#His desire for death gets a double sense in this context I think

[fragmentedblade]

I can't believe they made Blade ask with a broken voice why is it only abominations that come back over and over again. Blade, who can't die, who comes back to life again and again

[velvet-vox]

An analysis of Doll on a Roleplay battle setting.

Here's a little something to remember in regards to the things discussed in this post:

Tank beats Melee

Melee beats Support

Support beats Critter

Critter beats Tank

I head canon that Doll is (in an RPG setting) a Critter/Tank but mostly a long distance damage dealer that relies on dealing critical hits (metaphor for her plans) with tanking features and talents that allows her to take in a lot of damage (metaphor for her incredible survivability) in line with these stats:

And the funny and interesting thing about it is that her life trajectory probably wasn't this; in fact, I believe that originally Doll was expected due to her behaviour, personality type, and attitude towards situations to become a Tank/Melee (but more specifically an high damage dealing Tank) but after the death of her parents and the hands of V she took a forceful nose dive into rewriting her class trajectory in order to accommodate for her new goals, because it makes perfect sense:

Uzi is definitely a Critter/Melee but not a straightforward one; for context, a Critter/Melee in the language I am using is a long distance damage dealer that gains advantages from actually getting up close, it's a super rare play style that jives well with Uzi being an unconventional protagonist, but it doesn't stop there as Uzi also doubles down as an all-rounder by also having a blunt, defensive personality and being fairly resistant and resilient like a Tank but also having an understanding, highly empathetic and forgiving personality like a Support that allows her to help her teammates in battle and shrug off some of the trauma caused by her situation.

N on the other end is a Melee/Critter (opposite attract each other:) but not a straight up assassin like V in the sense that N is mostly a regular Melee that has counterplay for Tanks and his capable of getting through other people defenses (metaphor for penetrating the bunker at the start of the season) and he's not a glass cannon like other damage focused Melee and Critters tend to be, (although I don't think he has Tank like qualities in the same way as Uzi, rather he has a moderately high base health pool) and has on top of that the qualities of a Support like Uzi to help his teammates by cleansing debuffs and giving bonuses.

(Side note: even though Uzi and N have the qualities of Support, none of them are healers, they are only buffers and cleansers, they heal themselves and only themselves once they kill, hence why they are the most dysfunctional main trio of all time. Nuzi still works by the way, in the same way Wall-E and EVE works).

V instead, arguably the most complex character of the series, is your typical glass cannon Melee/Critter assassin that deals massive damage up close but can't take back said damage. But where it becomes interesting is that V, much like Doll, wasn't initially projected for this play style as we can clearly see from her original timid maid persona that she was probably more inclined towards being a Support, but unlike Doll, she was fully capable of making that transition because she was motivated by the desire to protect N while keeping him distant, while Doll never fully managed to let go of her Tank origins because she was motivated by hatred and not love.

And as you all can clearly see, the problem with Doll being a Tank becomes self evident: all of the protagonists have the characteristics of Critters, the one class who counters Tanks, meaning that each and every single one of them could have easily mauled her like her family had been if she didn't change her ways; which is ironic, since Tank counters Melee, V main class, so even if Doll couldn't defeat V in a combat situation, she would have hard countered her on a narrative level, so in committing to the Critter play style, she lost an important advantage on that front and, narratively, allowed V to destroy her like her parents were.

And it all comes together to bite her in the ass in episode 7 when she faces Tessa/Cyn who I believe, despite what the colour scheme might imply, it's a Melee/Support who stacks attack buffs on herself; you know, Melee who's the class countered by Tanks (of the which Doll isn't anymore) and villainous Support, the class that counters Critters, aka the class Doll traded Tank for.

As to why I believe fake Tessa is Melee/Support, there are a couple of reasons, but you can mostly get it by their personality and play style; Cyn in their dialogues doesn't try to get under N skin to then deal as much damage as possible all in one go like a Critter would, instead, she slowly destroys his sense of security like a Melee would, also, the Absolute Solver is definitely a Support type of villain since they give their abilities to Uzi and Doll, even if inadvertently, which would make sense narratively to have an unstoppable Support force against our 3 Critter protagonists and to have N and V, our 2 Melees working for him, be the ones who can stop him through Uzi's help.

And lastly, the main reason why Doll even manages to reach Uzi inside the chapel is thanks to that Tank characteristic that she chose to forsake and neglect, and now, that characteristic is not strong and trained enough to allow her to survive, but it has just enough of a presence to allow her to get a final warning out, much like her redemption was always possible despite not being reachable anymore.

Want more?

[two-hands-toward-the-sun]

Besides Daniel, who else could have become Dream of the Endless 2.0?

So, I don't have a full copy of The Kindly Ones on hand right now so I may be remembering incorrectly, but my impression is that Daniel was passed the mantle of Dream of the Endless because of his unique connection to the Dreaming via Lyta being pregnant with him in dreams, and because Morpheus chose him and gave the emerald dreamstone to him (and he likely chose Daniel because of the aforementioned connection). I also like to think these two factors acted in conjunction to each other—the Endless do get to pick who their successor is, but that person has to be someone with an especial bond to their realm.

All that to say! Taking those factors into account, I started playing around with ideas of who else could have become the second Dream, in the context of the Netflix adaptation, and here's three possibilities I came up with:

1. Unity Kincaid

Unity spent over a century in dreams!! She’s a mortal human who spent almost her entire life there—that’s a damn strong bond. Also, when Morpheus was planning to kill Rose, he told her that she could stay in the Dreaming after her death, if she wished. I imagine Morpheus would have extended the same offer to Unity. If she took him up on it, she would have had a double connection to the Dreaming.

There is SO MUCH potential for some really zany humor if we start thinking about Desire’s relationship to Unity. Like. Imagine if your baby mama got reincarnated as your sibling. How weird would that be. Even Desire would be thrown by that, I think. And I can't imagine Unity would take kindly to finding out Desire only seduced her as part of a revenge plot on their brother, and also given how much she ADORES Rose, knowing Desire was just setting Rose up as a sacrifice for their own selfish reasons...oooooh, Desire, watch your fucking back honey. Family dinners were already hilariously fraught, and to add this to the shitstorm? I Would Like to See It.

Also Sandra James-Young would serve cunt in that pirate's outfit Morpheus rolled up in during the Season of Mists family dinner

2. Rose’s unnamed grandmother/Unity’s child

(In the intro I said this post is based on the show and I’ll stick with that for consistency, but this idea would really work better if we mashed comic and show canon so it’s Miranda Walker who’s Unity and Desire’s child, so feel free to imagine as such)

OKAY SO. Daniel was gestated in dreams, and you know who else was?? Unity’s daughter! It would give her a similar “claim” on the Dreaming in that sense.

The family drama is RIFE in this possibility, and you know I’m always a slut for Endless family drama. The kid that Desire sired purely as a revenge plot against their brother…has now taken the place of said brother. And is none too happy about finding out about the truth of why she was conceived.

And! There’s the added fact that Unity’s daughter is the grandmother of Rose Walker—a vortex. An incredibly powerful mortal with the power to tear the Dreaming apart. In the show, Gilbert posits a theory about why vortexes exist at all: “When a human is at the center of the Dreaming, is it not to remind us that we exist because humans dream, not the other way around?” That would be an interesting thing to think about when you become the sovereign of the Dreaming, and your granddaughter was a vortex, and your mother was who the vortex should have been all along.

And that brings us to the last possibility I’ve thought of, and one who is so dear to my heart…

3. Lucienne

*visibly struggling to present my thoughts on my beloved calmly and professionally* So, the two factors: connection to the Dreaming, and being chosen by Morpheus. It’s quite possible that Lucienne is the being who has spent the most time in the Dreaming besides Morpheus himself. “Dream of the Endless always has a raven.” Hell, it’s hard exactly what “always” means to an Endless (Death talks about being present for “the first living thing” and ravens are far from one of the first living things to die or dream—much younger than, say, sea sponges, or cockroaches), but it’s safe to say Lucienne’s been around for a longass time. She was the steward and caretaker of the Dreaming while Morpheus was imprisoned. The residents trust her and go to her for counsel. Her bond with the Dreaming is one of the most powerful save for Morpheus’s own.

As for the “chosen” component…you’ve seen the way Morpheus looks at Lucienne. He’s already chosen her twice: as raven and as librarian. And other than that, he chooses her every day, as his advisor and confidant. I’m thinking here of how Dream says “we have work to do” to Lucienne in Imperfect Hosts, and how she accompanies him to Cain and Abel’s houses when she didn’t technically need to be there: they’re a team, and they’re stronger together.

Also…there’s this added element that in becoming Dream, Lucienne would gain all the memories Morpheus had. Including memories he had of her, of everything they experienced together. She’d know everything he’d been thinking at the time, whereas before Lucienne the librarian could only have guessed. And I think that would be strange and emotional for her.

Conclusion

If anyone made it to the end of this post—thanks for indulging me! Additional thoughts and other possibilities are absolutely welcome. Please feel free to tag me if you make any posts related to this concept! <3

[countlessrealities]

Send 💞 + any dirty questions on anon and my muses will have to answer honestly || Accepting !

💞 + Vox, what's your dirtiest fantasy?

His dirtiest fantasy?

Vox absent-mindedly taps a claw against the bottom edge of his screen, lips pursed in a pensive frown. That's not an easy answer to figure out, especially since the adjective "dirty" can mean multiple things in that context. Depending on the person and on what they truly want to hear, to know.

Sexiest, naughtiest, most secret, taboo, inconfessable, most embarrassing, most dreaded, most desired.

His processors work fast, many intense scenarios flashing before his eyes. Some of them aren't even sex-related, not really, even if he finds them arousing. Most of them involved the same specific individual too, which isn't a surprise, but it's still beyond frustrating.

"Let's start this off with a small confession. I don't really watch Val's movies. The guy himself is amazing in bed, but...most of the stuff he makes sounds a little too fake to keep my attention. Between you and me? Most of those just bore the suit out of me, so they aren't usually worth my time."

He fucking hopes that Valentino won't hear him saying this, because otherwise he'll find himself having to sweet talk the other into forgiving him and then pampering him for a week non-stop.

"That's the general rule, but there are a few exceptions. Some of his earlier flicks are...quite captivating."

Less staged, more honest, less clichéd, more real. He remembers them almost with fondness, in a way, also because they date back to the days when their shared business was just starting to take off. Oh, the thrill of the first successes.

"I remember one in particular...It stuck with me because of how my hellish form is, pun not intended, wired."

He takes a sip from his mug, humming around the hot mouthful of coffee.

"When I first got down here, getting used to being like this," he gestures at his own body, "took a while. I had the potential to spread my 'sense' much further than any human ever could, and that potential grew more and more with the progress of technology. I eventually got the handle of it, but there were some moments when it became overwhelming. To the point that it took over my systems for hours."

The very first time had happened back when he and Alastor were still friends. He will never confess having spent half a day hooked onto the Radio Demon's signal just to keep himself grounded. And he wouldn't be caught double dead admitting how addictive the experience had been.

"Anyway, the point is...there's this one movie where the main guy is forced into this sort of sensory deprivation tank for a good while and then, while he's still in it, his tormentors force a series of different stimuli on him. All too intense for him to bear, all too sudden, to the point that ecstasy and agony felt the same. A short-circuit that was at the same time the most horrible death and the highest peak of bliss."

A digitalised hum leaves his speakers and he drums his fingers against the armrest, claws scrapping against it a little too hard for the gesture to be casual. Thinking about it is sending small sparks of literal electricity running along his wires, filling his guts with a pleasant buzzing.

"I could get high on that kind of control. Make someone go through what I've gone through, but knowing that I could reshape the way they perceive the world around them. They'd know only what I want you to know, and feel only what I want them to feel..."

His voice trails off, red liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth, making shi unhinged smirk look even more deranged. Oh, the things he could do to someone, given the chance, and the highs he himself could ride.

However, the darkest, most dangerous ideas that twirl in the back of his mind? Those will always remain his and only his to know.

[esther-dot]

Is it me or is the prophecy a dream Aegon had? The part abt "aTarg must be seated on the IT" is only interpretation/wishful thinking or not? Forgive me, I am not native English, but Aegon's dream appears as a fact and it doesn't include "a Targ on the IT". At least this is my understanding. Am I wrong??? If not, the Targs wreacked chaos for nothing, lol! (a Targ on the throne, another way for M. to throw shade on the Targs and prophecies)

also the prophecy is a double edged sword for targ/dany fans because accepting it as a justification for aegons conquest would mean that they'd also have to accept that dany did not have justification beyond her desire to rule. the prophecy definitely wasnt passed to her, she was in exile (unless rhaegar or the mad king passed it to viserys and he told dany?). or am i wrong?

(about this post I reblogged)

No worries about your English! It's perfect!

I don't know the context for the clip we saw, or how they'll choose to develop this. I'm not into Targ history or the Targs at all, really. In ASOIAF, Dany doesn't mention Viserys sharing such a prophecy with her, so unless there's gonna be a forgotten memory/retcon in her future, it isn't her reason for going to Westeros or believing she must be queen.

I saw someone say this prophecy thing in HOTD was from Martin though (I don't know the sources), and if it is, I think it's possible that he'll continue to give Dany visions in TWOW and that might serve her drive to take KL at all costs, to tie this all together. She has her Rhaegar vision and asks about TPTWP so it's possible I suppose, and since she is Aegon come again, it makes sense to give them to her too only for her to misinterpret them in the same way. She heard Rhaegar mention a song of ice and fire and that’s what was mentioned in the clip, so there are links there in canon that they’re grabbing at. Maybe Dany will get more info in a dream/vision in TWOW. Again, this is all totally uninformed spec, I'm not watching the show and I have the tags filtered so I'm not even seeing all the content the people I follow put on my dash.

I think you’re right though, that there was clearly misinterpretation influenced by self-aggrandizement because that seems to be the Targaryen way. Rhaegar reads something and believes he is the prophesied hero:

"I would hear it from you."

"As you wish," said Whitebeard. "As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father's knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, 'I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"

"And he was!" said Dany, delighted.

(ASOS, Daenerys I)

It’s all very Targy, and seems to always lead to the same thing: death. 

[zuko-always-lies]

Katara, Gender, the Double Burden, and the Problematic Gender Norms of Modern Western Society

To start this off, I want to make it clear that I absolutely love Katara as a character. I think she’s amazing, complex, and interesting.

Yet I find the way the narrative of ATLA frames her to be intensely problematic.  Much more under the cut:

So, to start off Katara is depicted as someone deeply interested in learning how to fight, despite the entrenched sexism she faces within Water Tribe society. That’s not an issue with her character and is in fact one of the more endearing parts of it. And, of course, Katara is an amazing combatant and frequently takes the lead in fight scenes, bearing the full burden of fighting the war on the frontlines.  She can also heal, but until LoK’s questionable depiction of her, that was never the center of her character.

The problem with Katara’s depiction is the other half of it. We find out this out in “The Runaway”: 

Katara: Fine! It's a lie. But you've been so out of control lately, I knew something was up. I knew you were hiding something, and you were. (Toph knocks the poster from Katara's hand and walks away.) Don't you walk away from me while I'm talking to you! Toph: Oh, really, Mom? Or what are you going to do? Send me to my room? Katara: I wish I could. Toph: Well, you can't. Because you're not my mom, and you're not their mom. (She points to Aang and Sokka.) Katara: I never said I was! Toph: No, but you certainly act like it. You think it's your job to boss everyone around, but it's not. You're just a regular kid like the rest of us, so stop acting like you can tell me what to do. I can do whatever I want! Katara: (chagrined) I don't act that way. (in a shrill and anxious voice) Sokka, do I act motherly? (Sokka, alarmed, decides discretion is the better part of valor.) Sokka: Hey - I'm staying out of this one. Katara: What do you think, Aang? Do I act like a mom? Aang: (digging nervously at his eye) Well, I... Katara: Stop rubbing your eye and speak clearly when you talk! Aang: (chastened) Yes, ma'am.

And this:

Toph: So let me guess. You brought me out here to tell me your sister's not as annoying as I make her out to be. Sokka: Nah, she's pretty much a pain. (Katara scowls.) She's always got to be right about everything, and she gets all bossy, and involved, and in your business. Toph: Yeah, I don't know how you can deal with it. Sokka: Actually, in a way, I rely on it. Toph: I don't understand. Sokka: When our mom died, that was the hardest time in my life. Our family was a mess, but Katara, she had so much strength. She stepped up and took on so much responsibility. She helped fill the void that was left by our mom. Toph: I guess I never thought about that. Sokka: I'm gonna tell you something crazy. I never told anyone this before, but honestly, I'm not sure I can remember what my mother looked like. It really seems like, my whole life, Katara's been the one looking out for me. She's always been the one that's there, and now, when I try to remember my mom, Katara's is the only face I can picture. (Katara is overcome with emotion.) Toph: The truth is, sometimes Katara does act motherly, but that's not always a bad thing. She's compassionate and kind, and she actually cares about me. You know, the real me. That's more than my own mom. (Katara lowers her head, in sadness or perhaps shame.) Don't ever tell her I said any of this.

We also find this out in the very first episode of the show:

Katara: Ugh, I'm embarrassed to be related to you! Ever since Mom died I've been doing all the work around camp while you've been off playing soldier! Sokka (noticing the cracking iceberg): Uh... Katara? Katara: I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks? Let me tell you, NOT PLEASANT! Sokka: Katara! Settle down! Katara: No, that's it. I'm done helping you. From now on, you're on your own!

So Katara is firmly established as Team Mom. However, there’s something very screwed up here. You see, Kya died when Katara was 8 years old and Sokka was 9. 8 year old Katara stepped up to be the “mother” of her family and became the caretaker, both physically and emotionally for her older brother to the degree he can’t really remember his mother because it seems like Katara has been always been his caretaker. This is clear example of parentification, something deeply traumatic to a child.

Katara’s official show bio even said this:

Fourteen-year-old Katara is the heart of the show. She is a caring and passionate teenage girl. Kindness and empathy are her most endearing traits.  When outraged, her desire to rectify wrongs often overrides the trio’s safety. Katara is determined to save the world, despite her limited abilities.  Katara’s dogged determination keeps her going.  Katara is very mature and responsible for her age and always plays the mediator between Aang and Sokka. She is the glue that holds them together.

And we get the sense that she has to be the mature and responsible one in “The Desert.”

Katara is also someone who very much bears the burden of looking after the emotional needs of the rest of the Gaang. She gives comfort more often than she receives it.  Here’s a classic example from “The Southern Air Temple”:

Katara:  [In the background, Sokka is hunched over his rock, clenching his teeth together. Katara shouts calmly with a sad expression on her face. The camera slowly moves in on her.] Aang! I know you're upset and I know how hard it is to lose the people you love. I went through the same thing when I lost my mom. [Diverts her eyes. Shot switches to a frontal view of Aang, his tattoos glowing and wind swirling around him; his clothes flutter in the storm. Sokka runs over to his sister in the background.] Monk Gyatso and the other airbenders may be gone, [Close-up of her as she looks up at him.] but you still have a family. Sokka and I! [Sokka opens his eyes and glances at his sister.] We're your family now!

Even Katara’s trauma regarding her mother’s death is usually brought up not for its own sake but in the context of making her emphasize with the issues of other people(for instance with Aang in “The Southern Air Temple,” with Haru in “Imprisoned,” and with Zuko in “The Crossroads of Destiny”). Her deepest pain becomes a tool to make her more empathetic and caring.

Katara is also the member of the Gaang who we most regularly see doing basic chores:

What does this all mean?

a) Katara is someone who has experienced the deeply traumatic experience of parentification.

b) Katara, like many women, is someone who bears the double burden of both “working”(i.e. fighting in ATLA’s context) and being a caregiver. She has to be healer, fighter, emotional caretaker, and physical caretaker all once.

To be clear, there’s nothing wrong writing Katara that way. The issue is that the narrative never depicts 90% of what Katara has to undergo as being problematic or traumatizing. The fact that she has to be responsible for her age and has been a primary caretaker since she was eight is considered endearing, rather than something traumatizing.

Why is that so? Because the dominant modern western cultural ideal for women is for them to bear the double burden, to both be workers(with all the attendant demands) and to be self-abnegating caretakers. Moreover, the fact that Katara is a girl of color encourages people to see her as older than she is. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Recommendation engines and "lean-back" media

In William Gibson’s 1992 novel “Idoru,” a media executive describes her company’s core audience:

“Best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth…no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”

It’s an astonishingly great passage, not just for the image it evokes, but for how it captures the character of the speaker and her contempt for the people who made her fortune.

It’s also a beautiful distillation of the 1990s anxiety about TV’s role in a societal “dumbing down,” that had brewed for a long time, at least since the Nixon-JFK televised debates, whose outcome was widely attributed not to JFK’s ideas, but to Nixon’s terrible TV manner.

Neil Postman’s 1985 “Amusing Ourselves To Death” was a watershed here, comparing the soundbitey Reagan-Dukakis debates with the long, rhetorically complex Lincoln-Douglas debates of the previous century.

(Incidentally, when I finally experienced those debates for myself, courtesy of the 2009 BBC America audiobook, I was more surprised by Lincoln’s unequivocal, forceful repudiations of slavery abolition than by the rhetoric’s nuance)

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/01/20/lincoln-douglas-debate-audiobook-civics-history-and-rhetoric-lesson-in-16-hours/

“Media literacy” scholarship entered the spotlight, and its left flank — epitomized by Chomsky’s 1988 “Manufacturing Consent” — claimed that an increasingly oligarchic media industry was steering society, rather than reflecting it.

Thus, when the internet was demilitarized and the general public started trickling — and then rushing — to use it, there was a widespread hope that we might break free of the tyranny of concentrated, linear programming (in the sense of “what’s on,” and “what it does to you”).

Much of the excitement over Napster wasn’t about getting music for free — it was about the mix-tapification of all music, where your custom playlists would replace the linear album.

Likewise Tivo, whose ad-skipping was ultimately less important than the ability to watch the shows you liked, rather than the shows that were on.

Blogging, too: the promise was that a community of reader-writers could assemble a daily “newsfeed” that reflected their idiosyncratic interests across a variety of sources, surfacing ideas from other places and even other times.

