#and just cemented that keeping his family safe is like his purpose. he’d die for it

[blood-injections]

Kobra Kid… thinking about Kobra Kid..

Kobr……. Oaugh… specifically:

[bbcphile]

I’m rewatching Mysterious Lotus Casebook, and the final beach scene hit even harder when I realized how many times we’ve seen that beach before, and what an important a spot that beach has been in Li Lianhua’s life: it’s consistently been associated with both suicide and second chances/rebirth, and his final appearance there combines both purposes!

The Eastern sea beach appears for the first time when Li Xiangyi drifts onto it in the flashback to ten years ago, barely alive, after the battle at sea with Di Feisheng. It initially seems to offer a second chance, since he drags himself, wounded and poisoned, back to Sigu Sect and his fiancée.

Once he learns how many people blame him for the deaths of many civilians and 58 members of his sect, that his sect is disbanding, and that his fiancée was miserable with him and had broken up with him by letter, he returns to the Eastern beach to die. He’s internalized the blame, and is convinced he only ever brought pain and death into the world, and seems to hope that by returning to where he washed ashore, it will be like he never left the water - he is ready for it to be his grave. In his mind, Li Xiangyi truly died here, and he hopes his death will bring the world the peace his life couldn’t.

But, thanks to Monk Wuliao, who finds him on the beach and uses his golden acupuncture needles, Li Xiangyi lives on, reborn into his new identity as Li Lianhua. This rebirth has a simple goal: in the 10 years he has left, he wants to repay his debt to his master by finding and burying his shixiong Shan Gudao’s remains, and then lying down beside them (and dying there) as penance for what he felt was all his fault. 

Ten years later, the beach on the Eastern sea is supposed to be the site of another rebirth: Di Feisheng chose it as the location for a rematch for their battle from ten years earlier. He assumes Li Lianhua used the Styx flower to cure his Bicha poisoning, so to Di Feisheng, this battle would be the start of their new lives, both at full health, healed of poisoning, free from the manipulations and control of others, and able to show their friendship and skills off to the world. Di Feisheng essentially views this as an opportunity for Li Xiangyi to be reborn and better than ever, and they can have a reunion match as a celebration, possibly to make up for the battle between their sects that hurt so many people before.

Li Lianhua was planning to show up to fight on the Eastern sea beach, but since he didn’t cure the Bicha poisoning (and didn’t tell Di Feisheng or Fang Duobing), he was presumably planning to either die by Di Feisheng’s hand (cementing Di Feisheng’s reputation as the best) or possibly just planning to use the last of his Yangzhouman power, lose the fight, destroy his reputation, and then slink off somewhere to die when no one was watching.  Either way, the only end result of using his energy to fight would be death. So, like the other time he returned to the beach after the battle 10 years ago, here, he planned to return in order to end his lives as both Li Xiangyi and Li Lianhua. Presumably, after everything he’d learned about the Nanyin conspiracy, the truth about the emperor’s bloodline, how his master truly died, and what had really happened to Shan Gudao, he’d become more convinced than ever that only death and pain come to people he loves and who love him, and the only way to keep Fang Duobing and family safe from the emperor was to no longer be in the world.

Because Xiao Zijin intercepted him on his way to the beach and demanded a duel (because, like Shan Gudao, he was jealous of his abilities and couldn’t stand the idea of being inferior to him), Li Lianhua can’t follow through with his plan to fight Di Feisheng at the beach and die there, so he decides to use the last of his energy to shatter his sword, a symbolic death of his reputation and skill and identity that he expects will be quickly followed by his actual death, when he uses his last remaining energy to fly off the cliff and onto a boat, which he expects to be his final resting place.

But, in the final moments of the first extra episode, Li Lianhua returns to the Eastern beach, three months after the fight was supposed to occur there. 

And while the ending is deliberately ambiguous–we don’t know if Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing, and Huli Jing arrive on time to actually see him there and take him from the beach, or if they imagined him there and were too late, or if he’s a ghost–I think the beach’s history as a site of both suicide attempts and rebirth can hint to a happier ending: maybe Li Lianhua went there, as he had done before, expecting and hoping to die, and Di Feisheng and Fan Duobing, like Wuliao before them, find him, save him from himself, and get him at least another ten years.

And this time, with those two by his side and more truths out in the open, maybe there can be real healing from all the trauma and self-blame. And it can be yet another rebirth—not a return to Xiangyi with power, fame, and people wanting him dead and killing people he loved for it —and not to Lianhua, who for most of those ten years was only staying alive to find and bury Shan Gudao—but to a version of himself who can accept love from the two people who understand him most in the world, who aren’t going to feel threatened by his reputation or jealous of his power, who can help him work through all the revelations of the last year that broke his heart into pieces he still hasn’t figured out how to reassemble, and to help him find new things to live for that aren’t penance, since none of it was his fault.

The final clue to the mystery of the ending might be found in the beach’s location: the Eastern sea, not the Western sea, which Di Feisheng invoked when he mourned for Li Lianhua, saying “The bright moon has already sank into the western sea." Since the moon rises over the eastern sea, the site of this beach associated with both suicide and rebirth, maybe the location of the beach itself is a hint: that what has set is just the Lianhua persona, like the Xiangyi one before, and what will rise is a third identity, where he can finally learn that he is more than his martial arts and brains, more than what he owes others, what he can sacrifice to repay them.

Maybe the new version of this impossible doctor, who always saves others, and even brings them back from the dead, can do the same for himself, with help. 

[musicanddancingthroughlife]

Shklance - I Died

I feel like I basically dropped off the face of the planet, and for that I apologize. I have no excuses, except stress and mental health have been a huge problem lately and I’ve just been trying to find balance in my life. I can’t promise anything in the near future, with holidays coming up, and I have finals in like 3 weeks, and then my husband and I are moving at the end of the year, and then my little sister’s wedding is a few weeks after so I’m helping with that, and basically my life is just a mess right now, but I am still working on stuff, comments are always welcome and really do help to get me motivated, and hopefully I can get back into the groove of writing daily and posting weekly!

This story is probs gonna be a part 1 of 2. Hopefully. As is, I wanted it to be a stand alone, but I’ve been drafting it for almost a month now and I just want to throw it at you guys. So know I’m working on a part 2, where they talk about the whole thing and you see everyone’s reactions to what happened. This was actually a request someone made of me on my Ao3 account, but I’ve always loved reading stories dealing with everyone finding out about Lance dying. Just never thought I could do it justice haha. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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

Lance knew that this was going to be an emotional day for all of them, but seriously, this was a little overkill. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today.

Sure, it was the one-year anniversary of the day they all saved the universe, ended the war that had gone on for decades, blah blah blah, but getting up also meant that he was going to have to see everyone again.

Not that he wasn’t thrilled to see them! He and Hunk especially had been waiting for this day for months, and he couldn’t wait to see Pidge and Matt again, either. Last Lance had talked to them, they had been working on some seriously neat stuff. They were sure to be a lot of fun.

Hell, he had even been looking forward to seeing Allura again, even though things had never really been the same between them after Allura broke things off. Though, considering how hurt he was still feeling about their break up, it was probably a good thing she had canceled last minute. She’d said that she needed to focus on helping the universe heal. Lance had wanted to go with her, but she rejected him. He knew she was trying to be kind, telling him that he “deserved the time to rest” and that she “knew how much he’s been missing his home planet.” But really, all it had done was serve to remind him that he wasn’t actually necessary.

Not like Shiro and Keith were.

Allura hadn’t had any problems taking them with her, even though everyone else (even Keith) and agreed that if anyone deserved the down time, it was Shiro. Especially since Shiro had seemed a little weary when he accepted the invitation from Allura. Personally, Lance believed the only reason he agreed to go was because he knew that Keith wouldn’t be happy staying in one place anymore, and of course, there was no way they were going to allow themselves to be separated again, not after everything that had happened…

And Lance was even looking forward to seeing Keith and Shiro, since he had probably missed them the most. But he also knew that it was going to be hard. It was always hard seeing them together, but knowing that they’ve been doing so much good out in the universe, that they’ve gotten to see so much more of those worlds than he had… That was going to be hard.

Not to mention Lance still hadn’t managed to shake the crushes he’d had on them for so long now.

Or the fact that while everyone else was off changing the universe, traveling the galaxies, creating newer and better technology and inventions, Lance had done nothing? Okay, so farming wasn’t nothing. And no one could deny that Earth needed some TLC after the trauma of the war had nearly destroyed it. But as much as he enjoyed the simple hard work involved, that didn’t mean he didn’t understand it was stupid. It was pathetic. His friends were still fighting, in their own ways, and Lance felt as if he had simply given up. He couldn’t figure out what he wanted to spend his time doing, what felt most worthy of his time and attention, and so he had allowed himself to fall back on something easy.

And he wasn’t sure that he could face his friends while knowing the truth about himself, that he was a coward and had no mission or goals in life.

******

So, maybe Lance was a bit of a drama queen, because things had actually been going better than he expected. Everyone looked good, older and more experienced. Hunk had even grown out some facial hair, though it was a little sparse coming in. Lance knew that wouldn’t be the case for very long. The most shocking was Allura’s news about expecting a child (Keith and Shiro had passed it on in her absence). That hurt way more than Lance thought had a right to, but he tried hard to suppress that pain until he could process it in private. Possibly while crying over a tub of ice cream.

And as far as their actual dinner and celebration went, well… it really had been inevitable that their discussion would become heavier. And, as usual, Lance couldn’t keep his own mouth shut.

“We had some good times, though, right?” Lance laughed easily, trying to direct the conversation back to something lighter, something easier (at this point he’d had a couple decades to cement his masks, and he was good at pretending like nothing was wrong). “I mean, we might have been injured, and tortured—”

“Lance,” Hunk warned. He darted a quick, concerned look to Keith and Shiro, but thankfully neither of them looked too worried. Instead, they were staring at Lance with such sappy looks Hunk was irritated Lance wasn’t paying enough attention to notice on his own. A shared glance with Pidge told him that at least he wasn’t alone in his annoyance.

Lance continued thoughtlessly, “and I mean, maybe a couple of us died, but hey! In the end, it all turned out okay, and look at everyone, living their best lives!” (Lance was firmly ignoring the fact that he had spent most of his free time leading up to today pouting in bed. No one else knew, and therefore it didn’t count.)

