#it's okay for it to exist in that undefined state

[bonearenaofmyskull]

Coming out of retirement for a minute, god help me.

I feel like this question that is at the heart of most fandom discourse in the past multiple years is sort of painfully missing that the answer is meant to be ambiguous. People seem to sort of line up on "Will is good and in the end could never be what Hannibal wants him to be" or "murder husbands forever." It wasn't like this wasn't going on while the show was airing--I definitely remember commenting that it felt like I was spending half my time arguing for Will's goodness and half my time arguing for his iniquity, and perhaps it's indicative of my own insanity that I should pop out of the woodwork to take up this issue again, but alas, here I am.

The problem with claiming that Will has always and forever will reject Hannibal is that it stops his character development at Digestivo and can't quite grasp the full complexity and paradoxical nature of the decision he makes at the end of TWOTL: his choice to kill them both is a rejection of Hannibal's lifestyle, yes, but it's also a last-ditch effort to accomplish that rejection before it's Too Late. If Hannibal wasn't right about Will in some profound way, then there's no need for Will to kill himself too. The Frederick Chilton escapade specifically casts Will in this light, and this is key to his motivation to take that step. Will's capacity for darkness is further supported by the post-credits scene which heavily suggests that not only did Will and Hannibal survive, but they went on afterward to visit Hannibal-style justice on Bedelia. And there the show ends, with Will acting in both his capacity for goodness and in his capacity for evil.

It's obligatory to mention that had the show continued, there needs to continue to be some sort of internal conflict within Will, and predicting that the story-that-would-have-been could not produce a satisfactory ending with Will just merrily accepting Hannibal's way of thinking is a fair enough point. And in fact I'd say that at least some portion of the shipper folks that think that TWOTL had a perfect ending and don't want the show to get a revival probably believe deep down that this is the case for Will.

BUT! Having faith in the writers' abilities to bring Will full circle back to his goodness, so to speak, is not the same as actual interpretation of the character. Moreover, I personally would not actually predict bringing him full circle to be the writers' intent for the story-that-would-have-been, and this is evidenced by the second half of Season 3. What we got to see there was that, after rejecting Hannibal and returning full circle, the life Will made for himself wasn't enough without Hannibal and Hannibal's influence in it. It's the mirror reverse of the first half of S3, when Hannibal found out the same was true for himself.

So they can't live with each other, they can't live without each other, and--apparently--they suck at killing each other. First world problems, poor boys.

Will's problem--and, I would argue, Hannibal's too, though in a different way--has always been that he has only ever lived as half of himself. So I would posit that the real goal of the ending of the story-that-would-have-been is for Will to learn how be his whole self. And that whole self is both good!Will and dark!Will.

One point I always want to make is that the show is thematically about transformation, and this is true for both Hannibal and Will. And the show is existentialist in message as well, wherein it is the choices of each character that define their existence, not some immutable essence that persists in each man despite their actions and the influences of each other and that of fate and circumstance. Will and Hannibal change each other, and it is this power to create change and to be changed in turn that is what makes the plot of the story so compelling. Will is good when he does good things, and dark when he does dark things. To ignore either capacity or to weigh one significantly heavier than the other is to make the same mistake OP accuses Hannibal of making: of trying to recreate Will in an image that perceives only part of what he is capable of.

This goes for Hannibal as well. I do believe that Hannibal has a flaw in his understanding of Will that makes him understand Will less than Bedelia does (the sheepdog wanting to savage the sheep vs. being capable of righteous violence because he is compassionate), and it's at the heart of why Hannibal's successes with Will have only gone so far. But Hannibal is no more static a character than Will is: he is not just the guy who tries to change Will into his own reflection. They are identically different: as Hannibal changes Will, so also does Will change Hannibal. The question that the show poses that I don't see get enough traction in the fandom is not "Will Will finally reject Hannibal?" but "Will Hannibal finally stop rejecting Will?"

Hannibal's own paradox that matches Will's is that by trying to control Will's transformation and turn Will into some reflection of himself, Hannibal loses control of himself and allows Will to change him. Hannibal's choices are always goal-oriented, but he's never happier than when Will evades his expectations and turns the world on its head. So if the ultimate ending for the story-that-would-have-been is about whether Will can resolve both halves of his being, then Hannibal's side of that would have to be whether he can accept that wholeness of Will's character. And I would argue that, for there to be character growth for our other protagonist, this has to happen as well.

Hannibal is not a static character. Change is at the heart of his journey as well, as evidenced by his passive acceptance of Will's choice to send them both off the cliff.

And so if Will can grow into becoming his whole self and if Hannibal can grow by learning to appreciate all parts of Will's self equally, then there would be no rejection--and no need for rejection--for either man.

Why do you think Will rejected or will reject Hannibal?

Because Will Graham, at his core, is someone who wants to be good. Not perform goodness

Let’s be clear: Will’s relationship with Hannibal is intoxicating. It’s intimate, it’s profound, and it’s built on a devastating emotional tether. But none of that makes it sustainable. None of that makes it safe.

Will doesn’t reject Hannibal because he doesn’t feel something.

He rejects him because he finally sees the cost.

Abigail’s death.

Beverly’s death.

His own mental deterioration.

The loss of identity, autonomy, and moral compass.

Will realizes that loving Hannibal is a zero-sum game: the deeper he goes, the more of himself he has to lose. And unlike Hannibal, who sees that as transformation, Will sees it for what it really is—annihilation.

Hannibal doesn’t want to love Will—he wants to recreate him.

There is no version of Will being with Hannibal where Will remains himself.

Hannibal “understands” Will, yes. But that understanding is invasive.

He dismantles Will’s boundaries, moral convictions, and emotional landscape not to support them—but to reshape them in his image.

Hannibal’s love is not unconditional. It demands a version of Will who is complicit, malleable, and dangerous.

To accept Hannibal fully, Will would have to abandon the very thing that makes him Will: his empathy.

Will walks away (or falls away, or pushes Hannibal away) because he has to. Because choosing Hannibal means choosing the end of his own moral trajectory.

It’s not just rejection of Hannibal—it’s rejection of the world Hannibal offers: beautiful, operatic, blood-stained, and utterly devoid of redemption.

[polyhexian]

Collected thoughts on the Grimwalker Ghost Zone:

Poor Caleb's experience as a dead person is just. Not normal.

Most dead people are gonna keep an eye on their friends, their kids, their grandkids, and MAYBE their great-grandkids. And then there's no direct ties left to worry so much about the living anymore and you can get on with your afterlife.

And then we have Caleb.

So it's like. The average dead person keeps an eye on the living for 100 years after their death, at most. Caleb Wittebane, who's been cloned 200 times in the last four centuries and feels personally responsible for his still-living brother trying to enact a genocide--

In undefined characters-watching-from-the-afterlife scenarios I usually default the watching happening via TV unless stated otherwise. But it's TOH so I'm imagining Caleb slouched on the couch in front of a big crystal ball. He's not alone of course, Evelyn is there, she checks on him often like, uh. hey sweetie. you doing okay?

Caleb: Evie, meet Virtue! HE ONLY LASTED 11 MONTHS

Evelyn: …you know you COULD stop paying attention to--

Caleb: NO I CAN'T

Evelyn: *sigh* No, you can't.

And of course all the Grimwalkers are there, cuz, like. Where else are they gonna go? They barely had lives, wtf are they gonna do with their afterlives? Might as well wait for Belos to croak, they'll figure out what to do next AFTER they've gotten some closure.

So they're all just in this house together. It's the afterlife, stuff just gets provided, and the afterlife saw fit to provide them with a big stupid house. There's plenty of space and the crystal ball somehow gets repaired every time it suffers an anger-induced shattering and the liquor cabinet is always well-stocked.

Caleb's watching the living with the same energy as someone who's been watching a show since its premiere, but then the writing started going downhill and the plot jumped the shark and now they can't STOP watching because they intend to see this through to the bitter and disappointing end. When he first died he was so upset he refused to even THINK about Philip for a decade and just paid attention to his wife and kid. At some point he checked on Philip out of morbid curiosity, which led to morbid realization, which led to him thinking he should check on Philip more. And then there's clones and this Collector kid and Philip is obviously planning SOMETHING and then Evelyn dies of old age but Philip apparently has no intentions of dying anytime soon and then Caleb's KID is dead and Philip is still alive and Caleb's GRANDKIDS are dead but Philip isn't and there's been 20 Grimwalkers so far and Philip shows no signs of stopping either living OR making and killing Grimwalkers and OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING??

When Evelyn dies she's so ready for her reunion with Caleb. "I'm so glad I can finally rest in peace with my beloved--Caleb what are you doing?"

He's standing in front of a conspiracy board like "Philip's spent the last few decades cloning me and killing the clones and I don't like where it's going."

Evelyn: What. WHAT? Philip's ALIVE? I haven't seen him since he killed you, how the fuck has nothing eaten him??

Caleb: Btw meet Caleb 2, Hunter, Hunter 2, Hunter 3, and Nameless Vivisection Experiment (he's working on a name).

Assorted Grimwalkers: *awkward wave?*

Evelyn: CALEB WHAT?

Caleb's just like, Evie, you have no idea how glad I am you fell off Philip's radar, we're lucky all he did was steal my corpse. I'm being completely serious, unfortunately.

And then the Grimwalkers start coming and they don't stop coming, and they're just stuck in this together because what ELSE are they gonna do? Caleb staring at the crystal ball like "This is Hell. The Puritans were right. Hell exists, and this is it." Evelyn's like "Hell isn't a place, dear. It's just a situation. Our neighbors are resting in so much peace, they'd probably think they're in your Heaven if they knew what that was!"

Everyone isn't watching at all times, cuz that'd be ridiculous. It's kinda like when you're having a party for a sports game, not everyone's paying attention to the TV. You'll have people hanging out chatting and eating and chilling and then there are the people who are intensely paying attention to the game.

Caleb's the one intensely paying attention. Everyone else kinda pops up like "so is he dead yet? is he close to being dead yet? no? bummer. who's this? nice to meet you Virtue. 11 months? yikes"

And it's not like it's just them! It's the afterlife, everyone else who's ever died is perfectly capable of dropping by for a visit. Not that many people do, because the Grimwalker Ghost Zone has a bit of a…reputation. Like. Those people are NOT having a normal afterlife. Let's just. Leave them be.

Sometimes the Witteclaw kid comes to visit. Hi Mom! Hi various tragic brother/uncles (brouncles?) who are literally and figuratively younger than me! Oh, hey new guy, welcome! 11 months? Yikes. Hope you're settling in alright! Mom, what state should I expect Dad to be in when I go say hi? Last time he was manically planning which part of his brother he was going to punch first upon arrival. Ah, depressive episode? Got it, I'll be gentle.

Evelyn's family come to visit like yeesh you and Caleb are still paying attention to the living? It's been like. 400 years. No one stays this invested this long.

Caleb, gesturing at the CB: MY BROTHER IS STILL ALIVE AND IS LITERALLY BEATING A CLONE OF ME AT THIS VERY MOMENT

Relatives: Okay but have you considered, like. getting over it.

They're not even wrong. Continuing to watch the living for this long is, like, the same energy as keeping tabs on your high school friends that you haven't spoken to in 30 years. This isn't healthy. You need better hobbies. Okay it's KIND OF understandable since Caleb's brother and clones are involved, but like. You realize this is entirely optional, right?

Evelyn: Caleb, honey, please, you PROMISED we could have dinner with my parents tonight.

Caleb: ENOCH JUST KILLED A BIRD WITH HER BARE HANDS

Evelyn: We've all killed birds with our bare hands, darling. Come put your shoes on.

When Tell pops up he turns out to be just as invested as Caleb is, on account of the wife and kid situation. So Caleb actually has consistent company for 15 years while they both basically live through the same hell.

Tell walks into the kitchen for a beer and finds Caleb face-down on the floor and Tell's like "what's up man" and Caleb's like "Virtue died" and Tell is like "isn't he like eleven months" and Caleb just nods and Tell's like "cool I'm gonna go meet him" and just leaves Caleb on the floor. Caleb's like "wait didn't you hate him" and Tell's like "yeah but I mean. he doesn't know that."

At some point someone tells Virtue "Y'know Tell literally hated you" (Miles? my money's on Miles) and it starts a whole sibling fight that Evelyn has to break up.

"MILES SAID TELL HATED ME!"

"I didn't hate you I just hated the idea of you! It wasn't personal!"

"Yeah he was always really smug when another Grimwalker would rot in the ground."

"MILES DON'T TELL HIM THAT!"

Caitlyn and Dust die and Dust is like "what is WRONG with your daughter?" and Tell is like "ouch, but fair" and Virtue's like "she probably gets her penchant for not caring about Grimwalkers FROM HER DAD" and Tell is like "HEY." At this rate Caleb's gonna be the first dead person to have an aneurysm.

Evelyn's just glad to have Caitlyn around. Sure, she's dealing with the shock of her death after over a decade of dissociating, but Evelyn's just like FINALLY, someone who isn't a Grimwalker, and she's family to boot!

Caitlyn: Wait, family? I guess you look like a Clawthorne but I've never heard of you. How are we related?

Evelyn: Haha well I'm your many-great-grandma who Belos had very personal beef with 400 years ago and I may or may not be the reason why he decided to enact his sick game of house with you. I would say I'm sorry but literally none of this is my fault.

Caitlyn: Oh my god.