The heady feeling of the time is hard to recall, honestly, but there was a thrill to getting up and reading the news that you chose, listening to a playlist you created, then watching a show you picked.

And while there were those who fretted about the “Daily Me” (what we later came to call the “filter bubble”) the truth was that this kind of active media creation/consumption ranged far more widely than the monopolistic media did.

The real “bubble” wasn’t choosing your own programming — it was everyone turning on their TV on Thursday nights to Friends, Seinfeld and The Simpsons.

The optimism of the era is best summarized in a taxonomy that grouped media into two categories: “lean back” (turn it on and passively consume it) and “lean forward” (steer your media consumption with a series of conscious decisions that explores a vast landscape).

Lean-forward media was intensely sociable: not just because of the distributed conversation that consisted of blog-reblog-reply, but also thanks to user reviews and fannish message-board analysis and recommendations.

I remember the thrill of being in a hotel room years after I’d left my hometown, using Napster to grab rare live recordings of a band I’d grown up seeing in clubs, and striking up a chat with the node’s proprietor that ranged fondly and widely over the shows we’d both seen.

But that sociability was markedly different from the “social” in social media. From the earliest days of Myspace and Facebook, it was clear that this was a sea-change, though it was hard to say exactly what was changing and how.

Around the time Rupert Murdoch bought Myspace, a close friend a blazing argument with a TV executive who insisted that the internet was just a passing fad: that the day would come when all these online kids grew up, got beaten down by work and just wanted to lean back.

To collapse on the sofa and consume media that someone else had programmed for them, anaesthetizing themselves with passive media that didn’t make them think too hard.

This guy was obviously wrong — the internet didn’t disappear — but he was also right about the resurgence of passive, linear media.

But this passive media wasn’t the “must-see TV” of the 80s and 90s.

Rather, it was the passivity of the recommendation algorithm, which created a per-user linear media feed, coupled with mechanisms like “endless scroll” and “autoplay,” that incinerated any trace of an active role for the “consumer” (a very apt term here).

It took me a long time to figure out exactly what I disliked about algorithmic recommendation/autoplay, but I knew I hated it. The reason my 2008 novel LITTLE BROTHER doesn’t have any social media? Wishful thinking. I was hoping it would all die in a fire.

Today, active media is viewed with suspicion, considered synonymous with Qanon-addled boomers who flee Facebook for Parler so they can stan their favorite insurrectionists in peace, freed from the tyranny of the dread shadowban.

But I’m still on team active media. I would rather people actively choose their media diets, in a truly sociable mode of consumption and production, than leaning back and getting fed whatever is served up by the feed.

Today on Wired, Duke public policy scholar Philip M Napoli writes about lean forward and lean back in the context of Trump’s catastrophic failure to launch an independent blog, “From the Desk of Donald J Trump.”

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-trumps-failed-blog-proves-he-was-just-howling-into-the-void/

In a nutshell, Trump started a blog which he grandiosely characterized as a replacement for the social media monopolists who’d kicked him off their platforms. Within a month, he shut it down.

While Trump claimed the shut-down was all part of the plan, it’s painfully obvious that the real reason was that no one was visiting his website.

Now, there are many possible, non-exclusive explanations for this.

For starters, it was a very bad social media website. It lacked even rudimentary social tools. The Washington Post called it “a primitive one-way loudspeaker,” noting its lack of per-post comments, a decades old commonplace.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2021/05/21/trump-online-traffic-plunge/

Trump paid (or more likely, stiffed) a grifter crony to build the site for him, and it shows: the “Like” buttons didn’t do anything, the video-sharing buttons created links to nowhere, etc. From the Desk… was cursed at birth.

But Napoli’s argument is that even if Trump had built a good blog, it would have failed. Trump has a highly motivated cult of tens of millions of people — people who deliberately risked death to follow him, some even ingesting fish-tank cleaner and bleach at his urging.

The fact that these cult-members were willing to risk their lives, but not endure poor web design, says a lot about the nature of the Trump cult, and its relationship to passive media.

The Trump cult is a “push media” cult, simultaneously completely committed to Trump but unwilling to do much to follow him.

That’s the common thread between Fox News (and its successors like OANN) and MAGA Facebook.

And it echoes the despairing testimony of the children of Fox cultists, that their boomer parents consume endless linear TV, turning on Fox from the moment they arise and leaving it on until they fall asleep in front of it (also, reportedly, how Trump spent his presidency).

Napoli says that Trump’s success on monopoly social media platforms and his failure as a blogger reveals the role that algorithmically derived, per-user, endless scroll linear media played in the ascendancy of his views.

It makes me think of that TV exec and his prediction of the internet’s imminent disappearance (which, come to think of it, is not so far off from my own wishful thinking about social media’s disappearance in Little Brother).

He was absolutely right that this century has left so many of us exhausted, wanting nothing more than the numbness of lean-back, linear feeds.

But up against that is another phenomenon: the resurgence of active political movements.

After a 12-month period that saw widescale civil unrest, from last summer’s BLM uprising to the bizarre storming of the capital, you can’t really call this the golden age of passivity.

While Fox and OANN consumption might be the passive daily round of one of Idoru’s “vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organisms craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed,” that is in no way true of Qanon.

Qanon is an active pastime, a form of collaborative storytelling with all the mechanics of the Alternate Reality Games that the lean-forward media advocates who came out of the blogging era love so fiercely:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/06/no-vitiated-air/#other-hon

Meanwhile, the “clicktivism” that progressive cynics decried as useless performance a decade ago has become an active contact sport, welding together global movements from Occupy to BLM that use the digital to organize the highly physical.

That’s the paradox of lean-forward and lean-back: sometimes, the things you learn while leaning back make you lean forward — in fact, they might just get you off the couch altogether.

I think that Napoli is onto something. The fact that Trump’s cultists didn’t follow him to his crummy blog tells us that Trump was an effect, not a cause (something many of us suspected all along, as he’s clearly neither bright nor competent enough to inspire a movement).

But the fact that “cyberspace keeps everting” (to paraphrase “Spook Country,” another William Gibson novel) tells us that passive media consumption isn’t a guarantee of passivity in the rest of your life (and sometimes, it’s a guarantee of the opposite).

And it clarifies the role that social media plays in our discourse — not so much a “radicalizer” as a means to corral likeminded people together without them having to do much. Within those groups are those who are poised for action, or who can be moved to it.

The ease with which these people find one another doesn’t produce a deterministic outcome. Sometimes, the feed satisfies your urge for change (“clicktivism”). Sometimes, it fuels it (“radicalizing”).

Notwithstanding smug media execs, the digital realm equips us to “express our mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire” by doing much more than “changing the channels on a universal remote” — for better and for worse.

Image: Ian Burt (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/oddsock/267206444

CC BY: https://creativecommo

ns.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[jonsa101]

Do you think when Max double back and said “we never talked about it” do you think Helen took it as yes finally he’s opening up and that’s why she hug him and laugh that relieved laugh? And then she asked him that question and she realize he still doesn’t get it??

Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!! This is a great question and such a hard one to answer as well! I’ve honestly considered a lot of scenarios in my mind about where Helen’s mind was at before and after the hug. I have gone back and forth about it but after analyzing it for awhile these are my final thoughts on it.

In my last ask I got from @abriaashley, I had mentioned that there was a very brief moment in that rooftop scene that reminded of me their rooftop scene in 1.17. Before I answered this ask, I took a couple days to really make sure that I knew what I was talking about but after analyzing it I know without a shadow of doubt this is the exact same expression. To me, this brief moment below is the most important key in understanding everything that happened during and after their hug.

But in order to understand why Helen has this expression on her face, we need to first examine the scene where we saw this expression first. In episode 1.17, Max and Helen are having a conversation within a conversation about their relationship. Everything is subtext but essentially Helen tells Max that she needs to “triage,” she can’t be his “all of the above” and that she’s removing herself as his doctor. Of course Max is upset by this and with his wonderful Freudian slip he reveals his true heart’s desire when he says...

But what if I want you?

After this declaration, we get this expression on her face and then Helen STICKS TO HER RESOLVE!

In the context of this scene, Helen’s expression here tells me two things:

Max telling her “what if I want want you” is exactly what she wants to hear. She clearly has feelings for him and hearing that is supposed to tempt and sway her resolve. But based on their current circumstances the idea of them is simply not possible and it’s heart aching.

She clearly doesn’t want to do what she’s about to do in this moment but she’s BUILDING UP THE WILL POWER to do what she feels she has to do!

This is my interpretation of why Helen has that expression on her face. When I look at episode 3.10 where Helen has that same look before she hugs Max, I think the same reasons apply for this moment as well. As an avid Sharpwin shipper it’s easy to fan girl about these intimate moments and get carried away but when you logically look at their scene and the scene that took place right before, hopefully what I explain will make perfect sense to you.

Before Max and Helen’s moment on the roof, Helen had a GUT-WRENCHING scene with her niece. Mina is still heavily grieving her father and this explains so much of why she’s also had a lot of behavioral issues. She’s suffering emotionally and is desperately trying to find some semblance of peace and healing. Shanthi Sekaran, the writer for this episode, said the inspiration for this scene was Micaheanglo’s Pieta and how fitting it was for this moment between them.

“Pieta” which translates to pity or compassion, shows the the Virgin Mary compassionately holding on to the dead body of Jesus as she sorrowfully contemplates the death of her beloved son.

Like this sculpture, Helen compassionately holds Mina and comforts her as Mina is overcome with her grief and as Helen is trying to empathize with the depths of Mina’s sorrow! It’s just such a beautiful thing to witness and why I’m hoping Mina sticks around for the long haul. There’s so much emotional investment already and in this moment of their lives, they desperately NEED EACH OTHER! So when you look at everything from a wholistic perspective and you look at the chain of events that led Helen to be on that rooftop in the first place, does it LOGICALLY make sense that Helen would be in the headspace to address her relationship with Max or even kiss him? Nooooooooo!!!!

It doesn’t make sense!

If anything, her actions in this scene is a reflection of what she did earlier with Cassian when she broke up with him. As she made her niece first priority with Cassian, she is essentially making her niece first priority again with Max, despite being in love with him!

Let’s breakdown 3.10’s rooftop scene so y’all can know where I’m coming from.

Part 1 of this scene is Max and Helen discussing parenting and him emotionally supporting her when she feels like she had a parenting fail. This should have been the first clue for us to understand how this moment between them would play out because this issue with Mina was the main thing that was clearly plaguing her mind!

In part 2 of this scene, Max turns to leave and then after briefly hesitating, he turns around says

“I’m sorry about Cassian.”

As soon as he says this we see this same expression we saw in 1.17. Then Max continues and says.

I don’t know what to...say. I mean, we never talk about it.”

Y’all I said this in my last ask but this is a really big deal! This is Max’s first attempt to bring up the elephant in the room between them and it’s something that he’s never attempted to address before. Helen knows this is a big deal too and she knows where this conversation was headed. Hence why before the conversation could even go anywhere, Helen cut him off with a hug!

Like I said at the beginning of this post, the expression Helen makes before the hug is the key to understanding this scene in it’s entirety! Similar to 1.17 I believe the same reasons apply for her expression in 3.10 but vary slightly.

Once again, what Max is saying is exactly what Helen wants to hear but also what she’s been waiting for him to do! Unlike in season 1, Max and Helen are in completely different circumstances than they were back then. Subconsciously, they had feelings back then but now they are both fully aware that they’re in love with each other. The massive elephant in the room exists between them because they don’t talk about their feelings and they’re to afraid to voice that they’re in love with each other. There is no doubt in my mind that Max finally being able to at least broach the topic is something that she has always wanted Max to do. They seemingly don’t have anything that’s holding them back from being together but based by how I see it, the heart aching look on Helen’s face tells me that in Helen’s mind it’s essential she puts her sole focus into Mina, even if this is something she’s always wanted. (This Is KEY!)

Like 1.17, I think Helen was building up that will power to tell him that she’s happy that their friends even though she’s in love with him. That hug between them was a lot of things. It was deeply loving and heartfelt. It was cathartic with pent-up angst and longing semi-released but most of all, it was desperate and supportive. Despite this, I also believe that this hug was used to avoid a conversation that Helen didn’t want to have. If she allowed that conversation to go any further she would have 100% been swayed and would have probably given into her feelings. But Helen didn’t want to be swayed. She wanted to stick to her resolve that Mina is her first priority! Is this a problematic mindset? Yes! But after that emotionally charged moment with Mina I can see how Helen might think she’s making the right decision.

Also, I’m convinced that if Mina’s breakdown didn’t happen before Max and Helen’s moment on the rooftop, they would have probably had that conversation. But since it did happen, it totally plays a role in what transpires between Helen and Max.

For the moments after they hug this is how I interpret those interactions:

When Helen says to Max “what you said earlier” initially I thought she was referring to something he said earlier in the day. Now that I’ve taken a couple of days to really think about it, I just don’t think that makes sense. Again, after Helen’s moment with Mina, I don’t think she was in the headspace at all to talk about her feelings for him. This scene was more so about Max stepping up and being emotionally supportive of her and I think what’s she’s actually referring to is Max saying “But it helps not to be alone.” In that moment Helen recognized that Max will unequivocally support her and I think that’s something she’s incredibly grateful for. When Max responds with “what did I say?,” I genuinely believe he’s not thinking straight because he so overwhelmed and overjoyed to have Helen in his arms. Also, I think naturally he asks that question because he wants to know for future reference what he needs to keep saying to keep her in his arms 🥰.That look that she gives Max before she tells him that she’s really glad that they’re friends isn’t necessarily a look of disappointment because of Max. After I watched it again, that look to me is more so of a look of “I hate that I’m doing this but I have to do this.” As she is gazing into his eyes, it’s her final push to stick to her resolve! Her mind was already made up and she was going to see that decision through.

Y’all I’m going to wrap this up here because this ask wasn’t supposed to be a meta but ended up that way! Lol! Though these are my opinions on what transpired in 3.10 that doesn’t change my opinion of how I see things unfolding for Sharpwin this season. I just think it’s important to put scenes in proper context. Though Helen might have said that they’re friends, it is so evident that she is clearly in love with him. Like Max, she can’t pretend or neglect her personal wants and needs forever! The great sleeping bear of her desire stirred and is wide awake! Sooner rather than later that bear needs to be fed!

Feel free to reach out to me through my Dms on Tumblr or on Twitter! @oyindaodewale. Also my ask box is always open! 🥰

None of the Gifs in this post are mine!

[bookersebastien]

since I love your headcanons/meta (if you're up to it) can I have your thoughts on the guard + fashion

andy

Andy probably has a pretty complicated relationship with fashion, like i think she does with most things in the modern world given the fact that it’s only a tiny spec of her lifetime

She’s spent her life watching thousands upon thousands of fashion trends come and go and was alive during the creation of many fabrics themselves

She’s been a warrior her entire life, we may not know the manner of her first death (or at least not from the movies) but we know she’s spent most of her life as an immortal fighting, both before and after she met quynh

Fashion for her was always at the very least comfortable and flexible, something she could travel and fight in without a moment’s notice

But to some extent how she looks, her image is a very important aspect of her, especially in the earlier part of her life

She was a famed fighter for so long, earning her name “fighter of man”, there were probably stories told of her and quynh, warrior women who no one can defeat, her clothing at that time at least semi reflected that, she wanted to be seen as “unbreakable” as she says in the movie

She had probably minimal armor, after all she doesn’t need it technically and would only prefer it to have less healing time if she took on less damage, but her clothing showed exactly who she was, every bit the warrior

As practical as she is, who she appears to be is still probably very much still tied to her identity, she may not be known anymore and doesn’t even want to be for the sake of their safety but her clothes are not just strictly practical, rather than be the warrior of myth she has now become a warrior of the modern age, a warrior of the shadows

Her clothes still reflect her younger self, the famed warrior, just scaled back and modernized. She wears calf-high boots, arm braces and fitted clothing in all black  she cuts quite and imposing figure and that’s what i think she wants. She doesn’t necessarily use it to intimidate others, as her younger self may have done, this time her clothing is now to make her still feel powerful, a reflection of who she is now: skilled and deadly, ready at a moments notice to protect those she loves

While jeans and a tank top is a perfectly normal outfit, with the boots and braces you’d do a double take, wondering who she was, but it’s meant to blend in just enough but if you look closely enough at how tight the boots are laced and her posture, tank top carefully tucked in you’d start to wonder

I think she does actually like fashion, she’s seen so much of it and she probably sees things that remind her of something she saw hundreds of years ago, like seeing trends pop up again and it fills her with nostalgia. It reminds her of when she was in love with humanity, loved seeing what people created and invented and when she truly believed in their cause

But things definitely changed after quynh was thrown in the ocean, just had a less of desire and the clothes probably reminded her of quynh, what’d she’d wear and what she’d get for andy to wear and as modern times came around she stuck to stuff that was more practical, still a little fashionable, but stuff that could be worn doing anything from sleeping to fighting

I think her clothing in the movie, mostly black, reflects who she is as this time: a powerful and strong warrior who’s also afraid, she’s afraid that she spent her life fighting for something that doesn’t matter but also (pre-nile) afraid of what she’s going to do now that she said the world could burn - what does a 6,000+ immortal warrior do then?

booker

Booker is not unfashionable, and while his relatively apathetic and cynical nature might make you think fashion isn’t something he would care about, i think he does

He isn’t like joe who would go the extra step to make an outfit more aesthetically pleasing, but also he isn’t as super practical as nicky (he keeps his gun in his pants for fuck’s sake)

Booker is tired and wants to feel normal, to feel his humanity that he feels is slipping away from him even though it’s already been 200 years - he’s still adjusting and that’s because he never wanted this and still doesn’t completely accept this is his life now (hence at least a partial reason for his betrayal)

But i don’t booker is one to make too much of a fuss about what he’s wearing, he wants simple clothing that won’t make him look out of place, especially since he was the one who met with copley for that previous mission maybe he is the one who scouts missions as their seemingly resident computer person

So he goes for what a lot of people do: classic pieces of clothing in selection of relatively neutral colors that all work together. In their life it’s important to have clothes at the ready, both in their bags and at their safehouses and i’d bet at least most of his stuff would work together with no issues

Aside from the tac outfit of course, he mainly wears an assortment of jeans, boots, button downs and leather jackets in mostly blacks and grays with a couple faded blues and greens - any of these can be thrown on without an issue, it looks like a complete outfit and nothing about how he’s dressed is any way going to attrract attention

Plus this man doesn’t care enough about himself to make him look good rather than just being fine with what he has, he wants to die and doesn’t allow himself to feel the love he has from his family, dressing up to him isn’t going to add anything or make anything better

So in the sequel i’d love to see him deal with his pain and his betrayal head on and who knows maybe joe will buy him some zipper pants too and maybe booker will actually like them

nicky

Nicky is the other more practical one other than andy, but he lacks her attempt at keeping at appearances/empowerment

The majority of movies he’s wearing plain t-shirts and regular jeans with dad jackets, the only slightly impractical fashion choice being his hoodie from the tac outfit, which it does cover him up completely and allows him to cover his face more if needed but also it’s hot (i also like that post comparing the hoodie to the crusader’s chainmail helmet)

But nicky in essence is practical, he’s the protector of the group, always watching and always on the edges, he doesn’t care much i think for what he wears as long as it allows him to do his job

Yes of course he participated in fashions over the years, and will wear things joe picks out for him and occasionally what he picks out for himself, but that stuff is not for when there is a mission, not when people need help

But i think he usually gravitates towards simple like andy, something to run and fight in but he lacks andy’s past of fame, reverence, and notoriety (at least in the way she had it - he did fight in the crusades after all) so his clothing isn’t to do anything for him but to act as clothing, it holds no mental power over him, he has no image to project - he’s done so much that he wants to help people and protect his family and that’s it

I don’t think growing up in genoa before the crusades lent itself to that many fashion opportunities and while we aren’t sure of his exact status, i don’t think any of the guard were particularly wealthy (except possibly yusuf as the son of merchants) and being a priest at the time i’m sure didn’t make him wealthy in his adulthood either

And while he’s lived 900+ years, the way you grew up doesn’t just leave you, he was at least catholic, and i still think he holds his faith close, just in a different way now

Plus look at his tac outfit, the most comfortable looking (it is a hoodie after all) and he has half a dozen guns strapped to himself along with sword, he wants the ability to carry his things comfortably without impeding him in any way, he wants to be totally and completely prepared and is very much the typical dad in this sense, everything must be on hand so he can protect those he loves

Also you know this man owns cargo pants much to joe’s dismay

joe

we all know joe is the fashionable male among the guard, i mean the backwards baseball cap and the zipper pants? yeah

in his tac outfit, the hat really adds nothing to it besides aesthetic, it’s not shielding his eyes from the sun because he’s wearing sunglasses and it doesn’t aid him in any way during a fight unless he had decided to pull a booker and do “whatever works” and just like hit someone with it - it’s a purely aesthetic choice

but joe was the child of merchants and lived in an area with a rich history of colorful and beautiful fashion, the region was known for the lightweight fabrics and light silks that during the crusades, many were brought back to europe and astounded the europeans

i think that has stayed with joe, that complete appreciation and awe at the craft of making clothing and using clothing to show yourself and personality 

joe is also a man of the arts, there was so much poetry and arts in the maghreb region, and while that existed in italy as well, nicky was a priest and probably wasn’t exposed to it much outside a religious context

joe is also an artist himself, he has such a grand appreciation for aesthetics and while clothing purely for aesthetics isn’t practical for the life they live unless they are on a break, he manages to infuse his clothing with his personality nonetheless

the backwards hat was fun, unnecessary but it also didn’t get in the way of his fighting. he probably just enjoyed the look (and i know we all did too) and the leather jacket with the hoodie and zippered pants at the end scene was just such an effortless cool look that was still practical but had a lot more personality and an attempted look™ than say nicky and his dad jacket

nile

most of what nile is wearing in the movie isn’t her choice of clothing, not that i don’t think she’d absolutely pick out that green bomber jacket but in the movie she wasn’t the one who picked it, it was packed for her

but the outfit she wears in the end is just like her, trendy and young and refreshing given that the rest of the guard sticks to their own styles they’ve been in the whole movie

but nile is the one who is most likely to branch out, she’s only in her late 20s and by her last scene in the movie it’s only been maybe a week or so since she became immortal, she hasn’t evolved a ‘be ready to fight’ kind of fashion and doesn’t have the hundreds of years of experience telling her to buy things that she can fight in as well as sleep in - now she was in the marines so to some extent but not with her own personal clothing choices

despite her chaotic introduction to being immortal, it won’t set in for a while that their lives are running from one danger to the next, taking breaks when they can, especially with andy’s renewed commitment to the job she and the others set out to accomplish, her clothing style will probably change as she settles into this new life

but we can see in her last scene, she is wearing comfortable clothing, a fitted shirt with a stylish yet somewhat more loose fitting jacket and looser pants (they look like joggers and i can’t completely remember if they are or not)

so while her clothes are comfortable, they are more fashionable than any of the others, and while this probably has lots to do with her age i think it’s very important to her current state of mind

she’s had the most insane weeks of her life, found out she’s not going to die for a very long time, found out there are others like her, and had to say goodbye to her family without seeing them again because she’s decided to stick with her new life

and this is a massive change for her, after being in the military for quite a few years, assuming she joined when she around 18-20 which i think she did enlist then especially given the fact that her dad passed when she was younger

life in the military is very controlled, so her having this sudden new gift but also this vast wide open future is probably terrifying to her, so much has changed so quickly, she hasn’t had the time to properly sort through how she’s feeling and truly realizing what this life means

her clothes are a reflection of one thing in her life she can currently control because she can’t control what’s going to happen in the world and where copley will find them a job or where they will be at any one time but she has control over herself so she dresses herself how she wants, how she’d dress if she was home

it’s some semblance of normality, some piece of herself that hasn’t changed and that she wants to express

quynh

while we don’t see quynh much besides in flashbacks and then in the final scene i think fashion is going to be something important to her

she spent 500 years drowning, unable to do anything, unable to save herself

nile said she was feeling insane and angry, quynh spent 500 years without an ounce of control over what was happening to her and regaining her life is something she is not going to take for granted

she’s going to live her life to the fullest, which includes wearing whatever she likes and wearing the colors she loves and the clothing that makes her feel beautiful and badass and powerful - a little like andy and a little like nile

it’s a huge part of her life she’s regained, clothing is something the whole world sees and part of how we perceive people and in a world that she doesn’t know at all she’ll want to craft herself an image because clothing is still one thing she can understand - the styles are all different but i have no doubts it’s something she took to quite quickly, having something she can control completely

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

BBC Merlin 4x05: His Father’s Son

Here's a round-up of my main observations from BBC Merlin's "His Father's Son" (4x05).

