All This?

eroids.com is the first place I turn to when looking for places to order T. You can read reviews for each site listed, and get an average rating from people who've used the sites. If you want to go for gels, I suggest poking around Reddit and finding other people who've DIYed with gel, and asking them for their opinions and recommendations. Make an informed decision no matter what you choose, and spend PLENTY of time researching.

For needles, bandaids, and alcohol swabs I honestly just use Amazon. MAKE SURE you mark your order as a gift, or else you're probably going to run into the issue of the packaging being marked with "medical supplies." Imagine your overbearing parents seeing that and ripping open your package, and immediately assuming you're spending your days in back alleys shooting up. Not fun. Take my word, and learn from my mistake.

As for bloods, just poke around till you find a test that takes your free T and total T both, or go somewhere and have it done proper.

Now, you might try using a PO box to not worry about your family seeing any packages arriving, or having it sent to a friend with more relaxed/accepting parents. Later in the year (when I'm doing this) using the approaching gift-giving holidays to keep people out of your parcels might be plausible. Or maybe your family doesn't care. Ultimately, imagine the worst case scenario and judge what to do knowing your own situation.

Okay, But....Bitcoin

Ah, yes. Daunting, tricky Bitcoin. Majority of sites only accept Bitcoin as payment. But I swear it's not as bad or hard as it sounds. Your first issue is honestly going to be finding somewhere that doesn't require you to be 18+ to purchase it. Now, don't worry too much. For me, I got my older sister to put in all her details, and I just used my money to make purchases. You can do the same with an 18+ friend, relative, or relative of a friend's. Or, send an 18+ friend's CashApp the money necessary to make a Bitcoin purchase and transfer for you.

Now, my first order of T was only about $60, with shipping and everything, since I only bought 4ml total to begin with. If you buy a bigger vial, it's going to cost more. $60 was as much as I could spend without making my parents suspicious (they keep an eye on my bank account), so if you have a similar problem or a smaller spending threshold of concern, don't worry. Just spend your max threshold on buying Bitcoin as often as you can. The Bitcoin will be stored for you to compile and use later. Keep in mind its value may go down, so buy a bit extra if you're saving up over time.

I use an app called Edge to handle all my Bitcoin transactions. It's simple, easy, and you can use a card, a direct bank transfer, Apple Pay or Cash (if there's a Bitcoin ATM near you--no worries, there's a handy map in the app itself to lead you to the nearest one of those). I used Apple Pay, so unfortunately, I can't help with any other methods than that. You can also use CashApp, but Edge's verification went much much faster, and I was not in the mood to wait a few extra days.

There's going to be a fee, usually outlined before you select your payment type. I included that in the cost of the T above, which might be more or less.

And lastly, it's not instant. It usually takes a few hours, but if it's more than a few days, reach out to customer support.

Each site lists instructions with how to send payment once ordered. Just follow their instructions, and talk to them if you have any trouble. They're usually more than happy to help you send them money.

So I've ordered my T

Shipping times are going to vary!! Keep this in mind. If you used eroids, users typically include shipping time in their reviews. This may influence which site you pick. Domestic sites tend to have faster shipping and don't risk customs seizing your pack--if customs seizes a pack with an illegal substance, you're going to get a letter. That's pretty hard to find an excuse out of, way closer to impossible.

Typical processing times are 2-5 days, but may vary a little, depending on things that may include a lovely little pandemic. Shipping is typically 1-2 weeks for domestic sites, 3-5 weeks for international. Shipping prices tend not to vary much, however, no matter where the warehouse is.

Hiding Changes

This is going to be the tricky part. I've known some people to only go on T for three months or so, as to get some changes to reduce dysphoria, but not have family members notice. If you spend a lot of time around family, the changes are gradual and they might not notice. But keep your own safety in mind above all else. What's the worst that's going to happen if your family confronts you over your changes? How long will you be able to write off your voice as "a cold" before someone wises up? How much longer are you going to be staying with your family?

I'm out to my unsupportive family, so despite being discouraged from any transition of any sort, any and all voice changes I'm writing off as voice training. Facial hair? Minoxidil. More muscle? I've been working out. These may or may not be things you can use, so consider carefully.

Aside from your voice and facial hair, there won't be anything too difficult to hide or write off. Shave your facial hair away as soon as you get up if it develops/needs to be hidden. Consider and compile a list of excuses as to why your voice is changing in case of questions.

Hiding Supplies

This is going to depend a lot on your house and situation. Do you have animals, parents or siblings who invade your spaces and find your hidey holes? A piece of advice I read in an MtF guide to DIY is to hide something you won't get in trouble for where you plan on hiding your hormones, and see if anyone finds it over a few weeks. Repeat until somewhere safe is scouted.

I have small cardboard boxes I keep under my bed, in a cabinet I have in my room, and on my desk. Only bandaids are kept on the box on my desk. But the other places I hide things have an equal distribution of my supplies, so even if someone finds one box, I'll be able to continue HRT.

Try to keep your T much better hidden than other supplies. I'm in an arts-focused degree in college, and a very artistic person, so I've managed to write off needles and syringes as pieces to build a 3D art project for a portfolio. Try to find an excuse to use if your needles are found. Maybe the art thing works for you, maybe not.

Consider taking precautionary measures of removing/covering labels of your T if you're using an injectable kind. You might be able to get away with calling it a prop of some kind, for a TikTok video or something if it's found.

Disposing of Needles/Wrappers/Etc

Alright, so you've done your first shot of T, or applied your first gel packet. Congrats! Now, how to hide the evidence? Firstly, for gels, it won't be too difficult. Just use a plastic grocery bag and fill it with other miscellaneous rubbish and mix the wrappers in with that. Toss the tied bag in your own bin, or a neighbour's bin if that's safer. If that's not possible, do so at school.

Needles are a more tricky circumstance. If you're able to purchase and safely dispose a sharps bin, 100% do that. If you're in a place like me and that's not possible, go and buy some soda with twist-top lids, or get them from friends. Once the bottle is empty, you can toss needles into there. In my experience, 1ml syringes and the small needles used for T injections fit in these 500ml bottles no issue. I throw these sealed bottles in the bin once they're full. I know this isn't proper disposable, but I'm unable to get a sharps bin.

Never throw exposed needles into the bin, or leave them somewhere anyone or anything could possibly be exposed to them.

For T bottles, I've only ever found one site that sells it in containers smaller than 10ml. I'm not sure if the 10ml bottles would fit into the soda bottles or not, so follow the same procedure as disposing of gel wrappers. If that's not possible, use a sharp knife to cut open your soda bottle at the widest part and put the bottle in there, before using a strong adhesive tape (not scotch tape--duct tape or something similar) to seal the incision before disposing of it.

In Conclusion

I've left out a list of the changes T causes, and starting doses, because those are all easy things to find, which you probably know already. Regardless of what this small guide says, please keep your own safety in mind and do as much research as possible before moving forward with DIY, and know that I'm no kind of professional, and all this is based off my tiny bit of experience.

As of the original posting of this, I haven't yet started T. I'm going to start in about two weeks, however, and have gathered everything necessary. I may update this guide further as I take T.