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tarnishedxknight · 6 months ago

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3. What is your muse’s biggest fear? ((all))

5. What is your muse’s biggest regret? ((Drace))

6. Does your muse believe in an afterlife? ((Ashe))

9. What is one thing that would break your muse? ((all))

10. Does your muse have nightmares? What about? ((all))

11. Would your muse kill for someone they care about? ((all))

16. If your muse could talk to one person they’ve lost, who would it be? ((Basch))

18. Does your muse think they’re capable of changing? Do they even want to? ((Noah))

Angsty Character Questions

{out of dalmasca} Below the cut for length! =)

3. What is your muse’s biggest fear? ((all))

Basch: Failing those he loves. Basch's self-worth is all wrapped up in service to others, how useful he is, and what he can facilitate with his existence or efforts. He is only worth as much as he is useful, and he is only good as far as his usefulness is successful. So if he failed a loved one (e.g. "failing" Raminas by getting him assassinated), that's like death to him. Worse than death. Because it's his fault. He's responsible by virtue of his inadequacy.

Ashe: Not living up to the expectations of others, and not being enough. So much pressure and expectation has been placed on Ashe that if she were to be made to feel like she was worthless, a failure, not enough, or not living up to those expectations, it would shatter her. It's why she's so lost in the MCU verse because suddenly all those expectations are gone, and now she doesn't know what to do with herself. Her self-worth is wrapped up in proving herself and meeting expectations, so failing at that is a huge fear of hers.

Noah: Losing everyone he loves and being utterly alone. Noah needs his loved ones, particularly Drace and Larsa. Basch too, but he's liek a distant I just need him to be alive sort of need for Noah because they live so far apart. But Drace and Larsa are the pillars that support him and keep him from crumbling. If he lost them, and Basch, and even Gramis too, who was a father figure to him... Noah would be so lost and would lose his sense of purpose in life. The thought of being alone and not having their love, comfort, support, encouragement, etc. terrifies him.

Drace: Not making a difference in the world. Drace is a dreamer, for sure. She wants to change the world, or at least help nurse and support a better future one. One of her biggest fears is that she will leave this world as unchanged as the day she came into it. She fears not leaving a positive mark or sparking positive change, or not making a significant contribution to society. That's where her worth as a person is tied up, in her ability to make a difference in the world.

Caelen: Being defined by his blood and class instead of who he is as a person. The fear of not being able to escape his past, blood, upbringing, the "Dynast King" legacy, being a prince, etc. is so strong it keeps him up at night. He really fears that he'll never be seen as anything more than Dalmascan royalty and someone of Dynast blood, and that his personality and worth as an individual will forever be lost behind those titles.

Munoh: That they are destined to watch one mass extinction after another and never see the world settle peacefully. Being ancient, Munoh has watched countless empires rise and fall, races and beings come into their prime and then go extinct, and each time they feel very sad for the loss. Their hope is that the world will eventually settle and reach some kind of stasis, but that doesn't seem to be happening. Their biggest fear is that they are doomed to always watch the beauty and wonder of each age crumble into dust and be forgotten by antiquity.

5. What is your muse’s biggest regret? ((Drace))

Not doing something to stop Amoretta from abusing Noah. And, to be fair to Drace, there realistically wasn't anything she could have done that wouldn't have potentially resulted in her and/or Noah being dismissed, punished, or worse. Also, Noah asked her to please not try to interfere, partly because he feared action being taken against Drace, he feared escalation with Amoretta, and he feared other consequences of Drace getting involved. But... Drace regrets honestly promising him that she wouldn't get involved, and regrets not trying something. Anything. She doesn't know what she would've done, short of going to Gramis with the information or trying to threaten Amoretta herself, but realistically she knows those avenues would have caused nothing but trouble for herself and Noah. Still, she wished she'd tried something, and she feels a lot of guilt. It almost made her feel complicit in the abuse, almost like she was enabling it by remaining silent. Taking care of Noah whenever she could was a way she eased some of that guilt, but it never really left her, and it's one of the things that keeps her from fully committing to him, because she feels like she really failed him back then. That guilt causes her to keep some distance between them, only because she feels she let him down and like he should resent her for that.

6. Does your muse believe in an afterlife? ((Ashe))

She thought she didn't, but she does. Personally, she's never seen any evidence of an afterlife, and the only ghosts she's seen is that of Rasler, and that was a manipulative Occurian, not really him. But seeing him again, even as an illusion, made her realize just how much hope she did have that Rasler and everyone else she's lost are continuing on somewhere after death. She doesn't think she would've had that kindof reaction if she really didn't believe in it or think it was possible.

9. What is one thing that would break your muse? ((all))

First I want to define "breaking" a muse, because I feel like a lot of times when people say this, they assume it's like... the person is suddenly wailing, raving mad, insane, completely gone off the deep end. That's not how I interpret being "broken" by something. To me, it means that something gets irrevocably broken inside you as a person. More specifically, it means you are forever changed, never the same as you were before, something is different about you, you don't smile or laugh as much or the same way, an inner light is gone from you, that sort of thing. It's like there's a crack or a chip taken out of you now that you can't ever get back, like a loss of innocence but dialed up to a hundred, and those who knew you well before this happened can see/sense/hear it right away. So that's what I'm going with for these answers.

Basch: Causing the death of a loved one, even accidentally or unknowingly. Raminas' assassination, for example, broke something in Basch. He has so much guilt over what happened because he feels like without his association to Noah, it wouldn't have happened. But he also genuinely loved Raminas and Dalmasca, and he feels that being who he is as a person led to the death of an aging man who only wanted the best for his kingdom and daughter, and started a chain of events leading to the fall of Dalmasca. All of that really broke Basch's heart and to this day it is something very difficult for him to even discuss in detail.

Ashe: Being rejected by everyone she loves and left alone. Despite hating the expectations and pressures placed upon her because of her blood and station, Ashe does need the approval of those she cares about to keep going. Her father, Basch, Rasler, or any significant other she'd have would really have an effect on what she does and how she views it. For example, her discussing the "roles" she and Rasler have to play with him before their marriage, or Basch trying to dissuade her from using nethicite on Archadia. And certainly she did want to be seen favorably by her father, for she loved him very much. So if she were to be given up on by all those she loved and they turned their backs on her... that would certainly break something in her. She wouldn't know what to do with herself, because most of what Ashe does is for others, even as self-absorbed as she is. She's not the kind of self-absorbed person who can sit alone and stare at a mirror for all eternity and be happy, heh. She's the kind that thinks extremely highly of herself... as long as those around her are reflecting that back to her. The moment she's met with disapproval, being ignored, or being rejected by loved ones, it hits her very hard.

Noah: Losing someone he very deeply loves, which would be either Drace, Larsa, or Basch, either through death or in Basch's case, being abandoned. Basch's abandonment definitely broke something in Noah forever, and Drace's execution did the same. In his MCU verse, Noah really struggles a lot because he has not only been broken twice before, but now Larsa is gone, and that's another crack, another chip taken out of him. Without proper support, he'll spiral down hard and fast from that third nail in his proverbial coffin. After that, the only other thing that could hurt him again on the same level would be if Basch were to somehow die, for as much as Noah says he hates him, that couldn't be further from the truth.