1- MERLIN AS A KNIGHT 

I have to admit that Merlin as a sorcerer and trusted adviser appeals to me the most, but I did write a lengthy post analysing how Arthur had turned Merlin into an excellent fighter. This refutes claims that Merlin gave more to Arthur than he received in return. 

At the beginning of 4x05, we see Merlin selected to play a new role: that of knight. How did this come about? Arthur Pendragon is best known for his skills as a warrior, but he deserves more credit for his military tactics. These destroy the popular yet false idea that he is unintelligent. More on the latter in a forthcoming post.  

One of Arthur’s favourite tactics is using decoys. Previous examples of him using decoys include: The Castle of Fyrien (3x07), when Arthur used Merlin as a decoy to entrap Cenred’s soldiers; Aithusa (4x04), when Arthur used himself as a decoy to get Sir Percival to safety; Arthur’s Bane Part 2 (5x02), when Arthur uses Merlin as a decoy to enrage the slave traders before they escape-- by far my favourite example. 

All things considered, I don’t think it takes long for Arthur to choose Merlin. Furthermore, this decision may have taken place before they reached their selected location, as Agravaine later mentions a previous attack by Caerleon on the border. This choice demonstrates that Arthur has higher confidence in Merlin's abilities than he does of in his knights-- else he would have chosen them. We must conclude that Merlin is Arthur's best fighter, though at first glance, we wonder why an unarmed man follows trained knights into battle. 

Merlin is sharp, fast, has high stamina, and is incredibly resourceful. Most of all, however, he is incredibly brave. In fact, when rewatching 1x02, I was surprised to see Arthur acknowledge that Merlin was "braver than you look." This despite Arthur’s frustration that Merlin did not try hard enough during practice ("Come on, Merlin: I've got a tournament to win!"). 

What’s more, in that same episode, Merlin complains about his first day, but later on, we see his fascination wth the ongoing tournament. Then he admitted to Gaius that working for Arthur (in the context of said tournament) "isn't totally horrible all the time." It took one day for him to change his opinion! 

Sure, Merlin would continue to treat the fighting as pointless violence, and Arthur as having nothing more in his head than a desire to knock "the seven bells" out of other people (3x04). However, even in 1x02, when he applauds Arthur's fighting, his actions tell a different story. We associate this habit of liking something whilst pretending otherwise to Arthur, yet Merlin has it as well. 

As I have said before, Merlin and Arthur have profound differences, yet are profoundly alike. 

2- MERLIN AS A SERVANT 

It comes as no surprise that Merlin would return to serving after the beginning of 4x05. However, what that change represents sets the tone for this entire episode: Arthur dismissing Merlin's counsel repeatedly in favour of listening to his uncle. 

When Arthur says, "so please, stick to what you do know," you have to wonder whether Merlin remembered being entrusted with the role of knight. Now, Arthur puts him back in his place. 

Here's another example: "My conscience is clean, which is more than I can say for my room, so just... do your job, will you?" Yet just yesterday, that job involved Merlin risking his life against enemy forces by dressing as a knight. 

By the way, you can tell that Arthur doesn’t believe his own excuses, because he keeps using the passive voice to justify killing Caerleon: “...a show of strength was necessary… an example had to be made… My conscience is clean…” 

Merlin’s face after Arthur claims he doesn’t need anyone is self-explanatory. 

3- NEW THOUGHTS ON ANNIS

Is Queen Annis a good person? Actually, no. 

First of all, she knows and approves of her husband invading foreign kingdoms to plunder their wealth. Such invasions naturally cost not only the lives of Arthur's men, but her own, too. 

Furthermore, despite accepting Arthur's offer of a fight by single combat, she is prepared to cheat by enlisting Morgana's power. Perhaps if Arthur had died, too, she would have felt some remorse. Yet she still takes a monumental risk with Arthur's life in blatant violation of the knight's code. One has to wonder about her reaction had Camelot plotted against her armies in the same way. 

Then we have Annis calmly ordering Merlin’s execution without giving him a chance to explain himself. The lack of emotion in her voice suggests she has done this before. 

Speaking of cruelty, Annis’ champion seems to enjoy inflicting pain on his enemies, yet the Queen claims that he “served my husband well.” I dread to think what she means by “served”. 

I will also note that Queen Annis disdains magic, referring to Morgana as “witch”. As I have said before, Uther did not begin prejudice against magic; sorcerers were disliked and feared elsewhere, too, including by those who disliked Uther. Many sorcerers caused this prejudice by engaging in manipulative, violent, and wicked deeds. 

Examples include High Priestesses using Fomorrohs to enslave people’s minds (4x06); Cornelius Sigan using his power to change day into night and acquire vast wealth (2x01); sorcerers using special blades to murder people (3x04), and so on.

None of this takes away from Annis’ complexity, nor does it undermine her immense humility when she accepts defeat and withdraws from Camelot. After all, much of Annis' rage and desire for vengeance stems from intense grief over Caerleon's death, so we can assume her marriage was a happy one. 

Forgiving the man who destroyed her domestic happiness (as well as leaving her people without a king) shows tremendous nobility on Annis’ part. I think Arthur sees that, for he is always humble and respectful before her. 

4- LONG LIVE THE KING 

Few people respect Arthur more than Merlin. So when he doesn’t join in with cries of “Long live the king!”, you know something is wrong. 

5- CONTROL YOUR FEAR 

Episode 4x03 has a hilarious scene where a drunk Arthur claims he isn’t even a little bit scared, because, “I’m a warrior. You learn to control your fear.” Then Arthur walks smack bang into a pillar. Never fails to make me laugh. Minus the drunkenness, Arthur was telling the truth about controlling his fear.

You can see this at least twice in this episode: first, when he sees how many men Annis has brought against Camelot, and secondly, when he sees the size of Annis’ giant. In both cases, Arthur harnesses his fear into determination, which is another sign of a great warrior. 

Next up, we have a fascinating scene where Arthur watches his men joking by the fire. It's a great way of showing Arthur’s care for these men, as well as his guilt that impending war will end their lives. In a sense, Arthur has to control his fear yet again. 

6- TRUST IN MERLIN 

After the above scene, Gwaine asks Merlin if Arthur is all right, and the fact that Merlin can describe Arthur's feelings without even questioning the King once again shows the unique nature of their friendship. Merlin sees Arthur's expression, and he just knows. And Gwaine knows that, hence why he does not question the King himself. 

Listen to the silence after Merlin's response. Nobody questions Merlin's judgement: they just reflect. Given the way Arthur has repeatedly dismissed Merlin's advance in favour of his uncle, I think he could have learned something from his own knights. 

I wonder whether the knights would ask Merlin something about Arthur in this way, whenever the king was absent. In ancient kingdoms, kings had advisers, and in order to earn the monarch's favour, you spoke to the latter first. Did Merlin ever play that role for the knights?

7- MERLIN’S IDIOCY 

Now, I have a problem with Merlin telling Arthur that 1)- he would have taken any other option but to face war with Annis, and 2)- his decision to kill Caerleon “was made in the best interests of Camelot.” 

Sorry, but it wasn’t. Merlin knows that. I understand that he has to rally Arthur’s spirits so that they can win against Annis, but I am glad that Arthur knows full well he has done wrong. Both Merlin and many fans do not give Arthur enough credit for recognising his own errors. 

However, even these foolishly optimistic statements pale in comparison to Merlin's reckless and self-righteous interference when Arthur negotiates with Queen Annis. I burst out laughing when he trips and falls headlong into the tent, a metaphor for his impetuousness.  

Merlin eavesdrops outside Annis’ tent, gets caught (so he didn't conceal himself), and then has the audacity to say, “Sorry about this!” to Arthur! Not only that, he got angry over being called a “simple-minded fool”, when he couldn’t even walk in a straight line to follow the king, got himself caught and almost killed by enemy soldiers, and made Arthur look as though he were double-crossing Annis! 

I completely agree with Arthur’s anger: “Oh, I was being kind, believe me: you almost got me killed in there!” Correct. Merlin simply could not trust that Arthur knew what he was doing, and decided to interfere. Instead of apologising for getting Arthur into trouble, Merlin remains on the defensive, claiming without evidence that Arthur was “doing a pretty good job of that yourself!” 

This is untrue. Arthur surrendered himself to Annis’ men. The most injury he received was a slap. He asked a favour. That isn’t risking your life. In fact, Arthur was trying to save lives, and if Merlin had been listening properly (or just stayed in bed), he would have seen that. Only after Merlin’s sudden entrance did Arthur face serious danger from Annis. 

Now, Merlin’s explanation for this is, “I’m your friend! I was looking out for you.” I don’t doubt it. But once again, Arthur is right: “I appreciate that in your very confused way, you’re only trying to help, but please: don’t do it again.”

Condescending? Of course. But this time it was Merlin who provoked him into this anger. 

8- MORGANA 

Despite all her power, Morgana still has to defer to non-magical kings and queens. After all, she requires their military assistance to take over Camelot. 

You can also see how Queen Annis detects Morgana’s hatred, greed, self-righteousness, hypocrisy, and bloodlust. In one glance, Queen Annis begins questioning the wisdom of working with a sorceress she does not trust, not least on account of Morgana being a sorceress. 

In fact, Arthur’s prowess as a warrior impresses her more: “You have as much to lose as I if Arthur wins…” Fascinating scene. 

9- THANK YOU, OLD FRIEND 

It’s ironic that arguably the best scene in 4x05 begins by showcasing Arthur’s cynicism. No guesses why Arthur did not tell Merlin about breaking off his relationship with Gwen earlier. That speaks volumes. If he had told Merlin, I think they would have had an argument similar to that of 4x11. 

Only when Arthur realises that he may die does he ask Merlin to pass his ring onto Gwen with an apology. You can see the guilt etched onto his face as he refuses to make eye contact. Interestingly, Merlin does not ask any further questions. 

Arthur’s entrusting Merlin to look after Gwen in the event of his death says a lot. For example, that ring is technically royal property, yet Arthur gives it to a servant for safe-keeping, rather than his next-of-kin, Agravaine. Despite claiming to need his uncle’s advice, Arthur will not trust Agravaine with such duties. Has Arthur made a medieval will or testament? Obviously, I have no idea, however, this episode already shows Arthur’s reliance on Merlin to deal with family matters. 

Another interesting aspect to this scene is Merlin’s silence after Arthur makes an indisputable point. This dispels any idea that Merlin’s advice was always correct. On several occasions, Merlin had to defer to Arthur’s judgement, because he saw the truth and wisdom behind it. “I don’t know what will happen. But for the first time since I became king, I know in my heart I’ve made the right decision.”

Got to love Arthur’s half-amused, “You’re not about to start crying on me, are you?” He expects Merlin to be either in good spirits or confident, because that is how he, too, remains confident. Arthur is an optimist, yet Merlin becomes a pessimist, so the king must pull Merlin together with light and yet serious teasing. 

Needless to say, Arthur calling Merlin “old friend” implies that they have been friends for a long time. So why do some fans still think that Arthur had trouble admitting that Merlin was his friend? Also, the word “old” in this context can imply reliability, constancy. Arthur chose that word to describe Merlin’s value, as well as the length of their friendship. 

The great thing about Arthur is that while he makes some serious errors, when he does repent, he does so well. Not only does Arthur graciously thank Merlin for his concern, but he makes it clear to Agravaine that he relies on Merlin’s judgement prior to entering battle. This supports my earlier statement that Merlin is Arthur’s best fighter, as well as right-hand man; Arthur does not leave for the fight until Merlin has confirmed his readiness. 

On top of this, Arthur later admits that he might be a cabbage head. “I should have listened to you, Merlin. Just this once, I think you were right-- even if you are the worst servant in the five kingdoms!” 

By implication, Agravaine is wrong. Arthur won’t say that, of course, but we saw Merlin’s sound advice competing with Agravaine’s lies for this entire episode. We can only conclude that regardless of what he says, Arthur trusts Merlin more than members of his own family. 

And this is a theme which will continue and grow for the remainder of Season 4. 

FURTHER POINTS:

Merlin’s fighting skills

Paradoxes of Arthur and Merlin’s friendship

[redstainedsocks]

Back to the beginning

So I wanted some context on what had happened to Zach in the first place and also to show some of the differences pre- and post- captivity and lo, another POV character was born.

Warnings: violence, fight scene, knife mention, taser, injuries, kidnapping on video, torture mention, scared whumpee, aftermath of captivity, stress/trauma responses.

Part 1, part 2

Sasha had watched the security footage many times. Possibly hundreds. At first looking for clues for a way to find Zach after he’d been grabbed, then later out of guilt, and then later still out of a desire to see him again at his best—whole and fighting and fierce.

They had all thought it would be the last time they’d see him alive. They’d been proven wrong when two videos and a couple of dozen photos had been sent on a memory card to their headquarters. Footage of Zach bleeding and blurry and suffering. He’d been tortured, clearly. The extent of the damage was impossible to tell but it didn’t look good.

It was his eyes in those pictures which had haunted Sasha—they’d been lifeless, empty of joy. He looked like a man who believed there was nothing good left to experience. And then they’d found his body—or, so they’d thought.

That was two years and three months ago, and now he’d been found, alive but littered with injuries, and he was on his way here after three days in hospital.

Sasha couldn’t say why, in her nervous anticipation, she opened the window and played the video again. It seemed to happen without her deciding to do it, some kind of ingrained response to her worry. There was no sound but in Sasha’s mind it played with background static. The black and white footage was grainy, but she’d seen it so many times by now that it looked crystal clear to her eyes.

She’d been Zach’s field partner that day and she’d let him down. They’d come up against a wall of tear gas and retreated; it was an ambush no doubt about it. The first sight of Zach on the footage was him stumbling backwards, arm flung out. The inside of the building wasn’t caught on the CCTV, she knew they’d left out of a side door but that was where her memory ended. Someone had been waiting, taken her down with one swift blow to the back of the neck. The last glimpses of Zach on that day were here, while she had lain unconscious just out of view, mere feet away.

Zach was clearly fighting someone, his back was to the camera but he jolted, parried and blocked with an assailant just off-screen. His weapon had been knocked aside and he fought empty handed for a drawn out series of blows and strikes back. There was one long, agonising minute where he stumbled out of view of the cameras before he reappeared with a small knife in hand. Probably the one from his own boot but they had never been able to verify that.

He slashed and jumped back, his instincts and training were strong and there was no reason to believe he couldn’t hold his own in a one-on-one fight. He circled his opponent and faded into the shadows to the right of the screen, and came back with speed, arm raised, ready to strike. The person he fought was in range of the camera by that point—masked and unidentifiable—and they grappled for a long moment, until Zach was thrust aside. He found his feet easily enough, caught his balance, and blocked two hits to the face but took one to the stomach. He doubled over, the footage wobbled, static blurred the screen for a second.

As Zach straightened the last time Sasha held her breath. She leaned in closer to the monitor knowing what was coming.

Zach stumbled forward with a sudden jerk, his arm hanging limply and his knife dropped out of shot while he doubled over. He took a harsh blow to the face and swung around, going down hard on one knee. Even after all this time Sasha still winced. She could see the bolt of the crossbow glinting where it protruded from his shoulder even in the lowlight film.

She had a burst of pride, like always, as Zach clawed back to his feet. He blocked another punch that should have sent him sprawling, kicked away the knife that he’d dropped so it couldn’t be used against him, and faced his attacker once more. Her stomach flipped as the end of the altercation drew near. There was a short grapple and the bolt in his shoulder was grabbed and yanked on, and Zach threw his head back in what could only have been a howl of pain.

Once Zach was shoved to the ground the second attacker appeared, and he tried to get up only to be tased into a twitching, helpless tangle of limbs on the ground. Sasha watched with a sense of righteous anger burn through her, it was worse now that she knew this brutal fight didn’t only lead to weeks of pain and a messy death for Zach… but years of lost time, where he could have been subjected to almost anything. Knowing now that it only got worse for him made her sick.

He snarled at them, bared his teeth, tried valiantly to get back on his feet and keep fighting and only went still when they tased him a second time—paralysed and possibly unconscious. She watched them rip off his helmet, his arm bracers, his Kevlar vest, all of it discarded onto the tarmac beside where he lay. The two attackers were brutal, landing kicks and slapping Zach around the face.

Sasha sped up the footage, watching at two times the speed as one of the attackers made a brief call, a van pulled up—license plate obscured—and they dragged Zach into it. There was only a dark grey puddle that Sasha knew to be blood left behind. She stopped, closed the program, and rubbed at her eyes.

She knew what came next, she didn’t need to see it. Her team arriving too late, the ambulance that was called to assist her, the weeks of sleepless nights and fruitless searching. She pulled her hair out of her braid to plait it again with practiced ease, a way to calm her nerves. She’d lived with her shortcomings that day, made as much peace as she could knowing she wasn’t the only one to blame. The entire mission had been compromised and she only played one small part in the turn of events. It still kept her up at night though, it still ate away at her confidence at her ability to do her job—though she would never tell anyone that.

And today… she was going to look the man she let down in the eye. The man who had been through hell and back, the man she should have helped to protect, should have been fighting side by side with. How would he react? Did he hold resentment? Would he rather not see her?

For that matter, it was possible he would rather not see any of them, but the team was the only safe place he thought he could gp?

The message came that the vehicle was only a few minutes away and Sasha stood and smoothed down her shirt, grabbed her jacket and put it on, if only for something to hold on to if she needed to ground herself. Best to face it head on and get it over with. Better to know. She’d had enough years of thinking the worst.

She wasn’t the only one who decided to be part of a welcoming committee and they met the convoy of vehicles in the underground car park below their current office headquarters, and came out of the lift just as the cars pulled to a stop. The windows were blacked out and she waited anxiously next to Lacey and Jordan as their old leader, Emit Bryson climbed out of the first car with his assistant in tow. Bryson looked tired, his frown lines looked deeper than usual on his dark skin and shadows blurred under his eyes, but he had a bounce in his step that Sasha didn’t think she’d seen since Zach was taken. He caught her eye and nodded, smoothing down his wool coat with one hand while the other loosened his tie and top button. His walking stick was, for the moment, tucked under his arm and out of use.

Archer jumped out of the second car and helped to guide a tense man out after him; a man who shrank in on himself trying to look smaller than he was, and it took Sasha a second to put the pieces together. That was Zach. He had a blindfold over his eyes and was utterly still when Archer let go of his hands. The blindfold was a necessity to protect their new location until Zach could be confirmed to be uncompromised and fit to know and protect their secrets once again. It still seemed cruel when she thought about how untethered Zach must feel.

Archer leaned in and spoke to Zach, and Zach slowly reached up and pulled away the sleep mask that had doubled as a blindfold. His eyes were brightly alert, flicking quickly from place to place, and Sasha could only guess at how many times he’d had to assess danger while completely helpless before it.

Besides the rise and fall of his breath that rocked him back and forth he was frozen in place when he wasn’t being guided to move. His movements were jerky and so unlike the vibrant man she knew before. Zach was nearly always doing something with his body- tapping his foot or fingers and he was fluid and smooth, almost dancer-like when he moved, his posture relaxed and easy, unless he was alert out in the field. Which she guessed, in a way, made sense. He’d gone out on a mission it had never ended, he’d never got to come home. This was what years of being unable to relax, unable to rest, probably did to a person.

It turned her stomach, and made the whole thing seem suddenly more real—the stuff of nightmares come to life.

Bryson strode forward and gestured for Zach and Archer to follow. Sasha turned and locked eyes with Jordan and Lacey in turn, seeing her own shock mirrored on their faces. As much as they’d tried to prepare themselves, seeing Zach like this was never going to be easy.