Pidge opened her mouth, but Shiro spoke first. His brows were furrowed, and his nose had scrunched up a little. Lance wanted to melt at the cuteness of it. “Did someone else die? I thought I was the only one. Who else died?”

Lance’s jaw snapped shut. He couldn’t remember if it had even been brought up or not… It had to have, right? There’s no way his friends – his team – had just gone on for this long without knowing! He thought they were just ignoring it! Things had been crazy, and they’d never really gotten a chance to slow down and breathe, let alone discuss everything that had happened. And that was fine! That was to be expected! But now he was supposed to believe they just didn’t know??? Did that mean they didn’t care? That they didn’t notice all the nightmares that had become the norm after his death? The way he was jumpier for months after that battle? And if that were the case, then was it even worth bringing up now, so long after it had happened?

Lance’s face was burning, the warm flush traveling up to the tips of his ears, and possibly all the way down his neck. He could feel his eyes welling up, but he brushed it away, pretending his face palm in order to hide the movement. He glanced at his friends, unsurprised to find Hunk staring at him intently. Pidge was muttering to herself, obviously trying to determine what had happened on her own. Lance couldn’t even bear to drag his gaze to Keith or Shiro.

He tried to get out of answering Keith.

“Oops haha, must’ve miscounted, I meant to say that one of us had died,” Lance laughed again but unlike earlier, this one was decidedly uncomfortable. “Because. Obviously. One of us… did. Sorry, Shiro. But like, you died. That happened. And it was weird and we got a weird clone out of the deal, which was weird – did I say that already? – and like he wasn’t a great dude, so I’m glad you didn’t stay dead, you know? You’re much nicer than that clone was, he was kind of a jerk. No offense, Shiro. I mean, not that you’re the clone or anything, cause you’re Shiro, and that was Not-Shiro—”

Oh dear God why wouldn’t they shut him up? Lance was so busy panicking about what he was saying that he didn’t notice Shiro and Keith slowly standing, approaching him from each side. But Hunk and Pidge could almost see the concern rising off them.

“But he was mean, and he yelled at us a lot. Although I guess he really spent most of his time yelling at me, which really, makes sense, but again, not something you would’ve done, Shiro, so I’m glad you didn’t stay dead or anything, because Not-Shiro was a terrible replacement and—”

“Shiro yelled at you?” Keith had come close enough that he could lay a warm, gentle hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance almost flinched at the contact, it had been so long since someone had touched him like that. Sure, he saw his family way more often than he had while they were fighting in space, but, come on. They were fighting in space. He never saw them back then! Anything was an improvement over that! Anyway, the point was, he knew he was lonely. He ignored it. It didn’t matter. His friends were happy, his family was safe.

“Weren’t you listening when I said it was Not-Shiro?” was all Lance could think to say. Keith rolled his eyes.

“Why did he yell at you?” Shiro asked. Lance shrugged.

“Lance had some good advice to share. Though honestly, I’m thinking that Lance’s plan just wouldn’t have suited the clone’s purposes and he wanted to make sure that Lance would stop pushing. So he yelled, knowing that would be enough to shut Lance down,” Hunk said. He shot Lance an apologetic look as he did so. Smart, because Lance was Not Happy with him. Now wasn’t the time to share petty hurts!

“Personally, I believe it was because if anyone was going to find out he wasn’t really Shiro, it would’ve been you,” Pidge shrugged. And really, et tu, Pidge? This wasn’t fair at all. Not to mention, now Lance could feel the now-familiar guilt from knowing he hadn’t been able to tell.

And that was what finally had Lance speaking up. “Oh come on, guys, that’s not even the worst any of us suffered out there! Lotor joined the team! I died! Shiro died! Keith left! We had bigger things to deal with!”

There was a brief silence following this, long enough for Lance to squeeze his eyes shut and briefly mutter “Fuck” to himself, and then—

“What do you mean, you died?”

Lance’s ability to make things worse every time he opens his mouth really should be considered a wonder of the world.

He opened his eyes hesitantly to find that everyone was watching him intently. Tears were welling in Hunk’s eyes, and Lance knew that if he paid too much attention to his friend, then he would break almost instantly. He avoided looking in that direction, lips pursed shut, determined to stay quiet now. But they were just as determined to make him talk.

“Lance, please, what happened?” and since when the hell does Pidge beg? That’s just wrong. But effective, because that wrongness made Lance jerk his head up, eyes accidentally locking with Shiro.

He looked so sad…

“It really wasn’t a huge deal, I was just saying that there was a lot happening. It was pretty much impossible for all of us to keep up with each other, what with Lotor and Allura, and Keith disappearing then coming back, and the search for Shiro… and Hunk, Pidge, you guys had a great team thing going on there. That was a lot of fun! And then remember Coran had us playing Monsters and Mana? Good times!”

“You played what?” Keith asked, confused. Then he shook his head. “Stop distracting us, Lance. Answer the questions.”

“Um. What questions?”

Keith’s face hardened, eyes doing that dangerous flinty thing that Lance had always loved to see when he got mad. But before he could say anything, Lance’s phone went off. He really did try to hide the relief on his face as he stood, but the way Shiro set his jaw made him think he was not successful.

Before Lance could answer the call, he felt his phone plucked from his fingers. He lunged for it, and Keith slipped it into his own back pocket, out of Lance’s reach. Even worse, his lunge for it brought their faces way too close. Lance jerked back, face flaming a bright red, but he felt himself crash back into Shiro’s firm, solid chest. He started to stammer apologies, but Keith’s hands settled on Lance’s shoulders, pulling him away, and then he and Shiro pushed him back down into his chair. As Shiro moved to kneel next to Lance’s chair, Keith held him there, grounding and sure. He leaned down, putting his mouth close to Lance’s ear and then murmured “Please. We need to know. We’re horrible friends for not already knowing, but we’re asking now and we need you to tell us. Let us help.” And Shiro gripped Lance’s arm, thumb smoothing against his darker skin, making it harder and harder for Lance to want to move.

Lance knew that they were blowing this out of proportion. But he still felt touched. He’d thought they were just ignoring his death because other things were happening at the same time, but maybe that wasn’t really the case. Maybe they truly hadn’t known. Maybe Allura had never said anything, and Lance, expecting Allura to say something, hadn’t said anything either, and so maybe they just didn’t know. Maybe sharing it now would be okay.

[queenofcats17]

Outbreak 4

@bornoffireandwisdom had a few more ideas for Outbreak, so here we go again. This’ll probably be the last one. 

Once more Scientific Journalist Murray Hill belongs to @circus-craze

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Somehow, Wally was still kicking. He’d been infected, yes, due all the scratches and bites Sammy had delivered to him, but he hadn’t yet succumbed to the ink. As such, he’d taken to pitifully limping after Sammy to make sure his friend didn’t hurt anyone else. Most everyone was infected at this point, so his attempts at protection didn’t serve much of a purpose. Except to make Sammy feel even worse about the situation. He was still essentially trapped in his head, watching as his body moved without his input.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” Wally said. Sammy had stopped moving for the moment, so Wally had slumped against a wall. He looked awful. Ink was dribbling out of his mouth and he was pale and sweaty. His breathing had been shallow for quite a while now and when he moved he had to do so slowly. The scratches on his arms and face were bleeding black, not red.

I’m sorry, Wally. I’m so sorry. Sammy sobbed from within his mind. He already felt bad enough about hurting the other employees. But Wally was his best friend. Wally had been there for him for the majority of his life. No matter what, Wally had never abandoned him. Even now, when he was slowly dying because of what Sammy had done to him, Wally still wouldn’t leave him.

“You’re not a bad guy, I know you’re not.” Wally continued. “This is all probably Joey’s fault.” He laughed weakly. “When crazy stuff happens, he’s usually behind it, y’know?”

He was cut off as he launched into a fit of coughing, hacking up some large blobs of ink. Sammy didn’t flinch at this, at least not outwardly. He’d seen others succumb to the infection before.

“Aw geez.” Wally groaned. “This is even worse than that time I got chickenpox.” Sammy didn’t react, continuing to stare ahead like a machine on standby. 

“Man, you’re even quieter than you usually are.” Wally laughed once more, again interrupted by a coughing fit. He went quiet for a bit, coughing intermittently. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” He finally said, looking up at his friend. “I never should’ve let this happen to you.”

I’m the one who should be apologizing. Sammy sighed. I did this to you. I hurt you. I hurt everyone. You didn’t do anything wrong. 

“I mean, I know there’s probably nothing I could’ve done to stop it, but...Still...” Wally smiled. “You’re my best friend. I told myself I’d always keep you safe.” His eyelids were beginning to flutter now. His strength was ebbing. 

“Y’know, I’m feeling pretty tired now.” He feigned a yawn. “I think...I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

No! Don’t go to sleep! Sammy tried to force the words out. You’ll die if you sleep!

“Just gonna...Take a quick...rest...” Wally mumbled, laying down. Soon enough, he was fast asleep. Sammy watched his chest rise and fall in a constant rhythm. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Leave it to Wally to fall asleep in the middle of an apocalypse. He’d always envied how incredibly carefree Wally could be.

“Sleep...Well...” He croaked, leaning down to pat Wally’s head. 

.

Elsewhere, Joey had departed from level 14 to check up on Murray. He was in a particularly good mood after his successful taunting of Norman and wanted to check on Murray’s progress to further boost his mood. He was sure Murray had made some observations, especially since practically the entire studio was infected by this point. 

“Mr. Hill, how are things coming along?” He asked, striding into Murray’s makeshift lab. The scientist was standing off a Searcher who’d been placed on a table, just staring into the creature’s eyes.

“Mr. Hill?” Joey stopped just behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Murray yelped, stumbling away from both the Searcher and Joey. He would have fallen into a small clump of Searchers (they’d formed a little lump, almost like they were huddling together) if Joey hadn’t caught him by the arm. 

“Is something wrong, Mr. Hill?” Joey raised an eyebrow as he set Murray back on his feet. “You’re awfully jumpy.”

“Oh, um, I’m fine.” Murray laughed nervously, starting to visibly sweat. “What, um, what can I do for you?”

“I came to check on your progress.” Joey withdrew his hand, his expression remaining skeptical. “I do hope everything is going well.” There was an underlying threat to his words that made Murray whimper quietly.

“Everything’s going great!” Murray clapped his hands together. “The infection is progressing very well!”