Drace: Seeing nethicite used on Archadia on a large scale. Drace genuinely cares about the Archadian Empire and its people. She's spent her life in service to it, them, and Emperor Gramis, and to see it all fall would devastate her. Not only would it mean her whole life, all her work and dedication and love, was all for naught, but that amount of death on a large scale would be terrifyingly heartbreaking. She saw firsthand what became of Landis and Nabudis, and for that to occur with the entire Empire (e.g. if Ashe were to follow the Occuria's advice and use nethicite to obliterate Archadia) would definitely break her.

Caelen: Realizing that his decision to fake his death and run away from his life somehow caused the downfall of Dalmasca or resulted in his sister suffering because of it. He really felt like he had to do what he did to save his own life. Not... in a coward's-way-out sense of being afraid to fight in the war, but more in the sense of him not being able to live with himself anymore if he followed the path laid out for him by Raminas. He could feel how badly his mental health was spiraling, and so he did what he had to do to help himself. But... if he were to know half of what went on with Raminas and Ashe after he was "killed," some of that might break him. Because... his little sister was assaulted, pressured into marriage, then forced into hiding, and finally had no choice but to become the warrior he never wanted to be. And his father was left thinking he only had one child left and no sons, and then was assassinated without ever knowing the truth about Caelen. Weirdly, Caelen always kindof thought he had plenty of time to tell his father he was still alive, and that sort of lying to himself helped him to cope with the guilt of what he did. Finding out that Raminas was assassinated made him realize he was out of time and that the gravity of what he'd done was far more than he'd realized.

Munoh: Inadvertently causing a mass extinction event themself. They really cherish and appreciate life, and so if they were to give bad advice to a human who then turned around and used nethicite or something, or if through their actions they caused some other mass extinction all over Earth, Munoh would be forever changed by that experience. They would mourn the loss of life and feel immense guilt that would mark them for centuries to come.

10. Does your muse have nightmares? What about? ((all))

Basch: Yes, he does... about the aftermath of the nethicite explosion in Landis, being imprisoned in Nalbina dungeon, the assassination of his king. Basch has some very muddled, usually wake-up-with-a-start kind of nightmares about Landis, in that he'll suddenly see flashes of the destruction and suffering, smell the charge in the air, feel the intense fear and disorientation, and then bam, he'll wake up suddenly. It's like remnants of replayed bits of memory that his mind can't move from.

With Nalbina, he has more detailed nightmares about the torture he suffered, the darkness, he'll sometimes dream that he's back there and can't get to Ashe or do anything else he needs to do for duty's sake. With those nightmares he'll wake up feeing very heavy and sad, or he'll wake up in a panic, depending upon the specific content of the nightmare.

With Raminas' assassination, Basch will see his brother's smug expression, relive Noah scarring his face, feel the hopelessness and sorrow that came along with failing his king, sometimes even the spector of a dead Raminas will tell him that Basch failed him and was wrong to have placed his trust in him. This is another nightmare he'll awaken from feeling heavy and sad from, and he'll usually need a moment alone to recover from it.

Ashe: Yes, she does... about the death of her mother, and Vossler assaulting her. With her mother, she'll be taken back to being a seven year-old child, to the room where her mother died, being so tiny next to her bed, seeing her gray face, things like that. Ashe wasn't there when her mother actually died, but she saw her shortly before, and it's something that really bothered her, seeing someone who used to be so beautiful, kind, and full of life reduced to a thin, gray, invalid. She'll awaken from this nightmare crying, usually.

With Vossler, Ashe unfortunately just keeps reliving bits and pieces of that night, most notably the fear of it all, getting pinned, and what he actually did to her. She'll usually awaken with a start and fly into a panic, needing to do something to comfort herself before she can calm down, like wrap herself in a blanket or get a hug from someone she trusts.

Noah: Yes he does... about Basch abandoning him, Amoretta's abuse of him, and Drace's execution. Basch's abandonment really broke something in Noah, and his mind can't move from the fear, self-loathing, or hatred it produced. Despite the volatility of emotions in this nightmare, Noah will usually wake up crying or brooding and want to be alone afterward.

Amoretta's abuse, much like Vossler's assault with Ashe, is something that plagues Noah's mind in the form of reliving it again and again in his nightmares. It's why he doesn't like sleeping in beds because he feels it sets him up to feel as he did during his encounters with her, and blames the nightmares on that feeling. He'll awaken from these nightmares feeling panicky and won't want to be touched at all... unless by someone he really deeply trusts, like Drace or another close romantic ship.

Drace's execution... also broke something in Noah. He cannot forgive himself for it, which so part of the pain, but the other part is simply his grief at losing her so suddenly and unexpectedly. Guilt combined with suddenly loss and a lack of closure cause him to relive the event again and again in his nightmares. He usually awakens from this nightmare crying and will immediately seek alcohol to numb himself back to sleep. In an MCU verse where Drace is present, he'll seek her out in an almost innocent and desperate need to know that she's alive and with him still.

Drace: Not really, no? Not about anything specific. Every human being has generic nightmares such as tripping/falling and waking up with a start, or ones associated with loss of control like teeth falling out or suddenly being naked somewhere inappropriate, so she occasionally has those. But nothing specific haunts her enough to have nightmares about particular events or aspects of her life personally.

Caelen: He honestly doesn't have a lot of nightmares, but he does something have them about the first couple times he killed someone on a battlefield. Caelen isn't a pacifist, per se, like he understands that violence is a part of life, sometimes it's necessary, sometimes it's the only way, etc., but for whatever reason he absolutely does not have the stomach for killing people himself. Even "justified" on a battlefield in defense of his kingdom, it still made him feel sick to his stomach. He had a very visceral response to it that frightened him and he never wanted to feel that feeling again. Unfortunately, it left such a mark on him that, from time to time, he does have nightmares about it. But usually he wakes up feeling sort of okay, he just needs a minute to shake it off and move on from it.

Munoh: Nope. Occurians don't sleep, so they don't dream or have nightmares. And being so ancient, they've seen and heard it all, heh, so I'm not saying nothing bothers them, but they're more thick-skinned than human beings. Well, as thick-skinned as an incorporeal being can be, I guess. XD

11. Would your muse kill for someone they care about? ((all))

Basch: Yes, but under the right circumstances. Not impulsively or indiscriminately, but to save a loved one or at their order, if it was warranted, absolutely he would.

Ashe: Yes, she would. It would take some doing mentally, because that's not her first inclination, to kill people, but if she needed to, she'd muster the strength of will to do it.

Noah: Yes. Would. Has before. Will again. Next question. XD

Drace: Yes, but as with Basch, it must be under the right circumstances. Just, warranted, and after exploration of other options, usually. Under duress, perhaps she'd be quicker to come to that decision, but most of the time it would need to be a necessary kill.