Evelyn: Haha yeah watching you and Enoch over the last 12 years has been extremely horrifying on a deeply personal level. What's your favorite alcohol? I promise we have it.

When Enoch dies Tell's like "well it was nice hanging out Caleb, thanks for all the screaming sessions, I'm gonna go get some quality time with my dead family now, peace" and Caleb's just like haha cool. fine. GLAD YOU CAN FINALLY REST IN PEACE, TELL. how many of my bones are left? there's no way this can continue after they're all used up, right? They're down to a ribcage and he's counting down the ribs.

Jasper dies and gets greeted by Tell who's like "howdy, normally our ortet would greet you but he's a little busy dealing with emotions right now"--*muffled screaming down the hall*--"so it was decided I'd be the best one to explain things since we've got some things in common." Jasper's kinda dazed like "uh…I didn't really think anyone was gonna greet me" and Tell's like "HAHA YEAH none of us ever do."

Jasper becomes just as invested as Caleb is and Tell used to be, because Hunter. So Caleb has a new bingewatching buddy! Yay?

Belos: *about to punish Hunter*

Caleb: *dragging Jasper away* Y'know what, you don't need to see this, let's go outside and get some air or something--

Evelyn: WHAT'S THAT, CALEB? YOU THINK IT'S GOOD TO TAKE A BREAK FROM WATCHING THINGS THAT UNNECESSARILY TRAUMATIZE YOU??

At some point Manny Noceda shows up, all cheerful and polite on the doorstep like "Hi! I heard there might be some people here who're watching someone who's involved in my daughter's life? She kinda stumbled into your world, see, and I was thinking--"

Evelyn's just blocking the doorway staring at him like "Listen. Before I let you in here. I NEED to make sure you understand the centuries of bullshit you're about to step into."

"Haha yeah I get it, family drama sure is--"

"SIR NO YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND THIS."

Manny thinks he understands what he's getting into. Manny does NOT understand what he's getting into. Manny takes it in stride and enjoys these people's company anyway. Evelyn is happy to have another person around who she can count on to not be a constant mess. Manny/Evelyn BFFs 4afterlyfe.

Of course Manny also now has a VERY in-depth understanding of the 4-century clusterfuck Luz has gotten tangled up in and that is. Kinda anxiety-inducing. But like, he's pretty sure she's got this! That's his daughter! She's genre savvy, she'll be alright! Even if this situation is…way more horrifying than he realized at first.

His own dead relatives call him up like "Hey Manny! How's the watch party going? Luz still in that weird fantasy world she discovered? She having fun living out her own personal adventure story?"

Manny thinks about that time last week when Caleb and several Grimwalkers got drunk and tried to make a definitive list of the Top 5 Worst Things Belos Has Done and half of the entries were 3-way ties and there were WAY too many Honorary Mentions, and he just forces a grin and goes "Yep! Luz is doing great! She's having a blast! My new friends are super cool!"

"Oh, that's great! Could we meet th--"

"NO."

Manny tries to find things to do with his weird new friends but like. He's a 21st century sci-fi nerd. He has no idea how to relate to 400-year-old witches. But he thinks, well, I lived in New England, and Caleb lived in New England. So he's like "hey do you guys wanna do Thanksgiving together?"

Thanksgiving wasn't an official holiday until the 1800s, but Caleb knows what a feast of thanksgiving is, it's even a Puritan-approved party (ie the Pilgrims) that they'd do when they wanted to show God their gratitude! So he's just like, Manny. WTF. This is NOT the time.

Manny: Well, I mean, we're halfway through October so now's the time to start planning--

Caleb, gesturing to Belos gooping on various woodland critters: YOU THINK THIS IS WORTHY OF GIVING THANKS FOR???

By the time Luz becomes relevant, EVERYONE has started watching religiously. This is like. The final minutes of the big sports game. The series finale of their lives. But after Belos is dead (and summarily punched by everyone) most of the Grimwalkers stop paying any attention to the CB at all. Like. There's nothing else tying them to the living now. Whew. Cool. Vengeance is had! No need to pay attention to the living world ever again!

Except Jasper, of course, who figures he's just gonna watch Hunter by himself.

And then Caleb collapses next to him on the couch with snacks like "sup" and Jasper's like "oh, you uh, you wanna keep watching with me?" and Caleb's like "I suffered through four centuries of this, what's one more? and after watching every season of my brother's bullshit Grimwalker Trauma And Murder Show, I deserve to watch one of you live a decent life in the infinitely happier sequel series"

Manny's like "Yeah I'll stick around too, it looks like Luz is gonna be spending a LOT of time in your world and I'm really gonna need people to explain things to me. Anyway, I know this is a little late, but things have calmed down now and we have time since it's still just the START of November, so…Thanksgiving?"

And Caleb looks at Hunter, alive and free on the CB, and then glances out the window where Enoch is kicking the shit out of Belos in the backyard, and says, "Alright, yes, a celebration is in order. This is indeed worthy of thanksgiving."

"Oh, awesome! Uh…important question, what kind of cranberry sauce do you like?"

"What the fuck is cranberry sauce?"

JFJEJAJJFJRJWIFF ABSOLUTELY LOSING IT OVER ALL OF THIS

I feel like miles is back there too if only because he and Enoch are nasty little rude children and friends because of it.

Also don't forget flapjack AND hawk hunter are there. Flapjack sitting on Caleb's head and pulling his hair until he passes him a piece of popcorn or a peanut. All of them going completely apeshit for hunters first kiss. Camila appreciation club. Jasper and Manny both delighted by the fact Camila being mother to their child makes them like. Fathers in law? Mutuals? Proxy???? Something. there's a kinship there and it's funny. Hunter carves waffles and flapjack gets so excited he flies into the TV and knocks himself out

[silvery-bluish]

@wonda-fhr gave me free reign to yell about Arsinoe some more but I’m actually gonna cheat a little and answer two questions because I ALWAYS want to yell about Arsenic & Themmy and Telepathy so questions from here and uuuh under the cut—

3. What is their villain name? why did they choose it?

Arsinoe is wearing Anathema’s name. It’s— a lot of things, some of which are about Anathema and some things that are really about themself.

Anathema died. Anathema died and Arsinoe’s never been able to put them down or put the grief down, their dearest friend who died in front of them and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. So it’s— carrying Anathema with them, in a more tangible sense, because then at least some part of Anathema, even just their name, gets to be there when Arsinoe gets them justice. Keep them from forgetting Anathema, too. Make sure they don’t forget why they’re doing what they’re doing, turning their actions and their self into a sort of memorial to Anathema. They don’t think it’s a memorial Anathema would want, but it’s what they can manage.

And nobody— fixed the problems that led to Anathema’s death. Just another dead hero, shuffle the real cause (the farm, the corruption in the government, etc) under the rug. Put up a memorial. Forget about them. Move on. Wearing Anathema’s name is a rallying cry, a refusal to let people continue to forget what actually happened. Anathema crawling out of the grave because they were not truly put to rest. Destroy the hero exhibit at the gala. Memorials don’t do shit, fix it instead.

(And it’s easier, to make it about Anathema, about the other people they love who have been hurt, than it is to admit that they were hurt. That they deserve justice, or to be avenged. But they’re wearing Anathema’s name, so in a way they are Anathema, so— some of it can be about them without it having to be about them, you know? Hiding inside Anathema instead of being looked at directly.)

Arsinoe would give the name back in a fucking heartbeat, if they could. It’s a mantle they wear, a shield they use, but it’s never been their name. The name I’ve tentatively earmarked for if they either manage to pry themself out of the guilt and grief or if they do get to give the name back (🤞) is Lacuna. The missing piece that completes the narrative, the hole left for them that they can sit inside of. A gap left for something to arrive later. A shell of a name that Arsinoe is obscured within. The absence of true definition allowing them to be More, left in an undefined state.

22. How do they feel about their telepathy? is it a gift? a curse?

Arsinoe is a telepath first, everything else second. It’s hearing-sight-touch and more than those, their first impulse and their last defense. They look around with their telepathy before they look around with their eyes, a lot of the time. I’m fascinated by the concept of, in a way, telepathy being their first language? They’ve been a telepath as long as they’ve existed and been aware, before they were given language, and. Okay. If you know two people with the same name, when you’re thinking to yourself in your head, you don’t have to differentiate between Robert-my-classmate and Robert-my-dentist, but if you just say “Robert” aloud, nobody else knows which one you mean without more context. Telepathy as something that picks up that internal second layer of meaning everything has.

To. Segue slightly to the place where AI chip meets Telepath Brain. A computer doesn't know what a house is, it just knows it as the component parts that have been labeled as "house" (and each of those component parts is made of other component parts, etc) and a telepath unmoored from language and experience and understanding doesn't know what a house is either, just the unfiltered building-home-safe-growth-mine-shared-cold-impermanent-family-warm tanglemess of Associations thinking about a house can bring up, with the association of 'house' loosely wrapped around everything a house can be for different people, even when they’re contradictory. Especially when they’re contradictory.

So. Sometimes they can’t wrap words around things, or wrapping the word around it feels wrong or like it’s missing part of the whole. It’s intrinsic to how they think, how they interact with the world, and they genuinely never even thought about trying to hide that they were a telepath in their villain persona— I don’t think they hid it terribly long, comparatively, as Sidestep, either. Telepath first, everything else second.

[cleromancy]

tbh when it comes to tim and gender i really prefer to leave him in a state of discomfort and uncertainty about it. maybe he's an egg, maybe he needs to unlock cis plus, maybe he's got some stuff about masculinity to unpack-- okay well definitely the last one, lol. and honestly to me this could even coexist with him being an out trans dude, this sense of discomfort and uncertainty... my main thing is that if tim OR dick is trans then theyre both trans in the exact same direction, dick is just at home in his body and his masculinity in a way that tim never has been. but gender is something so individual and undefined and tied up in the "self" that it's exactly the kind of thing tim could really get bogged down in navel gazing about except i really do think he's too scared to start, he doesn't know where that road might lead and he doesn't necessarily want to find out because that means potentially being completely wrong about himself, having to start over and rebuild tim drake from the ground up. so i do just think that he's going to be stuck in that uncertain, uncomfortable place wrt gender for a good while... i think he'd love to be as comfortable with his maleness as dick is, where gender is undeniably a performance but in a "all lifes a stage" kind of way, or all lifes a bigtop if you prefer. performance is just completely different to tim than it is to dick, and this is something he badly wants concrete answers for that simply can never exist

[blue-opossum]

Sam and Dean Read to Me; More

        Sam and Dean Read to Me; More

        Saturday morning, 14 October 2023

        Images: A.I. renderings based on dream content

        Proto-Cognizant Casting and Staging:

        Actors Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, while maintaining a cheerful demeanor, sit in a field in daylight. (My dreaming mind summons the imaginary presence of celebrities to prevent associations with real life, which would otherwise demean and corrupt memory and cognizance. It occurs naturally in a liminal state similar to watching television solely for entertainment when there is little or no real-world attentiveness.)

        I am not present at their location. I see and communicate with them from an undefined mental space (as I do not yet have imaginary physical integration with the dream state). I see text in a book, but it first seems to be that of a woman writing about cosmetics, though more as if advertising her business. Eventually, it becomes a fictitious "Supernatural" (television series) novel without much cohesion. 

        They read about four pages each until I say when they can stop because I realize they will probably get tired of reading so much at a time out loud. I start thinking about being with Zsuzsanna at a park, but then I know it does not matter if they spend time reading to me because they are not real. I perceive details (forgotten) about halfway into the book before I again consider finding Zsuzsanna. The two actors are still cheerful and oblige me.

        It is suddenly nighttime, and I am in an unknown park with Zsuzsanna and our two youngest children. There is an ambiguous attentiveness to Arabic people preparing to set fire to a park shelter at a distance from where we are. My dreaming mind renders it incorrectly as having loose wooden planks for a floor, which will burn more easily. Zsuzsanna wants to remain, but I think we should leave.

        Thoughts of fire correspond with an increase in precursory consciousness and mentation, though not wakefulness in this case. Instead, it triggers another predominant response to REM sleep. I physiologically react to the nuances of REM atonia.

        Slope Navigation and Kinesthetic Staging:

        I find myself walking in an unknown business district, probably in Brisbane. I realistically ascend stairs that I cannot see because there is no imagery with this mode of kinesthetic staging (as only my vestibular cortex engages here). As I walk - I think, "This is my usual response to REM sleep." However, I do not indulge in "walking with intent."

        Once I reach the top of the staircase, I know I will have to walk over a bridge that is also ambiguously a hallway inside the building. Although I briefly consider how impossible the inference is, I still walk through the unseen structure. It is like walking through an unseen liminal space, where only a suspended but stable platform exists, with vague thoughts of walls (without doors) on each side.

        Imaginary imagery occurs again as I look out of a second-floor window and see Zsuzsanna and our two youngest children on the sidewalk below. She has tears of joy upon "finally" finding me as she looks up. I tell her where I will be - at a different building with the predetermined essence of the hotel we stayed at in Brisbane in September.

        When I am in the "hotel," it is more like a homeless shelter. I am on the second floor. An unfamiliar black man of about forty is crying near his doorway. Protoconsciouness finally appears as the manager. He asks me if I am okay, and I tell him I am. I expect Zsuzsanna will arrive, but my dream fades at this point as I look out the window.