“Do they have any lingering control?” Joey asked, casting a glance back at the clump of Searchers. 

“I...don’t believe so.” Murray looked back at the Searchers as well. “They seem to lose all sense of self and individuality when the infection takes over.”

“And do they follow orders?”

“I haven’t tested that yet,” Murray admitted. “You’re the one they’re supposed to listen to, so I couldn’t really do it without you.”

“Well, I know at least one listens to me.” Joey smiled gleefully as a shape rose from the floorboards. It didn’t look any different than any of the other Searchers, but Murray figured it had to be someone important. Why else would Joey be keeping them with him?

“You’ve been remarkably cooperative, haven’t you, Miss Benton?” Joey cooed, patting the Searcher’s head. Murray’s stomach dropped. 

“Miss...Benton?” Murray asked. 

“Yes.” Joey gave him an eerie smile. “She put up quite a fight, but in the end, I won.” His glee was decidedly unsettling, cementing Murray’s belief in the inevitability of his own death. 

“I still need to make sure the others are falling in line, though.” Joey’s smile vanished as he shifted to a more businesslike state. “We can’t have any pockets of resistance.” We. There was no we, Murray thought bitterly. There was only Joey. 

He stood to the side as Joey began to test the obedience of the assembled Searchers. He smiled at the appropriate times, trying to hide his growing fear and unease. It was sickening watching Joey jerk these people around like puppets on a string. These were people he reminded himself. They weren’t mindless slaves. They had lives and feelings and dreams. And Murray had helped take all of that away from them. Joey’s voice broke him from his brooding. 

“I must say, Mr. Hill, I’m impressed.” He said as the Searchers moved across the room. “Your virus has done everything you promised and more.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied, Mr. Drew.” Murray smiled shakily. “But how do you know they’re following orders? All you’ve really done is make them move around the room.”

“I can see through their eyes,” Joey replied, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “Not just the ones in here. I can see through all of their eyes. Trust me, they’re following orders.” 

“Ah.” The word was short and clipped as if he’d had to force it out. More a vocalization than an actual word, really. Just what on Earth was Joey making them do?

Suddenly, two Searchers entered. To Murray’s horror, the ink hadn’t covered enough of their bodies for them to be recognizable. It was Shawn Flynn and Grant Cohen. Both had very clearly transitioned into being Searchers, judging from their eyes and the bulging black veins across their bodies, but the ink was still consuming them. One of Grant’s legs had already been turned to ink, so he limped as he followed Shawn in.

“Oh, look, Miss Benton!” Joey pointed gleefully at the sorry pair. “Your friends are part of our family now! Isn’t that nice?” Murray felt sick at seeing Joey’s joy. Would Joey be that delighted at his demise? He felt as though he already knew the answer to that question. Even if he never wronged Joey, this was the fate awaiting him. Death and ink.

“Mr. Drew...Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Joey stopped what he’d been doing, essentially making the corruption on Shawn and Grant speed up, and turned to Murray. 

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” He asked. His smile was sweet on the surface, but Murray couldn’t help but feel that there was danger lurking below that sweetness.

“No! Not at all!” Murray put his hands up in defense. “It’s just...Some of the employees have been, well, cursing me? And you?”

“Don’t pay them any mind.” Joey waved his hand dismissively. “They simply don’t understand.”

“Of course, of course.” Murray let out a high pitched laugh. “So, um, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think that’s enough for today.” Joey patted his shoulder. “Keep up the good work, Mr. Hill.” He gave him a wink before disappearing out the door. 

It took Murray a moment or two to remember that he had to breathe after Joey left. He took a few deep breaths, leaning against the wall.

“What am I doing?” He murmured. He got no answer.

.

Jack wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. He’d fallen asleep and now everything was...weird. Not necessarily bad, but...weird. His head felt all fuzzy and he couldn’t necessarily remember what had happened to him that day. He was pretty sure he might have gone for a swim? He remembered a lot of liquid. Oh well, it was probably fine. Everyone was acting rather strange, though. A lot of people were crying and screaming, especially when they saw him. Some other people were also attacking the screaming and crying people. Jack stayed away from those people. He’d never really liked conflict.

He started to make his way through the studio, unsure of where exactly he was going. He just sort of wanted to wander. His songwriting area had been flooded, so he couldn’t really hang out there. He had to find somewhere else to go. Somewhere quiet. Jack had always liked the quiet. He was a rather shy person, so he tended to prefer staying away from large crowds. There were more crowds than there usually were. He wasn’t sure why everyone was clumping together like this. Didn’t they have work to do? Well, he probably had work to do too. But if Sammy needed him for something he could come find him.

He ended up in the Heavenly Toys area. It looked rather like a fight had happened. Cutouts were broken, there was ink everywhere, and some of the shelves had been knocked over. Jack frowned. What on Earth could have done this? That was when he heard the sound of someone crying. 

“It’s okay, Alli, we’re going to be okay.” Another soft voice came from further in. It was coming from behind the shelves, through the door to the Alice Angel meet and greet area. Jack oozed through the cracks and into the room (although he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d done that) to see who was crying. 

He found Allison and Thomas sitting on the ground with their backs against the window to Alice Angel’s area. They both looked exhausted. Their clothing was ripped and covered in ink, they had scratches and bites all over their bodies, and their hair was disheveled and wild. Allison was the one who was crying, although Thomas looked as though he was seriously considering it himself. Thomas had a pipe laying beside him while Allison had a sword propped up next to her. 

Jack made a concerned noise, moving closer. Almost immediately, the couple’s attention snapped to Jack. Before he knew what was happening, they both had their weapons raised.

“What do you want?” Allison demanded, pointing the sword toward Jack. Jack whimpered, backing away. He’d never considered Allison to be an intimidating person, but seeing her with a sword that she very clearly knew how to use definitely changed that. 

“Did Joey send you to finish us off?” Allison advanced on him, only to falter and almost fall. Thomas quickly caught her, gently lowering her to the ground. 

“If you’re here to finish us off, do it.” Thomas didn’t even look at Jack as he spoke. “We can’t fight anymore.” Jack made another concerned noise, moving closer to put a hand on Allison’s shoulder. She jerked away and he withdrew his hand. 

“Why aren’t you attacking us?” Allison asked, turning a bit so she could see Jack better. 

Jack frowned. Why would he attack them? He wasn’t violent. The sound he made was indignant. At least, it was supposed to be. It was hard to communicate using only sounds. Why couldn’t he talk?

“He’s biding his time,” Thomas grumbled, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I...I don’t think he’s like the others.” Allison gently disentangled herself from Thomas and scooted over to Jack. “Are you hurt us?” 

Jack fervently shook his head, almost dislodging his hat. 

“You...really aren’t here to hurt us?” Thomas asked. Jack shook his head again.

“I think I recognize this hat.” Allison patted Jack’s hat. “Is that you, Jack?”

“Fain? The songwriter?” Thomas frowned. Jack nodded excitedly, clapping his hands together and making happy noises. 

Allison’s expression softened. “It’s good to see you, Jack.” 

Jack wanted to ask what had happened, but he felt like it would be rude to force them to relive whatever horrors they’d already gone through. Not to mention, he couldn’t really talk. So he stayed with them, providing silent companionship. Although Thomas was still wary, he allowed Jack to sit near them as they returned to their position under the window. There wasn’t much talking to be done. Jack couldn’t talk, and Allison and Thomas seemed too tired to talk. 

“I guess we���re going to die here, huh?” Allison let out a laugh that failed to sound anything but mournful. 

“I guess we are.” Thomas was stoic, as always, but Jack could have sworn he saw a faint tremble in the other man’s lip. Jack touched their legs as if to assure them that he was there.

“Thank you, Jack.” Allison smiled slightly and patted his head. “You’re a sweetheart.” Jack made a happy trill, perking up at her praise. 

As the minutes slowly passed, Jack could hear the couple’s heartbeats slowly getting weaker. They were drifting in and out of consciousness, holding each other’s hands. It had only really just hit Jack that they were going to die. He’d heard them say it, heard them discuss it, but he’d just now realized it. He whimpered, curling up between the two of them. He didn’t know them all that well, but he didn’t want them to die. They seemed like nice people. Even Tom, for all his gruffness, didn’t seem like a bad guy. He seemed more fed up with Joey than anything else. Was this what had happened to the other people? Was this what had happened to him?

Eventually, the heartbeats stopped. Jack whimpered, prodding at their bodies. When prodding didn’t work, he started shaking them gently. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. But still...He hoped they’d jolt back to life. That Thomas would tell him not to get so close. But they didn’t. They just laid there. Cold. Still. Jack felt rather like crying. He’d never seen a dead body before, much less two. He’d watched them die. Dear gods, he’d watched them die. 

It was a little longer before Joey appeared. Jack flinched away, whimpering. Joey was giving off an aura that he really wasn’t comfortable with. 

“My my, Mr. Fain. Did you finish the deed?” Joey asked, striding in. Jack whimpered again, pressing himself into a corner. 

“Ah, well.” Joey turned his back on him, grabbing Allison and Thomas by the ankles. “I have some work to do. I hope you’ll excuse me.” He departed, dragging the bodies on the ground. Jack stayed where he was long after Joey was gone. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. He wanted to go back to his safe place. He wanted to be safe again. 

He disappeared into a puddle, going back to the sewers. He wanted to stay there. Stay there until the fears and memories went away. 

[mars-colony]

alrighty! so before I go and rb it, can you do 3-6,8,9,12,19,20,23,25,26,31-33?

Thank you so much for asking so many questions! I’ve answered 3 and 5 previously, but the rest were brand new! This is really long so I’m going to put it under a read more. Apologies for the angst train! Some of these ones ended up kind of fluffy tho!

4. Does your OC have nightmares? What do they contain?Dollie has had her fair share of nightmares. From watching Nate die again and again, to deathclaws, to strange blurry confusion of what the Institute might be like. She’s dreamt of losing her friends to swarms of ferals, she’s had several rough dreams in particular where she couldn’t move and had to watch Danse being overwhelmed by feral ghouls without being able to help him.

6. What would get your OC to make themselves disappear?Dollie does this from time to time. When she can’t process things or the Commonwealth gets to be too much she just drops off the map for a few days, sometimes weeks. If you know her well enough she’s usually at the Red Rocket or held up in Home Plate. She values her time alone because it lets her gather her thoughts and build herself back up to keep moving forward.