Lacey recovered first and stepped forward first, raising her hand and offering a wide smile. “Hey, we all came down to see you, I hope that’s alright. Way to be overwhelming right?” she laughed breezily, breaking the tension as she shoved her hands in her pockets with a shrug. “We just wanted to welcome you home, well, back.”

Zach latched on to each person who spoke, his attention zeroed in on whoever was moving and addressing him like his life depended on it.

“You all know each other well enough, I think Zach will be able to lead the way in how comfortable he feels able to talk to you all, and how soon,” Bryson said.

Zach’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips with obvious nervous energy. Sasha wanted to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, say something, anything. Offer comfort. What comfort could she have to offer?

“I can… yes? Hi. Hi, all of you.” He glanced around the sea of faces but Sasha was fairly sure he didn’t actually see any of them, not really. Zach’s voice shook but he smiled briefly, a flash of upturned lips, and then looked to Archer for something Sasha couldn’t name.

“It’s been a long day, long… lots of days. Let’s get upstairs first and then we can all say our hellos and I miss yous and all of that. No reason to rush, we have time,” Archer said, smoothing over the awkwardness. He muscled forward with his large frame to call the lift down and Zach stuck close on his heels, close enough to bump with his elbow though Sasha noted that he carefully kept his body from touching. “I could really go for some coffee, dunno about anyone else.”

“I think some refreshments and a good sit down will be in order, yes,” Bryson replied. “Did anyone buy more of my favourite blend yet?”

Jordan, with his smooth voice and easy grace, answered. “Of course, what do you take us for? We wouldn’t let you go without it two visits in a row. I think someone made a run out for Zach’s favourite tea too, so we have the basics covered.” He winked at Zach and Zach blushed.

The lift pinged open behind her and Sasha moved aside to let everyone through, Zach’s gaze landed on her and he winced, she watched him swallow and carefully fold his arms across his chest. Her heart withered, desperately sad, furious all over again… until he raised three fingers from his elbow and tilted half his mouth up into a smile.

She smiled back broadly, nodded at him, and he melted into Archer’s side looking positively exhausted.

Sasha had no idea what any of it meant, or where his head was at, but the fact that he hadn’t yelled or dismissed her or cried… that was better than her worst fears. Maybe it would be alright? There were too many of them to fit in the lift, the passengers from the cars took up all the space and Sasha, Jordan, and Lacey waved them off. They could have waited for a second lift, but none of them wanted to stand around awkwardly waiting. There was too much nervous energy between them, so they took to the stairs instead.  It was four flights up to their main office, and if she thought the time for useless wondering about what had happened to her friend was over—well, she had ninety-six stairs and several painful days ahead to ponder it more.

[Taglist: @haro-whumps, @whumpthisway let me know if you’d like to be added or removed]

[mc-critical]

Do you think MC hurrem, before the bayezid and selim conflict of course, ever considered that the traditional fratricide could possibly happen amongst her sons? Mustafa hypothetically killing her sons if he became sultan is constantly used as a reason for why she had to get rid of him but how could multiple princes having the same mother resolve any potential conflict for the throne? Sorry idk if what i said makes sense

Don't worry at all, I understood you perfectly! ^^

No, I don't think MC Hürrem considered that possibility as strongly before the inevitable occured.

First off, her adaption to the harem was a slow and gradual process and she certainly didn't become aware of all the rules, all the sudden. (as when she was surprised that Mustafa was getting his own harem before the sanjack) She knew enough to set a goal in her mind from the first episode, but didn't get to see the full picture until she went through fulfilling that goal step by step and saw an obstacle that would be impossible to ignore. She was so focused on the path to survive, she brushed off the cost of said path in the first place.

It's true that in the beginning, there wasn't a reason for her to consider possible ongoing rivalry or fratricide between her sons. Nigar told her that she would rule the world if she gives the Sultan a child and when she becomes aware of the competition in the harem, what would make her prevail over them all, guided by her desire to make SS only hers and maintain power, for she would stop undergoing the same trauma and disrespect all over again? More children! We could argue that, throughout season 1, she views having more children as a privilege - not only does it secure more her position as a favorite, but it makes her gain advantage and power over her rival in this game. Notice how she boasts about the possibility alone in front of Mahidevran in both E06 and E11! ("It will be a boy. Then it will be a boy again. Then it will be a boy again and again..."; "I will give birth to many princes, but you won't even give birth to a girl.") These lines could be an attempt of assertion and a mask of vulnerability and insecurity, in a way, but this is far from the only thing going on. Not just the children, but the princes specifically are capilatized on, because bearing one is considered an honor in this harem and for every pregnancy, Hürrem expresses an almost firm confidence that it will be, without a doubt, a prince. The whole system in the show, sadly enough, encourages that whoever has more sons is more powerful and will get everyone else out of their way eventually, without shining a light on the more grim implications and what the mothers will possibly have to go through with their many sons, to the point it simply leaves them to find this out by themselves. It puts the princes in idealized superiority that is one of the first things Hürrem gets used to and that's why she was initially taken aback when Mihrimah was born instead of another prince she wanted so much. By that point, she had no time to consider eventual conflicts or fratricide because of her (initial) upper hand.

The higher stakes were kept under wraps in the series itself, too, because of its Cerebus Syndrome nature that lets you endear with the characters at first in lighter, more mainly interpersonal situations and then move to the wider scale of the historical themes, having them grow as people and political players and realize the bigger context along with the evolution of the narrative. That is coupled with the children's ages, for the small age, to me, was presented as a symbol of innocence. There's this prevailing trend in Hürrem's character during season 2 where she kept saying that Mustafa is too little for doing certain stuff (like going to a campaign, to a province, etc.) and that, I think, is telling enough of the amount of awareness she had for an eventual conflict between her sons. That was a general theme of the show, too, because both Mahidevran and Hürrem held no ill will against the other's children when they were small, as seen by them taking care of them during the janissary rebellion and Mahidevran saving Mehmet in E16. The children themselves weren't a priority of eradication for them back then and when they were little, they were something worth protecting as a mother's value, not tools to be moulded for the future battle for the throne. When their mothers find a common ground in this aspect, would a conflict between children of one and the same mother be possible? Only when they grow up, awareness comes to the surface, bacause by the time they're still small, they're harmless and innocent. (handicapped by SS's words to Mustafa in E46: "As you grow up, the innocence between us disappears, my Mustafa.") Even Hürrem set herself against Mustafa only by E38 and she didn't want his death until then. Knowing this, could she predict that something could go wrong between her own sons, no less? Doesn't she have other stuff to do until she reaches that point? Isn't she too busy in forging her own survival path and not think as much about her children before they grow up?

Then again, Hürrem has shown to be capable of anything to always remain in SS's good graces both because she is devoted to him and for her own goals. The princes play a part in this, because they have to gain the padişah's support first and foremost and that simply cannot be done through quarrels. Hürrem may have grown wise to this, with the many cases of her ordering the children to go away once a conflict of any kind ensues and especially, always telling them throughout season 3 not to fight with each other, not even because of her, and stressing that family is the most important thing. She may have wanted their childhoods to be as peaceful as possible, rendering them (except Mihrimah) oblivious to what she's gone through, which gave them a sense of naivety in the process. And while that naivety turned out to be a double-edged sword (as we saw with Mehmet fully believing Illyas and Cihangir believing in SS's promise that he won't sacrifice Mustafa), it could've been a way for Hürrem to make sure that her children in general would always seek a consensus and look good in front of the sultan. That didn't end up being the case. Despite of these possible measures of hers, I doubt she got fully aware of the possibility, precisely because of her set goals. Even though the dismissal of Selim and Bayezid's conflict became a main arc of Hürrem's in S04, there were also hints of this in S02, shown by E53: "Such a sun will rise that that sun will only rise for me and my children." Her fixation on Mustafa as the single pivotal moment of her life fight is a huge character flaw of hers almost right from the moment she began to see him as a threat and even from her first attempt, as we see by the quote above, she thinks that by eliminating him, it would be all over, assuringly discarding everything else afterwards. And Selim and Bayezid were already arguing by that episode and it only escalated further since then, because of her ignorance as a part of the whole issue.

It's even questionable whether she has ever thought that, maybe there is more work to be done after Mustafa, because Hürrem's fixation became more predominant as the series progressed, in conjunction with the evergrowing Selim and Bayezid conflict. It was already so prevalent by S04 that Hürrem went as far as to blame Mustafa for the first big scandal between them in E112 and Mihrimah had to remind her of their rivalry-slowly-turning-to-enmity's very existence in the first half of the season that is there in spite of who Hürrem thinks is the bigger problem. She didn't give it the significant attention it deserved when they were little and I, for one, believe that she had to investigate more when Selim set Bayezid's arrow up for failure around E91/92 and not scold only Bayezid, for it only heightened his resentment for Selim. She didn't think of it as something that big to deal with, it was probably a problem they would fix by themselves for good measure, because they're still children after all, aren't they? But a resentment of a child could only continue to live on, especially in such a time period, so if Hürrem, knowing how paranoid she could be and how much she tried to evade everything that could oppose her success, predicted the future mass of the conflict, wouldn't she do something more, wouldn't she nullify it? It's a given that she can't be next to them in every single minute of the day, but the possible outcome itself just screams for tiiiny bit more involvement on her part. The earlier you interfere, the earlier would stop the obstacle in its entirety. Hürrem is smart enough to know this, so the logical thing is that she didn't fully take all that into account. She couldn't, and possibly didn't, want to predict this as a mother.

The very realization of the actual massive power of Selim and Bayezid's enmity and her newfound inability to interfere almost at all to it came as such a surprise for her. She not only completely miscalculated, but it broke her heart into pieces. She didn't see coming any conflict of the like, because if she did, even before the whole fiasco happened, early into S01-2, she would never let it reach such extremes. And the realization hit her in such an unexpected way that she wanted to escape the shock that she had to choose and try to solve things as she has always had, doing things that should've been done such a long time ago. Would she be so helpless when she finally came to terms with the following fratricide, if she saw it coming before the conflict even started?

In summary: Hürrem didn't think of something like this at all early on and when it happened, she did see the roots, but could never, not even in her dreams, imagine the devastating results.

Though yeah, could a conflict between sons of the same mother fully be resolved in circumstances like these? I very much doubt it. Even if the mother removed the tension between them, there are other factors we shouldn't forget (I refer to SS's reign in particular): they are sons of the same mother, but they're still candidates for the throne, hence they're rivals and both the people and the padişah will have to pick a favourite. No matter how impartial a sultan seems to be, he does end up picking sides eventually - whether it's about the province one is sent in, when they're sent in it, how often does he visit them, what in them does he approve or disprove of or how competent they are in his eyes. It's inevitable for them to live in absolute peace in an environment that would sooner or later cause them to fight until one's absolute and total failure.

[hashtagartistlife]

Do you have a license for all these hot takes? ▲ Unleash the other meta conversation. Please give use Ichigo.

Or not, apparently I don't know how to read and missed that you already did one for him. Oh well.

Even though I’ve already given my Hot Take about Ichigo (see here), I figured I can take this chance to write that meta I promised re: ichiruki’s double protag status, the meaning of ichigo’s name, and what it means to be a shounen hero. This will also sort of addresses the debacle a few months ago in regard to the Only well-worded, moderately coherent and somewhat valid IH meta I have read, which is also primarily about the meaning of ichigo’s name and how that ties in with the overall theme of protection throughout the manga. (I think the basis for the IH meta – that Ichigo only ever uses the serious form of the word ‘to protect’ for ORIHIME as an individual, and that the other times he uses them are for broader swathes of things—has been debunked in the comments, but since I don’t speak Japanese I really can’t figure out the validity of either side of the argument so I’ll take it as it is. Also, when I say ‘somewhat valid meta’, what I mean is in the context of the narrative I don’t think it’s valid at all, but at least there aren’t major glaring logical fallacies in the meta itself. The bar is so, so low for IH meta. I’m not even sure we can call most of their…. text-vomit… meta at all. 

Anyway. Petty and off-topic.) 

So, here goes: the meta about ichigo’s name and how it correlates to the theme of protection throughout the manga, what it means to be a shounen hero, and why and how those two things tie in with ichiruki’s double protag status! 

Ichigo’s name is comprised of two kanji – one obviously the kanji for the number one, the other a kanji that means ‘to protect’. We all know this. This leads to Ichigo’s name potentially having two interpretations: ‘one protector’ (or as the official eng translation put it, the one who protects), or ‘to protect one thing’ (the translation used in the scanlator’s versions + official kr translation). Both would make sense given the context of the entire story, but I tend to think the latter version is slightly more relevant (not necessarily more accurate— just more relevant), mostly because in chapter 19, straight after hearing the meaning of his name, Ichigo goes on to single out one thing (one person) that he wants to protect—his mom. 

(And why does he single out his mom for this honour? Because his mom always protected him. This is relevant a little later.)

He then does go on to say that as his sisters were born and he went to the dojo and got stronger, the list of things he wanted to protect grew, so it’s absolutely valid to read his name as just meaning ‘protector’. But, despite that, it’s very clear in the text that Ichigo always has one thing (person) that he wants to protect above all no matter what. This is the ‘one’ thing that he associates his identity of ‘protector’ to. Initially, it’s his mom—because when she dies, despite the ‘growing list of people he wants to protect’ still existing, Ichigo loses his sense of identity as ‘the protector’. Sure, he still protects his sisters, but it’s duty driving him— he no longer thinks of himself as a protector. How can he, when, in his view, he’s the one who practically killed his mother? His ‘growing list of people to protect’ halts to a stop, and years later, we see him telling Rukia that he’s ‘not a good enough guy to stick his neck out for other people’. This is a lie, as we all know, but it’s important that Ichigo is espousing this rhetoric. He has stopped actively wanting to protect. 

So, despite Ichigo having an innate desire to protect, I would argue it’s conditional – 1) dependent on the one person he wants to protect the most (e.g. his mom, and, as I will argue in a moment, Rukia) being alive and well, because otherwise he just falls into despair and rejects his identity as protector, and 2) initially dependent on the subject of protection being someone close to him. Ichigo, despite having progressed to ‘I will definitely protect everybody’ by the tybw arc, did not start there—it was a progression! He starts off very small and quite selfish – first, the person most important to him, his mom. Then his family. Then his friends. Then friends of friends, then acquaintances, then—and so on. This is why I said Ichigo is self-centred: everything he does is dependent first and foremost on the things and people that are most important to him. (Which is fine for a normal person! Maybe not so fine as a shounen protagonist, though that part comes later.) Ichigo doesn’t start off with some lofty ideal to protect the whole world – compare that to Rukia, who lands in the story and immediately demands him to protect everybody, regardless of distance or convenience. As dux put it in his excellent meta, this is an instinct towards protection versus a philosophy of protection. Ichigo has an instinct to protect, like most people do! But Rukia has a philosophy of protection, which most people can’t even begin to fathom or try to emulate. (This will, again, be important for a later point in this post, but for now, back to ichigo’s name.) 

So basically, we have established so far that: Ichigo’s name means one who protects or protector of one thing. But whichever interpretation we go by, it’s evident in the text that Ichigo has a… tether person, of sorts, that he ties the meaning of his name and his identity of ‘protector’ to—a person he wants to protect above all. Initially it’s his mom. But after his mom dies? 

It’s Rukia. 

It’s blatant. Ichigo being unable to save Rukia in ch56 broken coda is DIRECTLY paralleled with him being unable to save Masaki. At the end of the arc, in having saved Rukia, Ichigo regains his identity as protector finally gets some closure re: the Masaki era of his life: ‘the rain’s finally stopped’. It’s very clear that Rukia’s importance to his identity as protector is equivalent to the importance that Masaki had on it. Rukia has now become his ‘tether’; Rukia is now the person he wants to protect above all; Rukia is the one, who, should he fail to protect her, he would fall into despair and reject his protector identity again. He WAS a little down about being unable to protect Tatsuki, Chad, and Orihime in the HM arc, but it was nothing like the abject despair he experienced at Masaki’s death + Rukia being taken away for execution, and as soon as RUKIA comes back and affirms his identity, despite the fact of his failure still existing, Ichigo perks straight back up. Basically, failures to protect people other than Rukia get Ichigo down, but it’s not enough to keep him down as long as Rukia’s still standing. 

Ichigo also consistently goes apeshit over Rukia’s safety in particular. He’s not spurred into action re: going to find the Vaizards until Rukia becomes hurt. He thinks of Yammy and Ulquiorra, but his eyes don’t glaze over black until he thinks of Grimmjow, who has hurt Rukia. He refuses to split up and Rukia specifically calls him out  that it’s out of concern for HER safety. As soon as he feels Rukia being cut down, he immediately throws away the mission to go save her instead. And most importantly – what’s the main criteria for Ichigo deciding on the one he wants to protect the most? It’s the person who protects HIM. Rukia is one of the only people in the text who consistently protects Ichigo, physically, mentally, and emotionally. (She is also the only person that the text refers to as having ‘saved’ Ichigo. Nobody else gets this distinction.) 

Alright! So Ichigo’s instinct towards protection has a self-centred bent to it, and the person at the centre of this instinct has gone from being Masaki to Rukia. So what now from here? 

A little bit of a tangent: when I first read the chapter regarding the meaning of Ichigo’s name, I was a little taken aback, because – what a selfish name for a shounen protag, for someone who’s supposed to go on to become a hero of the world. Heroes don’t get to protect just one thing, they have to protect everybody! How is Ichigo going to be a shounen protag saving the whole world, if he’s only going to protect one thing? 

To answer this question, we need to have a look at what makes a typical shounen protag. Look at Naruto, whose ‘ninja way’ has rehabilitated countless people, who eventually became Hokage, so that ‘his ninja way’ officially became adopted as the whole Leaf Village’s ‘ninja way’. Look at Luffy and his crew, whose carefree attitudes and ride-or-die comradeship between their crew members is widely admired and emulated. Look at Fairy Tail, where Natsu’s guild is the ideal for what a guild should be, and many guilds have reformed in their image with their values. What makes a typical shounen protagonist, I would argue, are two main things: an indisputable, unshakeable, almost inhumanly good ideal widely recognized within the canon as the way that things should be, and the faith, power, and drive necessary to rehabilitate people to this ideal and change the world so that it becomes closer to this ideal. 

Naruto is the ideal of a ninja. Luffy and his crew are the ideal of a pirate crew. Natsu’s Fairy Tail guild is the ideal of a mage guild. 

Is Ichigo the ideal of what a Shinigami should be? 

Not initially! Initially, he’s just a prickly little kid with a shitload of trauma and depression to boot! Initially, his instinct to protect has a self-centred bent to it! Initially, he’s not even a Shinigami at all! 

This is where Rukia comes in. Rukia and her philosophy of protection is the ideal of this series – she is what all Shinigami should be. The text isn’t even subtle about this—Rukia canonically has the most beautiful sword (soul) in all of Soul Society. Realistic or not, Rukia is the ‘absolute good’ of this universe—her ideal is, theoretically, the universal ideal. 

But idealism alone doesn’t make Rukia the protagonist-- Rukia lacks the faith, power and drive necessary to turn people to her way of thinking and enact change, which is the other key component of a shounen protag. This is the part that Ichigo supplies—his complete and utterly unshakeable faith in Rukia and her values, the power necessary to back those values, and the ability to spread these values far and wide so that other people start to take up these values as well. I said above that Rukia’s philosophy of protection is so far-fetched that most people can’t even begin to fathom or emulate it—but Ichigo is not ‘most people’. He’s a shounen protag, goddammit! He has the ability to take up an ‘ideal’ that for most people would be impossible, and actually enact change towards that ideal. 

This is why Ichigo and Rukia are double protagonists. Not because they were designed to be matchy-matchy or because of their avalanche of matching titles or whatever else. This is why. They are literally two halves of one shounen protagonist. Kubo called them sand and rotator in the side A and B poems, and he could NOT have picked a better analogy for them. Think of a watermill (or a sand mill, as the analogy is given), which is used to grind grain. The mill by itself cannot perform its purpose any more than the water by itself can magically grind the grain. The water needs to be driven by the wheel through the right mechanisms, and the wheel needs the water to actually function. Rukia drives Ichigo, points him in the right direction with her values, and Ichigo supplies the force necessary to enact change. Rotator, and sand. One protagonist, split into two. 

(As a completely unrelated aside, I don’t know what it’s like in Japan, but in Korea ‘grinding the grain’ is a euphemism for sex, and watermills are inextricably associated with illicit liaisons. They’re the eastern world’s equivalent to the western world’s stables- any raunchy business conducted outside is usually conducted in a watermill.) 

This is also why Ichigo’s name wasn’t something more all-encompassing. He can ‘protect one thing’ and still be a hero – as long as the ‘one thing’ he protects is Rukia. He wants to protect Rukia above all else, to the detriment of others, even (as evidenced by him turning away from rescuing Orihime to rescue Rukia)—but Rukia tells him no, no, I refuse to be protected by you, you have to protect the whole world. This is why it HAS to be Rukia for Ichigo – anyone with less than the absolute selfless ideal that Rukia has could never make Ichigo into the hero. Rukia turns Ichigo’s head to the whole world, opens his eyes to the possibility of protecting more than those in his immediate circle, makes him selfless enough to go through with it. Rukia makes Ichigo the hero. (Big aside: I’m not using ‘hero’ and ‘protag’ interchangeably here. Ichigo is the ‘hero’ of the narrative, but BOTH ichigo and rukia are the ‘protagonists’ of the story.) 

But that isn’t the end of it. I have mentioned, in the past, that Bleach is not typical shounen, that it is structured more like YA lit and should be analysed as such. ‘But Sera! You just spent like 2 A4 pages talking about why Ichigo and Rukia are Standard Shounen Protags together!’ Ah but you see, that’s only initially. INITIALLY, Ichigo and Rukia need each other to become One Whole Stock Standard Shounen Protag. Rukia lacks faith and drive, Ichigo lacks ideal. They need the other to support their flaws, initially. To be completely honest, this is an excellent way to start an unhealthy codependent relationship. The most beautiful part about Ichiruki is that they don’t go down this path at all. They start becoming a whole shounen protag individually, by adopting the other person’s strength as their own. Rukia’s ideals inspire Ichigo, and by tybw, he is as avid about protecting everybody as Rukia is. Rukia sees Ichigo’s unrelenting faith in the fact that she is a good person worth saving, and starts believing in it herself and reciprocates in kind in HM and FB arcs. This is where the YA component comes in—YA protags, unlike typical Shounen Protags, don’t start off with an unapproachable ideal and the power+faith+drive necessary to change the world with it. They GROW into it. That is what Ichigo and Rukia are doing—they are both growing throughout the whole story to fit their protagonist roles, so that eventually, they can become One Whole Independent protagonist on their own. 