[queeranarchism]

Sometimes I feel like a bad nonbinary person because I’m not particularly interested in having my nonbinary existence acknowledged. Like I don’t care about they/them pronouns, I don’t care if a web shop form has an Mr/Ms. box, and I will never put an x in my passport so that governments can more easily identify my otherness.

I look around me and I see so many nonbinary people who care so much about these things, and I wonder: am I doing it wrong? Is it bad that instead of acknowledged, known, and understood, I seek the space to be undefined, undetermined, queer?

But I’ve been openly trans for a looooong time now and so I remember that normalization as the focus of nonbinary politics is a very new thing, and that looking for space to be undefined used to be a much more common pursuit a decade or so ago. I’m not doing nonbinary wrong, what it means to be nonbinary has changed around me.

And let’s be honest; there is a political aspect to this. Seeking confirmation of who we are in consumer forms and in state documents is not a politically neutral focus. It is a focus where those with power give acknowledgement and those without power receive it. Instead of, ya know, rejecting those institutions and any acknowledgement that they might give.

Some time in 2009 or 2010 I wrote that if our society ever normalized a 3rd gender box with specific pronouns, assumptions and boundaries, I’d have to start identifying as 4th gender to make sense of myself. It seems more and more likely that I’m going to reach that point within my lifetime.

And ya know, it’s okay. New generations of trans people are going to want new things and I am happy for them. But I hope the nonbinary people who are like me - the genderqueer, genderfluid, genderfreak, whatevers of the world - also know that they’re not doing it wrong. I hope they know that it’s okay to find no comfort in a third box. To want the space to not know what you’ll be next. To want to rebel until all the boxes fall apart.

[rusted-pipe-of-wisdom]

*inhales*

so I was put off by the use of tarot as a plot tool but at a closer look it actually makes so much sense-

okay so tarot cards were invented in Europe circa 15th century as a type of playing cards. using cards for divination is a long-standing practice, but the specific meanings of tarot as it’s known today came from a pair of occultists in 18th century France, who described tarot as an artefact linked to Jewish numerology and kabbalah. the word ‘tarot’ has the plural suffix -ot which is used in Yiddish (idk about Hebrew), making it sound like a Yiddish word... except it isn’t. basically, tarot are a scam that exploits the mystified goyshe view of the Jewish culture. it’s something goyim say we invented--but we really didn’t.

(side note: I love the aesthetics of tarot and using them for character development can be fun, but anyone who claims these cards have oracular powers is making themself look like a huge clown.)

so assuming Herbert was aware of all that (edit: I’m inclined to believe he was, but it's also possible he's ridiculing the 20th century's mysticism boom in general), we can see how the Dune tarot ties with the teachings of Bene Gesserit to form what I call The False Oraculum.

The False Oraculum represents the notion of, and attempts at, controlling the future. the Bene Gesserit’s breeding program, their use of spice as a way of preserving memories, Paul’s visions and his experiences of time, the aura of mysticism around Paul and the way different characters interact with it - all of these things are driven by lust to control the future.

and this is where the cards come into play. sitting alone in her cell, Mohiam uses them to read her destiny, but finds no comfort in what the cards tell her. merchants sell them to pilgrims: a fraction of their Emperor’s power turned into a commodity. Paul himself uses them to interpret his own visions, but the cards fail him too. and then, of course, the Tleilaxu face dancers put on a tarot-themed spectacle. all of this hints at one thing: the cards lie.

if the cards lie, then Paul and Mohiam and others are just a bunch of people grasping at straws, trying to comprehend the chaos of time. they lock themselves into a vicious circle of ‘seeing’ into the future - acting upon the visions - making that specific future a reality. they fail to factor in a simple fact: the future is undefinable. it cannot be read. it cannot be controlled. even if you do catch a glimpse of it, you can’t use what you see in any meaningful way, because your actions will pre-define the future that you saw happen. until the future has turned into now, it doesn’t exist.

the False Oraculum doesn’t make you prescient. it makes you blind.

of all people Alia alone expresses disdain for tarot, stating it ‘muddles time’. that’s because she’s chaos personified. unlike Paul, she doesn’t experience time as a vision but as an instinct; a natural, raw reality. and this is why she’s the one at whom Mohiam’s conspiracy is aimed first - she’s the wild card in Paul’s tyranny machine. it’s also why she’s objectified so much and constantly referred to as an abomination. as a character, she’s meant to showcase two things: one, how Paul’s oracular power is fundamentally flawed; two, how the Bene Gesserit’s view of humanity will never grant them the mastery of a human soul and how playing gods will be their downfall. if Paul is their success that’s turned against them, Alia is their failure.

(I have More Opinions about Alia’s writing and how Dune is mired in sexism, but it’s a whole separate can of worms)

[lgbtpolitics]

I sometimes wonder if we all just went "Okay fine you win, lesbian is now an undefined term for anyone who wants to identify with it. We're making a new word, its femsexual, and this means women who only are attracted to other women. Now we can all just be in peace with each other". Would that actually satisfy anyone? Or would it still persist because the actual issue is with women unequivocally stating they aren't into men?

The other reason it won't solve anything is because, while people insist that defining it is somehow tarnishing the word, they do need it to be correlated with a definition in order for it to still exist. If people legitimately attached no meaning to the word lesbian and it was blatantly said that its just a random adjective it would fall out of usage in seconds because it would be aggressively obvious that its pointless.

[mychemisgay]

My unpopular mcr take

Tldr: I don't really care for Lindsay, but I also don't think she's the same person she was in the early 2000s and certainly don't hate her. She honestly seems like she's gotten pretty chill

(I don't use twitter so I don't know what she's like over there)

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

Lindsey has done a lot of fucked up shit in the past, but I feel like a lot of it is more often than not viewed through the moral lens of today and not of the early 2000s. To be very clear I'm not saying the things she participated in were okay, the reasons people (myself included) take issue with her are legit. But, I do think a lot of that behavior was significantly more common than people are acknowledging. I'm referring specifically to the use of f*g and pedo here. The use of the n-word was way more common back then but they still should have known better. That specific genre of edginess/shock value was extremely common in the alternative scene, and as I remember it mostly didn't stem from an actual urge to spread hate as much as being stupid, edgy, and existing in an environment where this kind of behavior was normalized, think of how common pedo bear was. (I'm not saying it's okay to have participated just because it was common, but more seeking to contextualize her behavior and ask why we're only pointing at her)

I think she has shown strong signs of having developed past this over the years. Think about her statements of support towards the BLM movement and her encouragement of people to go to protests and donate to bail out funds. She's also very clearly in support of queer people given the person she's married to. I say this both because of the statements Gerard has made over the years and also their outwardly undefined identity and pronoun usage

It just feels really unlikely that she's as much of a racist, homophobic, bigot as everyone makes her out to be. I think people just want to hate on Gerard's wife because she's Gerard's wife and they aren't.

*I don't know enough about the current Jimmy situation to really speak on it, so all I'll say is plenty of people do awful things and hide them from their friends and family. Not saying this is what happened, nobody but the people involved in the case have any way of knowing how much she knew. I just think everyone loves to hate her so they jump to the worst possible option*

This is a pretty nuanced topic and I'm not in the mental state right now to add my take to it but I think you're somewhat right?

The only thing I'm gonna add is that so many people say they hate Lindsey for working with Jimmy Urine and being friends with him, but Gerard literally did the same lmao

[thessalian]

Thess vs Living With Fascism

Oh gods, I simply cannot at this point.

Okay, so theoretically we have a Human Rights Act. It’s entirely cribbed from the EU’s one, so that we stayed in line with their policies ... but now, guess what? We’re out of the EU. Now, they’ve been agitating in this country for years to bin the Human Rights Act, but so far they haven’t managed it. But now, they’re literally talking about doing it - the bits they haven’t already begun to stealth-violate, anyway. And you know what about? Migrants. Refugees. As in, they’re so keen on their jingoistic, xenophobic, Take Control Of Our Borders shit that their response to 27 refugees dying while trying to cross the English Channel in a small rubber dinghy is not “We should have safer channels for refugees to get here” but “Let’s scrap the Human Rights Act so that rescuing them is a crime and letting them die and throwing them back to their home country - which wants to torture and kill them, by the way - is legal!”

I may have mentioned stealth violations of the existing Human Rights Act. This is in a couple of places at this point - right to protest, and freedom of speech. Currently, the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill is approaching its third reading in the House of Lords, as in, just a couple of steps off Royal assent - which is basically a rubber stamp at this stage. That particular Bill is an odious piece of bullshit that heavily restricts the right to protest, forces trans women into male prisons, and some other weirdly-worded shit that makes me worry in a somewhat more undefined way.

As for freedom of speech? Well, according to a paywalled article in the Telegraph, Johnson is insisting that anyone coming to address the Commons be “specially vetted” and is banning the presence of anyone who is “woke” - or, more specifically and very explicitly stated, anyone who is critical of Johnson and his government. So Commons doesn’t get to hear from anyone who can actually pull receipts on things like his being investigated for financial fiddle-fuckery, his trying to scrap the independent commission that looks into the financial fiddle-fuckery in which the entire Conservative Party seems to be engaged, his failures during the start of the pandemic (which continue through the current issue with the Omicron variant), his lies about Brexit, and everything else. At least not on a professional basis. It’s insane.

I have to live here. This is terrifying in ways I cannot even begin to express. This is what you would have had if Trump had got a second term. This is, in fact, probably worse. It only took two years for the trappings of fascism to cut deep into this country, and there’s another three to go. Yes, Johnson has made an idiot of himself publicly several times the last week, but it looks like he’s starting to get things to the point where that’s not going to matter for long.

Also we’re seeing cases of the Omicron variant over here, and we’ve only just got a mandate for mask-wearing in shops and on public transport starting tomorrow. No social distancing rules, no mask mandate for large group events, and an unfortunate percentage of the population is doing the “No Compliance! We Are Not Sheep!” thing. Their eyes glaze over when we talk about literal restriction of human rights but scream ‘fascist’ at being obliged to wear a piece of cloth over their faces to spare the NHS some agony. We already have the worst infection and death rate in Europe; at this rate, I’m expecting us to end up with another wave, this one potentially deadlier than the last.

So. Yeah. Terrified, thanks.

[painterofhorizons]

Floating Day WIP

Lovely @chyrstis and @theoriginalladya tagged me for the floating day WIP and as some actual writing has happened within the past four days, I am gladly able to share some. ^.^ Thanks for tagging me!

Will tag everyone who wants to share something. Yes, that you! @sheeplessthings @jedirangerpenguin @foofygoldfish @hunnybadgerv @chyrstis @theoriginalladya @shadoedseptmbr @shudder-shock @calendergirlff (are you still in the writing game, friend?) @swaps55 @rpgwrites @jediwalkerw @urrone

So, this is something that, lets say lets see where it takes us. :D Not sure yet where or how it will fit into the actual story, and it combines/reworks some earlier ideas and it’s pretty much a what if with different outsomes that I will play with. And it starts like this:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alex had spent an undefined amount of time sitting at the kitchen bar table staring at her own hands when she heard a sound coming from the hallway. Immediately her heartbeat fastened, hands covered in cold sweat.

Play it cool, she told herself, it’s no big deal, just play it cool.

As if that was so easy. Because fuck, this was a big deal.

“Hey.”

She met Dave halfway between the front door and the kitchen. He kissed her hello and Alex tried her best to play it cool, with little to no success.

“Hey”, she said, trying to sound somewhat confident and normal. “I made” - dinner - “how was” - your day - “sit. We need to talk.”

Not the ideal way to start this conversation, but was there one, really?

Dave raised his brows but followed her order without second guessing it.

“Everything okay?”

Well, that was most likely a matter of definition. Alex shot him a look that could be read as everything ranging from sorry, I broke your favourite mug to we have to sell the house and leave the state, don’t ask any questions.

“Yah. Yah, I- no. Yah.”

At least Dave didn’t react to that senseless stutter. Alex sighed. She had been thinking about what to say and how to word it since she knew he would be back home this night, but her brain wasn’t capable to come up with any way that was even slightly convincing, not to speak of clever, eloquent or sensitive. And whatever she had said so far didn’t fall in any of those categories.

“No one is hurt or anything”, she made sure to clarify when Dave only gave her the same questioning but patient look he had since he’d sat down.

“Good.”

Alex took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Well, at least nobody was harmed. That was probably a good thing.

“Everyone at work okay?”

“What do we need to talk about, Alex?” Dave asked instead of answering her rather distracting question.

“Yah… Well.” Alex shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hands buried deep in the pockets of her jeans. This moment had come sooner than she had hoped for - even though the last two days had been way too long for her taste. “Yah. There’s not really a sensitive way to put this so I’ll just put in on the table.”

Both metaphorically and literally spoken.

She took a seat at the opposite side of Dave and slid a used pregnancy test over to him.

Time froze. Alex could hear the non existent clock in the background going tick. Tack. Tick. Tack. One round and another and another, while Dave just stared at the small piece of plastic in front of him. His general calm attitude became noticeably less - it didn’t fade completely, Alex was pretty sure that was impossible for Dave or at least took more than the current situation - but some of it faded. He was still calm, but Alex could tell the difference.

“That-“

“It’s the third test from a different brand within two days”, Alex cut him. “I sure can get a fourth, but I doubt that will change the outcome.”

Dave looked up from the test and met her look. The expression in his face made Alex laugh, even if just for a second. A stranger wouldn’t notice it, Dave was subtle, at least more subtle than she was, but she knew him well enough to know exactly what he was hoping for. He was looking for a sign for how she was taking the situation, and how he was supposed to react now.