Caelen: Hmm... this is a tough one. No, but also yes, heh. I'd say no, because he really does not want to ever kill anyone again himself. But........ if someone he cared about was threatened and there was no other way? Yeah, I think he would. He'd kill to save them. If they told him to kill someone (since the meaning of "kill for someone" is a bit unclear in this question), he'd push back and try to get out of it. But under duress if a loved one was in danger, I do think he could be pushed to that point. He'd feel very disturbed after the fact, though.

Munoh: Yes, but only if necessary. Killing is not something they like to do, so they'd want to explore all other options first.

16. If your muse could talk to one person they’ve lost, who would it be? ((Basch))

Raminas, and he'd want to make sure he knew it wasn't him who killed him. Like... the thought that Raminas, in his final moments, might have thought that Basch was betraying him, makes Basch feel just the worst, most heartbreaking pain. It's not that he wants to clear his name or anything, but rather he can't bear the thought of his king dying with that kind of shock and sorrow on his mind. That being his final thoughts and to feel that he was being betrayed by someone he had elevated and trusted and guided like a son is something Raminas didn't deserve in Basch's opinion. So if he could, he'd want to tell him that it wasn't him who did this to him, and he'd want to apologize for what happened, because he does feel responsible.

18. Does your muse think they’re capable of changing? Do they even want to? ((Noah))

No, he doesn't, but he also doesn't think he needs to. Noah thinks he's a really despicable human being. He's killed, savagely and without remorse. He's struck fear in the hearts of many. He's murdered his own parents and tortured his twin brother. He's done so many things - terrible, unforgivable things - from which no one can be redeemed, he feels. And he doesn't think he can ever change. He's been molded by certain tragic and traumatic events in his life, this is who he is now, and he doesn't think he has the ability to change.

Having said that, he doesn't think he needs to change. The person he is has aided the Empire in ways no one else could, and he's proud of that, but far more importantly, those who are most important to him (aside from Basch, that is), like Gramis, Drace, and Larsa, value or love him for who he is, just as he is. So those who love and accept him will do so for the person he already is, and for everyone else, he doesn't need to change anything.

#{ out of dalmasca } ᵒᵒᶜ #{ about the muses }

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eurekavalley · 1 year ago

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I fell into a little Gilmore Girls hole when I wasn't sure if I had COVID a few weeks ago and rather than make it everybody's problem, I'm going to make exactly one (1) post about it.

Tone aside, the show has so much in common with prestige drama family dynamics (like maybe this is my Succession). Everything is motivated by trauma responses and family cycles. Every family that gets any focus at all - the Gilmores, the Danes, the Kims, the Haydens, the Huntzbergers, the Gellars, the Stiles - is incredibly fucked up. No one really escapes.

I have zero patience for 'Mitchum Huntzberger was right about Rory'. First of all, how brave to agree with alpha male corporate capitalist figure! But also, he is obviously transferring his fears for his son onto Rory, who he set up in a subservient role to take his abuse. And we never talk about how Rory was right about Mitchum when she called him out for how he treated his son.

AYITL was in desperate need of another edit for taste and length, but it has good bones. Rory's burnout and career low point, Lorelai basically happy but also stuck in some ways, Emily finally changing in ways no one would have expected - it's all so good. I love the theme of change in the face of others' expectations - Emily wants Lorelai to change in specific ways and expresses that at therapy, and they both want that from Rory, even though Emily can say it and Lorelai really can't. But none of them can change for each other, even though they are all undergoing great change.

Seriously, the way Lorelai finds something that makes her feel secure (a house, a car, a relationship stasis) and then tries to maintain it exactly as it is, even replacing the guts of her car and keeping the shell of it, is so fascinating.

I never really cared about Rory's relationships, but I do think the future the revival is pointing toward is interesting And Luke and Lorelai aren't a huge pairing for me, but I like the way that they love matches up. Luke has a need to make grand gestures and do more than anyone even wants from him - except Lorelai, who needs exactly that. It's a little toxic and it's why they are the right match for each other. And it also reflects Emily's need to maintain a role in Lorelai's life with financial entanglements.

Lane's lifepath is great. So many comments are about why Lane never got her big break, but she could have left Stars Hollow multiple times, she could have tried to find another band to play with, and she always chose to stay and play with *her* band (more family enmeshment!). She is where she wants to be, and in the revival she seems happy and grounded, and she is still living an artist's life. Lane is better than fine. And like Rory, the ways she imagines breaking the cycle (becoming a rockstar and getting out from her mother's thumb) and the ways she actually ends up doing it (having a marriage where she enjoys sex and running her mother's business) may not align, and it's still okay.

The pro-birth agenda is real, there are so many unplanned pregnancies, and the only one who says, "I cannot have this baby" is Lane, but it is never mentioned again. The pro-choice poster in Rory's dorm room is a red herring.

#gilmore girls #teevee journal #exorcising this from my watchlist now #also... i really think season seven is pretty good

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boxylic · 9 months ago

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gasp, my arm's been twisted. i will do my best- doodled bugs in skin below

borrowing from swaths of text with dearest @haonqq ;

A guy with great power a long long time ago used his powers to abuse and use his child's powers of foresight in his attempt to dominate everything that exists but the kids best friend in turn ripped them out the ritual their father was performing but . By doing that, the friends entire being went to shreds and split time and space into different dimensions and their best friend then went on a quest to bring them back. Not really relevant.

By tearing through time and space trying to bring his friend back, this guy brought a fragment of an alien parasite that had drained its original universe of the element they live off of, and also brought that element into our settings universe.

It takes about 1000 years before things start really happening, but by the year 3632: generators start to exist! The element infected some few humans and when those humans reproduce that element is passed onto their kids, and about half of everyone with this infection has the chance of being …reanimated by a 'beetle', upon their first natural death.

Beetles attach post-death at the spine, the connection is made during the first stage and the beetle needs to be removed and replaced with tech before the second stage begins or else the parasite is likely to overtake the host.

Each beetle allows the generators to tap into some sort of element to utilize/enhance their skills;

Solar- combustion, heat, nuclear fusion Arc- electricity, electromagnetism Void- dark energy/matter, gravitational attraction Stasis- cold, cessation of movement: slowing, detaining, shattering

Healers- some choice/combination of the subsets above that influence their particular healing abilities.

Civilian generators are tolerated and given the bare minimum to prevent a takeover of the host, though their tech isn't to the same standard as those who opt to join the military, and as such their life expectancy is much shorter than the near-eternity promised to military aligned generators.

what if i were a space worm. would u still love me

#space cadets tag #jingling my court jester bells

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

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can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

He should be dead. He should be dead.

(Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

He doesn’t feel relieved.)

The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

He’s alive.

Jon is not.

“It’s because of him, you know.”

Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well.

Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

“What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

He answers anyway.

“Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

Jon was.

Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

It’s answer enough.

Tim doesn’t ask again.

They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

“Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout.

Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

“I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

“Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

“Do I still want to kill myself?”

Martin winces.

“Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

“Uh huh.”

They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids.

See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks.

He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

“Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

“Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

“No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

“Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

“Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

It’s okay.