It’s a beautiful, perfectly balanced, ironic jigsaw puzzle: Rukia had the ideal, but didn’t have the ability to turn others to this ideal. The only person she turned to it was Ichigo, but that was enough—Ichigo turns everyone else to it as well, overcoming centuries of tradition. Ichigo had the faith and drive, but no-one to put it behind. The only person he put it behind was Rukia, and that was enough—she and her values guide his choices and actions, and he becomes heroic. Ichigo and Rukia each failed one criteria for being a shounen protag, except with each other, BUT THAT WAS ENOUGH. Affecting and changing just one person—each other—was enough to set everything in motion.

A couple other points that I couldn’t find a place to fit into the essay cohesively, but think they’re still worth a mention:

Rukia says ‘all souls should be protected’, and she enacts this by protecting Ichigo, who is a hybrid of all the different soul types present in the narrative: human, quincy, hollow, reaper. Ichigo, despite being such a mixed entity, identifies firmly as shinigami, not because the shinigami convinced him with their ironclad, lofty morals but because Rukia did. 

If Ichigo’s main flaw is being self-centred and tunnel visioned + a weird sort of superiority/hero complex, then Rukia’s main flaw is probably the exact opposite - despite having this incredible ideal, her lack of faith in herself + her tendency to obey the system in all but the most dire, life-threatening situations. Even their flaws are a perfect balancing act, mitigating each other out. (Rukia’s main flaws I probably want to go into in a bit more detail some other time, since it’s not something the fandom in general has much discussion on.)

So! In summary, the tl,dr version: 

Ichigo’s name means ‘protector’ or ‘to protect one thing’ (both versions have been used in official translations). The latter is more relevant, as I have explained above. This ‘one thing’ initially is his mom, but by the end of the SS arc, it has very firmly become Rukia, again evidence listed above. 

This had the potential to be problematic, as it’s not very heroic of someone to want to protect just one person, to hell with everyone else. BUT the narrative sidesteps that by making Ichigo and Rukia two halves of one shounen protagonist, and making them work best when they are together.

Shounen protags require two components: an ideal, and the ability+desire to enact that ideal. Rukia had the former, Ichigo had the latter. That’s why it’s not problematic for Ichigo to want to protect just one person most— because that one person is actually the ‘ideal moral standard’ of their entire universe, and she keeps telling him to use his powers for good and not just her. 

But that’s not even all. Initially, they need the other to become ‘whole’, so to speak— but they don’t stay that way. Ichigo and Rukia have an immensely positive impact on each other, and help each other grow to adopt the best traits of the other and become a hero in their own right. Again, this is why they are both protagonists— because both of them kept growing and changing, right up to the final arc. 

So, even though it’s been said a million times before, it bears repeating: Bleach genuinely is a story about Ichigo and Rukia, both of whom felt a little displaced in their own worlds and had trouble making connections. They connected with each other, and only then could their immense capacity for good could start changing the world. That’s really the crux of it— that it had to be each other for these two, not anybody else. Nobody else could bring out the best in them except for the other. They would never have become this extraordinary had it not been for the other person recognising their inherent value. It absolutely had to be Rukia for Ichigo, and vice versa. It’s always going to be the Ichigo and Rukia show.

[throwawaythinking]

ERYS

“People love to just talk about me by name and say, "Oh, Jaden Smith this, Jaden Smith that." It’s time for a new awakening and a new consciousness.” - Jaden on his album SYRE, Complex Magazine November 2017

Jaden Christopher Syre Smith was the boy born into the shadow of his father’s fame. However he took his birth into the public eye as an opportunity, not a blessing. Jaden uses music to make a name for himself, fighting to bring his own identity out of the shadows of his famous father. Smith’s second album, ERYS, details Erys emerging from the death of his opposingly naive and Icarus-like self, Syre. Jaden depicts the rise, fall, and conflict of his autobiographical character Erys in four tracks; ‘i-drip-or-is’, ‘Again’, ‘Got It’, and ‘Fire Dept’; these four songs are the centrefold of the entire album, where Erys becomes Syre and Syre becomes Erys. Through Erys’ aggressive and angry flaunting of his perceived power, Jaden explores the recklessness of an overinflated ego. Erys becomes a successful drug dealer for the drug ‘Vision’ in Los Angeles, however the money and power eat away at him as he overestimates his ability to control ‘Vision’. This is assisted by the internal conflict between Erys and Syre, as Syre’s gentle and lost voice wanders throughout the tracks urging Erys to understand that his reckless behaviour won’t fix their problems. The introduction of internal conflict within ERYS expresses the integrity of Jaden’s inner conflicts during the process of finding his true identity, how his polar opposite identities had to converge at a point to create a completed state of being. This conflict is also used to address the taboo of adolescence in relation to drug culture. Jaden’s “strict, hard rap album” is a force to be reckoned with; “every song, back to back, high tempo, a lot of bass like just crazy.”

Without context, Jaden’s music is the amalgamation of the typical hip-hop genre; autotune, models, drugs, cars, power, fame. By manipulating these features, Jaden uses hip-hop to his advantage in creating an egotistical Erys. ‘i-drip-or-is’ boasts;

“LV head to toe, MSFTS necklace on

They be stressin' 'cause I'm reckless and I'm flexin' hard

Flexin' super hard, she a superstar

With the stupid car, and it's supercharged

Rolex, he went to Luther, got my jeweler far”,

luxury brand names flying throughout the first verse, the picture is set. Interestingly, Erys has already acknowledged his tendency to be reckless in the second line, yet the context provides evidence that he believes this to be a good quality. Erys’ ego continues on in the next track, ‘Again’, where Erys talks about his fame, money and power;

“Now the gang got no shit to do, they just a chatterbox

Now I wear a muzzle to the bank, because I laugh a lot

Now I tell the paparazzi "Turn the fucking cameras off"”

gangs are out of the drug business as a result of Erys’ ‘Vision’ drug, he laughs so loud at the bank that they muzzle him, and he is being plastered all over the press. Thanks to Erys’ drug dealing business, he has achieved all facets considered for an individual to be successful. As a result, Erys believes he has solved his problem with his love interest as depicted in ‘Got It’;

“She want that brand new designer, that Louis bandana

I told her I got it

She want that wrist with the water and Virgil the wallet

I told her I got it

She said her ex n**** wildin' and giving her problems

I told her I got it.”

But this is not the end of the story. As Erys parties on top of the world, ‘Vision’ gets the better of him, and we see his collapse in the fastest song on the album, ‘Fire Dept’. Erys’ monotonous voice screams through the electric guitar and banging drums;

“Go fire department, call my mom

Said, "Your son dancin' on fire, it's all night long"

I think I just decided, need a ride home

95 percent, I go hard, still killing the vibe though”,

as he realises he needs urgent help. The last line pierces through the ears. Erys is acknowledging that he is losing energy coming down from 100 percent to 95, yet refusing to believe his power is dying, claiming to be “still killing the vibe”. Ego has trapped him in a state of denial. As the song progresses, Erys’ drug-induced screeches become more aggressive and the tempo increases, confessing “I think I lost my car/I can't see straight, I'm fucked” pokes out through the madness of his nonsensical rambling about his surroundings. Erys has lost control.

Erys’ rise to the top pushed him to his limits, and he has fallen as fast as he has risen. This short lived spark of incomprehensible power perfectly demonstrates the double edged sword of the human ego. Erys’ ego pushed him to reach incredible milestones of not only material success, but likely impossible spiritual experiences created by his drug ‘Vision’. However ego becomes an external force with no intention to cooperate with human ability, and pushes Erys to OD on ‘Vision’, resulting in his reckless regression. Jaden has become a master swordsmith with his storytelling genius, with ego being his deadliest double edged sword sticking out of ERYS as a forever-imminent threat. The concept of ego courses like blood through the body of four explosive tracks. Ego is a perilous feat of humanity, and Erys is being destroyed by his.

If one listened intently to the tracks, they would notice a solitary voice wafting through ‘Again’ and ‘Fire Dept’. This is Syre, trapped in the dark by the emergence of Erys. Audibly, Syre is juxtaposed against Erys by tenderly singing instead of belligerently rapping. Additionally, Erys’s voice has been manipulated by autotune of various degrees, which distinguishes Jaden’s natural voice for Syre. Syre’s presence in Erys’ rise is the most pertinent feat of ERYS because this is what makes Erys human. Syre may have died, however the true parts of his soul remain, his real thoughts and feelings. In ‘Again’, the music fades and echoes. Syre emerges singing of the girl he loves and how he has become adrift; “Girl, we can paint such a pretty life…I admit I'm lost, can I hitch a ride?/Something bout your voice, like a lullaby.” Yet Erys interrupts Syre’s digression with frustration;

“Who the fuck turned this shit on, n****

I told you don't play no motherfucking wack shit

Big drip only”.

It is tacit Erys is fighting to silence his inner self, believing that his new behaviour is the only way to overcome his hardship as it has worked on his external image. This also explains why Erys feels the need to always drop big luxury brands in his lyrics (particularly in ‘i-drip-or-is’ and ‘Again’), because the clothing he wears on his body is a conspicuous external composition of his ability to succeed. As Syre mentioned their love interest, Erys comes back with ‘Got It’, as described earlier, being an entire song about how he can now provide for the girl that they once couldn’t help. This feeds into the psyche of Erys believing that he is better off living the life that he has now, because on paper it all makes sense. Syre makes another appearance after Erys goes off the deep end at the end of ‘Fire Dept’ and continues his digression about his love interest;

“Think about

Your life

Too much

I'm losin' light

I'm cruising on

I think a lot

I think about

You a lot

Too much

Do too much

I should be movin' on

(For sure).”

This time, Erys cannot fight Syre’s appearance, and the song ends without interruption.

The conflict between Syre and Erys is a trademark of adolescent growth. Jaden uses this conflict to show how he had suppressed his true emotions by using drugs and money as a bandaid on his emotional and spiritual wounds. This is a common trend in adolescence, to believe that material wealth or a chemical alteration of the brain is the only solution to fixing hard problems. Syre and Erys’ conflict cries at our unforgiving society for help, for the aid that adolescents so desperately need to deal with their struggles. It seems that the youth do not have the resources they need to navigate a life that is expected of them, and thus they cope with what is available - drug culture. Just as Erys learnt to push ‘Vision’ across the city of Los Angeles, young people dealing with problems beyond their control resort to drug taking or dealing to handle their problems, and it destroys them just as Erys has been destroyed - even if they know deep down that drugs won’t fix their problems.

Syre and Erys also represent Jaden’s state of being. The conflict between the two characters is a metaphorical picture of Jaden’s internal fight against himself in his journey to finding his true identity. It is no question that Jaden Smith would’ve lived perfectly fine under the care of his father, yet he chooses to make his own name. This makes him a striking individual due to the immense care he takes in creating his true identity. By creating conflict between his two characters, Jaden immortalizes his story in his own words. He immortalizes the importance of finding one’s true identity, and inspires the youth of his generation to do the same. Syre and Erys eventually go on to merge into one person; Jaden. The existence of this resolution is an integral part of urging young people to become their real selves, because it shows that having a true identity is real, and achievable.

Jaden’s second album ERYS supersedes expectations of a boy born into fame and privilege. Following the completion of the SYRE and ERYS projects, Jaden is showing the world that he is more than his family name. Often teenagers want the world to understand they are their own person with their own dreams, feelings, desires and struggles. Jaden, in my opinion, expressed this best.

[notebook-13]

Shigaraki • Development

Backstory

(Note: Tenko was Shigaraki’s childhood name.)

First things first: Shigaraki’s backstory is probably meant as an allegory. The house his father built is a microcosm of society, his father Kotaro represents people with power, Tenko represents people without it, and the other family members are bystanders. The power imbalance and communal emphasis on harmony enables Kotaro to take out his baggage on Tenko while Tenko is required to repress his. Resistance, even if it’s minor, causes Tenko to be shunned and beggared, as Kotaro locks Tenko out of the house in the backyard, in the dark, unfed, without even a roof over his head.

Edit: @codenamesazanka​ has an excellent reading of this allegory!

Theirs is a household that prioritizes unity and a façade of happy domesticity over Tenko’s wellbeing. His mom and grandparents treat him gently, reject him kindly, and refuse to admit to him just how terribly Kotaro treats him. Though the three adults understand that Kotaro is the problem (they criticize him in private or cry out futile protests during an incident), they are unwilling to disrespect Kotaro to Tenko’s face. Doing so would mean facing their victim and owning up to their own culpability, too.

So, throughout Shigaraki’s backstory, Horikoshi intersperses black panels with increasing grains of white. This references Shigaraki’s “wound in his heart.”

The first black panel appears when Tenko is crying to his mom, Nao, about his dad; the second appears when he is similarly comforted by his grandparents.

After an episode with Kotaro, Nao hesitantly asks Tenko if he still wants to be a hero.

Nao: “Tenko…do you…still want to be a hero?” Tenko: “Yup. Because like, nobody wanted to play with Mikkun and Tomo. So I said, ‘Let’s play together!’ And we played heroes, and it was super fun. And then Mikkun said, ‘You should be All Might, Ten.’ And I was nice and played with them even though they don’t have any friends.”

It’s hard to follow Tenko’s five-year-old’s logic here, but the gist seems like Tenko wants to be a good person who makes people less lonely, and he thinks heroes do that. The implication, then, could be that Tenko is lonely, and his admiration for heroes compensates for what’s missing in his family (a hero).

What’s also significant is that Tenko noticed Mikkun and Tomo were suffering, and instead of ignoring it or playing along like everyone else, he did something about it. What he emphasizes isn’t, “we played heroes and fought bad guys, it was really cool”; he emphasizes that he was kind, that he helped kids who were lonely. This isn’t a kid who wants to be a hero because heroes are strong.

Also worth noting that in bnha, p much every kid wants to be a hero. By forbidding Tenko from even playing, Kotaro draws a line between Tenko and his classmates: Tenko is not one of them. He’s not allowed to dream he’ll be a hero like everyone else. In a society overflowing with heroes (and with adulation of heroes), Tenko can’t be one of them nor admire them.

^^ the first “wound” panel is the black middle one

When Nao tells Tenko that “it’s hard to be a hero,” especially right after hesitantly asking him if he still wanted to be one, Tenko understands that she’s discouraging him—similar to how Inko apologized to little Deku when he asked her if he could become a hero without a quirk.

When Nao tells Tenko it’s difficult, she’s essentially repeating what Kotaro says (“being a hero will cause him nothing but trouble”). By siding with Kotaro, she tells Tenko that he can’t become who he wants to be. He must conform to authority and let Kotaro determine his life. What he wants and feels don’t matter. Kotaro is right.

The wound begins to open.

Similarly, his grandparents offer him empty comfort because they, too, believe in presenting a unified front. The kids aren’t allowed to be aware that there’s conflict between the grown-ups: rules are rules, instructions from your seniors are absolute, social harmony (and by extension, social hierarchy) has to be maintained. Tenko himself is the troublesome one—he’s the one who needs to be comforted, who keeps breaking rules, who can’t pretend everything is okay the same way everyone else can.

The wound opens further.

The initial wound and its exacerbation are both brought on by his mom and grandparents, not by Kotaro directly. Why? Because it’s the permissiveness of the adults that socializes Tenko in how to react to Kotaro. Kotaro’s abuse is too much for a five-year-old to process, so he trusts the other grown-ups in his life to understand it and tell him how to feel about it/what to do about it.

What they tell Tenko, implicitly, is that his pain doesn’t matter enough to do anything about, and it’s his fault it exists. Underneath, he recognizes this and resents them for it. They might not actively participate in Kotaro’s abuse, but they actively support him by trying to wipe away the consequences without any accountability for the problems. They shift blame to other people (Kotaro, Tenko) without owning up to their own role in the proceedings, so that they can pretend life is good and think of themselves as good people who don’t make trouble.

Tenko has a related “wound” associated directly with Kotaro.

((When Kotaro approaches Tenko to begin smacking him…))

The “itch.”

Tenko is five years old, and kids that young aren’t known for their emotional intelligence. This is his little-kid way of trying to describe his negative emotions: agitation, anguish, panic, frustration, aggression, resentment, desperation, (thwarted) hope, and so on.

Tenko scratches himself frantically because he doesn’t know how else to react to the things he’s feeling, and he doesn’t know how else to react because nobody is trying to help him sort through them. He’s only been told to suppress them. Plus, in adulthood, Shigaraki scratches himself when he’s stressed about something, so it makes sense for this ~allergy~ to be the origin.

I dunno why Tenko fixates on his face—his eyes, specifically…maybe out of shame? maybe because his face and eyes are what express his uncomfortable feelings, and/or because his eyes are what he uses to fruitlessly beg for help? or maybe the eyes out of a desire for blindness, to not see what’s in front of him the way everybody else pretends not to see?

(The irony, ofc, is that Kotaro is accusing Tenko of wanting to hurt their family, when in fact Kotaro is the one hurting their family.

Judging by how Nao and her parents approach Kotaro after the fact and tell him that they will leave if he hits the children again, I don’t think it was common for Kotaro to smack Tenko like this.

Also, this is the first time Tenko is shown scratching his neck: when his thoughts are crying out, help me!)

Tenko isn’t begging mercy from Kotaro, which says leagues about their relationship. Instead, he’s begging for interference from the rest of the family, for someone to stand up for him, to challenge the public humiliation Tenko regularly endures as Kotaro’s scapegoat. Nobody does, of course, like always.

It takes a few hours, locked out of the house, for the trauma to set in.

The wound gets worse…but this time it’s different.

For one, it’s accompanied by dialogue, not narration, and “everyone” is centered right in the core of his rage. The second (iffier) difference is that this time the wound and the itch coincide. In the previous situations, he’s either scratching himself or the wound is deepening. This is the first time Horikoshi depicts the two occurring simultaneously, and it’s this moment that his quirk fully awakens.

Tenko kills his dog and begins to have a panic attack. His emotions are choking him; the only way he can ask for help is to reach out to his sister, finally, in the way he didn’t dare to reach out while Kotaro was smacking him.

I’ve seen people suggest his voice fails as a side-effect of his quirk, but I think it’s trauma-related, not physical. For one, he still describes it as an “itch,” and for two, once he processes his trauma and decides that killing his family wasn’t a tragedy, Shigaraki’s characteristic squiggly speech bubbles are replaced by average speech bubbles.

This is consistent, so, his vocal problem was solved emotionally. So maybe his quirk was reacting to his emotions and placing pressure on his vocal chords? But idk, seems to me it was a psychosomatic problem.

Either way, he kills his sister as she runs away, and her scream attracts his mom and grandparents.

Then comes the fourth panel.

(For context, the narration refers to how his negative feelings towards his mom and grandparents accumulated.)

The whiteness is gushing forth, and it surges when Tenko sees his mom staring at him with terror, unable to summon a reassuring smile or any words of comfort for him.

The noises catch Kotaro’s attention. He pokes his head into the hall and walks through the empty house until he spots the open door to the backyard.

(Tenko has now transitioned to mainly scratching his neck instead of his face.)

Tenko reaches out to someone for the final time, and his (deadly) hand is rejected—smashed away, really.

Kotaro’s life is in danger, he’s shocked by the deaths of his family, he panics, and he reacts cruelly.

The tipping point is what happens afterwards.

Kotaro is surprised and horrified by what he’s done. But, like always, he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge to Tenko his wrongdoing. Instead, he reacts by doubling down and asserting his authority.

“Mommy, why does Father say no all the time? Does he hate me?!”

I’m not sure quite what Kotaro is doing here. At first I thought he was smacking Tenko, the way he did earlier that day, but that blob in the lower right panel is part of the background, not his hand in motion. So instead, it looks like Kotaro is holding out his hand in a “stop, stand back, stay away from me” gesture, or maybe to literally push Tenko away. (Have to wait on the anime, I guess.)

Regardless, Kotaro tells Tenko “no” for the last time. The immediate blame, the dearth of kindness or sympathy, the reaching out to him—someone’s trying to save him!—only to deny him…it evokes their history. Tenko is already in the midst of a meltdown, and now he snaps.

I hate bringing up real-world examples when thinking about stuff like bnha, so I hope this will be the only time I ever do it, but I’m powerfully reminded of a gun violence incident in Mississippi where a nine-year-old kid and his thirteen-year-old sister got into an argument over a video game controller, and the boy retrieved their parents’ gun from another room and shot her.

It’s ludicrous to think he had any meaningful concept of what he was doing, and, regardless of how Shigaraki interprets his past, the same holds for Tenko. Just because Tenko had a good “reason” to want Kotaro dead doesn’t imply he had a meaningful grasp of what he was doing. He killed Kotaro because he was a kid with access to a deadly weapon, and there’s a reason kids aren’t trusted with those.

But it is meaningful that Shigaraki struggles to make the distinction between aggression and murderous intent. AfO deliberately trains Shigaraki to adopt this warped mindset by telling him that his bad feelings, his “itch,” are equivalent to bloodlust. Realistically, there’re plenty of ways to relieve negative emotion, but Shigaraki has been taught exactly one outlet: destruction. So, he doesn’t realize that his murderousness is a product of nurture, not nature. (Also, lol, “murderousness” is a real word!)

Anyways, for the first time, Tenko experiences catharsis for the negative emotions that have built up his whole life. A fluke of fate enabled him to subvert the established power dynamic, and the destruction of the house encapsulates the collapse of their family’s hierarchy. He still doesn’t understand what he’s done.

By the next morning, it’s begun to sink in. He ran away from the house and then wanders the streets, too consumed by guilt to speak, and he’s ignored by everyone. When someone finally pays attention and seems willing to help him…

He smiles, happy that someone is finally going to help him. But his dirty, creepy smile scares the old lady off.