“Don’t give me that look!” The laughter faded into a grin that faded into a small twitching of the corners of her mouth. At least he had involuntarily cheered up the situation. “I don’t know what to say either, okay? This takes me as off guards as you. I don’t know how, or when, or what the fuck we are supposed to do now. But yeah. Welcome home, I guess.”

Dave slowly nodded.

“So. You’re pregnant.”

“Or so it seems.”

Another slow nod followed. Knitted brows. Familiar knitted brows that - fuck, she had missed him twice as much within the last week. Even if she had no clue what to say or do right now.

Dave folded his hands and the ever so calm and controlled manner of him changed into the same helpless and overwhelmed vibe Alex felt.

“I think I need a drink.”

[gureishi]

ok so your girl caity just finished DAY 2 of AS, and it's going goooooood so far (also aww thanks for wanting to know updates of how things go along as I move through the game, really seeing that gave me a big fat ugly typa smile)

I was thinking that in an irl situation no one would (at least me anyway) fall for Ray's obvious trick here, what do you mean you have to blindfold me??? why cant I see where we're going HUH RAY?? just everything, the fact that you also can't move around the building besides the floor your on and the way Ray speaks about the 'AIs' is so very suspicious (well ofc your character does begin to have some suspicions too) also how can a person just decide to up and leave their life for an undefined amount of time because someone wants you to test their way too realistic game?? what about your JOB, your FRIENDS or idk FAMILY, just a very unlikely situation to find yourself in if that makes sense

though despite all that ranting I must admit, I DONT CARE, Ray is the BEST BOY EVER, it does kinda hurt to be mean and suspicious of the RFA (I love them all so much cmon) and also of V! am kinda worried I accidentally end up on his route somehow :/

also Saeyoung Choi is still my one true love in this game, I can't help but mess around and joke with him whenever he appears in a chat room, and whenever Ray asks I can't help but tell him tomato boy is my favourite (sorry I love him, what can I say???)

ALSO I LOVE ZEN IN THIS TIMELINE?? love how his still finding himself as an actor and look his selfies are too gorgeous for us mere mortals, how blessed we are to even know that a presence such as his exists!

okay I'm finally done, thanks for probably reading through this, and also thanks for the guide recommendation! Will still probably only get like 3 hours of sleep a night (I really don't wanna miss out on any chats, obsessed much???) , but I'll try to use it!

OOOOOOH, thank you so much for the update!!! It made me really happy to read this! You're on like day four now, right?? I worked for a gazillion hours yesterday so now I'm behind, but I'm dying to know whose route you end up on!

I one hundred percent agree: it's so difficult to imagine being in a situation or emotional state where you'd go along with Ray's plan. Personally, I rationalize it by thinking about times in my life when I've been really lost—times when I might've gone along with something clearly dangerous just because I didn't know what else to do. In my mind, it's not that the another story MC believes Ray, necessarily—but perhaps they don't have anywhere else to turn at that point in their lives, and so they think why not? There's just something about him that draws them in.

That's just my rationale, though—I personally don't think I'd trust him, but I can envision feeling so hopeless that going with him seems like my only option. I'm super curious how you think about it!

It sounds like you're having the same kind of experience with AS that I did: I was so sure I was going to get a bad end because I just had so many red hearts. I was getting them in chatrooms he wasn't even in! And I was like, uh...what happens here if I still just only love my boy?

But I did okay, and I think you will too! <3

And yes, AS Zen is wonderful. @quirky-and-kind has some awesome posts about this (check her #my adventures with zen in another story tag)!

Keeeeeeep me updated!!! ❤️ And please try and get some sleep!!!

[ieattaperecorders]

Chrysalis

How much would Martin be willing to turn his back on in order to keep the one he loves? One possible outcome of Jon's will-he-won't-he (become an eldritch abomination) arc. A bit longer, probably easier to read on Ao3. Spoilers up to MAG 163. 

Read it on Ao3. 

Things like day and night didn’t really exist anymore, Martin knew that. But the quality of light from the sky -- slate-gray, cold and impenetrable -- made it feel like early dawn, which seemed as good a time as any to set out.

He shifted the lightweight bag on his shoulders. It was kind of nice that they didn’t need to load up on food, he supposed. Made the packing easier. Jon stood nearby, staring up at the endless gray with a blank expression on his face. There was a second bag slung over his shoulder beside the one Martin had packed, holding the tapes and statements. He’d refused to leave them behind.

Martin took out the safehouse keys and paused, hand halfway to the door, as he realized what he was doing.

“You know, I was just about to lock up,” he said, turning to Jon with a wry smile. “Isn’t that ridiculous? What am I worried about, someone coming in to rob our creepy cabin that eats people? Steal the silverware that’s probably alive and evil?”

Jon turned from the sky and smiled fondly at him. “If anyone did break in, they’d likely just settle inside and never leave.”

“Yeah.” Martin sighed, looking back at the cabin. “Shame burning didn’t work. You were right about that one.”

“It’s not made of wood and stone anymore.” Jon said. “It’s a part of this world, now. It doesn’t need to worry about fire.”

“I know it’s just just one place out of countless others and all. . . still wish there was something we could do. I mean, someone could stumble across it, couldn’t they?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I don’t know if anyone’s likely to be in a state to make it here.” Jon said. “But if someone did, they’d probably know not to trust anything that looks like safety.”

“Very cheerful.”

“Sorry. I did mean for that to be reassuring.” Jon mumbled. Something silver-bright flashed in his gaze for a moment. “At any rate, I - I don’t think you have to worry. It’s not for anyone else.”

“It’s not . . . sorry, what?”

“It’s our nightmare.” Jon said quietly, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. He walked to the door and placed a hand flat against it. “My fear of losing you turned into a cloying lie of protection. Your fear of watching me . . . .” his voice went quiet. “. . . Decay. In my despair, in that room. The love we have for each other no longer something in which either of us can take comfort.”

He lowered his hand and turned back to Martin conclusively. “It’s for us. It’s what the safehouse was for us in our darkest moments. I don’t think anyone else would even see it.”

“You’re talking like it was made for us.” Martin said after a moment of silence.

“It was, in a sense. Shaped around us. Like mold growing over an old mask, taking the form of a human face.”

Jon turned away from the cabin and walked towards the path. On impulse Martin put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“I’m scared too,” Martin said. “But we have a plan, and we have each other.”

Jon smiled sadly at him, needing only the barest prompting to nestle himself into Martin’s arms. He held him for a while, breathing deeply.

“I’m not afraid of anything out there.” Jon said softly. “Not directly. I’m just . . . scared I’ll lose you to it.”

“You won’t.” Martin said, and it felt like the truth. “I know, I know, there’s untold dangers and horrors the likes of which I can’t imagine, etcetera. But you’ll be there when I have to sleep, and I’ll be with you the rest of the time. And if something separates us, then we’ll just have to fight until we get back to one another.”

Jon nodded, then glanced back at the unchanged sky. “And. . .if I. . .lose myself?”

Martin was quiet for a while, unsure how to answer that. Then he gave Jon’s hand a squeeze, and smiled.

“If you do, I’ll come and find you. Bring you back,” he said. “Just like you did when I was lost.”

And oh, the smile on Jon’s face when he said that. It gave off a warmth that spread and spread until it covered Martin like a ray of real sunlight. If he could still make Jon smile like that, he could do anything.

“You know what I really want to see?” Martin asked.

“. . .What?”

“The look on Elias’s face when we kick down his door.”

Jon laughed, a sharp, loud noise of surprise and genuine mirth, and grinned. “Oh yes. I’m looking forward to that one as well.”

Martin kissed Jon’s hand and lowered it to his side, fingers twining with his. The two of them turned with purpose toward a path that once led to a village, which once had people, in what once was the world.

* * *

The journey would be the journey, according to Jon. Martin could accept that . . . mostly. He at least accepted that walking was the only way to get there. Even if he had been planning to dig his heels in on that, he’d have changed his mind after that road with all the abandoned cars. Too many of them had teeth.

It was just . . . the Beholding had never given Jon useful information before. No warnings about people who were coming after him, or knowledge about what happened to Sasha. Certainly not anything about what Elias was really up to. But it wouldn’t have given him that, would it? No. It would have hid that information, just like it hid the way to quit the Institute. So what did that say about the fact it was now telling him how to reach the tower? Either it wanted them there or . . . maybe it wanted them to go through everything in between. Throw themselves at all this horror, for its own pleasures and purposes.

Martin didn’t suggest turning around, though. A chance to confront Elias and find a way back was worth the risk of feeding the Eye, and besides, where else would they go? Regardless of the sinister force behind it, Jon’s insight continued to guide them across one nightmare after another.

It was while they were were traveling one of the empty spaces between when Jon stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply. Martin stopped a pace later.

“What is it?”

Jon hesitated, swallowed and shook his head. “It’s. I’m all right.”

“Jon.”

“It’s just . . . a lot. Loud.” Jon muttered. “It will get worse the closer we go to what once was London . . . there were fewer people in the countryside.”

“Do you need a minute?” Martin frowned, concern edging into his voice.

“Yes. No.” Jon shook his head and resumed walking. “I think it’s better to keep moving. Standing in place just makes the moment longer, you know?”

“Just pace yourself, all right?” Martin followed.

Jon shrugged at him. “It’s not really something I can stop.”

They continued on, through forests of mirrors that they knew better than to let themselves reflect in. Through storms that went from rain to ice to shards of glass. Through tunnels they found themselves in after open countryside with no transition, like travel in a dream. They held hands and navigated the darkness by touch and by each others voices, and walked on.

* * *

Their bodies didn’t tire in the same way, but rest was still needed if only as respite from everything else. They tried to pick spots that were quiet and gave them room to run. At one point they settled in an empty place beside a road they’d been walking down. When Martin tried letting go of Jon’s hand to remove his jacket, Jon’s grip on him tightened.

“Don’t let go of me. Please,” he muttered. “Not while we’re stopped here.”

Martin paused. “Is switching hands okay?”

Jon nodded. Martin took the strap off his right shoulder, then took Jon’s right hand before shrugging off the left strap, slipping the bag off without breaking contact. He moved Jon’s hand to his knee while he removed his coat and folded it into the bag. As long as there was some physical connection, Jon seemed all right with it.

“What’s different about here?” Martin asked as he did this.

Jon frowned. “Don’t look directly at it, but. . . to your left. Have you noticed?”

Martin continued looking straight ahead, but let a little attention drift to his periphery. A few yards away from them there was something . . . off. He couldn’t tell if it was the color of the sky, or something about the ground, or the few bits of plant life that grew there, but something was wrong in an undefinable way. If there was one thing he could identify it was that the crooked, leafless tree near the horizon was the same one he’d been seeing in the corner of his eye for hours, and their distance from it hadn’t changed. The landscape was following them.

“I’ve noticed . . . something,” he said. “Didn’t really make note of it, I guess. Because there’s always something?”

“The Unknowing is strong there.” Jon said. “We may have to go through it eventually, but for now it’s keeping its distance. Oh. Try not to think directly at it either.”

“What does ‘think directly’ m--oh, dammit.” Martin winced as a wave of disorientation his his mind, momentarily blurring his thoughts and making his pulse race. “Jon. . .you know that when you tell someone not to think about something--”

“They immediately think about it.” Jon grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought--”

“It’s all right, it’s all right. . .I’m fine, really.”

Don’t think about pink elephants. Martin told himself, and images of pink elephants tumbled into his mind. He focused on not thinking about that for a while, only half-considering the landscape to the left as he did so.

“So . . . should we be staying here?” he asked. “Is it -- well, I won’t ask if it’s dangerous, but do you think it’s more dangerous than everything else is? Or about the same?’

“The latter, most likely.” Jon said. “I just don’t want to lose sight of you. It’s still something of a . . . blind spot for me. I don’t want to risk not being able to find you if anything separates us.”

Martin wondered if Jon was being overprotective in thinking that an instant without constant physical contact could result in something swooping in to pull him away, or if Martin was being complacent in thinking that wouldn’t happen. He supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, he didn’t mind.

“Are you all right here?” Martin frowned. “I mean, if the Unknowing is, ah, bad for you . . . .”

“It’s sort of a relief, actually.” Jon’s brow knit. “I think it’s having some dampening effect on the Watcher. It makes everything softer. Quieter.”

“Really . . . .” Martin resisted the impulse to look or think closer at what they were talking about. They weren’t talking about anything. Not anything other than pink elephants, which he was still steadily avoiding thoughts of. “Should we try skirting a little closer to it? I mean, if it’s not more dangerous than any other place . . . maybe being near it would actually be good?”

A breeze blew in from Martin’s left, carrying noise on the wind. He heard the faint groan of a calliope and two whispering voices. They didn’t sound entirely like Tim and Sasha. But they also didn’t sound unlike them enough. He could tell from the expression on Jon’s face that he was hearing them too.

“Let’s not.” Jon said.

Martin nodded. “Yeah. Let’s not.”

* * *

There were close calls. They’d been prepared for danger, but preparation only gives you so much. When one fell the other could grab them and dig in their heels, they could run from waves of screaming flesh or burn back things that slithered from behind walls. But there was always more, and the dangers were never simple. And every time something got too near or gripped too hard for Martin to pull away, Jon was quick to put himself in front of it. He’d pin it with an unnatural gaze, eyes wide, teeth grinding in concentration and pain until something intangible was ripped away and they could resume running.