I can’t think of a situation where she’d disappear completely. During Blind Betrayal, she was ready to drop everything and go with Danse, and I think that’s the closest she gets to disappearing. Otherwise, her sense of responsibility is far too great for her to quit.

8. What is the closest your OC has come to death?Aside from a few instances of almost being drowned by a feral that was trying to tear off her face, being choked out by a raider, or deadly radiation poisoning, the closest Dollie has come to death was getting shot close range with a shot gun. She was sedated in sick bay on the Prydwen for several days. Recoup was rough.

She’s been close to death once pre-war, but that’s a story for another time.

9. What is the greatest sacrifice your OC could ever make? Under what circumstance would they make it?

The greatest sacrifice Dollie makes is Shaun. She makes the decision to let her biological son go in order to save the Commonwealth. It kills her, and in the end she can’t really come to terms with it so she just doesn’t. The Institute was going to leave the Commonwealth for dead, and there was no way she could let that happen. One life for many. Her choice practically made itself.

12. To what extent would your OC go to survive?When Shaun’s safety is still in question, there is literally nothing Dollie wouldn’t do to survive. She’ll do whatever it takes to get to him and make sure he’s safe. If she hadn’t run into Preston or Recon Squad Gladius when she did, it’s likely that her moral compass would have cracked and she would have made some darker choices. Seeing that morality was alive in the Wasteland so early on was very important for her mental well-being.

19. What is your OC’s preferred method of death?Dollie wouldn’t want something long suffering. She had to watch her mother’s violent battle with late stage cancer, and that’s not something she’d want to live through. She’d want something quick and clean. She wouldn’t want to die for nothing, also. If her death had purpose or was for something, that would be better. At most she’d want a few moments to tidy up, to tell the person she was with that she loved them, appreciated them, or thank them, and then she could try to be at peace with everything.

20. How does your OC sleep at night?For a long time after the vault, Dollie has a very intimate relationship with the ceiling. She doesn’t sleep for more than an hour or two at a time, and just lies there staring upward. She spends most of her first several months running on fumes and completely exhausted. She sleeps best when Danse is watching her back. She trusts his constant vigilance and his quick perception. She feels like when he’s there nothing bad is going to happen, which is definitely something you want to hold onto in the Wasteland.

After a while she becomes a lighter sleeper which helps her get more sleep, because she’s less worried about not waking up if something bad happens. She also has fewer nightmares, because she becomes kind of desensitized to them. When every waking moment is practically a nightmare, the nightmares aren’t so scary anymore.

23. Would your OC be considered good or bad by an outsider?I firmly believe that Dollie would be considered good. Despite all of her troubles she goes out of her way to make the Commonwealth a better place with the Minutemen. She doesn’t ask for anything in return from her settlements, and her help is not conditional. While some people would be very wary of that and slow to trust, she proves herself with unwavering kindness. She’s very patient and doesn’t force people to join the Minutemen’s cause. Even if they didn’t want to, she’d still offer help.

25. What does your OC love most, and what would they do to keep it?Dollie always wanted a quiet life with little conflict. That life became a very idyllic dream after the bombs and the vault. But when she met Preston and the settlers, she found a scrap of that dream still alive. So in a literal sense, Dollie is fighting to make the Commonwealth a safer, more peaceful place. With the help of the Minutemen she hopes to make her dream a reality for everyone in the Commonwealth.

26. Has your OC ever had unrequieted feelings of any kind for someone?That’s the fun of a slow burn isn’t it? After Nate’s death she’s very hung up on him, and has a lot of trouble recognizing her feelings. Once she realizes she’s falling for someone else she feels an incredible amount of shame and guilt. She keeps those feelings to herself, not just because of the guilt, but because of who the person is. Falling in love with Paladin Danse is honestly a mixed bag. He’s an incredible person, he makes her laugh, makes her feel safe, they share a lot of the same values, and he has an incredible way of getting through the toughest walls she’s built around herself. There’s never an elephant in the room with Danse. He addresses problems as they arise, and she’s never had someone like that. She has literally never felt closer to anyone in her life. But he’s her commanding officer. And his first love will always be the Brotherhood of Steel. Even if he reciprocated her feelings, he’d never put his place in the Brotherhood in jeopardy. She also doesn’t want to lose his friendship, so she doesn’t act on her feelings.

Another unrequieted emotion she harbored was resentment. She felt a lot of resentment toward Nate because he had a comfy life before he willingly joined the military. His family had immense wealth, his parents had top notch health care, all around he led a privileged life. He also had very harsh stances on certain topics, like addiction and mental health, that Dollie saw as coming directly from his life of privilege. However, Nate changed a lot after his time in Anchorage. He became a much more open minded person and definitely wanted to do things without his parent’s help. Nate and Dollie’s relationship was getting stronger every day. She was opening up to him, at a glacial pace, but he was still the first person she ever let into her life.

31. Would your OC torture?No. I can’t think of an instance when Dollie would ever allow torture to occur on her watch. As someone who studied government and history so closely, she believes that all things said under acts of torture are void in a court of law because they come from fear. This belief holds true in the Wasteland. She believes that torture is completely useless and is nothing but cruelty. It serves no purpose.

32. Does your OC hate? To what extent?Dollie had never truly hated anyone until Kellogg. Watching helplessly as he destroyed her entire world definitely cemented him into her memory. She loathed him completely and felt no sympathy for him. That hatred led her to Diamond City and to finding Valentine. That hatred led her to Fort Hagen where Kellogg met his fate. All in all, Dollie’s hatred has to be justified. She doesn’t hate for no reason, and she doesn’t hate over petty things. She deeply loathes some people, but so far, the only person she’s hated (other than a healthy dose of self-hatred) was Kellogg.

33. How does your OC let out anger?Dollie is a bottler. She bottles up her emotions until they explode. She can harbor massive amounts of anger before she finally snaps. The last straw is typically an unlucky raider who pushes one too many buttons. There has been an instance of her taking that anger out on other people, namely Danse, when he really didn’t deserve it, but after that she went out of her way to apologize for the behavior. Before the war she didn’t “get” angry. Meaning she bottled it up even worse and didn’t talk about it. Sometimes she’d vent to her sister on the phone, but she didn’t have a real outlet. She put some of that to use in court, but otherwise she kind of became a ticking time bomb. Post war, if she gets too mad she’ll just let out a snarl, fight some raiders, and feel better.

[owlswithfins]

A Justification of Drarry

Here’s a fairly extensive compilation of Drarry ‘evidence’ (it got kind of lengthy so the rest is below the cut) <3

I’ve been an avid Drarry shipper for almost as long as I’ve been a Harry Potter fan, and I’ve noticed that deep within the fandom, everyone seems to agree that it’s a Legit Ship. It tops the charts of AO3 and Wattpad and comes in as a close second on FF, and most people on tumblr accept it as plausible even if they aren’t die hard fans. Outside of this black hole we’ve all been sucked into, however, I’ve been yanked into heated debates about the legitimacy of Drarry.

Of course, this is often because some people are only interested in canon ships or don’t ship slash. For others, it’s just not their cup of tea. This post isn’t meant to convert the above naysayers, especially since, like I said, most of us here don’t need to be converted. This is more of a toolkit of evidence and arguments to justify your love of Drarry to people who “just don’t understand” or think “you just want every character to be gay” or that “you’re reading into things too much”.

Sometimes the best response is the always faithful “fuck you, I ship what I like” or the slightly more intellectual “I subscribe to the Mark Twain quote ‘never regret anything that made you smile’ and Drarry is my one true joy in this life so shut the hell up”. Other times, these debates get derailed quickly and leave Drarry shippers feeling like “maybe we got it wrong this whole time?” which is not a Great Feeling.

As such, I’ve compiled what’s essentially a shit ton of ammo from various sources to cite in these situations. Feel free to use it as you like, whether that be fortifying your own belief in this beautiful ship or passing out flyers door-to-door like a Drarry missionary. Now, we have seven books, eight movies, and bucket loads of interpretations to get through, so this could easily become a certified mess (and I’m not even going to go into every piece of evidence). As such, I’m placing the rest of the content below the cut, organized by objections and their counter-arguments to keep things nice and neat. On that note, lets begin.

One of the most common objections I hear is that Drarry isn’t legitimate because Harry is straight. Now, for some of us, this is irrelevant, since we ship based on the potential a pairing offers instead of requiring canonical pining (not that it isn’t there--it is--trust me, we’ll get to that), but for others, this is a critical point of concern. I would like to start by asking, who says Harry is straight? (please click here for some strategically placed self-promotion and on-topic humor)

To start, Cedric Diggory. (I’m talking about the angelically pure pre-Cursed-Child Hufflepuff god, not Cedric I-was-so-embarrassed-I-became-a-Death-Eater-and-murdered-my-friends Diggory, to be clear). If the mere name isn’t evidence enough, allow me to jog your memory:

“Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen.” (GoF)

And also:

“Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and grey eyes.” (GoF)

And for those of you who aren’t yet convinced:

“‘You just weren’t concentrating properly--’

‘Wonder why that was,’ said Harry darkly as Cedric Diggory walked past.” (GoF)

PURE GOLD. Harry be like, “No homo, but when Diggory walks by I can’t concentrate. I just have this intense urge to comment on his extremely handsome face”. I think we can safely say that Harry is, at the very least, bicurious. I’d even go so far as to say he was never really all that into girls at all. Sure, he had a thing for Cho, but he didn’t exactly come back with the most resounding commentary.

“‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’

Harry considered it for a moment. ‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.” (OotP)

And yes, there was Ginny, but in HBP there were multiple scenarios when Harry was far more interested in Draco than whatever Ginny had to offer.

"'And even better than that -- Malfoy's gone off sick too!'

'What?" said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. 'He's ill? What's wrong with him?' 

'No idea, but it's great for us,' said Ginny brightly. 'They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot.'

Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch.

Maybe it’s just me, but in my experience, people generally don’t obsess over people they hate when they have the opportunity to spend time with their crush. So maybe Harry is straight (I doubt it) but I think we at least have a case for reasonable doubt. As such, the sexuality objection has been shot down.

The next common point of opposition is that Drarry shippers are just “making it up” without any basis in canon. To counter this, we could go through every book and sort out exactly which lines serve as evidence, but that would take far more time than I have on my hands. Instead, let’s do a basic overview.