(reminds me of his early design.)

To him, it’s like people can see what he’s done, and that’s why nobody will help him or even acknowledge him. Notice the lower left corner: the blackness and white grains, spilling over from his wound.

The itch returns, and the scratching and the wound overlap again. It’s hard to say whether the wound is reacting to the old lady in general, or if it’s tied to the narration line “being punished.”

It occurs when Tenko simultaneously wants to be saved but also thinks he doesn’t deserve it, that everyone can see how bad he is and knows he doesn’t deserve help.

What did Shigaraki learn from this?

Social harmony is forged by repressing conflict, not by resolving it. This happens at his expense, purposefully.

“This is the house my father built.” Creation, construction, building, making walls, making rules, making—these are bad, and they’re performed by the people with authority and power. These things happen for other people, not for his sake.

He’s not important enough to be helped / not worthy of it, and he resents that.

Origin of his self-loathing.

Other notes:

The “itch” is something he can find temporary catharsis for (through violence), and Shigaraki thinks the itch might have gone away if someone had just helped him. The “wound” is not something that ever alleviates or that he suggests could have gone away.

The wound’s origin is from the complicity of his family to Kotaro, not from Kotaro himself.

It’s interesting that his dream to destroy society is a reenactment of his destruction of his family/house, even though killing “everyone” the first time devastated him.

He switched from mostly scratching his face to mostly scratching his throat.

Both these are sites where emotion is expressed.

Hands are another site of expression, and he later develops his fascination with his family’s hands and uses his own hands for destruction.

Activating decay seems to have hugely worsened the scarring around his eyes. He says that he thought the “itch” had gone away, so it’s unlikely he was scratching himself overnight…so I think his quirk had the side-effect of exacerbating his scars? If decay made the skin around his eyes hurt, that could relate to why he switched to mostly scratching his throat.

Even as a kid, Tenko had a certain amount of pride/dignity, enough to blame others for mistreating him instead of blaming purely himself.

Tenko admired heroes partly because his family lacked one, but when he discovers Nana…? Now someone inside the family (inside the house) was a hero, so the rules were different than what he thought?

Upbringing by AfO

When Tenko killed “everyone,” that included himself. All that’s left of him afterwards is an empty shell. He doesn’t even seem to remember what he’s done.

But AfO is willing to extend a hand and touch Tenko.

He’s willing to acknowledge Tenko’s pain, something nobody else was or is, at the moment in his life when Tenko feels he least deserves sympathy.

Now, obviously it’s hella suspicious that AfO already knows Tenko’s name, knows what he’s done, and procures his family’s hands, but Shigaraki doesn’t seem to question it. Tenko’s arms dangle there, limp, as AfO embraces him and tears stream down his face. And, ofc, AfO echoes All Might’s motto.

AfO takes Tenko in and tells him he’ll be his master from now on. Then…

Tenko viscerally remembers what he’s done, and his immediate reaction is to scratch himself, puke, and then seize the severed hands, gathering them up and cradling them close to him. It’s probably then that Tenko discovers the feeling that Shigaraki describes—of feeling violently ill but somehow at peace, too. (“When a person’s life starts spiraling, what’s the one thing they want? Comfort.”) There’s way too much to unpack here, so, moving on.

The “purpose” that AfO alludes to is the destruction of society/the status quo.

While Tenko is huddled on the ground, cradling the hands, AfO continues.

AfO’s the first person willing to talk to him about his itch as emotional instead of as an allergy. He tells Tenko point-blank that he cannot control his impulses and that his release must take the form of destruction.

This moment baffles me. AfO openly admits that Tenko’s feelings will fade…if left be. As far as we see, he doesn’t explain to Tenko why it’s important that those feelings never fade, why emptying himself of his pain is a bad thing. But even after being told time would heal him, Tenko keeps the hands close to him—and I don’t think he was just doing what AfO wanted.

This panel is also interesting because it definitely makes it look like Tenko’s wound is glowing, like it’s a light in the dark. Also, AfO’s dialogue nearly obscures the early panel of the wound…hm.

Regardless, AfO implies that those feelings are the most important thing Tenko has, and he should keep them close. It’s not specified if AfO told him to wear his family.

Later, Tenko’s wandering on the streets (his hands aren’t with him) when he encounters a duo of thugs, who beat and mock him. At first, Tenko lurches to fight back, but…

I think these are more “wound” panels: the blackness with white grains. He backs down, even though his rage doesn’t dissipate.

When he returns home, AfO encourages him to embrace his feelings instead of holding them back. Tenko literally writhes on the floor from the force of his “itch,” going all out as he wallows in his overwhelming feelings.

AfO tells Tenko that ethics were invented in order to suppress people and that Tenko’s emotions are more important than anything else. Tenko responds by reiterating what AfO told him: he wants to destroy those thugs, and he can’t control this urge to destroy. He goes as far as to disintegrate one of Kotaro’s hands, even though not too long ago he clung onto it.

But, later, he wears his family’s hands for the first time.

Wearing them clearly affects Tenko adversely—he’s struggling to breathe properly, and he’s entirely slumped over. But these hands, and these feelings, are the only things he has left, the only things he knows, and he won’t leave them behind.

He encounters the same duo of thugs and kills them.

His wound again. Formless, but with a sense of shifting and movement. Undiminished, even if the itch is alleviated. Or, maybe this panel is supposed to indicate a deterioration, like the wound gets even worse after the murders?

Observing the event, Ujiko remarks that he’d thought Tenko had lost his memories. I think he’s commenting on how Tenko is wearing the hands despite not remembering who they’re from? 

AfO comments…

Tenko restrains quirk subconsciously, limiting its disintegration to just what he’s directly touching, which makes it seem like he’s afraid of his quirk and feels guilt/self-loathing for it. He’s aware that his quirk is connected to the things he feels, maybe even blames his quirk in some way for making him feel this way.

It’s ironic that Tenko feels free while he’s being throttled and restrained by the hands of his relatives.

lol AfO gives away the game a bit, here. He tells Tenko to do whatever he wants and not hold back, and then praises Tenko for “holding back” his tears. He just wants Tenko to have no way to vent his feelings except violence. Also, the fact that Tenko is “holding back” his quirk…hmm.

Again, too much here to unpack rn, so, moving on.

AfO gives Tenko the hands of the thugs he killed, plus one hand of unknown origin to replace the hand of Kotaro’s that Tenko destroyed. Shigaraki describes the gift as soothing to his battered body, and he felt reborn. AfO gives him the name Shigaraki Tomura ad implicitly positions himself as Shigaraki’s dad by telling Shigaraki that “Shigaraki” is his surname.

What did Shigaraki learn from this?

Morals are illusionary, merely a tool used to suppress people without power in order to make things easier for people who do have power.

His “itch” means bloodlust, and he can’t control it.

He should just do what he wants (except crying, apparently), or else he’ll just suffer indefinitely.

Rejection of a society he had no hand in making and no place to belong in.

Other notes:

Even without remembering his aggression towards Kotaro, it’s Kotaro’s hand he shows the biggest fixation on.

Shigaraki has three “ailments”: the itch (the agitation he feels from bad things), the wound (the “rage” and “frustration” he feels from bystander apathy), and the nausea he feels when he wears the hands (self-loathing?).

Or maybe the nausea is part of the wound?

More on the wound?

I wonder when Horikoshi decided on how to visualize Shigaraki’s pain, and if he uses it as a pattern in bnha.

I’ve noticed a few panels that remind me of Shigaraki’s wound, especially that amorphous panel after he kills those thugs, but it’s hard to tell if the backgrounds are just atmospheric or if there is actually an attempt to connect these moments thematically.

Here are a few that I noticed.

I’m going to keep an eye out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Edit: here’s another one. This is the most definite example so far: it occurs in ch250, post-Shigaraki’s flashbacks, and the distinct circle doesn’t produce an atmosphere the way the previous ^^ panels do. 

^^ it’s worth mentioning that this appears during Fuyumi’s narration, detailing how Natsuo is the only one in the family who can’t move forward, ie, he’s experiencing social pressure to conform and validate Endeavor similar to how Tenko felt pressure to conform to Kotaro’s authority.

And then this next one, I’m pretty unsure about, but I’ll include it in case:

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 17 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 17: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief mention of past self-harm (from last chapter); mention of past (canonical) blood/injury; brief allusion to past passive suicidal ideation; brief claustrophobia/Buried themes (in the context of a nightmare); some blink-and-you'll-miss-it internalized ableism re: ADHD (not explicitly stated as such); Jon-typical self-loathing, internalized victim blaming/dehumanization, etc.; discussion of low self-worth, fear of abandonment/rejection, and other Lonely themes; extensive discussion of Jon's statement consumption (so, general warning for restrictive behaviors re: 'eating' and self-hate re: addiction/compulsions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 17: Intervention

Even asleep, Jon is a flurry of movement. The muscles in his jaw tense repeatedly as he grinds his teeth; his limbs twitch and jerk and tremble; his fingers curl into his palms, fists clenching and relaxing at random intervals. The quick, erratic motions beneath his closed eyelids are accompanied by gasps and the occasional whimper. Impossibly, he looks even frailer than usual – folded in on himself and shivering despite the thick, oversized jumper engulfing his slight frame.

Martin sits on the floor with his side pressed up against the cot, his arm resting on top of it and his eyes riveted on the few inches of space between Jon and himself. Part of him wants to reach out, to soothe away the varying shades of distress flitting their way across Jon’s face; another part of him, quieter but nonetheless insistent on making its existence known, tugs him in the opposite direction, urging him to widen that handspan of distance between them into a chasm. Something about Jon’s ragged breathing keeps Martin rooted in place, his heart skipping a beat any time the pauses between breaths stretch just a little too long for comfort.

At least he’s breathing at all, Martin thinks with a pang. His hand twitches in an unconscious desire to check for a pulse – some secondary sign to reassure him that Jon really is just sleeping.

At the gentle knock-knock on the doorframe, Martin jumps. The door to Document Storage, already cracked an inch or so, creaks as it swings wider.

“Jon?” Georgie calls softly, peeking through the gap. “You in here? I was just – oh,” she says when she sees Martin. An instant later she notices Jon, tossing and turning on the cot behind him. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“He… well, he’s fine now. I think. Just… sleeping.”

“Wait,” she says, fully entering the room and approaching to watch Jon with genuine astonishment, “you actually got him to sleep?”

“Not really? He was having trouble staying vertical, so I told him he should lie down until the vertigo passed, and…” Martin shrugs. He’s still taken aback by the fact that Jon complied without argument. “I don’t think he was planning on falling asleep, but he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.” Jon’s fingers spasm, brow wrinkling as he cringes and curls into a tighter ball. Martin sighs. “Doesn’t look very restful, though.”

“Oh, he’s always been a fitful sleeper. Even back in uni. He didn’t used to be that bad, though. Or – he was, but in short bursts. Not… drawn out like this. He’d usually wake himself up after a minute or so of…” She frowns as Jon goes taut in a full-body spasm. “That.”

“I guess the Eye doesn’t want the dream to end,” Martin says quietly. Jon twists his fingers against the sheets, gathering the fabric in a death grip. Martin’s hand twitches again, inching just a bit closer to Jon’s. He resists the urge to uncurl Jon’s fingers, to give him a hand to hold instead.

“Last I checked, the nightmares weren’t as nightmarish anymore,” Georgie says. “I mean, by his own admission, he treated mine and Naomi’s dreams like social calls.”

Martin tears his eyes away from Jon to glance at Georgie, a puzzled expression on his face. “Naomi?”

“Naomi Herne. He said hers was the first statement he took in person.”

“Yeah, back when he was still putting on the skeptic act. And she filed a complaint against him for being…” Martin smiles and shakes his head. “Well, Jon.”

“I’m not surprised,” Georgie says with an amused snort. “They seem pretty friendly now, though.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah. They do have a similar sense of humor. She doesn’t seem to scare easy, which probably helps. And she has a cat, so…”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Jon… has trouble initiating when it comes to having a social life,” Georgie says slowly. “Just wanting to talk doesn’t strike him as a good enough reason to start a conversation. He worries he’ll just be an annoyance. It’s like he needs to come up with some concrete justification for reaching out. But Naomi is always excited to talk about the Duchess – that’s her cat – which means Jon is less likely to feel like he’s bothering her. Which also makes him less likely to talk himself out of sending a text. Plus, it’s a safe, normal thing to talk about, and he loves cats, so…” She shrugs. “It’s good for him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Gives her an excuse to stay in touch, too, I think.” Georgie gives Martin a significant look. “Lonely, you know?”

“I…” Martin rubs the back of his neck, not meeting her eye. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, I thought… well, he said the nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be.” Georgie frowns as she watches Jon’s lips twist, his teeth bared as he sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. At least he’s actually sleeping. I don’t think he’s slept for more than forty minutes at a time since he got out of the hospital.”

“That was nearly a month ago.” Martin gapes at her, horrified. “How has he even been able to function with that level of sleep deprivation?”

“The same way he survived for six months without a heartbeat. And why he has to consciously remind himself to breathe sometimes, and has a tendency to forget to blink, and doesn’t have much of an appetite for normal food anymore. He’s not fully human –”

Georgie must sense Martin preparing to go on the offensive, because she holds up both hands palms-out, placating.

“I’m not saying that he’s inhuman, either. He might be convinced that he’s more monster than human, but he’s still a person. He’s just… different now, and he’s resigned to that, but he hasn’t yet gotten it through his head that there are people who will accept him regardless.” She sighs. “My original point was that he doesn’t have the same physiological needs that most people do. But he still does need to sleep from time to time. Sleep deprivation clearly takes a toll on him.”

“Figures,” Martin huffs, blowing hair out of his eyes. “He’s always treated sleep as optional.”

“Yeah,” Georgie says with a laugh. “He’s operated on a bare minimum of sleep for as long as I’ve known him. Part casual self-neglect, part allergy to the general concept of resting, and part legitimate insomnia. I told him more than once he should get evaluated for a sleep disorder, but… well, you know Jon. And now that he really does need less sleep than the average person, of course he’s pushing the limits even further.”

Martin looks down at Jon and thinks, as he has countless times before: He really does make it so damn difficult to take care of him.

It’s simultaneously heartbreaking and frustrating, even irritating at times – but somehow, whenever Jon doubles down, it only makes Martin do the same. It’s become such a familiar dance, a challenge even, and more often than not, Martin wins those contests of will: badger Jon persistently enough, strike just the right balance between expressing worry and wagging a finger, and eventually he’ll agree to take care of himself. In the beginning, he would grump and roll his eyes and drag his feet; as time went on, though, he became more receptive to it. Some days, he even seemed to enjoy – albeit in a guarded, almost shy way – being cajoled into sharing lunch or tea or conversation.

Unthinkingly, Martin brushes a lock of hair away from Jon’s forehead, damp with cold sweat. Wishes he could smooth the tension away as easily.

“Did you two talk about things?” Georgie asks.

“Some of it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” Martin bites his lip. “I feel like I shouldn’t want to, but I – I sort of do?”

“Well. I have some time to listen.” Georgie takes a seat towards the foot of the cot. “How’d it go? Bearing in mind this isn’t the tunnels.”

“It’s… a lot.”

“Mm. I can imagine.”

“I mean, he…” Martin runs a hand through his hair with a disbelieving, nervous chuckle. “He told me he wants to grow old with me?”

“He said that?” Georgie laughs outright. “God, he’s gotten even more saccharine than I thought.”

“It’s just – not something I would have ever imagined him saying? To anyone, let alone me.” Martin can feel his palms sweating now; he rubs them on his trousers, hoping to dispel some of the clamminess. “He just seems so… changed.”

“He is, but… maybe not as drastically as it might seem. Rather, this is him, just – without all the walls.” Georgie chuckles, shaking her head. “And less of a filter, apparently. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Martin repeats, perplexed.

“He’s dumping a lot on you all at once. I can talk to him, if you want. Tell him to slow down, give you some space to process it all.”

“I… I don’t…” Martin pauses, coming up against an invisible wall between a daunting realization and the explicit acknowledgment thereof. He makes several abortive attempts at speech before he manages to voice the confession: “I don’t think I want him to?”

Left to himself for too long, Martin can feel himself start to come unmoored. The truth the Lonely is so loathe to have him accept, let alone speak aloud, is this: he doesn’t want that to happen. Not anymore. Being in the presence of others, actively taking part in a conversation, seeking comfort in touch – all of these things still feel grating, unnatural even, but a return to solitude frightens him in a way it hasn’t for months. It’s an old terror, one that he had become numb to since accepting the Lonely’s embrace. Now, it seems to have returned with a vengeance. The lingering, ambient discomfort that comes with human connection is quickly becoming preferable to that looming fear of absence.

Still, though…

“It feels like – going against my nature, every minute I spend talking to him, to you, to… anyone, really. I think I just… forgot how not to be alone?”

On some level, Martin wonders whether he ever knew in the first place. He’s had friends, certainly, but every relationship, no matter how ostensibly reciprocal, has been laced with an undercurrent of insecurity: a loud, nagging voice in the back of his mind, reminding him of the consequences should he allow himself to be too much or not enough. Always primed for rejection, he strove to make himself pleasant, to make himself useful, to make himself accommodating and unobtrusive and easy. Sometimes, he felt like an impostor, fooling people into believing that he was worth keeping around. He was always counting down the moments until someone would see through the façade to the inadequacy within, realize he wasn’t worth the trouble, and leave him behind.

“The Lonely… I don’t think I want it anymore,” he says, “but it feels – wrong, to leave it behind. Not me, somehow.”

“Hmm.” Georgie drums her fingers against her chin. “I can understand that. Isolation can become so habitual that it starts to feel like home, and anything trying to break through feels like an invasion. You start to feel safer alone, and you deny those moments when you catch yourself wishing things were different, because loneliness has become such a part of you that you don’t know who you would be without it.”

“I… yeah,” Martin says, taken aback by having it laid out so succinctly.

“In my experience, it helps to remind yourself that your brain is lying to you when it tells you you’d be better off alone. In your case, I guess it’s your brain and a supernatural fear god or whatever, but… unless you’re keen to fight a god, it might be best to start with your brain. That’s something you actually can exert some control over, with enough practice. And I think it might make it harder for the fear to get to you if you’re not trapped in the kind of mindset it thrives on.”

“I guess,” Martin says, looking off to the side. Once again, he rests his arm on the cot, his hand mere inches away from Jon’s, sheet still clenched tightly in his fist.

“But you don’t have to take it on all at once,” Georgie says. “If you have to set boundaries, Jon will understand. And even if he didn’t, you still have a right to enforce them. Not to sound cliché, but you shouldn’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm.”

The problem is, of course, that the concept of putting himself first is as alien to Martin as the idea of being… well, not lonely.

“I can hear the cogs turning,” Georgie says with a gentle smile. “Look, it’s easier to accept a concept intellectually than it is to actually apply it to yourself. There’s a learning curve. But it’s a lesson worth learning. Took me way too long to learn it myself. If it helps, start with – to use another cliché – ‘put your own oxygen mask on before helping others with theirs.’ Then you can move onto practicing self-care without feeling guilty.”

“What are you, a therapist?”

“Nope. I’ve just had several years of experience being on the receiving end.”

“O-oh. Uh, sorry –”

“Don’t be. It’s not something to be ashamed of. Anyway, at this point, I could probably fill out CBT worksheets in my sleep. With enough practice, it does start to become intuitive.” She shrugs. “Anyway, you can’t fix Jon, and I don’t think he expects you to. You can support him, you can care about him, but you can’t make him better. That’s true in any relationship, but… well, obviously it’s – a bit more complicated in this case.”

“I just… I want him to be okay, and I don’t know how to help –” Martin startles when Jon kicks one leg out violently, entangling himself in the sheets as he pulls it back and curls into himself again. Martin lowers his voice. “He – he was so starving he passed out, Georgie, he wasn’t breathing and it was like the hospital all over again and – and I don’t think I have any other stories I can tell that would count as statements –”

“Wait, you gave him a statement?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I thought he didn’t want –”

“I don’t know if he would have agreed if he was conscious, but he… he wasn’t waking up, and I didn’t know what else to do,” Martin says pleadingly, watching Georgie carefully to gauge her reaction. “He needed a fresh statement. Old statements aren’t enough, and he said new ones cause nightmares regardless of whether he takes them in person or not, so we can’t just give him new written statements that come in, and I – I don’t know what we’re going to do if he gets that bad again.”

Martin remembers the look in Jon’s eyes: glossy, glazed and almost luminous with an alien sort of hunger, but shot through with a terror more devastating than Martin had ever seen from him. The unflinching intent with which he hurt himself; the erratic rhythm of his breathing; the way his dilated pupils swallowed the irises just before he fell unconscious. He was lost to the world in those moments, alert but unresponsive, seemingly unable to hear a word Martin was saying.

And the abject horror on his face when he commanded Martin to stay away…

“He was… he was so scared. Of himself. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but he – he can’t think straight when he’s like that.”

“Shit,” Georgie says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I think working in the archives gives some immunity? I’ve given a few statements, before we knew how all this works, and he never showed up in my nightmares. Tim’s or Sasha’s, either, as far as I know. And I actually… well, I don’t actually mind giving him statements, to be honest? It’s – hard, to relive it, but it’s… cathartic, too. To get it all out, to be able to actually – describe it in words. Maybe I’d feel differently if I came in off the street – or was approached – and I didn’t know him, and wasn’t protected from the side effects, but – as it is, I would be fine giving him statements when he needs them, and that’s not – that’s not a huge sacrifice on my part, is what I’m saying. But I don’t… I don’t think I have any more stories to give.”

“Okay,” Georgie mutters to herself, rubbing her temples. “Okay. We… we’ll figure something out. Obviously, Jon needs to be part of that conversation. Maybe Daisy, too – Jon seems to trust her.”

“Why would he trust her?” Martin asks, incredulous, almost incensed. “She kidnapped him. She – she slit his throat, she was going to –”

“I know. I don’t really understand it either. But supposedly she’s changed a lot, and she’s an Avatar like he is. I get the feeling he might want her there.”

“Fine,” Martin says in a clipped voice, even though fine seems like a wildly inaccurate descriptor to him. “What about Basira? And Melanie?”