Martin should have been more afraid for himself. He knew he was vulnerable in a way Jon wasn’t. When the grass beneath their feet twisted into patterns so mesmerizing that Martin didn’t notice it was winding around him, Jon kept him walking. When something made Martin forget the world had ended, forget that they weren’t back in London during a time when everything seemed gentler, Jon shouted the truth at him until Martin believed it. Jon saw which parts of the ground were real and which ones shouldn’t be stepped on. Even the things that jumped out of the shadows with teeth and claws seemed to have more interest in Martin.

But he knew Jon was vulnerable too, in a different way. He was always ready to use his power to protect Martin, but it wasn’t really his power, was it? He directed and channeled it, sure. But it was the Watcher that was reaching through him, and Martin didn’t forget that.

One frightened morsel of humanity probably didn’t mean much to the Eye in a world that was nothing but food. Though Martin wasn’t safe from it, he doubted it had any special interest in him. But it had intent where Jon was concerned. It wanted something from him. Even after everything it had taken from the man Martin loved, Beholding was still hungry for more. Each time Jon drew on it, Martin swore he took a little bit longer to look back at him. He was certain the hollows in Jon’s face had been getting darker, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him blink.

So he did what he could. He kept the axe close and used it as best as he was able. He stayed alert. When something with long, ropey limbs and a face like an inside-out deer emerged from the hillside and wrapped itself around him, he tried not to panic. And when Jon jumped in and stilled it with a look Martin wriggled out of its tendrils, grabbed Jon around the waist, and ducked through a crevice in the rock wall.

With a loud scraping noise, the stone slid closed behind them - trapping the monster outside but plunging them into darkness. Martin groaned internally. Leaping from one danger into the teeth of another was starting to get so commonplace as to be tedious. He could feel Jon’s hands gripping his arm tight enough that he was sure there’d be bruises later, though he stayed completely silent.

Martin yanked the torch out of his backpack pocket and clicked it on, mentally crossing his fingers. The batteries were just lumps of matter - the torch worked when it wanted to, didn’t when it didn’t. But today it was cooperating, and its beam lit up the cavern around them. It was small, but not quite ‘pressing down from all sides’ small, which was good. It seemed for the moment that they were alone, which was also good. It also seemed that there was no way in or out, which was not as good. Martin tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, as if the air wasn’t quite enough to fill it.

“Okay. Well. I don’t think it can get in here. . . .” Martin said, flicking the light around the chamber. “Maybe we--”

The beam passed across Jon’s face. His eyes reflected it like a cat’s, which barely even registered as ‘weird’ anymore. But for a moment in the dark of the cave, there were more than two lights looking back. At least a dozen eyes glinted from the shadows around Jon, and Martin’s arm jumped in surprise. When the light returned it was just Jon’s own eyes watching him, blinking and squinting in the flashlight’s beam.

“S-sorry.” Martin angled the torch back towards the cave wall.

“Mmmhmm.” Jon rubbed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Are you?”

“Yes. . .I think so.” Jon looked around the chamber. “I don’t see anything else in here. . .”

“You mean see, or see?” Martin asked, trying to make it sound like a joke.

“Either.”

“Hmm.” Martin moved the light around more methodically, in case he’d missed an exit or a tunnel the first time. Nothing. “Doesn’t look like there’s any way out. At least I’m not claustrophobic.”

The second he said that, he could feel the chamber shrink a little around him.

“Had to say it, didn’t you?” Jon smiled ruefully.

Martin winced. “I should just stop talking.”

“I wouldn’t like that.” Jon said.

“Are you okay?” Martin frowned. “I mean. . .after the coffin. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was getting to you. . . .”

“There isn’t a fear I’m not marked by in some way.” Jon’s voice was grim. “That was the whole point. But I’m not panicking yet.”

Martin nodded and sat against the chamber wall. He could feel exhaustion sinking in. That last burst of adrenaline burned through his reserves, which had been low for a while.

“I think . . . I might need to sleep again soon,” he said.

“Well. At the risk of provoking another change . . . there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger here.” Jon said.

They both paused and braced themselves, waiting for a reaction. None came, and Jon continued.

“We could rest a while, find our way out when you wake,” he finished, sitting down beside him.

“As long as you’ll be okay here.” Martin said.

“I’ll be all right. Besides, we are here now regardless of how we feel about it.” He leaned against the wall beside Martin. “Thank you for pulling me away. I think that I was . . . . Well, anyway, thank you.”

“Of course.” Martin put a hand on his. “. . . Thank you for protecting me.”

“I always will.” Jon whispered, a intensity in his voice that thundered against the cave walls.

“Not unless you have to, all right?” Martin swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s smart to . . . you know. Use its ‘gifts’ too much.”

“I’m not going to let something take you if I have the power to stop it--” Jon began.

“I’m not asking you to.” Martin said. “Just . . . be careful? I can get away on my own sometimes too, you know,” he added the last in a teasing tone. As if this was all about Jon not giving him enough credit.

“Right . . . of course.” Jon spoke reluctantly, as if someone was reminding him of the health risks posed by cigarettes. Not disagreeing, but at the same time. . . well. “Of course you can. I’ll be careful.”

Martin pulled Jon a little closer and kissed him. It was a reminder, and it was gratitude, and it was also just a kiss. Then he passed the torch to Jon. They both tensed for a moment when it clicked off, but there was no awful sound of rock walls suddenly shifting. Martin’s eyes adjusted to the dark, which meant this was the sort of dark that eyes could adjust to, and as far as he could tell the chamber had remained the same size. They placed their bags around them and used coats as padding against the hard stone.

Jon settled Martin’s head in his lap and kissed his forehead, obviously trying to hide the dread. Martin felt it too. He told himself that the next thing he’d remember would be waking with only the ghost of terror he couldn’t recall gnawing at him. But deep down he knew that wasn’t how it worked. He’d likely forget his dreams, but he’d still have to endure them first.

Sleep was going to come whether he was ready or not, and there was no point in fighting it. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the soothing feeling of Jon’s fingers in his hair, until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

* * *

He woke gasping, pushing himself off the cave floor. His last cry still echoed in the cave around him, and his breathing was ragged. Martin felt around himself. . . even in his state of disorientation he could tell something was very, very wrong. Then it hit him - Jon wasn’t there. He wasn’t sitting beside him, wasn’t stroking his hair or squeezing his hand or wrapped around him and murmuring soothing words in his ear. For the first time since the world had ended, Jon wasn’t holding him when he woke.

“Jon!?” he called in alarm, eyes still adjusting to the dark.

Jon didn’t call back, but Martin could hear something coming from the other side of the cave. He felt around until his hand closed over the torch and he clicked it on. It lit up a silhouette on the other side of the chamber, sat facing away. It looked like Jon from behind, but Martin was immediately wary. He couldn’t see the figure’s face. Why hadn’t he replied when Martin called out? Why wasn’t he turning now?

Martin shone the light around the rest of the cave and found it empty, so he got to his feet and slowly approached. As he got closer, he heard what definitely sounded like Jon’s voice coming from the figure, whispering something indistinct.

“Jon?” Martin asked quietly. The figure didn’t respond. Hesitatingly, Martin moved to its side so he could see its face.

The figure didn’t spin violently around to reveal black pits for eyes and a maw full of fangs, nor did it fall over revealing a dessicated corpse, or dissolve into insects, or any of the other countless things that ran through Martin’s mind as he got closer. Its face was just Jon’s face. It was Jon. He was staring at the cave wall, apparently entranced.

He didn’t seem to see Martin. Whatever he was watching, Martin suspected it was well past the actual boundaries of the cave. His face was fixed in an expression somewhere between fear and wonder, and there were tears in his eyes. But as Martin watched, a smile slowly spread across his face and his mouth formed the shape of the word ‘beautiful.’

“Jon. . . .”

Martin might have gripped his shoulder a little harder than he needed to, shaken it a little more than necessary, but it snapped Jon back to reality. The smile fell away completely and he glanced around in startled confusion.

“Mh. . .” Jon began to mouth his name, then trailed off. Horror seemed to be settling on him.

“. . . What did you see?” Martin whispered.

Jon stared for a moment, then closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “Terrible things.”

A thousand questions, a thousand more concerns were running through Martin’s mind. But like an idiot, all he thought to say was, “you weren’t there.”

“Wh--wha--”

“When I woke up.” Martin explained. “You weren’t . . . you were just staring . . . .”

“Oh. . .oh,” Jon reached for him, speaking emphatically. “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

“No, it’s - - it’s all right, that isn’t what I mean, I just - -”

How could he explain it? Yes, okay, he was a little needy when he woke, and yes Jon not being there had been . . . upsetting. But he wasn’t frightened right now because of how much it meant to him that Jon was there when he woke up. It was how much he knew being there when he woke meant to Jon. It was the fact that Jon had never left his side while he slept. Except tonight he had. Something had moved him away and kept him from hearing his voice. And that scared Martin more even than waking alone in the dark had.

Regardless, Jon was pulling him into an embrace he didn’t feel like resisting. So he reached out his arms and held back, tight as he could without crushing him. He heard Jon mutter apologies, soothing things and reassurances. But the fear didn’t leave this time.

They huddled together for a while, neither eager to break the hold. Eventually Martin shifted them into a more comfortable position, leaning himself against the cave wall and Jon against him.

“. . . I’m worried about you.” Martin said, after a while of silence.

Jon didn’t seem to have any reassurances in him for that. He just squeezed Martin’s hand very, very hard. Martin reached up and bushed his fingers over Jon’s temples, tenderly. Jon closed his eyes.

Even in the barely-there light of the cave, he could see the deep lines under Jon’s eyes. Between that and the gray that had taken over his hair, he was beginning to resemble the old man he always used to act like. Martin fondly ran his thumb over the little crow-foot wrinkles extending from the corners of Jon’s eyes. Then he stopped suddenly, taking a closer look.

They weren’t wrinkles. They were cracks.

* * *

Everything about the place screamed “leave.” Scorched scrap walls, doors ripped off their hinges, murals smeared with blood and ash. But things were bad in all directions, and Jon insisted this was the path they had to take.

Martin avoided taking in details as they walked, scarf over his face to keep from breathing in ash, which saturated the air. He didn’t speculate on what terrible fate had befallen this place, but it did seem strange that a settlement like this existed at all. It looked like it had been built after the world had changed, and it had time to build itself well. The shacks weren’t slapped together, they’d been reinforced and decorated. Woven blankets, curtains of beads and other possessions lay shredded in the empty doorways. There were the beginnings of farms and communal areas broken among the ruins. Had that much time really passed? Maybe time was just that malleable now. Or maybe this place had come into being already built up, already ruined.

Thinking about that kept Martin from thinking too hard about the bodies lying huddled on the ground. It wasn’t just sorrow or horror at the story those charred husks told that kept Martin from letting his gaze settle on them. They were the first people he’d seen that looked truly, truly dead.

Fates worse than death were one thing. He’d seen plenty of those, and yes, they were terrifying. But Jon had guided him back from the Lonely, and Martin had given him voices to follow out of the Buried. As long as they were both alive, there was a chance. Awful as being trapped in a three by three foot box or shrouded in an aching, numbing mist or wracked with fevers for eternity might be, they could hope to find their way out of it. Death was different. Martin was fairly sure that was still true.

He tried not to think about it. Kept walking.

Unfortunately, and in retrospect predictably, the settlement was a maze. The farther in they went, the more it began to grow and stretch out around them. Martin quietly cursed when he realized what was happening. He should have been used to the nightmare logic that was now natural law, but it seemed there was nothing to do now but press on.

At one point Martin realized that Jon wasn’t next to him. There was a moment of panic before he turned to find that he’d only stopped a few paces back. He was staring at a ruined fence, face slack. Martin exhaled and walked back to him.

“Jon, come on,” he tugged at his arm. “We can’t stay here.”

It took a moment for Jon to register Martin’s touch. He blinked at him, eyes slightly glazed, breathing heavily. His eyes were red, but Martin didn’t see any tears.

“Here. . . .”

Martin put an arm around Jon and gently turned him until his face was completely hidden in Martin’s jumper.

“Don’t look at it. Just hold onto me and keep moving.”

Jon didn’t respond, but Martin felt his arms reach around him and grip firmly. They began walking again, slower now so that Jon didn’t stumble. Martin kept his hand on the back of Jon’s head and they got some distance that way, Jon’s arms occasionally tightening a notch more, then relaxing, then tightening again. Martin didn’t want to guess what he was seeing.

Very suddenly, that grip tightened enough to squeeze the breath from Martin, and Jon’s face pulled free from his jumper with a gasp.

“. . .They’re still here,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Martin didn’t ask ‘who’ because it didn’t matter, the fear in Jon’s voice told him everything he needed to know. He felt the wind pick up, ash swirling in the air around them. In the distance, Martin was sure that he saw figures gathering.

“Shit.” Martin squinted at the distant forms. Some were close enough for him to make out details, twisted masses of scorched skin and scar tissue. Not human in shape, but made of human shapes - limbs and backs and screaming faces.

“This. . . .” his thoughts from earlier bubbled up with the rising tide of fear. “This one wants to kill us. Doesn’t it?”

“It won’t kill us.” Jon said with certainty.

“That’s something, at least,” he swallowed.

“It’s Desolation,” Jon continued, voice small. “It’ll kill one of us, leave the other alive to mourn. Like it did with them,” he pointed an unsteady hand to one of the figures.