The course of their entire relationship is based on their first two meetings. In Madam Malkin’s, Harry started to associate Draco with Dudley, and this snap judgment caused him to choose Ron, his first friend, over Draco. Of course, Harry’s loyalty is part of why we love him, but this totally brushes aside Draco’s point of view.

For Draco, this was his first experience with someone outside of his parent’s rigid pureblood circle. He’d been taught that bragging and insulting “inferior” people were the ways to impress and make friends, so he did exactly that. And, likely also for the first time, Draco was rejected. Coming from a place of privilege, this rejection was heartbreaking, and by turning down his handshake, Harry cemented Draco’s future. Instead of benefiting from each others’ knowledge and principles, they became enemies.

Draco was, to Harry, a mere annoyance in the way of the bigger problems during the first five years at Hogwarts. At this point, I think it’s safe to say Harry felt nothing more than an irritation for Draco Malfoy, as one would feel about a particularly determined pest. Draco, on the other hand, saw Harry as his number one priority. His bullying focused on Harry because their feud was personal, unlike the more casual bullying Draco partook in regularly. His issues with Ron and Hermione were likewise based on Harry--Ron was the friend Harry chose over Draco, and Hermione was a Muggleborn, yet she became friends with Harry when Draco couldn’t.

Draco spent a ridiculous amount of time tormenting the Golden Boy, from climbing a tree for taunting purposes to making the ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons to joining of the Inquisitorial Squad just to get back at Harry. Now, I’m not going to go and say these things meant Draco was secretly in love with Harry the whole time (I’m also not going to say he wasn’t). Rather, this one-sided enmity was grade school pigtail pulling at best and full-blown obsession at worst.

Of course, Draco wasn’t the only one to become obsessed. Throughout the entire series, the two had an almost uncanny ability to sense each other, from Draco recognizing Harry based on his breathing to Harry being able to tell what expression Draco made purely by his tone. Even so, it wasn’t obsession on Harry’s end...until HBP. I mean, honestly, the bi who lived got it so bad his sixth year that even Ron was tired of hearing it:

"'Can you think of any way Malfoy--?'

'Oh, drop it, Harry,' said Ron." (HBP)

Let’s not forget when the weariness turned to full on ignoring:

"'Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course,' said Harry to Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory." (HBP)

And ah, the Marauder’s Map. Harry’s obsession with watching Draco’s name was especially notable in this book--even more so given JKR’s comment that Harry watching Ginny’s name in DH was a sign that he was in love with her. Let’s take a look, shall we?

"Despite his determination to catch Malfoy out, Harry had no luck at all over the next couple of weeks. Although he consulted the map as often as he could, sometimes making unnecessary visits to the bathroom between lessons to search it, he did not once see Malfoy anywhere suspicious." (HBP)

And, of course, JKR’s most precious gift to us:

"Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy." (HBP)

While the first five years were rife with Draco’s antics and Harry’s relative apathy, the moment Draco stopped giving Harry his undying attention, the tables turned. Harry had grown so used to his frequent encounters with Draco that he couldn’t stand the thought of being ignored, or *gasp*, the idea that Draco might actually have more important things to do than fight with him all the time.

This was also an interesting time because Draco finally experienced true darkness. Whereas Harry had been exposed to harsh reality as a young child, Draco was relatively removed from it all. Sixth year was when Draco caught up with Harry maturity-wise. Suddenly, he understood the truth of what his family stood for and who Voldemort was, and he was trapped, just like Harry was on the light side. It was the first time Harry began to see Draco as something more than a petty annoyance because it was really the first time Draco had been more than a petty annoyance.

We’ll visit the bathroom scene and the events of DH in the next section (Salazar, don’t even get me started on the wand thing), but even without those significant moments, it’s becoming clear that Harry and Draco have a lot of potential. They’re interconnected in an obsessive way that seems more extensive than that of normal enemies, and it’s no longer a one-sided affair.

The next objection I come across fairly frequently is the ever-present “but they hate each other!” My response to this is...nah, they don’t. Not really.

To start, most of their fighting was either simple childhood rivalry or all talk. Even when things escalated, they didn’t truly want to hurt each other. In many cases, they actually saved each other.

Remember in HBP when Draco petrified Harry and tried to send him back on the train? This could be seen as a simple “I hate you so I don’t want you at school”, but that’s inconsistent with Draco’s character thus far, given that his Hogwarts days practically revolved around tormenting Harry. Why send away your favorite toy? Perhaps this is stretching too far, but I’m not the only one who thinks that, just maybe, Draco did it to protect Harry.

To fully understand this theory, we have to go back to second year. In CoS, Dobby came to Harry with an abundance of praise, despite living in the Malfoy house, where the defeater of the Dark Lord was likely only spoken about negatively. Where did Dobby get his positive opinion of Harry Potter then? Ahem. May I direct you to...

"’everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick--’

‘You have told me this at least a dozen times already,’ said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son.” (CoS)

Draco’s so-called ‘taunts’ sound quite a lot like compliments in disguise, and Dobby’s so-called ‘rescuing’ of Harry looked quite a lot like Draco’s train charade in HBP. To keep Harry safe, Dobby went through elaborate efforts to keep him from coming back to Hogwarts. Then in sixth year when Draco was aware that Death Eaters would soon run amuck in the school, he tried to send Harry away from Hogwarts on the train, almost as if he was trying to protect him.

Of course, that’s mostly theorizing, and some of you might not be convinced, but don’t worry. We’ve got a lot of explicit demonstrations of non-hate (for lack of a better term) as well. Take, for instance, the bathroom scene. It’s hard to tell if Draco would have been able to perform the Cruciatus curse if Harry had let him finish so we won’t talk about that, but Harry’s sectumsempra was a Big Moment in the Drarry world.

“'SECTUMSEMPRA!' bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand. 'No --' gasped Harry. Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest. 'No -- I didn't --' (HBP)

As soon as the feud between them began to get real, Harry felt immense guilt and regret. It was one thing for them to taunt each other and fight, but as soon as he realized he’d caused true pain, he started backtracking. While his real enemies were finally starting to cross over to the okay-to-kill list, Draco was still firmly in the safe zone.

Later in HBP, we see another example of Harry’s non-hate. When Draco is about to kill Dumbledore in the tower, Harry watches as he lowers his wand. When Dumbledore dies, Harry doesn’t go after Malfoy--he goes after Snape. A lot of things were happening at once, but even in this moment when he was finally proved right about Draco’s activities, there was some part of him that didn’t blame Draco for what happened. He’d finally seen him become human during the bathroom scene, and he watched Draco’s wand “drop by a fraction”, so he knew the Slytherin wasn’t a murderer. If Snape hadn’t stepped in, Draco might have even switched over to the light. If Snape hadn’t stepped in, Dumbledore wouldn’t be dead. When he catches up to the two, he fires his curse at Snape, not Draco, again suggesting something other than hate.

While guilt is a passive emotion--making the bathroom scene a “hindsight’s 20/20” moment--and the climax of HBP was more of an internal shift, in DH we see their non-hate become more intentional.

“‘Well, Draco?’ said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. ‘Is it? Is it Harry Potter?’

‘I can’t--I can’t be sure,’ said Draco.” (DH)

In Chapter 23 of DH, Draco risked his life to save Harry. Some people have criticised that he should have given a solid “no” if he really cared about saving Harry, but uncertainty was the only thing that kept Harry alive. If Draco had given them a negative, they would have killed him anyways. It was only the possibility that he might be Harry Potter that allowed him to live long enough to escape.

Harry later returned the favor when he saved Draco from the Fiendfyre.

“‘It’s – too – dangerous – !’ Ron yelled, but Harry wheeled in the air. His glasses giving his eyes some small protection from the smoke, he raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood. . . . And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and Harry dived.” (DH)

Even though it would have been easier to let Draco die--even when Ron all but told him to leave Draco to burn--Harry saved him. By this point, both of them had risked their lives to save the other, and I think it’s fair to say that, whatever’s between them, it isn’t hatred.

That leaves us with the final objection I’m going to discuss in this post (essay?): the argument that Harry and Draco just aren’t right for each other. This one, while seemingly simple, has a lot of analysis to work through, and it’s also the one that separates Drarry from other popular ships in the fandom.

To start, they challenge each other in a way no one else can. Whereas Ginny grew up idolizing Harry, Draco spent those years sneering at the Golden Boy for his fame. Harry, who never wanted to be anything more than “just Harry”, needs someone like this in his life. He needs someone to see him as he is without his titles. Someone who hates his fame as much as he does. Someone who won’t let him get away with things just because he’s the Savior, and won’t confuse childhood awe with true feelings.

Likewise, Harry challenges Draco by meeting his prejudices and bigotry with full force. I don’t think Draco ever really did anything evil enough to need redemption as many fans seem to think (since, like we discussed earlier in this post, he was just a kid being taught his parents’ values, and as soon as the reality of the war hit, he was no longer on board), but he does need to understand the pain he inflicted through his bullying and be corrected in his misinformation. Draco’s ignorant blood purist comments would piss Harry off and inspire lengthy lectures (that you know Draco would profess to hate but secretly grow to agree with) which would help him become a good person when he wasn’t in the past.

In that same vein, Draco’s influence would help Harry find balance. Throughout the series, house rivalries shaped Harry’s point of view to the point where he barely thought of Slytherins as human. He repressed his dark traits, like Parseltongue, out of fear, and he pushed people away when unity could have altered the course of the war for the better. Of course, none of us can blame him for this, since his experience with Slytherins warranted such beliefs (most of the Slytherins in his life caused far more harm than good to him and his friends), but these beliefs are also part of what gave Voldemort so much power over him. By seeing Draco’s humanity and experiencing his love of the dark arts, Harry could begin to heal from his own deeply-ingrained prejudices and find acceptance of all parts of himself.

Beyond the value they’d bring to each other, let’s talk about this from a story perspective. It all comes down to the fact that they’re two sides of the same coin (cliche, but it sums up their relationship more accurately than anything else). Both of them were poster children for their respective sides, but while Harry was taken in by Mrs. Weasley and used by Dumbledore, Draco was raised by Lucius and made into a pawn by Voldemort. No matter how their paths veered, they always came back to each other in the end, so of all the people to end up together, the two who are constantly paired in every situation make the most sense out of anyone. When you really start to look at it, Drarry seems downright inevitable. The two were pitted against each other from the start, but that’s part of what makes their eventual unity so appealing. In a story about rifts and prejudice, light and dark, their pairing rights wrongs and signals a shift towards a better future. In the end, Drarry isn’t a superficial pairing at all. It’s the ultimate resolution.