“Melanie… with Jon’s permission, I’ll invite her, just so she’s not out of the loop, but I doubt she’ll take us up on it.” Georgie frowns, rubbing her jaw absently. “As for Basira… I don’t know. Something Jon said…”

“What?”

“I’m…” Georgie pauses, tilting her head from side to side as she deliberates. “Concerned. About how Basira might approach the situation.”

It takes a few seconds for Martin to work out the implication. When he does, he pales, mouth going slack.

“You – you don’t think she’d hurt him?”

“I don’t think so,” Georgie says haltingly, “but there’s a chance she might put the option back on the table if she thinks he’s too dangerous. She wouldn’t like it, but… well, she seems utilitarian. I think she’ll do whatever she thinks she needs to do. And even if she doesn’t threaten him directly, I still…” She sighs. “Jon’s not in a good place right now, mentally. Frankly, I worry about exposing him to anything that might encourage a better-off-dead mindset, even if it’s just… perceived condemnation.”

“God, this…” Martin laughs, high and stressed. “This entire situation is…”

“I know. But we’ll figure something out. And in the meantime, make sure to take care of yourself too, alright?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, only half-listening.

“I mean it. Jon cares about you. He wouldn’t want you to run yourself into the ground on his behalf.”

Before Martin can respond, Jon jumps in his sleep again with a strangled gasp. Flinging one arm out, his hand brushes against Martin and seizes a fistful of his sleeve. Tightening his grip, he tugs on Martin’s arm to bring it closer, practically hugging it in a vice grip. Almost instantly Jon calms, tense muscles relaxing, pained expression going slack, a relieved sigh shuddering out of him as he nuzzles into the crook of Martin’s elbow.

Martin can feel his cheeks burning. He shoots a preemptive glower in Georgie’s direction, daring her to laugh – but she only smiles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she says, rising to her feet. “Text me when he’s awake, will you?”

“Y-y-yeah,” Martin stammers. “I’ll – I’ll see you later.”

He barely notices her departure, instead staring down at Jon with a vague sense of wonder. Jon holds fast to him like he’s a lifeline, and Martin can feel him breathing warm and steady through the fabric of his sleeve. The cold sweat on his brow seems to be evaporating now. Martin shifts his position to more fully face the cot. As he reaches up with his free hand to brush away the hair clinging to Jon’s forehead, a slow, shy smile begins to spread across Martin’s face.

It won’t be long before Jon succumbs to another fit of tossing and turning, but in the meantime, Martin simply watches him with faint awe and renewed affection. He’s never seen Jon look so at peace, and he takes the opportunity to memorize the sight.

When another shard of the Lonely shatters and crumbles away, Martin is too preoccupied to note its passing.

With a startled yelp, Jon sits bolt upright. Gulping down air in deep, ragged breaths, he looks wildly around the room, not taking anything in: it’s all visual noise, smudges of loud colors and sinister shadows, all of it closing in and bearing down on him.

Something next to him – close too close too close – moves abruptly, rising up and looming over and settling down beside him. Jon cringes away, only to find that his legs are pinned together by something, restricting his movement, and there’s dirt in his mouth, and dirt in his throat, and dirt in his lungs, and he cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe –

“Jon,” comes a voice – somehow both close and far away. “Listen, you’re – you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Trapped in that liminal twilight haze between sleep and waking, Jon gropes blindly for a handhold, an anchor, something real and solid and –

His hand collides with something soft, warm – wool, his mind supplies, and then:

…wool is able to absorb nearly one-third of its weight in water…

He shakes his head to chase away the stray scrap of trivia, digging his fingers into the fabric to ground himself.

“It was just a dream,” says the voice again – a kind voice, a safe voice – and Jon takes a shuddering breath, like a drowning man clawing for air.

Then a hand closes over his, and that light pressure is enough plunge Jon right back below the surface. He thrashes violently, desperate to break away from the throbbing litany of too close cannot move trapped held pinned in place screeching metal crushing in and down and down and down and Karolina beholds her encroaching fate with tranquil acceptance and the Archivist feels her skull crack and her chest cave in and her lungs collapse and still she smiles and she watches as the Archivist flails uselessly for an escape that does not will not cannot exist and the door bulges and splinters and explodes inward and the deluge rushes in and the Archivist is drowning, drowning, drowning –

The hand draws back, the pressure lifts, the train car finally collapses, and the last remnants of hazy sleep begin to disintegrate.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to – it’s – it’s just me, Jon.”

“Martin?” Jon chokes out, tightening his grasp on Martin’s jumper – wool, warm, soft, safe – still bunched in one hand. He reaches out his other arm to find a second handhold.

“Yeah. I – I won’t hurt you.”

Safe.

“I know,” Jon says groggily. The tension drains away and he sags against Martin’s side, breathing in slow, deliberate swallows. “’M sorry. Dream.”

The first time he’s slept, truly slept since leaving the hospital, and of course it had to be while Karolina Górka was dreaming. Of course.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Buried,” Jon mumbles, face partially burrowed in Martin’s shoulder. Self-explanatory, he figures.

“Oh,” Martin says in a broken whisper. Jon opens one eye to see an expression of helpless pity on Martin’s face. “That’s…”

“’S okay,” Jon assures. “I’m okay.”

Reluctantly, he releases his hold on Martin and leans away. When he stretches – partly out of habit, partly to reassure himself that he can – there’s still something pinioning his legs. A spark of panic tears through him before he realizes that it’s just the sheets, tangled hopelessly around his lower half. With some difficulty, he manages to extricate himself and kick the blankets away.

“How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.”

“Have you just been sitting here the whole time?” Jon frowns apologetically. “You could’ve woken me.”

“Wake you when you were actually sleeping for once? Uh, no. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Jon says simply. “I’d like to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m – fine,” Martin says. Jon raises an eyebrow. “Really, I – I am. I’m more worried about –”

“Me, I know. And I’m worried about you. I… don’t think you’re just ‘fine.’” Martin gives a noncommittal grunt. “I really would like to know where you are in all this. How you’re faring. How I can help.”

Martin remains silent, lips pressed tightly together as if to seal them.

“I know I was – distracted, earlier, but I… I really do want to help,” Jon tries again. “Please let me help?”

Something finally gives and Martin slouches with a sigh.

“I’m… still trying to figure it all out,” he says slowly. “I don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time, besides… worried, and…”

“Lonely.”

“Yeah,” Martin says with a wistful smile.

“You don’t have to be,” Jon says quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m not – I’m not trying to –” Jon sighs. “I just… I need you to know.”

“I know,” Martin says again.

Jon bites back the nagging impulse to ask all the questions itching on his tongue: Have you decided what to do about Peter? How Lonely are you now? Do you need closeness or distance? What should I be doing, or not doing? What can I do to take care of you? Where do we stand?

What do you see, when you look at me?

Jon looks away and shuts his eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, by the way. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you. Or to…” He swallows, fighting back the nausea rising in him. “To compel you.”

“It’s alright –”

“It’s not,” Jon says brusquely. He makes a conscious effort to soften his tone before he continues. “I don’t want to be the thing that frightens you.”

“You’re not,” Martin says with a bemused frown. “I know you didn’t mean to use your powers on me.”

“You were afraid. I could…” Jon closes his eyes again and forces himself to say the words. “I could taste it.”

And the Archivist in him savored it.

“I wasn’t afraid of you, Jon. I was afraid for you. You looked terrified, and in pain, and you were hurting yourself, and I didn’t know how to help, and then I didn’t know if you were going to wake up, and… that’s what scared me.” Jon’s skepticism must show on his face, because there’s an intensity to the words when Martin reiterates: “Not you. Never you.”

“Never say never,” Jon says with a brittle, self-deprecating smile.

“I’m serious, Jon.”

So am I.

“I… I think we need to talk about where to go from here,” Martin says after a moment, averting his eyes.

“I agree.”

“You do?” Martin looks back to him, blinking in surprise.

“Yes,” Jon says, adjusting his position to sit cross-legged and pivoting to face Martin fully. “The others need to know what happened. I can’t be trusted not to hurt anyone –”

“No, that’s not what I –” Martin sighs. “I’m worried about what could happen if things get that bad again.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I came dangerously close to – to relapsing. We need some plan in place, some way to keep me contained so that I don’t –”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Martin says, holding up a hand. Jon tilts his head, bewildered. “I’m not – I’m not talking about keeping you contained, Jon. I’m worried about you. This goes beyond a compulsion you can beat with enough willpower. You were starving. You… you could have died.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Exactly! We don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“No ‘but.’ There has to be some way to keep you fed without hurting anyone. We just need to –”

“Martin, terror and suffering is the entire point. That’s what sustains it. Mine, my victim’s, doesn’t matter as long as it hurts.” Jon laughs, hollow and bitter. “It’s not like there’s an ethical way to – to harvest trauma –”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Martin says fiercely, “and I’m not ready to just give up. I would hope you aren’t, either.”

“I…” Jon busies himself with tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind his ear, using it as an excuse to break eye contact.

“Please, Jon.”

Martin takes his hand, prompting Jon to look up again. A familiar guilt rises up in him, shame at always being the one to put that expression of desperate worry on Martin’s face.

It’s enough to make him agree, albeit in a whisper, “Okay.”

“Right,” Martin says, giving Jon’s hand a brief squeeze. “Georgie and I were talking while you were asleep. She wants to be part of the discussion, so long as you’re alright with it.”

“Of course. We should probably tell Daisy and Basira as well.”

Martin appears to hesitate.

“I was thinking the three of us can meet first,” he says carefully, “and then we can open up the discussion after.”

“Why?” Jon observes the slight concavity that forms as Martin chews the inside of his cheek. “Martin?”

“Georgie’s worried about Basira’s reaction,” Martin says abruptly, “and honestly, so am I.”

“She needs to know.”

“I – I know, it’s just…”

“We have so few allies; we can’t afford secrecy and mistrust. And…”

And of all of them, Basira is the one Jon can trust to do what must be done if things go wrong. If he goes wrong.

“Basira is a strategist,” he says. “She’s good at viewing a problem from multiple angles, considering all the variables, predicting potential solutions and outcomes and then weighing them with a… pragmatic eye.”

“The pragmatism is what worries me.”

“I want her there,” Jon says simply.

“Okay,” Martin says, but Jon can tell he’s not thrilled about it. “What about Daisy?”

“Yes,” Jon says, not missing a beat. At that, Martin somehow manages to look even less thrilled.

“And Melanie?”

“I… I’m alright with her being there, but I don’t want her to feel pressured. She’s dealing with enough as it is.”

“Okay. I can let everyone know, but I think you should get some more rest before –”

“No.”

“Jon –”

“I need to confront this now. While I’m still… in my right mind,” Jon says, plucking absently at his sleeve with his free hand. “Sober.”

For a brief second, Martin looks ready to argue, but then he capitulates with a sigh.

“Okay,” he says, releasing Jon’s hand and standing up. “I’ll… round everyone up, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Jon murmurs.

Martin glances back several times as he leaves the room. Jon waits until he’s out of sight before he puts his face in his hands, sighs, and tries to brace himself for a conversation he dreads almost as much as the Coffin.

A short time later, the group – minus Melanie – convenes in the tunnels, five chairs arranged in a loose circle with a sixth left empty off to the side. Sitting almost directly across from Jon, Basira watches him with eyes narrowed, arms folded, and mouth pressed into a firm line.

“What do you mean you ‘almost’ relapsed?”

“Martin suggested reading a new statement that came in earlier this evening,” Jon tells her in a straightforward near-monotone. Pushing through the discomfort it brings, he forces himself to meet her eyes when he speaks. “I agreed, without informing him that reading a fresh written statement has the same repercussions that taking a live statement in person does. I was going to feed, knowing that it would hurt an innocent person.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin says emphatically. “You stopped yourself.”

“Only because Helen pointed out the cognitive dissonance. Took a monster to remind me not to be a monster.” Jon scoffs. “Even then, I almost did it anyway.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin repeats.

“What about next time?” Basira asks, unimpressed. “When you get hungry again, what then?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Georgie says, assuming the role of mediator the moment she notices Martin’s scowl deepen. “We need to find some way to keep things from getting that bad in the first place.”

Thoroughly unnerved, Jon squirms in his seat. Basira has had him pinned under her stare for several minutes now, and she seems unlikely to cut him free any time soon. But what right does he have to object to scrutiny, given what he is?

“What did you do with the statement?” Basira demands. “The one you were going to read?”

“I… asked Martin to burn it.”

Her eyes flick to Martin. “And did you?”

“N-not yet –”

“Burn it. As soon as we’re done here.” She shifts her attention back to Jon. “Is there an alternative to new statements?”

Jon doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, matter-of-fact: “No.”

“Jon,” Martin and Georgie say simultaneously, with the tenor of a reprimand.

“I’m not – I’m not trying to be difficult,” he replies, finally breaking eye contact with Basira to look down at his hands. “It’s just… reality. I’m an Archive dedicated the curation of statements – of fear.”

“You never actually explained what that means,” Basira says. “You being the Archive.”

“It’s… hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Jon sighs, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

“The Archive is more than – paper and files and tapes. The reason it needs to be housed in a living mind rather than a mere building is because the statements themselves have a living quality to them.” He crosses his arms, brow furrowing as he struggles with his phrasing. “They need to be immersed in a steady supply of fear. A shelving unit, a filing cabinet, a hard drive, a cassette tape – those can’t provide the ideal habitat that they need to thrive. The Archivist is –”

“– simply a battery, a ready source of constant terror –”

He cuts the Archive off with a frustrated snarl, digging his fingernails into his arms.

“Hey,” Georgie says gently, “you’re alright. Take your time.”

Jon has to spend a few minutes counting breaths before he feels ready to try again.

“What I was –” He cuts himself off preemptively, half-expecting the Archive to intrude again. Once he realizes the words are his own, he clears his throat to recover from the false start. “What I was trying to say is – without a living consciousness to contextualize them, the statements are just… stories. When I consume a statement – read it, hear it, doesn’t matter – I See the events play out through the victim’s eyes. My lived experience of it is essential to the recording and preservation of the story. I need to be able to recall how it feels, not just summarize the major points of interest.” He sighs again. “And… that’s also the point of reliving the events in the nightmares. All of it is to keep the memory fresh. To keep the story – the fear – alive.”

When he looks up to see all four of them staring at him, he begins to rub his arms absently, increasingly self-conscious. He can feel the semicircle grooves leftover from where his fingernails cut into the skin.

“So… yeah,” he finishes awkwardly. “The Archive is defined by the statements and the fear that embodies them. The Beholding always hungers for more, and the Archive is a… a receptacle for all of its knowledge. The continual curation of new statements is what sustains it. Without that, it withers.”

“And dies?” Basira asks.

The question isn’t unkind, per se, simply businesslike: an eagerness to discover an answer heedless of whatever messy emotions it might elicit. Jon understands that impulse all too well. Not for the first time, he wonders whether Jonah had a secondary, hidden motive for recruiting Basira: a backup Archivist, in the event that his first choice be unable to endure the process.

“I still don’t know if it would physically kill me,” he replies, “but the hungrier I get, the more I forget myself. I’m liable to do things that I wouldn’t normally do, monstrous things.” He huffs. “And at the same time, giving in to that hunger will also make me more monstrous over time. It seems like… either way, I – I can’t avoid losing sight of… well, me. The human part of me. Whatever’s left of it.”

And wouldn’t losing himself be a death of sorts?

In a way, Daisy died the moment the Hunt recaptured her. What she became was her, undoubtedly, but only a small piece of her. The creature that Basira eventually killed… it was an echo of all the hated, feared parts of herself that Daisy had tried so hard to starve out. The rest of her – all the things that altogether made her Daisy – had long since been burned away.

If Jon didn’t manage to find a way out of that doomed future, he suspects that his ultimate fate may have been similar: all the fragile scraps of himself that still belonged to him, every sliver of personal identity, every shred of humanity crushed and buried beneath an ever-swelling ocean of dispassionate knowledge. The Archive would have carried on expanding and curating until, one day, it would have either collapsed under its own weight or simply run out of things to catalogue, then to waste away – but by then, it would have borne no resemblance to the original owner of its ravaged vessel.

Some endings play out in merciless increments. Jon has witnessed – has caused – more than his fair share of pointless, drawn out suffering. It would have been only fitting for his end to follow a similar path.

“Well, shit,” Basira mutters.

“What about statements given consensually?” Martin asks tentatively. “The one I gave you seemed to satisfy the Archive, or – or however you want to call it. And in the past when I’ve given you statements, they never gave me nightmares, so…”

“Anyone aligned with the Eye has a measure of protection from the Archivist,” Jon answers. “I was never privy to Tim’s or Sasha’s nightmares, either. Once Melanie and Basira started working here, their dreams were cut off from me as well. And… last time, Daisy ended up signing an employment contract after returning from the Buried. Same result.”

“Is it just the archival staff, or any Institute employee?” Basira asks.

“I… don’t know,” Jon says thoughtfully. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it’s restricted to those most strongly connected with the Eye. Archival assistants, primarily. Possibly the research department, or at least those individuals who are the most… compatible with the Beholding, so to speak, though I’m not positive.”

Now that the question has been posed, Jon craves an answer.

“But – but experimenting isn’t worth the risk,” he says, mostly in an attempt to dissuade himself from pursuing the matter any further. He’s pleasantly surprised to hear the confidence in his own voice.

As if satisfied with that answer, Basira gives a tiny nod. Jon doubts it’s meant as a vote of confidence or as approval, but her posture does relax somewhat. He doubts that she trusts him by any stretch of the imagination, but for the moment she seems to have decided that he isn’t an imminent threat, at least.

It feels remarkably, disconcertingly like passing a test he didn’t realize was in progress.

Georgie’s eyes are fixed on the floor, her chin propped in her hand and a contemplative pout on her face. Martin has his lips pressed together, as if biting back an objection. Daisy is the only one looking directly at Jon. She hasn’t said a word since Jon gave his confession, but now her head cocked slightly to the side, as if she's weighing her words.

“I have a lot of stories from my Sectioned days,” she muses. “I could –”

“What would you say if I told you that you should go hunt a few monsters?” Jon says immediately.

“I…” Daisy stalls for a moment, and then gives a resigned sigh, understanding. “I would be worried that I wouldn’t be able to stop at a few,” she says grudgingly. Her shoulders slump as she adds, “Or at monsters.”

“Exactly.”

“But wouldn’t it be different?” she asks, perking up again. “The prey doesn’t consent to the hunt. The fear is taken, not freely given. But a statement – that can be consensual.”

“The Hunt cares about the terror of the prey in the moment. The Eye cares about the terror of the victim in the retelling. The consent aspect is only relevant in terms of whether and how it influences the fear. The fear is all they care about, and I doubt anything benign can come of consuming the fear our patrons want, consensual or no.”

“Do you remember what I said about harm reduction?” Georgie has been sitting quietly with her thoughts for so long, Jon startles at the sound of her voice when she rejoins the conversation. “We need to keep you from getting so hungry that it changes who you are, and new statements are the only way to satisfy that hunger. Correct?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“No ‘but.’ According to you, right now your options are statements or starvation.”

Struck with a fleeting impulse for petulance, Jon has to swallow a biting retort. It’s an old habit, hackles rising at having his own words turned against him – something for which Georgie has always had an aptitude. Between an impressive memory, an analytical nature, and a tolerance for confrontation, she’s never been shy to speculate on what’s really going on in Jon’s head at any given moment. That ability to dissect his motivations and insecurities and cognitive distortions – it used to feel like being flayed alive, all the vulnerable bits of him exposed and shoved under a spotlight.

It’s probably fair to say that his inability to weather that level of scrutiny was a big factor contributing to their eventual breakup: his guarded nature was incompatible with her more straightforward approach to relationships.

“I realize it’s not ideal,” she’s saying now, “but taking statements given with informed consent seems like the most ethical choice.”

“It isn’t just unideal, it’s – it’s –” Jon puts one hand over his eyes, rubbing his forehead and fighting back the urge to shout. “This isn’t a solution.”

It’s still feeding the Eye. It’s still capitalizing on other people’s trauma. And the stories Daisy has to offer… Jon has to wonder how many of them feature Daisy as a victim or a bystander, and whether those outnumber the ones where she herself is the object of fear. He’s taken statements from Avatars before. Some of them were indeed stories of experiencing fear firsthand. Others, though… the fear threaded through the statement came not from the teller, but from their victims.

Jon isn’t keen on siphoning off the secondhand terror of Daisy’s prey. Maybe he can’t afford to be picky, but if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that lines have to be drawn somewhere.

“We can keep looking for a better alternative,” Georgie says, “but for now… think of it as a stopgap measure.” Sensing Jon’s continued aversion to the idea, she continues: “If your own wellbeing isn’t enough to convince you, consider how you starving would affect other people.”

“It might make me more dangerous,” Jon says quietly.

“I mean – maybe, I guess? But that’s not what I meant.” At Jon’s blank expression, Georgie sighs. “When you suffer, it hurts more than just you. You have people who care about you. They’re sitting with you right now.”

“Still, I – I can’t ask that of –”

“Oh, come off it, Sims,” Daisy says, rolling her eyes. “You crawled into hell to drag me out when all I’d done was treat you like prey. And even after seeing what it was like, you went back in and brought me back a second time.”

“Yes, but –”

“If I sign a contract to work in the archives, it’ll stop you showing up in my dreams, right?”

“Yes. I’m – I’m sorry, again, about –”

“And it’ll keep new nightmares from cropping up if I give you more statements?”

“Well, yes –”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth soundlessly several times.

“I – I – I don’t want you to sign yourself over to the Beholding just so I can – treat your memories like a – like a snack” – Jon flings one arm out in a sweeping gesture, supplementing the disgust with which he says the word – “without facing any consequences!”

He looks around at the others, arm still outstretched in the air, waiting for someone to back him up on this. When no one does, he huffs a bewildered chuckle and withdraws his arm to comb his fingers through his hair instead. Why is he the only one making a fuss about this? He thought he could count on Basira at least to raise an objection, but she’s just staring off to the side, apparently lost in thought.

“I was already considering signing a contract anyway,” Daisy says. “Basira said you had a theory that the Slaughter’s effects on Melanie were slowed by her connection to the Eye, yeah?”