The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does.

He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean.

Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

“This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

“We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

“What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.”

He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous.

“We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

Basira doesn’t follow him.

Martin does.

They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

“Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair.

Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven’t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

“Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

Almost.)

“What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

“Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

“Tim.”

Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

“Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

“Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

“It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

“I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

“Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

“Tim?”

Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

Oh.

“Jon—”

“Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

“Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

“Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

“Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

“Damn right they are.”

Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air.

The view is just as good as he remembers.

There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways.

“I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

“It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

“I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

“Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

“What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

“Why not?”

Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

“What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

“I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

“Oh,” Jon says, barely audible.

Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly.

After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky.

“Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear.

Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

“Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #creators are revealed now so i can post this!#very exciting #blood cw #body horror cw #injury cw #hospitals cw #suicidal ideations cw #more cw in the body of the post as well #my writing #my fic

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kittenshift-17 · 4 years ago

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Hi! I've really been craving some snamione fics, and your writing has made me picky 😬 do you have any fic recs or authors you go to when you're wanting something good? (the spicier the better)

Girl, you came to the right place. My Snamione loving heart is all aflutter. MY TIME HAS COME!!

*scampers off to fetch list to all her fave Snamiones in no particular order*

Self Slain Gods on Strange Altars by scumblackentropy What do you want me to say, Granger? That you are mine and I am yours? You are. I am. Let's not fuck around.

Pet Project by Caeria Hermione overhears something she shouldn't concerning Professor Snape and decides that maybe the House-elves aren't the only ones in need of protection.

FALLING FURTHER IN by kaz2 Hermione begins to learn something of the man behind the dark sarcasms of the classroom.

Chasing The Sun by Loten AU, from Order of the Phoenix onwards. Hermione only wanted to learn Healing; she discovers that Professor Snape is a human being after all, and his actions dramatically shape the course of the war as events unfold. Complete.

Pride of Time by Anubis Ankh Hermione quite literally crashes her way back through time by roughly twenty years. There is no going back; the only way is to go forward. And when one unwittingly interferes with time, what one expects may not be what time finds...

Inkspots by mezzosangue When you are a double spy with two masters, no one is a friend. But the war ended last May, and Severus is now his own man. An owl brings a letter of change, but is it a good change? Canon Compliant, disregards Epilogue. Eventual SS/HG romance.

Splintered and Broken by A plus He had watched as the thin wood snapped across her knee with a violence he had not known she possessed. He had been her teacher for seven years and had never seen this girl give up at anything. Voldemort wins, Hermione leaves, Severus waits.

The Tattered Man by Aurette I was once asked to write a Marriage Law Challenge fic by someone who loves a sad tale. This short story is it. Angst, Character Death. Tissues recommended. COMPLETE

Saving your life by lilmisblack When Hermione is captured by Death Eaters, Severus knows there's only one way to save her. 'What are you doing? ' she asked, her voice shaky. 'Saving your life,' he said, just as he started kissing her neck.

A Murder of Crows by Hogwarts 91 14 yrs post-war: Hermione’s teaching at Hogwarts when an un-aged Snape awakens from stasis and returns to the school. Sparks fly when they meet. Can they learn to trust and love in time to defeat an evil plot bent on changing the wizarding world forever?

Advanced Floriography by Viridiantly Snape's first question to Harry about wormwood and asphodel in the Language of Flowers means 'I bitterly regret Lily's death'. Harry never gets the message behind the question, but what if Hermione does, years later? Mostly set in HBP, DH and after. A story of messages with flowers, the wizarding war, and different kinds of love. Slow-burn. Not canon-compliant, but canon-inspired.

Looking for Magic by Hypnobarb Severus Snape and Hermione Granger deal with traumas past and present and find they have more in common than they realize as they prepare for the ultimate confrontation with Voldemort. SSHG pairing. Not HBP compliant. This is a novel length story.

Synergy by Laurielove Hermione is being followed, and she suspects she knows by whom. But when they come face-to-face, how will she react to him and his startling request? SS/HG. M readers only, please. Written for the 2011 LJ SS/HG Exchange.

Post Tenebras, Lux by Loten "After Darkness, Light." A chance meeting ten years after the war may not be just a coincidence, and may prove to have very far-reaching consequences. A story of many things, but primarily of healing. SS/HG; rated M for later chapters. Complete.

For the Potions Master's Amusement by snape.submiss Now Complete! Severus Snape is not a kind man, but Hermione Granger is past caring. She wants his approval and will do anything to get it. How far will she go? Even she has no concept of the depths to which she will fall in her quest.

Latent Loveliness by Ladyreason Bellatrix gets in one last curse before her defeat which causes Hermione to fall into a deep sleep... She'll only awaken to one man's kiss. And boy, will she awaken. eventual SSHG pairing

Babble On by Aurette One person's nervous tic, is another's nervous joy.

Liminal by Cybrokat Severus Snape keeps running into a student playing piano. Why does he stop to listen, and how does she respond when she is asked to invite him when she plays? And what about Voldemort? Here there be fluff, romance, drama, and angst.

Sins of the Father by Emmaficready 9 Months after the end of the war, a destitute Severus Snape, practically living rough, gets news that will change his life forever. Severus Snape Lives! / POST DH / EWE WARNINGS: Abuse, Neglect, Character Death, Rape, Sensitive/taboo topics.

The Marriage Law by teshara 020 rewrite and update! When Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are thrown together by the ill-conceived Marriage Law, no one doubts they'll make a good undercover team for the Order. No one suspects that they'll find mutual respect, love, and a plot to destroy the world. A story in 3 parts.

A wizard s trial by snapeophil Hermione is out after curfew when she witnesses something that will change her relationship to her DADA professor forever.

The Prisoner and the Occlumens by duskywolfdaemon Hermione's plans to spend her seventh year on the run with her friends are shattered when Severus Snape shows up with a proposal she cannot refuse. *AU 7th year with Hermione attending Hogwarts. Eventual SSHG. M for reasons. ***COMPLETE***

Unintentional Inveiglement by onecelestialbeing Takes places during the summer after OoTP, the Golden Trio is forced to stay in hiding at Grimmauld Place. Hermione (who is of age!) begins gravitating towards Snape without knowing why, and he attempts keeping her at arms length, but will be able to remain doing so? AU

Innocent Shadows by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse "You'll sort everything. Gods, Hermione, you fought five Death Eaters to a standstill *and* defended and saved Snape."/ "Professor Snape."/ Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. That." He waved his hand at the bed. "So this? Piece of cake." /Marriage Law /ss/hg HEA...always *grin*

Turned Over by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse Severus Snape inherited Hermione Granger at three o'clock on a rain-soaked Saturday morning in March. SS/HG HEA...Always :) COMPLETE

The Irony by awakethelion Hermione Granger gets stuck in her Animagus form and is put in the care of the only one strong enough to control her - Severus Snape. The over-achieving know-it-all Gryffindor, is, in the eyes of Hogwarts student body, home taking care of her ill parents, while in reality she is now living life posing as Professor Snape's familiar. J.K. Rowling owns all the characters.