[rheanimalsachikokassielynn]

Major Essay 1

Rheanne Harkness

Professor Timothy Greenup

English 112

25 October 2017

All Sides of the Characterization Spectrum: Evolution Verses Devolution

 In the event that the average college student has taken even the most basic literature course, he or she should at least be somewhat familiar with and be able to tell the difference between three-dimensional characters, two-dimensional characters, and stock characters across a variety of different narratives - graphic novels being no exception. Three-dimensional characters (or “round characters”) may be traditionally thought of as the most important asset that a work of fiction has other than an engaging plot, atmosphere, or tone. After all, they by default, end up being portrayed as the most like real people, and as such, have the best chance of connecting with the reader on a deeper, more personal level, and audience identification can often be an essential part of what makes a story truly impactful to those who read it. No matter how much water this way of looking at round characters happens to hold though, that doesn’t mean readers of a particular work should entirely dismiss the roles stock and/or two-dimensional (or “flat characters”) play in strengthening its content as a whole - even if those roles are seemingly limited to serving as stepping stones that guide a potential round character as he or she goes through change. This begs the question: If both the flat and stock characters in a simple, straightforward comic like “Batman: Year One” only exist to help round characters in their development, are these same types of characters tailored to that same purpose in the more complex and formally depicted graphic novel that is “From Hell”?

To begin answering this question, there must be some semblance of comparison between the two pieces’ main characters and how interactions with other less imposing characters affect their motivations in the long run. In “Batman: Year One”, almost, if not every other character that Jim Gordon has ties to (particularly the few female characters) can be considered as more of a catalyst for change in his character than anything else. Take Gordon’s wife, Barbara for instance, throughout the comic, the reader never gets to learn much about her apart from the fact that she’s the supportive, pregnant housewife of his. Because Barbara is kept at arm’s length from so much of her husband’s troubles within the force until the very end of the comic and we only hear brief mention of the couple’s marital problems from Gordon’s perspective, Barbara represents nothing more than a stereotype, and thusly cannot be described as anything more than a stock character. But both her and Gordon’s unborn child are important nonetheless since Gordon’s desire to protect them is established as the driving force of his character from page one onwards. Sargent Essen is a representation of the “Femme Fatale” stereotype that’s seen so often in Film Noir; and again, the only bit of backstory we get from her is told to the reader from Gordon’s perspective in a single panel. She gives Gordon internal conflict to work through that works in tandem with the external conflicts he’s already facing. Three-dimensional characters are expected to have moments of weakness in their convictions. So, by having Essen as the vehicle through which Gordon deals with that weakness by having him torn between two places, (his obligation to his family and his newfound feelings for her) it makes the reader want to keep following him on his “Hero’s Journey” as well as call into question just how far he’s willing to go in order to do what’s right, as he himself isn’t so sure anymore - much like an actual human being might feel in the same situation.

If Lieutenant Gordon is the most prominent three-dimensional character from Frank Miller’s “Batman: Year One”, the most prominent round character from Alan Moore’s “From Hell” would be Doctor William Gull. Gull by contrast, doesn’t let other characters define who he is as one could argue for Gordon, (unless of course, the historical figures that Gull reveres so much - like William Blake and Nicholas Hawksmoor, are taken into account). It is seemingly established just how deep-seated Gull’s lack of empathy towards his fellow man really is from the first moment we see him purely out of plot convenience without any residual reason for it that wouldn’t have to be inferred by the readers on their own. To this effect, the essence of Gull’s character could simply be chopped up to his profession, in that many doctors do experience a loss of empathy while experimenting on human bodies for medical benefit; on top of which, he’d taken to dissecting animals (as is elaborately showcased in several disjointed panels with a mouse on the grounds of Beaumont Rectory) out of mere curiosity long before becoming a doctor in his adult life (Campbell Ch 2 p 6).

This aspect of Gull’s identity is significant and does give the audience some insight as to why he might and would eventually take on the “Jack the Ripper” persona. However, I don’t think that just being an emotionally detached doctor is enough to account for every facet of Gull’s character as much it sets the groundwork for those facets overall. Considering Gull’s long-dead heroes to be actual characters doesn’t feel terribly practical. So, it’s probably safe to assume that Gull has been shaped as a person by what he’s been exposed to more than who he’s been exposed to. The only time Gull lets others influence his actions at all is when they come into conflict with what he believes or stands for - like the whole reason he is committing these murders in Whitechapel to begin with. Gull is a firm proponent of the notion that men are superior to women, so the closer he gets to disposing of all these filthy prostitutes and by extension, fulfilling what he feels to be his divine purpose in life and throughout history, the more savage and less methodical the killings themselves become. It’s only when Gull briefly travels to the future a second time (in a purely non-character-driven plot point) and is so disillusioned by what he finds that he begins to lose heart with what he’s done. Up until then, though, Gull knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. Any other character who observed him (round, flat, or stock) could only do just that, observe and offer nothing (even unconsciously) that could sway him of his convictions whatsoever.

Conversely, what puts a major rift between “Batman: Year One” and “From Hell” in terms of how the protagonists can be thought of as round would be that Gull does not evolve as a character so much as he has devolved by the time his role in the story finally reaches its end. Nowhere does this erosion become more apparent than directly after Gull travels to what would have been the present day at the time this novel was written. More specifically, at the point where Gull takes the heart of the women who may or may not have been Mary Kelly out of the fireplace hearth and watches it burn on the tip of his surgical knife, a look of wistful melancholia has dawned his face, as if to say that only for a moment, even he realizes how empty and fruitless his endeavors toward any sort of divinity through murder truly were on principal. Although, of course, Gull would never dare admit it to anyone - least of all himself (Campbell Ch 10 p 29). This single panel image is made all the more telling when one pairs it with what Gull declares to Netley across a middle row of panels a few pages later as most of his face is eerily covered in shadow, but with an air of resignation about it: “I‘m finished. I have been climbing...all my life, toward a single peak. Now I have reached it. I have stood and felt the wind. I have seen all the world beneath me. Now there is only descent. Only the valley. Would that I had died there...in that light above the cloud line.” (Moore and Campbell Ch 10 p 33).

The icing on the cake and its effectiveness at cementing just how far Gull has fallen afterwards is really dependent upon whether or not one believes that he truly did come close to ascending to Godhood just before death in an insane asylum at the apex of chapter twelve. Being that Alan Moore leaves the answer widely open to interpretation, I personally would pose the argument that his apparent journey through time and space was merely a series of fragmented illusions that play out similarly to the concept of a person’s life flashing before their eyes as they’re about to die. Only in Gull’s case, his life wasn’t flashing before his eyes, but rather his abstract ambitions and ideas of what moving on to a higher plane of existence might be like were. If there is indeed a grain of truth in Gull’s last words to Netley the night he killed “Mary Kelly”, then the image of a poor old man mumbling incoherently within the walls of an asylum and never moving past his unhealthy obsession with achieving historical/spiritual greatness fits much more consistently with someone who both literally and figuratively has nowhere left to go but down.

Ultimately, I feel that the secondary characters in “From Hell” did not aid in developing Doctor Gull as a character in the way that they did for Jim Gordon in “Batman: Year One”. This is because, unlike Gordon, Gull never really forged any deeply personal relationships with others that were impactful enough to dictate his actions. His life experiences as a self-righteous doctor as well as a time traveler deprived him of the ability to genuinely empathize with the people around him. Thus, those experiences were consequently the only thing left to propel him through his journey and eventual derailment that awaits Gull at the end of the story. Every action of Gordon’s by contrast was performed for the sake of the people he cared about. Regardless of how uninteresting these flat and stock characters may have been to the audience, it’s no wonder that their existence as Gordon’s driving motivation made for such a relatable protagonist who we want to see rise above the challenges his environment has set for him by the time his story concludes. As far as Gull is concerned, he isn’t meant to be a relatable protagonist as much as the complete opposite. So, if the flat and stock characters aid him at all, it’s to mirror the audience members’ impressions of him (which are mostly rooted in fear, intimidation, curiosity, respect, and annoyance). I suppose in this way, if some characters need not be three-dimensional to be effective, one could also say that they need not be at the forefront of the round character’s main concerns for he or she to go through intended changes set in place by the author of the story either - still being just as effective, but in a different way!

Works Cited

Hamilton, Sharon. “Characterization.” Essential Literary Terms, Second Edition. Norton, 2017, p. 136.

Miller, Frank and David Mazzucchelli. Batman: Year One. DC Comics, 2005.

Moore, Alan and Eddie Campbell. From Hell. Top Shelf Productions, 2014.

[overdrivels]

Take It to the Grave (Drabble)

Remember when I said I had a coroner!reader thing in the works? This is it. It’s just a ‘what if’ thing: what if Jack knew about the attack on Swiss Headquarters and planned to fake his death anyway? As is expected with this sort of thing, mentions of death and dead bodies. 

A shadow of a person falls over the headstone at the top of the hill that reads, ‘Here lies Jack Morrison, Commander, Overwatch’. Soldier: 76 stares down on it, taking a moment to read the inscription before closing his eyes and steeling his nerves. 

Quietly, he kneels in front of it, hands together in silent prayer. He could recount the events unfolding as though it were yesterday. The sins of what he asked you to do weighs in his chest like an old stone–heavy, and damn near permanent. 

He had told everyone he needed to go down to the morgue to identify a body–he could tell that Angela didn’t believe him, but she had no proof, no choice, not when she’s needed by so many people all at once. If Gabriel were here, he’d be the first to call him out on his bullshit–a commander does not need to do things like that–but he hasn’t had a good look at him in weeks. And Ana? Well, hopefully, she’s in a better place now.

Everything’s been going to hell in a hand basket, and he’d be happy if he were the only one to get caught up in it. Soon, the secrecy can be over, and soon, justice will be served. 

He hoped. 

The trip to the morgue was a short one–it was built nearby for convenience sake, and the one at the on-site hospital was only meant for temporary storage. 

The receptionist was quick to get you when he came in, and you were quick to respond, greeting him with a warm, jovial smile that didn’t quite seem to reach your eyes. 