“Yes,” he admits cautiously.

“We were thinking – maybe it’ll do the same for me with the Hunt.”

“Did it help last time?” Basira cuts in, as if she’d never tapped out of the discussion.

“I’m not positive,” Jon hedges. “It was a theory we’d considered, yes, but it’s not like we had much of a sample size to test that hypothesis.”

He wishes he’d thought to ask these kinds of questions after the world ended, when he actually had a chance of getting the answers. In his defense, he had a lot on his mind – and it’s not like he considered the possibility of coming back in time to actually make use of that information.

“And it didn’t entirely silence the call of the Hunt,” he adds, looking back to Daisy. “You still deteriorated the longer you refused to answer it.”

“Hm.” Basira’s contemplative expression returns as she withdraws to commune with her own thoughts again.

“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway,” Daisy says with a shrug. “Basira’s trapped here. So are you. And I don’t think I can be trusted to leave here without giving in to the Hunt again. I have nothing to lose by signing a contract, and…”

Her eyes gravitate towards Jon’s throat. Mechanically, he reaches up to adjust the scarf around his neck, to ensure the scar there is covered. At the guilty expression on Daisy’s face, Jon has to look away.

“If it can help,” Daisy continues, “then I think telling some stories is the absolute least I can do after… everything.”

“How many do you have, do you think?” Georgie asks, once again settling into problem-solving mode.

“Don’t know. Several. A couple dozen? Maybe more, depending on how far we can stretch the definition of a statement.”

“I have a handful as well,” Basira says, her tone wholly unreadable. “Not many, but… a few of the things that happened while you were dead should count as statements, I think.”

“I – I couldn’t ask you to –”

“I’m not offering; I’m just inventorying all the options on the table,” Basira says with an air of finality.

Curiously, Martin seems to tense at Basira’s words, shifting restively in his seat and looking askance at her.

“How much time does that buy us, do you think?” he asks, throwing brief, surreptitious glances in Basira’s direction. “How long would a few dozen statements last you?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says, still altogether uncomfortable with the idea. “If I ration myself, then – a while, hopefully? Hypothetically? But…”

He’s loathe to elaborate, but when did keeping secrets and denying reality ever help?

“Last time, it kept getting progressively worse. I needed to feed more and more frequently in order to stave off the hunger. The side effects of abstaining grew more severe. I want to hope that it will be different this time. Maybe giving in to the hunger in the first place only encouraged the Archivist’s… evolution. Whet my appetite. It’s possible that refraining from hunting will… I don’t know, slow the process? Maybe? B-but at the same time…”

He trails off, lips parted, unable to say the words.

“Jon?” Martin prompts gently.

“It’s… I’m sorry, but I – I have trouble being optimistic about it. Coming back didn’t… it didn’t reset the Archivist’s progress. I’m the product of what I’ve done up to this point, even if I’m the only one who remembers any of it. I still have all the marks. And… the Archive fledged and thrived in the apocalypse.”

“Meaning?” Basira leans forward, watching him intently.

“The Archive is accustomed to a feast, not a famine. Millions of statements filtering through every moment without pause. Even when humanity started dying off – when there was less and less fear to go around, when even the monsters started to decay in that place – the Archive was still sated, because I could See everything. No matter how few and far between those pockets of terror became, as long as fear was being suffered somewhere, the Archive had a steady source of sustenance.”

It wouldn’t have lasted forever, of course. Everything has an ending. But that had still been a ways off when Jon left that place.

“I probably would have been one of the last things standing, by the end,” he says softly.

“And you think the hunger will be worse this time because you aren’t used to being hungry,” Basira says.

“More or less,” Jon mumbles, shamefaced. “Coming back to the past, to now… there was no transition between plenty and want. I – the Archive – was just… dropped into a – a habitat it was never adapted to survive in. It’s like a… like a non-native species, as far as this reality is concerned. Like taking a fish out of water and expecting it to evolve lungs on the spot.”

“Hm.” Basira cups her chin in one hand, running a thumb slowly over her lips as she thinks.

“I plan to ration myself as strictly as possible, of course. I just want to establish the possibility that things might – escalate, at some point.”

“If it comes to that, we can deal with it then,” Georgie says. “In the meantime, we should just…”

“Take things one crisis at a time?” Jon tries to temper his bitterness with a weak smile, without much success.

“I mean, yeah, basically,” Georgie says. “But in order for this to work, you need to be honest with us.”

“I – I am, I –”

“I’m not accusing you of lying, Jon. I just mean… well, you have a long history of ignoring your own limitations, and –”

“You’re not good at taking care of yourself,” Martin interjects. His cheeks go pink and he tosses an apologetic glance in Georgie’s direction. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Georgie says. Martin looks uncertain until she grins and, still making eye contact with him, jerks her chin in Jon’s direction. “By all means, go on.”

Emboldened, Martin turns his attention back to Jon, who meets his eyes with no small amount of apprehension. If Martin is intent on compiling a laundry list of examples of Jon’s poor self-care – and judging from that worryingly familiar look on his face, he is – then he has ample material to choose from. Jon barely has time to brace himself before Martin launches into his lecture.

“You used to forget to eat. You never took lunch unless I hassled you. I had to nag you to go home at night.” He’s counting off on his fingers now, Jon notes with dismay. “You went through most days fueled by a maximum of four hours of sleep and frankly alarming amounts of caffeine. You insisted on coming back to work, against medical advice, immediately after almost being eaten alive by worms.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak – and promptly shuts it again when Martin gives him what Jon can (with equal amounts of affection and dread) only refer to as that look.

“You could barely walk. I had to threaten to forcibly remove you from the building before you agreed to go home. You spent the next several weeks sneaking – hell, limping around down here” – Martin makes a sweeping gesture with his arm – “where we found your predecessor’s murdered body, and –”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Jon interrupts, hands flapping anxiously. “I get your point.”

“I also had to threaten to withhold the Admiral from you in order to get you to go to the clinic to have your third-degree burn treated,” Georgie chimes back in. Jon glares at her; she looks far too entertained by the proceedings.

“I was – I was on the lam,” he protests. “I couldn’t exactly go waltzing about in public.”

“But you were perfectly willing to go chasing down Avatars, apparently.”

“I…”

“Oh,” she adds, “and today was the first time you actually slept since you woke up from a coma.”

“I was asleep for six months,” Jon mutters, arms crossed, bouncing one heel against the floor. “I think that more than makes up for –”

“You tried to pass off a stab wound that required five – five!” – Martin holds up five fingers for added (and unnecessary, in Jon’s opinion) emphasis – “stitches as an accident with a – with a bread knife.”

Somehow, Martin manages to sound as indignant now as he did on the day it happened.

“That was several lifetimes ago,” Jon says primly. “At some point you have to let me live it down.”

“It hasn’t even been two years!”

“Seriously, Jon?” Daisy, who has been hiding a smirk behind her hand throughout the entire exchange, finally fails to contain her stifled laughter. “A bread knife?”

“I – I panicked,” Jon says weakly, cheeks burning. “Martin cornered me in the breakroom and it was the first thing I saw, and I just –”

Martin starts in again. “You were actively exsanguinating –”

“Th-that – that’s an exaggeration,” Jon sputters, watching Georgie out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. She’s shaking her head with a faint smile, and Jon… well, Jon supposes that playful scorn is preferable to actual scorn.

“– and you refused to let me take you to the clinic until I threatened to call an ambulance,” Martin finishes.

“I was –” Jon twists a lock of hair around his fingers as he scrambles for some way to save face. “I would have been –”

“I think it’s safe to say you have no sense of self-preservation,” Basira says, and even she has a hint of amusement in her tone now.

“They have a point, Sims.”

“Et tu, Daisy?” Jon says, hoping to garner a laugh – or, failing that, at least halt the relentless bombardment of admonishments. Daisy simply raises her eyebrows and folds her arms, unmoved.

“Do I need to revisit some of the things we discussed in the Coffin?”

“No,” he says sullenly. When no one else speaks, he continues, somewhat irately: “Are we quite finished with the roast session?”

“For now,” Georgie says. “The point is, don’t run yourself into the ground just to test the limits of what you can endure.”

“And don’t let rationing statements turn into just another way to punish yourself,” Martin says sternly. Then he bites his lip, speaking gently now: “You… you deserve better than that.”

I really, really don’t, Jon thinks. Having no desire to unleash another lecture, though, he keeps the contrary comment to himself.

“Besides, letting yourself get that bad probably makes things worse in the long run,” Georgie says. “Like walking on a sprained ankle. Maybe you can endure the pain, but the longer you ignore it, the more likely you are to cause even more damage, and recovery takes longer than it would have if you’d just attended to it in the first place.”

“Speaking from personal experience, are we?” Jon allows a hint of retaliatory smugness slip into his voice.

“Yes,” Georgie says, rolling her eyes. “That ankle is still weak. Which is why you should listen to me. Just… try to care about yourself even a fraction of how much others care about you, alright?

Jon sighs. “Point taken.”

“You can trust us,” Martin says.

“I – I know that. I do trust you. I’m just…” Afraid. “I don’t want you to –”

“– mark me out as something other –”

“– getting used to people making polite excuses not to look at me –”

“– it wears you down to be someone whom nobody wants to see – I called out again and again but nobody came –”

Frantic, he covers his mouth with his hand to halt the recitation; the words continue to pour forth undeterred, albeit muffled and likely – hopefully – too indistinct for the others to understand.

“– I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned –”

“– no one to blame but my own stupid self – blundering in where I had no right to go –”

A flash flood of restless energy breaks through the dam and then it’s racing through his veins, filling his mouth and his mind with white noise. He kicks one foot out and brings it stomping back down to the ground in a burst of sheer infuriation and near-panic. A crawling sensation travels up and down the length of his spine, a parade of feather-light pinpricks reminiscent of thousands of scuttling spider legs.

The slight whimper that works its way up his throat is thankfully stifled by the hand still pressed to his lips.

“Breathe through it,” Basira tells him.

Irritation flares to life at the reminder, but Jon forcibly snuffs it out before the spark can catch. Basira is only trying to help – and in a way she knows has helped before.

He breathes.

A frustrated noise – something between a snarl and a whine – spills out on his exhale, and he presses another hand atop the first as if it can render him entirely soundless. Before another wave of self-directed fury can take him, Jon coaxes himself to take another breath in through his nose. And another. And another, counting up until the pressure behind his eyes lets up and the static clears from his thoughts – at which point, he’s forced to confront the four pairs of eyes playing patient audience to his outburst.

Like a toddler’s tantrum, he thinks acidly, burning with humiliation.

“Sorry.” Although the scathing edge to the word is reserved solely for himself, he takes another breath before speaking again, lest the others assume the ire is directed at them. “Sorry. I’ll try to control it better.”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Martin says. “We know you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

“Anyway,” Basira says, her peremptory tone indicating a return to the subject at hand, “can we all agree that this is the best strategy for now?”

Jon looks down, tracing the weave of his scarf, focusing wholly on the texture of fabric against fingertips in a vain attempt to distract from the pins and needles still skittering across his skin. It takes a moment before he registers the silence. When he looks up, the others are staring at him. Basira raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for his response.

“Even if I do agree to this,” Jon says warily, “I still – I know it’s a lot to ask, but I still need to be monitored for any signs of…” Although the question is meant for all of them, Jon shifts his gaze to make direct eye contact with Basira as he asks it. “Can you let me know, truthfully, if I – if it looks like I might… if you think I’m a danger?”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, “you’re not –”

“Yes,” Basira says decisively.

Martin glares at her, his mouth falling open with a combination of shock and protective outrage. Jon recognizes that expression, and he jumps in before Martin can get a word out.

“Thank you, Basira.”

Now Jon is the target of Martin’s glower. He looks offended, betrayed almost, as if Jon took Basira’s side in a dispute between the two of them. Again, though, Martin doesn’t get the chance to scold.

“Alright then,” Daisy says, stretching. “It’s settled. You” – her eyes swivel to Jon, their piercing intensity prompting him to sit up at attention – “come to me when you’re hungry.”

“Before you cross the boundary into ‘starving,’” Martin says, carving out an opportunity to chastise despite the interruption.

“Consider me a vending machine of horror stories,” Daisy quips.

Jon grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. “Do you have to describe it that way?”

“Oh, quit grousing.” With a flash of teeth, a wolfish grin spreads across her face. “What, would you prefer I write up a menu?”

Her expression turns solemn when Jon winces and looks away.

“Sore nerve?” she asks, suddenly and uncharacteristically delicate.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is nearly inaudible, Jon’s eyes fixed on the floor.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

Fearing his voice might crack if he tries to speak, Jon bites down on his lip and tucks his chin to his chest, letting his hair fall to hide the others from view. He shuts his eyes for good measure and swallows hard, determined to head off the tears threatening to gather.

“Hey.” Daisy stretches out a leg and kicks his foot gently. It’s enough to make him raise his head cautiously. “I was just teasing. Really.”

“I –” It comes out as a croak. Jon clears his throat and blinks several times to dispel the stinging pressure in the corners of his eyes. “I know.”

“It is… so weird to see you two like this,” Basira says with an air of baffled wonder.

Jon notices Martin fidgeting restively out of the corner of his eye. When he looks directly at him, he sees Martin glaring at Daisy with a mixture of worry, suspicion, and resentment.

It isn’t surprising; he never really did forgive Daisy for what she did to Jon. Neither did Jon, for that matter, but… Daisy was so changed after the Buried, it was difficult to see her as the same person who dragged him into the woods. She was, undoubtedly – she was the first to admit that – but she was remorseful and wholly dedicated to changing her behavior, even knowing it might well kill her. She never asked for forgiveness, never denied the harm she’d caused, never tried to justify or shirk responsibility for her actions.

What she later became… there was nothing left of the Daisy who he’d come to see as a friend. For that Daisy, being reclaimed by the Hunt was a fate worse than death. Worse than the Coffin, even. She would have preferred to die as herself, and on her own terms – and the Hunt stole even that ounce of humanity from her. It made her forget that she didn't want to be a Hunter.

Jon dreads watching her waste away again, but not nearly as much as he fears the Hunt devouring her whole.

“People change,” he says, looking from Martin to Basira, hoping those two words can convey all the things he cannot say. They both look unconvinced, albeit in slightly different ways.

The silence drags on uncomfortably long until Georgie claps her hands on her knees.

“You never answered the question, Jon. Are you alright taking statements from Daisy? At least until we can find a better solution?”

“I…”

He glances around the circle, looking at each face in turn, trying to discern their opinions on the matter. Daisy gives him a reassuring nod. Martin has an almost pleading expression on his face, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and wringing his hands in his lap.

Basira is… entirely inscrutable, much to Jon’s dismay. He didn’t expect otherwise, but he still wishes he could get a read on her, determine exactly how she categorizes him now. Probably not as a trustworthy ally. At best, perhaps she sees him as human enough to be suffered to live, but on thin ice and under probation. At worst, she sees him as an irredeemable monster and is simply keeping her opinion to herself for the time being.

Or – no, the worst might be what he was to her last time. She saw him as a monster, yes, and was fully prepared to put him down – like a rabid animal, he thought when confronted with that wording – if he became too much of a danger. It was comforting to know that Basira wouldn’t let sentiment get in the way if he had to be stopped. Less comforting was how she saw him as an asset: a dangerous tool to be used and then locked away once he’d fulfilled his purpose.

Granted, he gave Basira permission to use him – asked her to, in fact. It would be unfair to resent her for taking him up on an offer that he himself put on the table. If his powers could be used to help for once, he was fully willing to sacrifice his humanity to do so. After all, he was already too far gone, he figured – and everyone else seemed to agree.

Georgie certainly seemed to think so. Melanie told him outright that he came back wrong. He had likewise interpreted Martin’s avoidance as a comment on his having changed for the worst, at least initially. And he knew from the moment he woke up that Basira saw him as something other, as something more akin to the monsters they were fighting rather than an ally. He understood why they all felt that way, agreed with their assessments even, but it was soul-crushing nonetheless.

But even if he couldn’t have – didn’t deserve – trust or companionship, he still needed a reason, something to justify choosing not to die. If being wanted wasn’t an option, the least he could do is avoid being a burden. An annoyance. If approval wasn’t on the table, at least he could convince people that he was worth keeping around. And hadn’t that approach always been second nature to him? In a way, he didn’t tend to seek affection so much as try to avoid rejection.

Ultimately, though, pursuing that strategy started to feel sickeningly familiar. It wasn’t until much later that he realized why: between Jonah and the Beholding – and in all likelihood the Web as well – he’d grown accustomed to being seen as a means to an end, and that made it all the more difficult to see himself as a who rather than as a what. It’s a distinction he still struggles with – particularly during those times when the Archive makes its presence known.

He might not have much right to ask for trust or approval, but that doesn’t change the fact that he craves it – perhaps from Basira most of all. If even her opinion of him can change… well, it would go a long way in helping him to believe that he really does have a chance.

“Jon,” Basira says, snapping him back to attention.

Shit. How long has he been staring?

“We need an answer,” she continues.

Jon can’t help but wonder if this is another test. If he agrees, will she see it as further proof of his inhumanity, as evidence that he isn’t trying to resist? If he refuses, will it make her suspicious, lead her to believe he plans on going hunting instead? He’s never been skilled at reading between the lines, at interpreting social cues, at deconstructing the unspoken. The best he can do is ask questions and guess blindly as to the right way to respond – and agonize over the repercussions should he get it wrong. Basira has a way of making that already difficult process even more intimidating.

“Jon,” Basira repeats herself, growing impatient now.

“O-okay,” he says quietly. “It’s… worth a try, I suppose.”

She gives a curt nod. As always, it gives him no insight into her thoughts. He has no time resume brooding, though, as Martin draws his attention with an audible sigh of relief. When Jon glances at him, Martin graces him with a smile – small, almost shy, but genuine. Jon tries and fails to mirror it.

Apparently finished with Jon for the moment, Basira turns her attention to Daisy.

“Come on,” she says, rising to her feet and tapping Daisy on the shoulder. “It’s time for your exercises.”

Obediently, Daisy starts to stand, only for her knees to buckle beneath her. Basira is there to catch her.

“Been sitting too long,” Daisy grunts, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Can you manage the ladder?” Daisy shakes her head, flushing darker. “That’s fine,” Basira says, though Jon thinks he can detect a hint of fear – maybe even melancholy – in her tone now. “Let’s just… walk for now. Wake your legs up.”

The two of them start off down the tunnel, Basira supporting half of Daisy’s weight as she staggers forward.

“Jon?” Georgie says softly.

“Hm.”

“Try to cut yourself some slack, yeah?”

Jon really can’t afford to do that, but saying so will only start them talking in circles again. Martin leans closer and places a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Hey,” he says, looking Jon in the eye with overwhelming sincerity. “We’ve got this, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon responds, and wills himself to believe it.

The three of them exit the tunnel in silence. It isn’t until Jon hoists himself through the trapdoor – Martin assisting in pulling him to his feet – that one of them speaks.

“Oh,” Georgie says, looking at Jon, “by the way…”

“Yes?” Jon says, apprehensive.

“Melanie asked me to tell you that she’s ready to talk, whenever you are.”

“O-oh.”

“I know it's not a great time –”

“No, I – I think I…” Jon nods. “I think I’m ready, too.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Georgie says hurriedly.

“I really am okay to –”

Martin looks ready to object, but Georgie gets there first.

“Okay, correction: it won’t be tonight,” she interrupts, fixing him with a stern look now. “You’ve had hardly any rest since coming out of the Coffin. I think you should get some actual sleep tonight. If – if – you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, we can arrange something then.”

“Fine,” Jon sighs. He knows better than to argue with the combined tenacity of Georgie and Martin.

And he has to admit, he is rather tired.

A little over a half-hour later, Martin and Jon are back in Document Storage.

When he suggests Jon go to bed, Martin is prepared for a protracted argument. Jon acquiesces surprisingly quickly, though, his only condition being that Martin get some sleep as well. It takes slightly longer to convince Jon to take the cot. Martin pulls up a chair and sits at the bedside, refusing to budge as Jon makes his counterarguments. Eventually, though, Jon starts nodding off mid-protest. It’s only a matter of time before he begrudgingly gives in – but not before demanding that Martin take the better blanket. With an amused shake of his head, Martin agrees to the compromise.

Jon slips between the sheets, Martin leans back in his chair, and for a long moment the two of them watch each other in silence. Jon’s hand rests near the pillow, fingers crooked loosely, palm turned up like an invitation. Martin has the sudden urge to reach out and take it.

Another minute passes before Martin realizes that… well, that’s a thing he can do now, isn’t it? What’s stopping him?

Slowly, tentatively, he extends his hand, lets it hover uncertainly above Jon’s, fingertips barely brushing. He applies the slightest pressure, giving Jon every opportunity to pull back. He doesn’t. Jon interlocks their fingers, curling them over in a firm grasp, and peers up at Martin through his lashes with mingled uncertainty and hope.

“Is this okay?” Martin asks quietly.

As answer, Jon lets out a contented sigh, eyelids fluttering closed as a sleepy smile spreads across his face.

“'Course,” he mumbles, already drifting off. “Always will.”

Martin will follow not long after, slumping precariously to the side, head lolling onto his shoulder, and hand still held fast in a warm, sure grip. It’s a posture that will undoubtedly leave him sore by the time he wakes up, but that discomfort will be overshadowed by the way he feels in these shared, quiet moments: seen, accepted, wanted, embraced.

Anchored, he thinks – and for the first time in months, no thoughts of Loneliness shadow him as he falls to sleep.

End Notes:

Jon: *feels safe for the first time in a literally unmeasurable amount of time and promptly passes right back tf out* Martin: oh no he’s cute

Jon's gotten a SNACK and a NAP now. I hope you're all happy. :P  (Just kidding. Every time someone tells me to let Jon have a nap, I am also @ing myself - and Jonny Sims - with the exact same demand.)

(On that note, I find it funny that as I was writing this chapter and finally giving Jon the nap he deserves, he was ALSO finally getting the nap he deserves in canon.)

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 135; 130/067/066; 032/037.

Next chapter: Melanie gets some actual screentime again!!