Camerado by MillieJoan Hermione seeks knowledge from a reluctant Snape in order to help the War effort. What she receives is more than either of them expected. Set beginning in Hermione's sixth year, continuing into a slightly AU post-DH era.

Unto Their Own by CRMediaGal The Light has fallen, Darkness abounds, and Hermione Granger is struggling to survive in a far more sinister Wizarding world. When she is sentenced into Snape's charge, Hermione begins to wonder if everything is truly as it seems. For better or worse, their worlds are about to collide, perhaps even unite them against a common enemy. AU, Post-Hogwarts, Rated M.

Vixen by SLovingLecter After her parent's deaths Hermione is bound and trapped in her Animagus form, first for her own safety, then to ensure the safety of others during the war. Who is she bound to? Severus Snape, of course.

Another Dream by dragoon811 Due to his injuries, Severus is unable to resume his old life. He's determined to be lonely and miserable, but the yearly Order Christmas party becomes a bright spot, thanks to Hermione Granger. Complete.

Entangled by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse No doubt, she'd been showing off obscure spells she found in the archives, again. Apparently, she did that whilst drunk. Hermione never yet had any memory of it. / SS/HG HEA...Always :)

Time Immemorial by FawkesyLady Hermione loses it after the Battle of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, she still had that time turner and she uses it, sending her back in time, a mystery for the denizens of Hogwarts, circa 1976. OC's are important. Please note, chapters 21-26 could be considered crossovers with JRR Tolkien's Return of the King. In for long haul, y'all. Nominee for Marauder's Medal 2018, Best WIP.

The Offer of Just One More by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse The feeling in her chest twisted. Tightened. Ronald Weasley didn't want children. SS/HG HEA...Always :) This one's a slow burn.

Time's Hammer by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse She was about to break the time stream. Not just break it, but take a bloody hammer to it. SS/HG HEA...Always :)

Clash of the Conjurers by llorolalluvia In a world where the mere flap of a butterfly's wing can cause a hurricane on the other side of the globe, can one simple glance save a man's life? When Hermione and her professor are forced together against their will, can they overcome their differences, find order amidst the chaos, and save the Wizarding World? not Cannon compliant. Rated M for sexuality and violence. DUBCON!

Turned Over by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse Severus Snape inherited Hermione Granger at three o'clock on a rain-soaked Saturday morning in March. SS/HG HEA...Always :) COMPLETE

One Step Forward, Two Decades Back by corvusdraconis AU/AO: [HG/SS] What-if Story. Hermione Granger gets erased due to a badly phrased, vague, and bitter wish. She is Hermione Granger no more. Now, thanks to Ron, she is Hermione Ankaa Black, sister of Sirius & Regulus Black, & member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Now what is she going to do? Multiple pairings in later chapters, and JP starts out as a rampaging jerk.

Absinthe by Aurette A dark deed on a dark night sends two lives spinning out of control. To forge a future, both must confront their pasts. AU, EWE, SS/HG, HEA

The Love You Take by Subversa Hermione is cursed by the Death Eaters, and Dumbledore believes Professor Snape is the only one who can help her and keep her safe. Hermione is 18 years old in this story, but she is still a student.

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isfjmel-phleg · 1 year ago

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Forgive me if this is an intrusion, but I happened to see this and can go in depth into what we get of Kon and Secret's interactions in the comics. She has a different dynamic with him than she does with the other boys, and it's a bit sad because there is potential for them to be closer that doesn't happen because of personal hurt that keeps them from being willing to fully connect.

When they first meet in Young Justice: The Secret #1, he's the one who first realizes that she's a person rather than the monster they're expecting.

When she initially rejoins the team, they don't specifically interact much, but they do have this exchange:

(Young Justice 1998 #5)

He defends her when Cassie asks her about her "first time." Cassie is only referring innocently to kissing, but given Kon's history of abuse, it makes sense that he would understand that some subjects are too personal or even hurtful to discuss with just anyone.

(#7)

When Secret confesses her envy of ordinary people, she tries to bond with Kon over their shared differences. Like her, he was a lab experiment, with no family and hardly any life outside of being a hero, and like her, he is trapped in stasis. But Kon's too proud to admit any dissatisfaction with his existence in front of people he's trying to impress.

(#7)

The potential to connect is lost, and these two will go on to interact very little. He's frequently preoccupied with flirting/connecting with the other girls, while she latches on to Tim and, to a lesser degree, Bart.

His being replaced by Match doesn't help her perception of him. Match tends to be dismissive of Secret.

(#17)

Although he will approve of her only when she asserts herself.

(#18)

After Secret brings her friends into the abyss to save their lives, Match-as-Kon openly voices disgust for her.

(#19)

And Secret, who tends to be agreeable and soft-spoken around her friends, actually yells at Match-as-Kon for antagonizing Robin.

(Young Justice: Sins of Youth #1)

These encounters of course are not with the real Kon, but from her perspective, they are, and they do affect her relationship with him. She's hurt by the hostility after the abyss incident.

On the other hand, the real Kon is angry when others deny Secret her rights as a human and a child. He too has been dehumanized, and he feels very strongly about rights for others who are in similar circumstances.

(Young Justice 1998 #20)

Secret is involved in Bart's scheme to get Kon his powers back although she's not quite convinced, but she goes along because she perceives his sadness. When he realizes what they're doing, Kon's anger is directed entirely at Bart as the ringleader; he doesn't acknowledge Secret in this story at all.

(#22)

Later, when they're on the spaceship, she catches him when he falls. Note that he calls her "Kid," which is a nickname that he has gone by.

(#26)

This interaction where she tells him that Cissie is going to guest-star on this favorite show demonstrates where their relationship tends to be. He's talking to her but is too preoccupied with his own concerns to really connect, and she turns to Bart instead.

(#33)

She wakes him up when he has one of his frequent stress nightmares. She's concerned about him and willing to talk about what's wrong, but once again he misses the opportunity to connect because he's unwilling to be vulnerable with his teammates.

(#35)

He is shocked that she doesn't understand a musical reference! Their interests are clearly different.

(#35)

She lashes out at him when he gets angry at their assignment during the war. She has a point, but her earlier capacity for empathy toward him has turned instead to deliberately trying to hurt him in areas that she knows he's sensitive about, which puts further distance between them.

(#35)

They argue during the escape from Apokolips, and she refuses to helpfully communicate.

(#37)

After Tim and Bart leave, Secret turns down an invitation to go to a concert with the rest of the team and refuses to leave headquarters in case Tim and Bart return and find the place empty. She's actually struggling with her own abandonment and alienation issues but won't open up about it. Kon tries to get through to her but is kind of dismissive.

(#41)

Even though he's not the only one doing so, she calls him out on sugarcoating the truth for Anita about her father's dying.

(#48)

When Secret spirals into anger and distrust and lashes out at the team, Kon responds with hostility, in contrast to Tim, who tries to get through to her with a gentler approach.