“Good evening, Mr. Morrison, we’ve been expecting you. Would you like some tea or coffee before we begin?“

Professional, but still personable. He doesn’t know whether he’s grateful that you’re this way or very tired of it. 

He shook his head and held up a hand. “No need, director. I just came to do what I have to do.”

You merely nodded before you began to lead him through the little facility. He’s been here many times before, having to pay respects to some unfortunate young soul that was snatched up by death too early, to console families who blamed him for the loss of their child, their spouse, their beloved. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to stem the vivid memories that accompanied these drab walls like a poltergeist.

He was never going to sleep well at night and he’s long resigned himself to such a reality. 

But you, you have always overseen these ceremonies and duties with steadfast professionalism: cremations, embalming, burials, even the social interaction parts that Jack would’ve never guessed would be necessary for a job like this. He wondered sometimes if the ghosts of those bodies you handled ever haunt your dreams. He couldn’t imagine the horror. 

You glanced back at him as though you sensed his unease, but to his infinite relief, you said nothing and continued to guide him down into the basement. It grew noticeably colder, even with his coat on.  

You both entered through a door that required your biometrics and a few keys--a bit old fashioned, but it would protect against would-be cyberattacks that took the building’s electricity offline, at least for some time. The room looked like a smaller version of an operating room with square, metal doors that lined the entirety of the walls. He could take a gander at what lay inside them. 

The door swung shut behind you both, the echo of it cementing a feeling of absoluteness--you were both held in here, surrounded by corpses in an unsettling room that serves as a stop for a body’s journal to their final resting place. It was sobering, and made the hair on his neck stand on end. 

“Rest assured, Mr. Morrison. You are safe here,” you said gently, smiling at him again. He doesn’t know how reassuring such words were when the two of you were literally surrounded by--well, he supposed there couldn’t be much danger from the dead. 

You pointed at each door in a specific order, counting mentally before you came to the door you required.

“I believe this person will suffice for your purposes.” 

You opened the door–he could tell it was heavy, but you didn’t betray any sign of a struggle–and pulled out the contents. A cadaver covered in a modest white sheet. There was no stench of death or blood. The contrast of his memories and the imagery before him was jarring. He clenched his jaw tight, a feeling of repulsion rushing through him--not because of the body, but what he was going to do to it.

Either out of consideration him or for the body, you did not pull the sheet back for him to see. The commander was very used to death, of course, it was practically part of the job description, but it didn’t mean that he liked it or wanted to be near it anymore than necessary.

“He is very similar in build to you–came in just last week,” you said matter-of-factly. “We’ve been trying to get family to identify the body, but no one has stepped forward.” 

“This is–” If he didn’t burn in hell for what he had to do to protect Overwatch, he’d surely burn for this. “--I’m sorry,” he breathed hoarsely, “for forcing you to compromise your morals.” 

You looked at him with a look he could almost remember his parents giving him when he left Indiana for the first time–resigned yet resolute--and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Mr. Morrison. You came to me because you trusted me. I wish to repay that kindness.” 

Jack was keen enough to notice that you did not deny or affirm his claim. But if you weren’t going to mention it, neither would he. It was hard enough as it already were. After all, it was more than just his life that hung in the balance. Your’s, your staff’s, all of Overwatch would crumble and be crushed if he didn’t do this. Mentally, he thanked you profusely for the blasphemy you were going to commit at his command. Outwardly, he balled up his fists, willing to keep his feelings of turmoil at bay. 

The attack at the Swiss Headquarters was to take place in a couple of days. He already knows that that’s where his enemies plan to bury him along with everyone else. He just had to make sure that everyone made it out safely and that ‘he’ was the only casualty, hence the preparation of this poor soul by your hand in absolute secrecy. 

Without your cooperation, he wouldn’t have a chance at pulling this off. 

He entrusted you with this knowledge–knowledge that he couldn’t even share with Ana while she was still alive or Gabriel. It hurt so much, god, it hurt when they accused him of forgetting Overwatch’s purpose, of being a puppet, of understanding nothing when that’s the furthest thing possible from the truth. By making the world believe he was dead, maybe the blame would die with him, and then, he’d be able to move freely to find the bastards who decided to screw around with the lives and happiness of those he had come to call a family.

“Will you have trouble bringing this to Zürich?” he asked finally.

You barely blinked, impassive as always. “Arrangements have been made for an affiliate to receive us. There should be no issues.”

“And planting it?” This part was going to be difficult even for an Overwatch agent--you were just a funeral directory, a coroner, nothing more. 

You looked at the body, and he noticed your grip on his shoulder had become tighter. 

“Rest assured. When it happens, we just have to make sure we’re the ones who secure the body. Just be sure your will clearly states you wish to be cremated.” 

“It is.” But he has no choice. He had to do this. 

“Excellent, then we will handle everything else on this side.”

“I’m counting on you.” It sounded more like a plead to his ears than it did an assurance, but you smiled at him all the same. 

“Yes.” You paused for a moment as if debating you next words. You shook your head and smiled again at him, this time, with more emotion than he’s seen all day. “Please stay in good health, sir.” 

“...I’ll try.”

[silver-haired-76-blog]

From Family, With Love.

//So since I haven’t done any drafts today I instead wrote a drabble. This features my own headcanons and hurt my soul so you know if anyone wants to share my pain go ahead.

Note: Please do not reblog. 

“Why are you leaving, Jack?”

A young girl, a pair of brown doe eyes and braided pigtails sits on the teenager’s stomach. He legs are pretzeled with flower printed flip-flops pressing into the sides of his t-shirt. There was conviction in her question despite how innocent she looked. She always had the voice that didn’t suit her face.

Jack’s hands are picking at a small daisy that had many siblings around them in little clusters on the grassy hill. His fingers graze the tiny petals as he can feel those slightly apprehensive brown eyes waiting for an answer.

He sighs, setting the flower down, “…Because its what I want to do, Nikki. People need help and…I feel like I can be help.”

“Can’t you help here?” She smacks his chest with a lip sticking out, “Momma said we were sending supplies to troops. And—Chase is donating money to research on the robo weaknesses—“

“Omnics, Nikki,” Despite her crass look he laughs softly, patting her head, “I’m not going to be there forever. I’m gonna come back after I help for a little bit.”

“If you come back.” She crosses her arms, her protruding lip twisting into a little scowl, “Maurice told me that you could die.”

“Maurice is a bit old butt for telling you that.” He pins his elbows in the soft grass, lifting himself up a bit and dropping one of the daisies in her hair, “I’ll be fine. Sure I—I have a chance of getting hurt like everyone that volunteers. But, with your hope I’ll make sure I come home safe.”

“You better!” she sticks her tongue out, “Or I’m telling your momma and she’s gonna yell at you.”

He decided not to test her logic—both to keep her from worrying and by the sheer fact that he did—as all his cousins—believe his mother could and would be able to chastise from beyond the grave.

He flicks his watch, peering at the time and very suddenly standing, throwing his young cousin over his shoulder, “Alright. We gotta head back—“ He chuckles as she wiggles around, “Hey you used to love when I did this.”

“That was when I was little Jack.”

“I’m pretty sure you are still considered little.”

“Well—that’s because you’re taller!”

“Fiiiine here…” Immediately after setting her down she’s off like a little firecracker, her feet pattering on the weeds and dandelions, their fuzzy seeds smacking into the air.

“Race you--!”

His lips twitched, chasing after her as grass turned to dirt and pavement. She was fast for a tiny kid. He pretended he wasn’t winded by the time he lifted her back up, carrying her like luggage past the gate to the farmhouse.

“I beat you!”

“I went easy on you.”

“Yeah riiiiiiiight” She giggled, swinging her limbs as she’s carried, “Aunt Magnolia told me to come get you. You kinda ran off after the party she was worried.”

“So is that why you were sitting on me?”

He knew that was a bit too strange—but the festivities of the evening stuck to him a bit too well. His parents of course had to throw together something unbeknownst to him before he left for training. All his cousins and aunts, uncles, grandparents had gathered like wildfire and he spent a good couple days being told fantastical stories about his youth. He was asked for great details on what exactly he’d be doing and how long he’d be gone. It was the kind of attention he was used to but not to the degree of tears. They were worried. They were all worried and he felt it like concrete cementing onto his shoulders.

Instead of explaining this he just shrugs, “I was just daydreaming.”

“About guys?”

He lets out a slightly baffled laugh, “What?”

“Maurice told me that after graduation you and this guy and this girl did weird stuff—“

“Hey, Nikki”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you see Maurice tell him that cousin Morrison told you he used to hide under forty five blankets during thunderstorms.” He grins, “And cry. See how bad he blushes.”

The young girl giggles loud, covering her mouth, “Thunderstorms aren’t scary.”

“They are really scary for him. But he’ll deny it.”

“I’ll do my best!” She giggles again, wiggling her toes as she’s set down, immediately running toward the yard where several of his cousins sat.

“Go, my agent, fulfill your mission!” He calls over before heading into the house. The floors creaked with well-worn wood and lightly scented with lemon cleaner. They had been tidying up all day since the party. At least his parents had a lot of helping hands.

He takes a bottle of tea from the fridge, hearing footsteps as he unscrews the cap. His father loiters in the doorway before stepping inside and leaning on the kitchen’s island, “You did a disappearing act on us today.” He runs a hand through blond hair, giving him the soft kind of smile Jack was always told he inherited.

“Pretty overwhelming, eh?”

Jack’s shoulders lower just slightly, speaking honestly, “Yeah, just a little.”

The older man straightens, patting his shoulder lightly, “I know…might have gone a little overboard—but we couldn’t stop them from reminiscing. Kids like you grow up fast and here you are…running off to shoot at Omnics.”

“They need soldiers, dad,” He rubs his thumb along the chilled tea bottle, bright eyes thoughtful, “I think this is something that I need to do.”

He hums, tapping his fingers on the counter and clicking his tongue, “So it isn’t just to meet guys—“

“Dad!”

The older man bursts into laughter.

“Oh my god—“

“I’m just kidding son!” He slaps his shoulder again, “Your mother was theorizing in all her worries. But if you do meet a lady or man there—“

“I know I know, you ‘got them in your sights’,” Jack’s tone was deepened but mocking, wiggling his fingers for emphasis, “You say that for everyone you want to secretly beat up in a parking lot.”

“Only for your protection! No one messes with a Morrison,” He smirks lightly, “But I bet you can handle yourself.”