Martin’s arms tightened around Jon. “Okay. Running? Running sound good? Can you, uh, See a way out of here?”

“I’m trying, but. . . ” Jon grit his teeth, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead. “It’s all too much. The -- the loss, the anguish. I - - I can’t see anything past it, I- - ” his hand began to shake.

“Okay.” Martin looked around. Right or left, fifty fifty chance, right? Or it would be in world where the cardinal directions stayed where they were. “Hold my hand, and just - - just tell me if you see an exit.”

Jon nodded weakly, and they ran. But it was hard. The rows between the ruins were narrow, and ash obscured Martin’s vision. Worst of all, Jon couldn’t seem to keep his legs under him. Usually he was the faster of the two, but now he kept turning back, slowing and stumbling until Martin was almost dragging him along. Finally Martin gave up, grabbed Jon around the waist and threw him over his shoulder.

The figures were drawing closer, gathering together to form one mass - a towering thing with a choir of screaming mouths. How could something that big move so fast? It was catching up, and with Jon’s weight Martin was tiring already. Then one foot landed in a way that it shouldn’t have, his legs turned under him and they both went down, rolling away from each other on the soot choked ground. Martin immediately pushed himself up again. No time to stop, no room to catch his breath. Jon was a few feet away, curled around himself and shaking violently. His eyes were completely glazed over.

When Martin reached to help him up, Jon gripped his hand and looked at him pleadingly.

“Run,” he whispered. “Just run.”

Not a chance, Martin thought, but then the ground shook and the thing drew in on them. He had only a split second - it was here and it was close too close and there wasn’t time. But the things in this world were always more interested in him, weren’t they? If he did run, maybe he could lead it away. By himself he might be fast enough to lose it and come back around.

There was no time to weigh the options. He chose what seemed like a chance for escape over holding Jon and waiting for death. Martin ran.

There was a moment of relief when he looked back and saw there was some distance between him and it. Then confusion when he realized it wasn’t running after him at all. It was still in place, twisting and screaming, but not coming closer to him or Jon. Behind it, Jon was standing up.

Jon looked at the creature and his gaze was as eerie and intense as ever. But something was different this time. Martin found himself thinking he’s crying. And then, no. . .those aren’t tears.

With a terrible sound, Jon’s body split with cracks. They curled around scar tissue, opened the lines of his face and opened him. But what came out from inside him wasn’t blood and flesh and bone. It was dark and alive with movement, like television static. And inside that shifting haze, countless eyes peered back.

The cracks spread outwards from Jon. They split the sky, opened tears in reality. And where the sky was rent, Martin saw the merciless gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher. It was a hungering brightness at the center of everything. It was as impersonal as a surveillance state, yet as intimate as a face breathing into yours while you slept, horrible to see but impossible to turn away from. And the fullness of its stare was focused on that mound of flesh and sorrow and pain.

The things’ scream gave Martin the jolt he needed to tear himself away. He covered his face with his arms and huddled until the noise was abruptly cut off. In the silence that followed, Martin waited a good, long moment, then he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

The creature was. . .empty. That was the only word for it. It had fallen apart on the ground, lumps of flesh twitching and hissing, but with nothing at all inside them. Not dead. Not physically hollowed, but empty. Jon stood in the middle of it all. The cracks in the sky had closed, thankfully, but they still twisted across Jon’s back, warping his form.

“. . . Jon?” Martin said uncertainly.

Jon’s head snapped in his direction, and there was nothing in his eyes that Martin recognized. Only a piercing and terrible hunger.

Martin stumbled backwards as Jon made a beeline for him. Something caught his foot and he went down hard, landing sprawled on the ground. When he looked up Jon stood over him, and Martin was a frog open on a dissection table. He was an insect pinned under a child’s thumb. He was a secret caught in a blinding light, and every instinct in his brain was screaming at him to hide, but there was no place for him to go.

He was afraid of losing himself. Martin thought. He was afraid of losing himself, and I kept saying we had to go and now he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone and there’s nothing - -

The Archivist reached down, placing a hand on each side of Martin’s face and holding his head still. Martin should have been running, or screaming for him to stop, or socking him in the face. But all he could do was stare numbly back and wait for whatever would come.

“I’m sorry. . .” Martin said, anguish in his voice. “I’m so, so, sorry. . . .”

The figure in front of him lowered its forehead, pressing it against Martin’s. And suddenly, Martin Knew that Jon loved him.

It was immutable and certain as gravity had once seemed. He didn’t simply trust that Jon loved him, didn’t just understand it to be true because of the way he behaved and the things he said. Martin Knew it to his core. Jon loved him, he loved him so, so much. He had loved him for a long time now, and in that moment Jon loved him no less than he ever had.

The full weight of that love settled in him, the warmth and the brightness of it filled his mind and for a moment it overwhelmed everything else. He forgot the settlement, forgot the cracks in the sky. There was nothing but him and this one, perfect truth. He would never forget it, never deny it, never be able to doubt it. There was only one other thing Martin had ever Known so deeply, and he had spent most of his days since then trying not to think much about it.

Then the moment passed. The feeling faded from an all-consuming understanding to a gentle, quiet certainty. When he came back to himself his face was streaked with tears. Jon had taken a step back, giving him room to breathe, and now stood silently in front of him.

“Jon . . . ?” Martin asked, softly, hopefully. “Is it still you?”

Jon opened his mouth and the sound of crackling static came out. He reached for Martin, who drew back without thinking. Jon paused and lowered his hand. He patted himself on the left side of his coat, just over the pocket. Martin reached into his own pocket, feeling the shape of the object inside. When he realized what it was, he laughed. He couldn’t help it. The tape recorder clicked on as soon as he removed it.

“I think so.” Jon’s voice came out of the recorder, slightly distorted by the hiss of playback. “Though . . . I suppose I don’t know how one tells that sort of thing?”

“Okaaay. . .” Martin exhaled, looking from the recorder in his lap back to Jon. “Okay. This is new. Sort of weird, but could be worse?”

Jon took a careful step closer, testing to see if Martin would draw back again. He didn’t, and Jon sat on the ground beside him. The cracks in his body were slowly closing, the blur of static and Watching getting smaller between them. Martin set down the recorder, which continued to play Jon’s voice.

“Are you all right?” Martin asked. “You were looking pretty, uh . . . .”

“. . . Terrifying?” Jon tilted his head in Martin’s direction.

“Well . . . .” Martin didn’t want to use that word, but all the other words he could think of were just synonyms for it.

“Monstrous?” Jon supplied.

“As long as it’s still you, I don’t care.” Martin said emphatically.

“It is.” Jon said, with a little more confidence. “I’m - - I’m still me. Just.” He held up an arm and watched as the lines running through it slowly sealed themselves. “. . . With some some changes.”

The cracks now resembled long, twisting scars more than anything else, though in his periphery Martin swore he kept seeing things open and blink on Jon’s body. His gaze was still piercing, but with the panic passed Martin could also see there was affection and recognition in those uncanny eyes.

Okay, he thought to himself. Take a breath. Check in. It’s not as bad as you thought but this is obviously a . . . new challenge. See how he’s handling it.

“What exactly happened back there?” he asked.

Jon took a deep breath, and a sigh came from the recorder.

“It was overwhelming. It had been bad before, but . . . all those people.” He turned to stare at the sky. “They thought they had a safe haven. They built up walls and invented wards and believed they’d found tricks to keep the nightmares out. But it was all just so they’d have more to lose. So they’d build and love and cherish things that could be torn away from them. Just fattening them up.”

Jon moved his head and gestured while he talked, pantomiming his own speech. It was somewhere between unsettling and comical at first, but soon it began to feel natural and Martin noticed it less and less.

“An entire town,” Jon shook his head. “Silently screaming their stories of terror and agony and despair at me. I was wrapped in it all, and I couldn’t see out.”

“I’m sorry . . . ” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, mindful of the wide, curling scar that covered his palm. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

“But it’s all right. I’m all right now,” Jon turned back. “Better than all right. It doesn’t hurt anymore, Martin.”

In the back of Martin’s mind, a tiny noise began to sound. Like a distant, muffled alarm. “I’m . . . not sure what you mean? What doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Any of it.” Jon smiled. “The fear and anguish, the things the Watcher feeds me, none of it hurts at all. Something happened back there . . . I was trapped in the heart of their pain. There was nothing outside of it - I didn’t remember you were there, or who I was, or why we were here. There was only the collective suffering of a thousand terrified souls, and it hurt more than anything I have ever known. And in the depths of it all, I realized that it didn’t have to hurt.”

There was a strange giddiness rising in Jon’s voice, and the alarm in Martin’s head rang louder.

“I could choose to stop letting it hurt me. I could finally stop tormenting myself, open my mind and drink everything in. And I did. And it was wonderful,” Jon stared out into the distant sky. “And all I wanted was more.”

“So. . . .” The alarm bell was reaching a crescendo now, and Martin struggled to keep his tone even. “What happened back there. . . what you did to it . . . .”

“I was greedy.” Jon smiled behind his hand, his tone sheepish but without regret. “I needed every drop.”

“Jesus, Jon.” Martin muttered.

“. . . And then I heard you!” Jon continued, unmindful of Martin’s tone. “And I remembered. And I realized that it was dead, and you were safe, and we were still together.”

Jon took Martin by the shoulders, gripping him with an manic energy that was startling, yes, frightening even, but still familiar, still so much like Jon, too much like him to be anything else.

“It was going to separate us, but I stopped it. It didn’t stand a chance against me. I don’t know if anything can anymore. I’ve gained so much . . .” he continued, eyes bright and alive. “I can feel my mind expanding to fill every corner of this dreadful world. I am burning, and drowning, and weeping, and writhing, and falling and dying and it is--” he closed his eyes, head tilted back in an expression of pleasure. “--Glorious.”

Martin looked at him grimly. “This is what you were afraid would happen. Isn’t it?”

“Not quite.” Jon smiled. “I was afraid of giving in, yes. I was afraid, and it feels ridiculous to say this now, but I was afraid there’d be a time when the things that I see would only ever feel right and leave me only with satisfaction. But what scared me the most was the thought that, if that happened, it would mean I could no longer love you. That you would just be something for me to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard,” he sighed, a sound of great relief. “But that didn’t happen. You Know that now, don’t you?”

Martin nodded, as there was no point denying it. In the corner of his mind, the image of the thing he had seen beyond the sky still lingered, and Martin wondered if it was capable of laughter. If it was laughing at them right now.

“This was. . . .” Martin pulled away from Jon, curling his knees up to his chest. “This was what it wanted too, wasn’t it? Why it let you know about the tower. It wanted us to keep throwing ourselves at the nightmares until one of them finally made you break,” he laughed once, a mirthless, choking noise. “I was an idiot to think that there’d be a reset button. A way to fix everything if we just went back. . . .”

“Martin . . . that’s not true at all.” Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “A way back does exist. I know what it is now. You were right all along. I was wrong.”

“Wh- wait . . . really?” Martin blinked.

Jon nodded. “The Ritual that brought about this world is still ongoing. It will go on for all eternity, never stopping, never, ever finished. But if it were to finish, if it were stopped or interrupted. . . .” He trailed off expectantly, leaving Martin room to fill in the blanks.

“Would everything really go back?” Martin looked around at the ruins - the charred wood, the whirlwinds of ash, the lumps of flesh that were first people and then things and then nothing. “Is that even possible now?”

“The world might have a few scars. One or two spots that don’t come back all the way. A few unfortunate souls who retain memories, plenty of bad dreams. I can’t say what state humanity would be in if it happened after eons had passed.” Jon tapped his knee thoughtfully. “But if it were done now, or soon? I think there’d barely be any damage at all.”

Guarding his heart was futile, hope pushed its stubborn way in whether Martin wished for it or not. They could go back to a world that yes, was often frightening and often cruel but was also gentle and kind and infinite things that this world wasn’t. All those people trapped in endless nightmares could just go back to their lives, they wouldn’t even know what had happened. It was too great a hope to keep down.

And if the old world came back . . . Martin didn’t know what that would mean for Jon now, truly. But if all of this could be undone, there was a chance for anything, wasn’t there?

“. . . There’s a catch.” Martin said. It wasn’t a question.

“Obviously.” Jon smiled sardonically. “The way back is very simple. Not easy, but simple. I suppose that’s the way of these things. Do you want me to show you?”

“I mean. . . yes.” Martin could faintly hear the alarm starting up again, but it didn’t change his mind. Whatever the catch was, they’d face it together. “I do.”

Jon looked at him for a moment, smiling sadly, then shook his head.

“No,” he brought his hand to Martin’s temple, “you really don’t.”

As soon as the hand touched him, Martin had his answer. It wasn’t a bone-deep Knowing like before, it was just information. No different than if he’d read it somewhere, save that it was given to him all in an instant.

Gertrude had said it herself. Jon was the ritual. He’d become it the moment he took on the role of Archivist, and now he had reached his apotheosis. While he continued, the ritual would continue as well. The only way to end it was to end him. No magic circles or ancient artifacts or complicated chants were necessary, just the sort of implements one would expect for such a task. The only truly difficult part was that being the linchpin of the apocalypse had made Jon very resilient to damage. Not invulnerable, just resilient. Killing him would take patience and determination. First the eyes, then the voice box. Then fire. . . .