(#53)

When Secret returns in full pawn-of-Darkseid mode, she approaches Kon (and Cassie) first. Despite her anger with them, she still shares the story of losing her father and follows it up with sarcasm about how little they will care. Underneath it all, she's hurt that the others haven't been understanding of her pain and loss, and it's interesting that Kon is one of the ones she targets for this.

He doesn't respond angrily as he did before but tries to play things off casually, jokingly.

(#55)

But when she's restored to life, he's the first to give her the human contact that she has so long missed out on--he puts his arm around her. After all their clashes and misunderstandings, this is a significant gesture. It's a way of making up.

(#55)

We don't see any of their interactions after this since poor Greta seems to more or less drop off the face of the earth, but I would like to think that they get the opportunity to connect more. They really do have a lot in common and have demonstrated the capacity to be protective of and empathetic toward each other (even if that hasn't always happened), and despite their different personalities, they could be very good friends, not just teammates.

Hey, love seeing more love for Superboy, do you know if Kon and Secret had any moments, i think they would have a very wholesome friendship

Hmmm I can’t recall if they ever had like a 1 on 1 scene, except one time secret got angry and yelled at kon to leave robin alone or smth (except that kon turned out to be the imposter Match iirc)

Obviously, kon was there to help break secret out, and personally I think they could relate about being stuck in a lab and probably has helpful tips for her to calm down when she’s anxious about it :) also I think he’d make her feel welcome and like she belongs

#comicsposting again #GH: I'd give anything to be normal #KE: all I got is who I am

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jostenneil · 3 years ago

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how do you feel about people shipping toxic ships?

i think this depends on a few things. primarily, that fandom tends to conflate the terms abusive and toxic with each other. . . a lot. toxicity is inherent to abuse, but the reverse of that isn’t necessarily true. you can have a toxic relationship with someone without it being abusive, esp since, to me at least, abuse specifically arises from a person taking advantage of a power dynamic within what should normally be a mutually supportive relationship to deliberately hurt the other person. an example of an abusive relationship to me would be (from the grisha trilogy) alina and the darkling, who uses alina’s trust and sympathy towards him to manipulate, isolate, and threaten her to the point that it emotionally debilitates her and threatens her other relationships with people. there’s a clear power dynamic being manipulated there to the advantage of one person and to the harm of the other

a toxic relationship to me can involve intentional behavior but it can also involve a lot of unintentional behavior, esp that driven by trauma or a non-ideal upbringing, and then i also think a lot of toxic relationships are simply. . . between people you would never expect to get along to begin with. a lot of enemies to lovers ships have their initial basis in toxicity bc the people involved are enemies. they’re not supposed to actually like each other (or value each other’s lives) in the beginning, and usually if you write such a dynamic well, then certain political events and revelations eventually help those stances evolve to where the toxicity is addressed and overcome (and the same process can apply to rivals to lovers situations as well, albeit along softer parameters usually since politics aren’t necessarily involved). i personally like to see toxicity explored if writers give it direction. toxicity is off-putting if it’s static bc then it serves no other purpose than to scream in big neon letters “omg these ppl are sooo toxic it’s so sexy blah blah blah” and that’s incredibly boring to me. what well explored toxicity does is analyze how the people involved are impacted by that toxicity. whether being toxic invokes remorse, isolation, misery, etc. that’s what interests me

sometimes, it goes the ideal way, wherein characters realize their toxicity only hurts themselves and they express a genuine desire to change and grow. sasuke (from naruto) is a fairly obv example of that phenomenon to me, in that, yes, he’s absolutely right to be distrustful of the villages’ ulterior motives and to want justice for his family’s massacre, but driving away the people he loves and who love him doesn’t ultimately help him in attaining that goal or vision. post canon naruto is an absolute mess, but i think most people would agree on the general premise that in an ideal world, sasuke opening himself back up to naruto, sakura, and kakashi could have helped him enact change bc he would have a support system behind him, and he wouldn’t have to further isolate himself or render himself so prone to manipulation via trauma if he was able to rely on people he genuinely cared about

other times, toxicity can go the tragic route. the characters may be aware of their faults but fail to figure out how to fix them, or they may not be aware of those faults at all and continue to indulge in them until their ultimate downfall. as miserable as that sounds, i think there’s a value in narratives like that, too. it teaches you a lesson, and it can also garner sympathy from you as a reader in some circumstances bc you may realize that some toxic behaviors of a given character were inadvertent and they didn’t have the resources or environment that would make them conducive to change. that’s like the epitome of wuthering heights to me. most of the characters are absolutely terrible to each other, but there’s something to learn from that, and with heathcliff esp, you see that a lot of his toxicity stems from trauma and abuse that he didn’t really have the emotional resources to ever recover from, so you can’t entirely render him into a villain bc it’s a flat reading

toxicity can also exhibit a blend of the two above scenarios. wuthering heights also feels like a good example of that to me. heathcliff and catherine’s ends are tragic, but hareton and cathy junior’s ends are far more hopeful in comparison. some people don’t learn, but others do, and it’s a good insight into the nature of human dichotomy as well as cycles of toxicity and abuse within context of class and race relations

so ultimately, i think i personally find a lot of worth in exploration of toxic relationships bc it can really get to the heart of analysis of the human psyche and how real world relationships are often non ideal. but that being said, how i feel about the phenomenon as it goes in fandom is. . . tricky. i’ll be straight and say i don’t think most people are sensible enough to really get to the root of what makes toxic relationships interesting and are instead content to rely on toxic stasis bc it’s easily marketable and readily appealing. you don’t have to deal with the real questions contending with toxicity demands of you if you don’t care, and that’s unfortunately a mindset that pervades fandom at large

#asks #mine:media analysis #narratives #sorry this is so long omg. i just have a lot of thoughts #i also didn’t rly get into the race or imperial contexts this can exist within #but generally i think it’s a very fine line to toe #like as an example i used to really ship zutara as a kid #but i think a lot of fandom interpretation of the ship severely underscores katara’s trauma or her right to feel justified bc of it #she and zuko aren’t just toxic to be toxic. he’s literally part of a colonial project that lead to the near genocide of her people #so to see how their relationship is reduced to these like. scenarios where katara becomes fire lady and they live hea is bizarre tbh #like how do people think a water bender ruling over a nation of people who wanted her people dead and/or enslaved was going to work 😶#toxic dynamics that deal with this kind of relationship between a person who was colonized and a colonizer as such require a Lot of work #work that most media featuring these kind of relationships simply isn’t willing to go the extra mile to do lol

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catrasredemption-moved · 4 years ago

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catradora+shadow weaver's broken mask

“Why did you go back for it?”

“I don’t know.... it felt right?”

Adora looked at Catra, then down at the mask sitting on the bed between them. “What... What do you want to do with it?” Adora asked after a moment. Catra hid her face in her hands, making an aggravated noise.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’s still fucking with my head and she’s dead.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to hear that,” Adora muttered darkly. They were still unpacking a lot of the damage Shadow Weaver had done to them. They weren’t sure they’d actually be over it.

“I’m so proud of you.” Catra scoffed into her hands. “What the fuck was that? She waits until she knows she’s going to die to say that. Manipulative bitch.”