“I really do help I can handle my own sex life in the military thank you lets change the subject,” He swings back the tea, “I’m there to help not for speed dating. And you guys are acting like I’m gonna be…gone forever that’s all.”

“Well you never know what will happen. Maybe they’ll see something we’ve always seen in you.” He ruffles his hair, “But that’s just Dad bragging.”

“Don’t leave me out of this, William!” His mother moves into the kitchen, leaning against her husband with a tired gaze at her son, “My baby boy off to change the world.”

Jack rolls his eyes but offers a sincere smile, “I’m just hoping to do my part, jeez…”

The mother watches him another moment before shifting off William and taking a small box from her jeans, offering it to him, “Well, you’re still bringing this.”

The teenager’s brow furrows before he slowly sets the tea aside, flicking open the box with his thumb. Inside, a silvery ring sat on silky fabric. The metal was crafted and twined to look like rope. It was simple, but the metal was thick and strong. He blinks, gently taking it out with a little noise coming from his mouth to show his confusion.

“It’s titanium, darling,” His mother smiles, “Don’t think I wouldn’t make you bring us with you somehow.”

Of course. There was a beating in his stomach that was hard to describe. He loved it—but the purpose of it made the churning sicklier. He hides it with a smile, beginning to slip it on his ring finger, “Thank yo—“

“Tut tut!” She slaps his wrist, taking the ring and slipping it on his middle finger, “Middle finger.”

“What—“

“You’re going to meet a lot of good, genuine people, honey. And this will never shatter in the face of them.” She says, her hands lingering on his, her eyes turning to his face. A hand moves up to cup his cheek, “But you’ll meet a lot of evil people as well, evil, terrible people. So, when you inevitably flip them off like they deserve—you might as well have us all do it.”

“…” After a long moment the boy starts laughing, wrapping arms around his mother. This was just like her.

His stomach hurt again.

Seconds later he feels his father’s arms around them both as well, “You give them hell out there, Jack.”

“I’ll do what I can, dad” He shuts his eyes, and in that moment his stomach eases, “I promise you all.”

The old soldier opens his eyes, a leg shifting up as faded blue eyes graze along the cracks of the ruins’ ceiling. His fingers graze and lightly pick at heavy gauze on his side. Hell had taken a bite into his flesh quite literally, and the regeneration made sleep even more impossible than it was before.

After another couple very slow, still moments he shifts, a soft grunt leaving his lips as he pulls over his jacket. It needed to be repaired—but the stupid jacket wasn’t what he was worried about.

He digs around in the pockets around the scarred fabric, so much movement that he lets out a much sharper grunt, along with a not too polite curse. In seconds Ana appears by his cot, huffing softly, “Jack, please, you shouldn’t move so much when its still healing—“

“I’m looking for something…” He freezes, his fingers shifting in a shredded pocket, “…”

“…” Ana sits on the side of the bed, watching her friend pull a silvery chain from the pocket, her eyes peering at a ring hanging off of it. In a moment she laughs softly, “…Don’t tell me that…is in tact.”

Jack rubs his thumb on the ring’s battered, scratched surface. His stomach churned, his heart ached in a way that couldn’t be mended.

You’ll meet good, genuine people in this world. This ring will never shatter in the face of them.

His fingers curl along the small thing, cupping his other hand over it, ducking his head down. His breath comes out in three shaky ones, then one steady.

“Jack.” Ana takes up his face, “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Another long breath, he shakes his head, “No.”

She gives him a wary smile, setting both hands on his folded ones, her own eyes very slightly misted.

This ring grew to be more than just a farm.

“We’ll bring him back,” The voice is—unsure, but still strong, “For family, Jack.”

He shuts his eyes, leaning against her, his hands twisting in hers and the trinket’s tenacious form, “For family. I promise.”

[thellamalair]

Hi, thanks for sharing your reading of that "what you really are" quote. Can I ask though, what do you think Mary means Sherlock and John could _become_ more specifically? She seems to imply it's something they a) aren't already and b) could not be while she was around. And as you said, we already know they help people & save lives and they know that too (wedding speech) - also within the show they're already famous (press conferences, everyone recognises them) for that,not for their brokenness.

Hi Anon! Thanks for the ask, sorry it took a bit for me to answer, I had think about it for a couple of hours.

I need to start this by saying that I’m not happy about Mary’s redemption arc, but that being said, it is what we got (unless we get more evidence) so I’m going to have to look at it from the perspective of darling Mary, reformed ex-assassin that genuinely cares about both John and Sherlock.

So I’m going to have to go back to the quote for this:

“I know you two. And if I’m gone, I know what you could become, because I know who you really are. A junkie who solves crimes to get high and a doctor who never came home from the war […]“

So this could be read a couple of different ways. I’m gonna start with the one that seems likely to her character as presented to us by TPTB. 

I think that Mary is extremely self-aware. If you take them at their word, that the dynamic trio are really what they show they are, then Mary knows that she comes between them. She’s tried before the wedding to make them see that they could still do what they love even with her in the picture, but things get in the way, her shooting Sherlock, Sherlock shooting Magnussen, the exile, THE BABY, AJ, and she must realize how much of a stress agent she became in their relationship, even though they’ve apparently made their peace with everything and found some semblance of peace [if you ask me, had she not died, they’d have gotten divorced anyway, because I think John had reached his boiling point after Morocco, and that’s not my johnlocker heart speaking, I promise]

So, going by hairstyle and lack of any signs of pregnancy, I think we can assume that she recorded the videos either before she left John to go take the target off their backs[which seems likely, as insurance in case something happened to her before returning] or after they got back from Morocco, which tbh I don’t think she had the time.

The first idea I had was that if she died, John would be less family oriented [which tbh I didn’t see anyway in TST, they both seemed to pass Rosie off on each other or other people pretty often so it doesn’t really seem that it kept John from cases all that often], but had she died less…ehu, melodramatically, John’s responsibility towards Rosie would have increased drastically,  so he’d have to cut down on time with Sherlock too manage his shit, and that would make him stir-crazy for a few years, so it could be taken as a reminder that they need each other, to make time for each other. Though now that I’ve written it it doesn’t make that much sense. So. Next one.

I think the DVDs were filmed to be sent off in case her death would come about in sort of the same circumstances (and I’ve seen people complaining about the DVDs existing at all, but do you really think that if she was an ex-assassin she wouldn’t have a network of contacts that could deliver a couple of DVDs in case the worst happened?). By that point, her past had come knocking on her door twice, so she would have had to think about a way to do damage control because you can’t outrun your past forever. And if it hadn’t been her past, with the lives they led as Sherlock’s friends, one could think that it might be possible that any of them could die at any point. She might even have thought about John’s reaction, and how he’d shift the blame on Sherlock because yes…Sherlock’s a show off, and he did make a vow he failed to fulfill [god, could they foreshadow it more aggressively in TST? if we took a shot every time Sherlock said he’ll keep her safe….], she could reasonably predict they’d have a falling out. 

Writing this, it occurs to me that Sherlock might have turned to drugs anyway even without her explicit instructions because of the guilt, and her DVD to Sherlock, in addition to helping him and guiding him in saving John, might have also been her way of micro-managing the way he went about his self-destruction, potentially stopping him from spiraling out of control by giving him a goal to strive for, but I’m going to have to think about this a bit more [yes I know fandom wants to believe that Mary had it out for Sherlock and turned him towards drugs with malicious intent, but until we are told otherwise, I’m taking their Mary at face value]. 

So in this sense, I think what Mary could be saying with “I know what you could become” [especially considering that it is immediately followed by “a junkie who solves cases to get high and a doctor who never returned from the war”] is that she knows that both of them could go off the deep end, and might end up as the darkest version of themselves because they don’t have each other to fall back on and balance each other out. And it remains a reminder that they need each other. She reminds them that they have to possibility to be great together, to make each other the best possible version of themselves, to channel the grief and anger and resentment in the adventures, and saving people [hunting things, the family business].

As for the they know they save people and they’re famous… You have to remember, while John forgave Sherlock, at that point I don’t think he fully trusted him anymore [just saying that he was a bit more cautious, more hardened]. Not after knowing he’d fake his suicide and not after seeing him relapse. And Sherlock doesn’t trust himself either. He miscalculates with John’s feelings, Magnussen, with Norbury, with Culverton [he wasn’t expecting to be choked] and then all the fuckery that happened in TFP [which btw, I completely loved for all the character development]. Plus Sherlock doesn’t count on John anymore for a while there. He doesn’t think he deserves forgiveness, and he doesn’t know if he will receive it. He’s a bit of a mess. For all that they’re famous they are also infamous. Sherlock sky-rocketed to fame via John’s blog but his image was also tarnished and dragged through the mud. And although we don’t see it, John quite possibly was dragged along with him for a while. And then he dramatically come back to life. Plus the public’s image of him is of the cold sociopath, so mostly a last resort when people couldn’t find suitable help elsewhere.

So potentially she could have guessed that her death would create even more of a rift between them. It’s not so much about what they weren’t already, or what they couldn’t be with her alive, it’s more about the possibility of what they would be on their own, and how self-destructive they could become. And she probably wants to stop that from happening so she sends John a reminder of who they SHOULD be, who they’re meant to be and what their purpose is, after what I assume, she deems a suitable mourning period. Because she can’t predict what they go through in TFP.

It’s intended as I said… a reminder of who they should be. What their collective purpose is. What will make them whole. Appeals to John’s instinct to protect and Sherlock’s desire for justice. 

But by the time it gets to John, it’s more a cementer of their dynamic. By that time, John has seen how far Sherlock would really go to save him from himself, and he witnesses Sherlock’s personal growth, and receives an insight into his psyche with everything they go through. And Sherlock gets to finally become the person he’s meant to, with John right by his side. They’ve already rebuilt their bridges, and become stronger in their bonds and re-established their trust in each other. So when it comes, her message cements who they are going to be going forward. And it’s a blessing to move on. 

So that’s about it for my interpretation of it. I might think of other possibilities but I think that if you want to discuss those you can DM me. 

So in a way, I guess it could also be read as a blessing to be a couple. I don’t think she meant it as a romantic couple but anyone could read it however they want, this is just my take on it.

Sorry for the use of [] instead of parentheses but it’s a long thing to write and I’m just too lazy to hit shift 0 every time I have a comment.