There were other steps but Martin was trying very hard not to think about them. He curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around himself, shaking his head. Numbly, he felt Jon gather him up. His top half was tugged into Jon’s lap, and his head gently settled against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon whispered.

“That’s not fair.” Martin groaned, tears in his eyes.

“I fear fairness rarely has anything to do with these matters.” Jon sighed, nestling Martin closer and stroking the back of his head. ”. . . It’s going to be all right.”

But that calm, resigned tone only filled Martin with anger, anger he didn’t want. Of course Jon was all right with this. Jon had been wanting to punish himself ever since he read that statement, and now he had the perfect justification for it. What was one person, after all, against the suffering of billions? You couldn’t argue with the math of it, no one could.

But when that one person is the world to you, what then? How do you save a world that takes that person away? Jon couldn’t tell him it would be all right, because he wouldn’t have to lose anyone. He wouldn’t have to go on afterwards, alone.

“It isn’t, though.” Martin said through gritted teeth.

“It is. I promise.” Jon said, tone still soothing.

“It’s really, really, not, Jon.”

“But it is.” Jon bent down and kissed the top of Martin’s head. “Because I won’t let you do it.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and even then Martin wasn’t sure he heard right. “. . . What . . . do you mean?”

“I won’t let you kill me to save the world,” he explained. “Even if you believe you have to. If you think that you have no choice but to put the fate of world first, I still won’t let you do it.”

Jon smiled affectionately as he spoke. “And you can’t sneak up on me, not anymore. There’s no plan you can concoct no matter how brave or brilliant that I won’t see coming. You can’t just overpower me, either, I’d stop you if I had to. Not the way Jonah did--” he added quickly. “I’d be gentler than that. But I would stop you.”

Martin blinked, disbelieving, as Jon continued to stroke his head, voice soft and serious.

“You won’t ever have to make that choice,” he finished. “Between me and the world. Because I’ve made that choice already, and there’s nothing you can do.”

The whole picture was beginning to fill itself in for Martin. He realized what Jon was trying to do and he pulled back, breaking contact.

“So it’s not my fault,” Martin said, voice grim. “If the worlds stays the way it is. Because I can’t stop you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“That’s not how it works.” Martin said. “That’s not how . . . responsibility works.”

“Why not? You deserve this.” Jon insisted. “We deserve this, Martin.”

“I’m not sure we do, though?” Martin ran a hand through his hair, “and besides, I mean . . . this?” He gestured vaguely to the scene around them. The ruined flesh and burned homes and devastation that may as well have served as a map for everything else.

“No, you’ll see--” Jon leaned forward. “Everything is going to be different now. It isn’t just the Beholding. I am the single point of terrible knowledge around which this world turns. I can shield you from everything in it now. Even the fear. Even the dreams. You won’t ever have to suffer through those again, I promise!”

Jon clasped Martin’s hands, lit up with excitement.

“No more nightmares. No more guilt. No more playing those tapes over and over just to make myself suffer. We can go anywhere! This world is ours to explore and take of for all eternity. The things we’ll see, Martin,” his gaze was distant, rapturous. “Such horrible wonders. . . .”

He must have noticed Martin’s expression, because his own face sobered and he added, “but . . . you won’t have to see them. Not if you don’t want to. I can protect you from that too.”

“You’ll hurt people.” Martin said flatly.

“I was already hurting people.” Jon said. “Everything the Watcher fed me magnified the suffering of its victims a hundredfold. It’s no different now.”

“You didn’t have a choice then.”

“I don’t have a choice now.” Jon said, gesturing towards the sky. “It’s going to continue, the endless stream of fear and anguish. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.”

“But you used to want to.” Martin insisted. “And that means something. It means something that you didn’t want this.”

“Would you rather I go back to being miserable?” There was reproach in Jon’s voice. “You said yourself that it hurt you to see me wallowing. And it did! I was hurting you. And I was hurting myself, too.” He frowned. “Do you know what I would have done back then, if I’d known how to stop the ritual?”

Martin realized Jon was reaching towards his temple again and he jumped, pulling violently away.

“Don’t!” he shouted. Jon flinched, hand still halfway in the air. “Don’t- don’t show me. I don’t want to see it.”

Jon’s face softened. He lowered his hand and nodded. “I won’t.”

“Jon. . .you’re scaring me.” Martin said.

“. . . I know.” Jon’s voice was quiet. “I can see your fear. It’s rolling off you like ripples on a pond.” He tilted his head and leaned closer, something like wonder in his voice. “I wasn’t sure at first, but- -”

“Jon.”

Martin’s voice was firm with a chastising edge, and Jon seemed to snap out of it. He blinked sheepishly and looked down, folding his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “That was, ah . . . sorry.”

“I- I don’t know.” Martin took a long, shuddering breath. Everything was roiling inside him. “I don’t know what to think. . . .”

He found himself remembering the woman who’d seen Jon in the cafe. The shock and disbelief that he’d felt when she talked about what he’d done. . .and Martin’s first reaction had been denial, hadn’t it? Not denying the truth of her statement, just denying that it could really be Jon. It could be instinct or addiction or mind control. There could even be the devastating possibility that it just wasn’t him anymore, that he was lost and there was only the Archivist. But as frightening as that thought had been, Martin found himself wondering if there had been a reason he’d considered that possibility but not a third one. That it was still Jon, and that he’d been in control, and he’d still done it.

Martin wondered what he would have done if the end of the world hadn’t happened. If they’d somehow escaped that but not the Eye, and it was a question of Jon either feeding on peoples’ traumas or growing slowly weaker, willingly starving until there was nothing left. Would Martin have changed his mind then? Would he have seen that third possibility as more palatable?

He supposed if it had actually come to that, there would still have been the Institute’s gory retirement policy. But they were well past that point now.

Jon still loved him, and Martin knew he still loved Jon. If he needed any proof of that, the way he felt at the thought of losing him removed all uncertainty. But love didn’t always mean safety. Sometimes it meant the exact opposite, and there was no kindness in the Watcher’s gaze. If Jon had truly embraced the Eye and was content to let the world suffer so that he could watch, did love make a difference in the end? If Martin rejected Jon now, if he disappointed him, if his own love wasn’t enough, would Jon turn on him?

“Never.” Jon said adamantly, speaking as soon as the thought entered Martin’s mind. “Not if you broke my heart, or told me you never wanted to see me again, or tried to burn me alive. I promise.”

A laugh came out of Martin. It was probably the wrong reaction, but he couldn’t help it. The pleading intensity of Jon’s voice combined with him just casually reading his mind. It was too much.

“I guess privacy’s not going to be a thing anymore, huh?” he asked.

Jon smiled weakly. “Is that a joke?”

“Not intentionally.”

Jon started to reach for his hand, then hesitated. “I understand if you’re scared. It’s . . . well, it’s probably only natural. But I promise you are safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you or . . . feed on you. I know this has changed me, and maybe not all those changes have been for the better. But it has also clarified me. There are things I understand so much more now.”

Martin was quiet. Carefully, giving him time to pull away, Jon reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I will never hurt you.” Jon said softly. “I will never reject you. I will never change my mind and stop loving you. You don’t ever again have to be afraid that I only stay with you because I don’t truly see your flaws. That I don’t know the real you. That you’ll one day show me something that’s too soft, too needy, too unlovely and my feelings will sour. Because I see every part of you now. I know you totally and completely.”

Martin inhaled sharply, but those inhuman eyes held his gaze.

“I see every ugly, petty thought you’ve ever had.” Jon continued. “Every shame, every regret, every embarrassing secret. All the parts of yourself you wanted to hide because you were afraid they’d make others hate you, I know them all. And I only love you more. The joy of knowing you is the most wonderful thing, Martin.”

He smiled warmly, reaching to stroke Martin’s cheek. “Even now, I see a part of you still thinking I’m a monster who needs to be destroyed for the greater good, and I love that you care so much about this world. At the same time I feel that resolve begin to crumble, and I love that you care so much about me.”

There was no denying the truth of it what Martin was hearing. Those words resonated with the sure and steady certainty that Jon had placed in his mind, and he felt weak.

He was telling the truth about something else, too. That resolve in Martin was slowly, quietly crumbling. As he thought that, Jon leaned forward and kissed him once, tenderly. Then rested his forehead against Martin’s and sighed with contentment.

“There’s something else I need you to know.” Jon said, quietly. “The way I am now, I know that. . .well, there’s a difference in power. And I want you to stay with me, more than anything. But I also won’t make you a prisoner.”

He pulled back to look at Martin. “If you didn’t want this, if you didn’t want me . . . it would break my heart, but I wouldn’t stop you from leaving. I would still keep you safe even if I had to do it from a distance, and nothing in this world would hurt you. You could go wherever you wished. You could find other people and try to help them, or ease their suffering. You could even try to stop the ritual.” Jon smiled at him fondly. “Raise up an army against me. I wouldn’t let you succeed, but I wouldn’t stop you from trying. If that was what you wanted.”

It didn’t escape Martin’s notice that Jon had begun speaking in the hypothetical, and he was fairly sure he knew why. If Jon saw as much as he said he did then he knew Martin’s decision had already been made. Probably just saying his piece now. He always did like to talk.

Jon’s smile became a little sheepish, and he shrugged. “I do mean it.”

“I know.” Martin said.

It was funny, he thought, how people changed. Sometimes it was dramatic and revelatory, sometimes it was a profound realization. And sometimes it was just a matter of quietly cutting off all excuses. Blocking off one path after another until the one you were always going to follow is, in fact, the only one left.

“If we find them. . .Melanie, and Basira, and the others,” Martin asked. “Can you protect them too?”

“Yes.” Jon said without hesitation. “And it won’t be long. I can find them much more easily now. Even Daisy . . . oh, you should see her now, Martin. She’s so beautiful,” he held his hand halfway to Martin’s face, eyes lively and glinting. “. . .Would you like to?”

“I’ll see her when we find her.” Martin said after a pause.

Jon nodded. He stood and offered Martin his hand. As he took it Martin saw tears, real tears, just brimming in his eyes. For a moment he wondered if it was a good sign that Jon was still human enough to cry. Then he wondered what made him think crying was a humans-only thing.

“Promise me one thing.” Martin said.

“Of course.”

“If you know what I’d have done if you’d. . .left me that choice. Put it in my hands whether or not to stop the ritual.” He paused. “Don’t ever tell me. Don’t ever show me. I don’t want to know.”

Jon looked at him, and Martin saw nothing but love in his eyes. He brought Martin’s hand to his face and kissed it.

“I never will,” he promised.

* * *

The plastic knob on the kettle clicked off, a cloud of steam pouring into the kitchen. Martin was rummaging through the cabinet, selecting a pair of mugs. He paused by the window. It had stopped raining recently and the warmth of the sun made steam rise off of London’s streets. Martin leaned out and breathed deeply, taking in the afternoon air.

Petrichor, he thought, smiling.

Years ago he’d made an offhand comment about liking the smell of rain, and Jon had gone off for minutes about soil and scent-producing bacteria. At the time it had been . . . pretty annoying, actually? Because Martin had known what petrichor was. Couldn’t have told you where he’d heard it, the internet probably, but he’d known it and he was a little irritated that Jon assumed he didn’t. Back then Martin had taken the presumption and Jon’s lecturing tone as more evidence that his new boss thought very little of him. But in hindsight it just filled Martin with affection. Recognizing Jon’s tendency to ramble on about something that he was excited to know without really noticing he was doing it.

Martin glanced at the dark figure in the corner of his kitchen, then went to pour the tea. He took his time, enjoying the mundane ritual of tea, strainer, and hot water. He filled his cup, added milk, then paused.

He sensed something, a feeling on the back of his neck, and when he turned the figure was standing behind him. Martin had neither seen nor heard it move. It stood perfectly still, and it was all eyes.

“What do you think, Jon?” he asked. “Sugar, or no sugar?”

Jon didn’t say anything. He never did in dreams. Martin wasn’t sure why, truth be told he hadn’t asked. There were so many things he’d come to file under “spooky Jon stuff” these days that he just accepted a lot of it. But Martin still liked talking to him. Felt sort of rude to just ignore him. Whatever Jon was doing - standing there, unmoving, unblinking, gaze fixed intently on him - it kept the nightmares away, and Martin was glad for that.

“Good point,” Martin said, stirring in the sugar. “May as well live a little, right?”

The tea smelled like tea. The countertop was solid, cool and felt just as it should. There were no uncanny dimensions to the kitchen, nothing out of place or subtly wrong about it. But he always knew that it wasn’t real. He couldn’t forget that the dream was a dream, or fully lose himself in it as he had in dreams before. That was one thing that Jon couldn’t give him, apparently.

Back in the world, Jon would be holding his sleeping body. Maybe resting Martin’s head in his lap, or curled around him in a mimicry of sleep himself. Part of him was there, part of him was here in the dream. And another part would be stretching itself outward, taking in the countless horrors that surrounded them in every direction.

After their time in the cabin Martin’s nesting instinct had been pretty well diminished, so he didn’t have much inclination to settle anyplace in particular. And Jon didn’t seem to care where they went as long as they kept moving, giving him new things to see. So he tried to find places that would be pleasant for Martin.

For the last. . .well, for a while, anyway, they’d been in a deep forest. The trees stretched higher than should be possible, some wider around than an office building. Shadows pooled deeply between them, and sometimes he saw massive, primordial shapes moving in the distance. But none of those creatures ever came near Martin. The colorful creeping vines that moved of their own volition never tried to wrap themselves around his limbs, nor did the shining clouds of iridescent insects ever cover him in a swarm.