“It’s probably the first nice thing she ever said to anyone without expecting something in return.” Adora shook her head. “I wonder if she always covered her face.”

Catra looked up from her hands, eyes fixing on the mask again. “I’d cover my face too if I looked like that horror show.”

Adora bit down a laugh. “She had the lower half of her face covered when she was teaching at Mystacor, too. I don’t get it.”

“I do.” Catra reached up to brush her fingers through her short locks of hair. “It’s easier to function when you have something to hide behind.”

Adora opened her mouth to argue - then stopped. Catra’s missing headpiece was a bit of a touchy subject, just because of how closely its lose was connected with Horde Prime and his abuse. She never knew how to bring it up.

“You didn’t hide,” she said instead. Catra laughed humorlessly.

“Yes, I did. Constantly.” She hesitated, eyes flicking around before focusing on Adora. “Can I... tell you something?”

“Always.”

Catra nodded, playing with her hair. “Sometimes I’m glad Horde Prime took it. It’s so stupid, but that mask was a part of me for so long, part of the person I don’t want to be. It was something comfortable, though. Like it... I dunno. Wearing it always made me feel better. Stronger. Sometimes I miss feeling secure with it, but... I don’t know if I ever would have been able to change otherwise. It’s dumb, I know-”

“It’s not,” Adora said quietly. “We never had anything that belonged to us when we were living in the Fright Zone, so we had to keep whatever we could get. Your mask, my jacket, that poetry book Rogelio found I have no idea where-”

“I completely forgot about that.” Catra giggled. Adora felt a rush of victory; getting Catra to laugh was always a win.

“If you feel like the mask became too much of who you were as a person you didn’t want to be, then... leaving it makes sense. Leaving that part of you behind is probably the best thing you can do.”

Catra met her gaze, giving her a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

“I have some good influences.”

“You and Sparkles have a lot of philosophical conversations?”

Adora rolled her eyes, hitting Catra with a pillow. She grinned, grabbing it and throwing it back in Adora’s face. Glimmer appeared in the room, covering her eyes, before Adora could retaliate.

“I’m here, please be decent.”

“Why don’t you just knock if you’re worried about walking in on something?”

“Also, you walked in on us kissing once. I have absolutely heard you and Bow doing more-”

“Okay moving on!” Glimmer squealed, waving her hands wildly. “This is what I get for coming to see if you want to visit Bow’s dads with us...”

Her voice drifted off when she saw the mask on the bed. “Am... I interrupting something?”

“Not really.” Adora followed her gaze. “We’re just...”

Moping. Over Shadow Weaver. Again.” Catra gathered up the pieces of the mask and jumped off the bed, heading for the bed.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m getting rid of this stupid thing, and then we’re going to see Bow’s dads because I definitely stole like five books last time I was there.”

“You stole - wait up!”

Adora hurried after her, Glimmer close on their heels.

No one had touched Shadow Weaver’s garden since their return to Bright Moon. They weren’t really sure what to do with it. The garden itself was in stasis, from what they could tell, perhaps waiting for a caretaker that would never come back.

Catra hesitated on the threshold of the garden before taking a deep breath and walking in. There was a small shovel beside one of the flower beds; she grabbed it, knelt down, and began digging. If this place wanted to act like a tomb, then it wouldn’t mind if part of Shadow Weaver was buried here.

Glimmer stayed back while Adora walked in. This was something they needed to do together - the two lost girls who had been terrorized by Shadow Weaver their entire lives, even after her death. They would be dealing with the ramifications of her actions for the rest of their lives.

This was their moment of closure, no matter how small it might be.

Adora leaned on Catra, watching her work. She took the mask when the hole was big enough, and arranged the pieces to lay them in. “Rest in pieces, hag,” Catra muttered before filling the hole again.

“Do you think we’re ever going to be okay?”

It was the first time either of them had said something like that out loud. The first time they acknowledged the real damage. “I don’t know,” Catra admitted. “But she’s not going to keep me from being happy anymore. I’m not giving her that satisfaction.”

Adora smiled gently, getting up on her tiptoes to kiss Catra’s temple. “Same.”

Shadow Weaver wasn’t there anymore. She couldn’t keep them apart or turn them against each other. She was gone. They were still there.

And she couldn’t stop them from living.

#catradora #she ra fic #jesus fucking christ this got long #I'm so sorry #Sam Writes #askbox fic #Mystery Person #Sam Answers

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lligkv · 4 years ago

Text

what the world will look like when it’s over

Can’t Get You Out of My Head is the first Adam Curtis documentary I’ve seen. I gather it’s not the most successful demonstration of his method; it sounds like Hypernormalization or The Century of the Self are tighter in their construction, less effortful (count how many times Curtis says something like “But then it started to run out of control” in this one), and perhaps less frustrating in their narration. In the early episodes of this documentary in particular, it feels like Curtis is constantly presenting what’s being covered as the turn, the decisive shift in his narrative—the emergence of the American counterculture, the revolution of the “unit of One” led by Mao Zedong’s wife Jiang Qing to help her break the stalemate with the other revolutionaries in China into which Zedong had fallen in the 1960s, George Boole’s development of Boolean logic to describe human thought. And the whole thing feels longer and baggier than it needs to be. The early episodes devote much time to interesting individual narratives, like that of the Trinidadian British activist or sorts named Michael Freitas (or Michael X) or a trans woman named Julie in 1960s Britain; they also sprawl in a way that makes the overall argument a bit hard to divine. It’s not until the fourth episode that the shape of Curtis’s narrative becomes clear—that our age is the product of a struggle between a new, broadly liberal-democratic and capitalist image of individualism, a dying era of collectivist struggle, and older, more vicious systems of power, derived from the control of capital and expressed through the middle classes’ suspicion and viciousness toward the subaltern and toward each other, even as they remain subject to the power of oligarchs and billionaires.

Curtis also seems to play fast and loose with the facts sometimes. When he presents Médecins Sans Frontières’s founder Bernard Kouchner as an avatar of a theory of the “one world” of liberal democracy—the idea that we’re basically one world of individuals, enjoying certain human rights regardless of political orientations or ideologies, and that Western nations are duty-bound by virtue of their prosperity to intervene when other nations violate people’s rights—it seems a distortion of what Kouchner actually says in the footage Curtis includes: “We don’t care on leftist or rightist countries [sic]; there is no leftist and rightist suffering, and there is no possibility to split the world in[to] ‘good’ people or ‘bad’ people, ‘good’ dead and ‘bad’ dead.” Which isn’t to say Kouchner didn’t believe in liberal-democratic ideas—he may well have—but what he’s shown as saying has to do with the consideration of suffering as suffering regardless of a person’s identity or allegiance, which is a different matter.

This is just one of several moments when I stopped to wonder how secure I actually was in Curtis’s hands. But ultimately, I find the emotional history he lays out resonant. The age we’re living through now, in the 2020s, is indeed the product of certain fantasies of individualism and of a post-end-of-history, neoliberal “one world”—with no ideologies but capitalism and putative democracy—meeting age-old systems of power, acquisition, and control, and age-old features of the human mind and heart: resentment, prejudice, betrayal, jealousy, the need to be prosperous, the need to be free.

And Curtis’s work appeals to me for the same reason the writer Pankaj Mishra’s work does. He historicizes our underhistoricized time. What’s more, he does so in a way that’s especially rare to see in any mainstream media venue. Usually, when you want to understand the connections between, say, colonial-era empires and post-war welfare states, or if you want to understand what happened to turn Western societies as they were post-war to Western societies as they are post-financialization, you have to seek the information out on your own. It’s valuable to have someone in a place like the BBC willing to put the pieces of these narratives together. And willing to remind us of the events that are so incredibly easy to forget even in one’s own lifetime. Abu Ghraib, for instance, which pops up in part 6 of the documentary. That shit happened while I was alive. How often do I remember it? How many American sins get drowned out in the new ones that emerge every day of every month of every year? Or in the stasis that sets in when what was once novel, like the War on Terror or the invasion into our privacy represented by the Patriot Act, fades into regular life?

I was jotting down copious notes while watching the doc, as is my wont. The questions and thoughts that came up, in no particular order:

How do the elites of a given era impose their preferred ideologies? How are the structures of power we grow up with constructed, and how do those go on to shape our behavior?

Control, as it’s practiced by societies in the 21st century, often comes down to the recognition of patterns in human behavior—and their manipulation.

The loss of power, like that which was suffered after the collapse of Britain’s empire or in the slow hollowing-out of America’s manufacturing industry in the 20th century, leads to anger and melancholy that people can’t be expected to abandon. Does doing what you’re supposed to do bring you the happiness you were promised—or anything even resembling that happiness? When we’re living in a historical moment in which the answer is no, as is often the case today, we’ll need to watch out. It’s a sign people are being manipulated and abused.

Over time, the tech industry has come to understand that you can manage people en masse by collecting their data and manipulating the messages they receive in social media activity feeds and advertising—and you can make them feel like sovereign individuals at the same time through the very same means. In light of all this, will there ever be a revolution that actually changes the structure of power we’re currently stuck in? Is there a chance to alter this extreme individualism. on the part of people who are surrounded by political systems so enervated, by the supra-governmental system that is global finance capital—which politicians can’t control, and must appease and palliate—that they can’t respond to phenomena like climate change or meaningfully punish atrocities like wars prosecuted on false pretenses? Or are we stuck where we are, in a world that’s corrupt and exhausted? In nations whose governments depend on technologies of surveillance and myths of consumerist abundance or nationalist glory to maintain power, in the absence of any real vision for the future?

It all leads to some interesting takeaways. For one, the way culture reacts to politics and vice versa. As I was watching Can’t Get You Out of My Head, I was reminded of a conversation folks on the Discord server for the Relentless Picnic podcast had had recently about the strange things Richard Dawkins posts on his Twitter account. And it led me to think: when religious “caring conservatism” was in the White House, Richard Dawkins and his New Atheism, this brash repudiation of religion and its pieties, grew as a counterweight. When Obama and his technocratic regime were in power, with social media bringing on a wave of progressivism in popular culture and algorithms presenting us a fantasy of endless choice—much of which was a thin veneer over the same old shit: banks getting bailed out, forever wars going on, productivity rising while wages stagnated—we also got Jordan Peterson-types who claimed to speak to a human need for narrative, even in this point of stability we had seemed to reach, this recovery of sanity after the chaos that was the Iraq War and the financial crisis; who claimed we needed ideas and myths to animate and drive our lives, because they sensed there was something hollow and mendacious driving all this consumer choice, for all it seemed a symbol of our freedom and progress.

Of course, both Peterson and Dawkins are provocateurs, not intellectuals; I don’t mean to dignify the movements they led much, since in both the appearance of intellectual rigor or moral clarity often covered the indulgence of the worst instincts: immaturity, obstinacy, provocation for provocation’s sake, contempt for women and trans people. The New Atheists had a point, and could be absolute assholes about it; they ultimately could be as fundamentalist and dogmatic as any religious people. As for Jordan Peterson, his actual work, in the way of so many grand theorists, uses the appearance of profundity to cover something ultimately pretty banal. And he’s most known for grandstanding in the public sphere—refusing to use people’s pronouns, the usual conservative shit. But these movements do seem to reflect a countercultural response no less than 1960s counterculture reflects a reaction to the staid culture of 1950s America and the sins it covered up.

Which leads me to the question: what was the culture’s response to Trump’s administration? Maybe QAnon and Russiagate, as conspiracies—that is, actual narratives people inhabit to explain the world’s evils, and not just a vague need for them that they satisfied with Jordan Peterson’s light form of Stoicism or his theories of Light and Dark or whatever the fuck. And in that way, perhaps, once a countercultural movement—namely nationalism and Trumpian populism—actually seemed to have overthrown a regime, of Obama-era liberal technocratic management, culture and politics came to mirror each other, rather than standing in opposition to each other. Both became equally conspiratorial and unhinged; in fact, they merged. All the ruling myths and conspiracies mutate in kind these days: Trump’s garbage about draining the swamp, a cover for Trump and his family enriching themselves and Stephen Miller’s like getting to fashion the state they wanted, becomes QAnon’s garbage about rings of child trafficking and pedophilia and Trump, of all people, being their savior—all while actual trafficking and abuse perpetuated by Jeffrey Epstein and his ilk goes unpunished, Epstein’s death swallowed up by the state without a sound—becomes the liberal pundit class’s screaming about Russia: connections between Trump and Putin that were always conjectural to me, because no one who pled them seemed to feel much need to substantiate them.

Here again I feel like what were once centrifugal forces in our culture—between mainstream and the independent media, for example; between people in power and their critics, either in the media or at society’s margins—have collapsed into a single morass. We’re all in hell and there’s no way out.

In all this, what does Biden’s administration represent? Little more than an interregnum, to my mind. How disappointing to see not even a gesture toward forgiving student debt or raising the minimum wage in these first 100 days of his presidency. There’s been some progress in climate legislation, and progress in putting Stephen Miller’s deportation machine to a halt (though they’re also reopening several emergency shelters to accommodate more minors already being held past the mandated limits for keeping them in the custody of the Department of Health and Human Services’s Office of Refugee Resettlement). But there’s also been such triangulation on policy by the administration and its supporters and such complacency on the part of the media covering the administration, refusing to call them out on or even cover this. And how can the average voter respond but with resignation?

Ever since I read Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus near the start of lockdown, absorbing the picture of the world pre-World War II that’s presented in that book, I’ve thought we’re in the same sort of moment that Mann’s protagonist Zeitblom was in. There’s a crisis that’s passing over this whole planet like a wave or a seismic event, and no human intervention can interrupt it. We can only wait for it to pass—holding on to whatever’s to hand, waiting to see what the world will look like when it’s over.

#adam curtis #documentaries #thomas mann #jordan peterson #richard dawkins #pankaj mishra #the relentless picnic #conspiracy

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