Martin had to admit, when you had the privilege of safety from them, even nightmares could be beautiful. He’d walked with Jon down roads that had twisted into impossible knots without ever getting lost, without even getting dizzy. They’d traveled through a darkness so deep and silent that it swallowed the sound of Martin’s breathing, but he never lost sight of Jon and so it held no fear for him.

Once, he’d caught Jon looking curiously at a distant gray shore before glancing back at Martin, shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. He hadn’t objected to avoiding that place, but later Martin found himself wondering what it would have felt like. To walk through the Lonely hand in hand with Jon, knowing he was loved and that the man who loved him was keeping the fog from reaching him. There was honestly some appeal to that.

Sometimes, very rarely, Martin heard screams in the distance. But Jon didn’t need to be close to get what he needed, and he generally made sure any sounds were too far away to notice.

Martin made a second cup of tea for Jon. He left it on the counter like a private joke, then went into the sitting room. The fluffy gray cat that had been napping in the corner lifted his head with interest when he entered and padded over, winding around Martin’s legs. He reached down to scratch behind his ears.

He had only met the Admiral once, the day they found Georgie and Melanie. Given how that meeting had gone, he knew he wasn’t likely to ever see the cat again. But Jon put him in all of Martin’s dreams since then. All things considered, Melanie and Georgie had been doing well. Which is to say they were exhausted, beaten down and traumatized, but still alive and with one another. The Entities didn’t have much interest in Georgie, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Not as long as Melanie was afraid of losing her.

Well . . . she was safe now. They both were. They had Jon’s protection even if they didn’t want it, and Martin felt some petty satisfaction at that thought.

The Admiral pulled away mid-pet, attention diverted by what was either a fly or a piece of lint floating in the air. He stalked towards it, head lowered, tail twitching in predatory anticipation.

Finding Daisy had been easy. Apparently Jon hadn’t even needed her exact location. just went to a place that he said “suited her now” and waited for her to find them. When she emerged all muscle and teeth and knives in the dark, Martin had nearly made the mistake of running. But Jon spoke in a reverberating voice and she was forced to answer back, settling down once he’d had her talking for a while. She did maul him a bit afterwards -- apparently not happy about being compelled. But it healed quickly and Jon admitted he may have deserved it.

She started traveling with them after that. Hard to say how long they’d been together with the way time was anymore, but it was long enough that Martin had gotten used to having her around. He was surprised how much he actually liked Daisy? She was good to talk to once you got past certain quirks, and he even missed her when she went off on long hunts.

He knew Jon was glad to have her near. There was something complicated that ran between those two. They liked each other, and they took a quiet comfort in each other’s presence. But there was also an unspoken sadness whenever they looked at one another. Martin wasn’t sure he fully understood what passed between them in those moments, but their friendship seemed good for Jon. Had there ever been even a slight chance of Martin feeling jealous or cut out seeing a deep, mysterious, bond between them it simply wasn’t a concern anymore. He felt Jon’s love for him deep in his soul. It was a single point of terrible knowledge around which the world turned. Nothing could shake that from him.

And if Martin occasionally caught Daisy eyeing his legs like she was deciding which tendon to cut, well. He’d gotten used to creepy looks lately.

“There you are, Jon.”

Jon was barely a foot away, eyes locked on him as always. Martin smiled. He never saw Jon move in dreams, but he was never far. Totally still, expression unchanging, no more responsive than a piece of furniture. Martin considered the sweater on the back of a chair and thought about draping it over one of Jon’s arms like he was a coat rack. He’d done it once before. They both laughed about it after he woke up.

This time he didn’t. Instead he sat in a chair by the window, setting his tea down beside him. Noticing that there was now available lap space, the Admiral stopped toying with his prey and leaped onto Martin’s lap, purring noisily.

They’d seek out Basira next. He and Jon had actually found her once already, before Daisy joined them. She’d been wary of them both and wasn’t exactly warm, but had been glad to accept Jon’s offer of protection. There was apparently some concern about a promise she’d made, but Jon seemed confident she’d come around. She just needed a little more time, he assured Martin, then they would bring Daisy to her. And then there would be four of them.

Martin glanced up to find Jon had moved again, now watching from the corner. Martin nodded to him and picked up the book of poetry he’d been thumbing through, one hand still idly petting the Admiral. He went from page to page, reading a little then flipping ahead, back and forth in a relaxed half-focus. The end of one poem in particular caught his attention.

Oh stars and dreams and gentle night

Oh night and stars return

And hide me from the hostile light

That does not warm, but burn

That drains the blood of suffering men

Drinks tears instead of dew

Let me sleep through his blinding reign

And only wake with you

Martin closed the book and turned to the window, to a London that was long and forever gone. Afternoon light trailed over sidewalks, spilled around the people going by. Families were walking their dogs, kids returning from school. A group of teenagers passed beneath his window, laughing and teasing one another.

A knot of sorrow, sudden and heavy, pulled at the pit of Martin’s stomach and a sob rose out of him. He covered his mouth as a second one emerged. Alerted to the sudden change, the Admiral lifted his head. He sniffed at Martin’s face and kneaded his shirtfront with tender paws.

Martin breathed deeply, body shuddering. He stroked the cat that wasn’t real, and looked out at a beautiful world that would never exist again.

And everything was wrong. And everything was terrible. And Martin was loved.

And everything was going to be all right.

[beyoncesdragon]

The disappointing Gender

Pairing:  Bestfriend!Ashton x Reader   

Warnings: shit ton of cursing, dont worry I love men, but women are just easier at times. Based on a real story, that shit really happened to me. 

Summary: Some men are just straight up trash. And what’s better than to vent about them to your willingly listening best friend Ashton. 

My Masterlist 🦋

(Gif credits: @ghostofmashton​)

“I don’t know exactly what goes through your mind when deciding to finally peel your limp body out of your comfy sheets, go through the usually long, self-esteem-damaging process of “getting ready”, find an outfit you would feel comfortable but not underdressed in and then leave for a party. Let me be honest, I mostly think: at least let it be worth all this. And then maybe something like; maybe I’ll meet someone. “Someone” carefully and fully on purpose undefined because you don’t want to get your hopes up and then be disappointed. But “someone” secretly being a guy, optionally a boyfriend even, but just maybe.

“However, now you are at that party, ready to meet new people and you take a look around. You see many people; some you think are pretty in your eyes some aren’t. But that’s okay, that’s only natural. So then after a time, when you have met a few girls you get along with, you spot the “someone”. And your friends somehow knew about him and all that bullshit and tell you the teeniest bit of bloody information alright? And he, on top of that, seems to be interested, keep that in mind.”

I stopped for a second, taking a gulp of my water. The few ice cubes clicked softly against the glass when I placed it back down.

“Alright. Now, you chat with him, all friendly funny business, you develop a sort of insider joke. It’s funny and you think wow, it isn’t all that difficult to talk to boys, amazing. Eventually, you also had a few, and I don’t want to say advantageously but it does help.”

A giggle fell from my bestfriends lips, but I decided to just keep going. “I will again be honest, I was a bit…inebriated if I may say so and if you would want to take me as an example. However, maybe you flirt for a while, and it really all goes well, so well that you would’ve started to become suspicious, since it was you after all. Continuing, because you’re bloody sloshed, you don’t suspect anything, even though if you would’ve just listened closely you could’ve totally heard fate snigger.”

I earned an amused hum from Ashton for that, picking up my glass again. “Further on, one of your new friends disappears with a guy and it’s okay for you but not for her friend whom you also are friends with now. That, because the other girl actually does have a guy eventually. But she isn’t sure. So you go get her, and you sit down with the girls outside to have a chat. Because it’s important that she still has a good night and so on. During that amount of time, you selflessly neglect your guy. Not that he is your guy in reality, but you secretly might have planned on making him your guy.” After a big gulp I placed my glass back down again, the ice now almost completely molten.

“Suddenly, that bloke walks out, raising a single hand at you as an obvious goodbye. And you sit here, startled and a bit dumbfounded because what the fuck is he leaving already. Quick note; it was hardly midnight, the clock stroke twelve maybe two minutes ago. So you get up, approach him and ask, why in the love of Jesus effing Christ he’s leaving already. His response; well. He hasn’t been blessed with the best of experience with women.”

And annoyed frown settled on my face. “I mean what kind of excuse is that? I haven’t only met them good guys either, but do you see me acting like an antisocial scaredy-cat? Nope sir, because I am not that superficial, and you shouldn’t be as well because I am not “women”. Also, have I mentioned that my friends told me, that he was total slag, like a fuckboy freshly bred. Best experience with women my fucking ass. However, back to my example; you then are still a bit startled because he slips that he has been cheated on and all that godforsaken crap. And in your woozy, naturally kind-hearted state you are in, you do feel sorry and possibly even apologise for being so bold. Also, because you don’t want him to think bad of you, he is very attractive after all and you have not given up your hopes just yet.”

A grin had now settled on Ash’s lips, as he leaned back with his drink, the attention still fully with me. “Then he says something like; but it was nice to meet you, and asks you to say your name again, and you do so. Naturally you do ask him the same thing…and you may have forgotten the name already.” I added with a frown, desperately trying to remember. “Something with F and it sounded French or such. Don’t know, not important anyways. Just like his existence.”

At that, Ashton laughed out loud, but wisely keeping quiet. “Yeah you just laugh…however, he then throws that horrid line; we’ll see each other again yeah?

At you, and you might think cool. But how for the love of fuck, since you don’t have anything except for a name. So the thing you do then is, you scrap all of your…I don’t know confidence from off the bottom of your rotten self and ask, if he wants to at least give you his snapchat.” Ash let out a whistle but I waved him off.

“I’m not done yet. So you ask. And he just ignores your question somehow, can’t really remember how. The whole time he’s walking away from you backwards, I guess towards the busstation and you have to follow him like damn mongrel…however. You end up leaving it be and sprinting back to your friends telling them what happened. Because they “know” him, they know his Instagram, so you decide to follow him. But he is on private so you got to send a request. Done with a few clicks, in approximately ten seconds. So now he is gone, you feel disappointment bubbling up, because fuck.”

Ash nodded slowly, looking up at me since I got up impatiently from his couch. “Sounds fun?” he said in a more or less questioning manner and I shot him a dark look.

“Buzz off twat, the best part’s only coming.” Ash rose an eyebrow, leaning back expectantly again. “Next morning you go and check your Instagram, somehow curious if he accepted your request and what do you see? He fucking declined it! This bloody wanker skipped my music, stole my attention and wasted my fucking time, four hours of it!” Ashton broke out in a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his drink.

“Comedy at its finest, certificated gold. Platinum even. Oh Jesus Christ. And that all has obviously not happened to you, you just purposely told it like it did right?” I huffed annoyed, dropping down again. “Never, as if stuff like this would ever happen to me. I mean, I totally understand mankind, it’s just that you can’t fucking use any of them.” Ash giggled, a dopey grin on his face.

“Come again?” I rolled my eyes. “I said, that you can’t fucking use any of you gentlemen. Men are so disappointing, like get a grip on yourselves honestly.” Ash grinned, nudging me with his foot. “Haven’t you just said that he should stop being superficial because of one woman?” he teased and I gave him an angry glare.

“Cheating and just generally being international disappointments is something else. I slowly start to believe that you guys are just born with that twat-gene. It’s almost not your fault. It’s probably the Y-chromosome, would explain why women aren’t like you guys.” Ash shot me an amused grin.

“I don’t know if I would surprise you saying that the explanation why men and women aren’t the same accurately is rooted in our genes. To be specific, it’s even a matter of just those two chromosome, the X-chromosome and the Y-chromosome…” I groaned annoyed, aiming a pillow at his head. I missed, but the message was clear.

“Smart-alecky dimwit, get off my back. I need emotional support, because member belonging to your sex has wasted my time and, in addition to that, ruined your all’s reputation.” Ash just hummed amused.

“Is that so.” I nodded, pouting bolshie. “Then I suggest, you listen to Ariana Grande’s Thank u Next and some Beyoncé, maybe also Rihanna. They’ll support your idea of men being trash immediately I am sure.” I flipped him off immediately, even though he had brought up a good point.

“I am kidding sweetheart. I know men can be idiots, but so can you females.” I couldn’t help but throw him a derisive look “Yes, males and females can be difficult at times.” I mocked him and he just shot me a lopsided grin. “Now you get off my back, annoying brat. But you are over him?” I shrugged.

“I mean, I was never actively involved with him, so I guess?” he nodded softly. “Venting felt good?” I nodded quickly. “Always does. Thanks bud.” He smiled warmly at me. “Everything for my best friend. Mind if I quickly call Kaitlin…” as he saw my face he immediately rolled his eyes. “Oh your little girlfriend huh? Young Irwin’s a little whipped?” giving me the finger he got up and grabbed his phone. “Shut up. I’m right back you bitter prick.”

I laughed sitting up again. “I am not bitter, I am happy for you Ash. Furthermore, I don’t have any problems with taken people or relationships. The problems I have, start when selfish and inconsiderate assholes rub in the fact that they have someone, and start gushing about them. When I, as an admittedly slowly bitter, but independent single person, couldn’t give a shit or two.” Ash grinned at me, shaking his head slightly. “I love you, you madwoman. Also, I am sure you’ll find your guy and we can do all those disgustingly cute things best friends do when they both are in relationships.”

I scrunched my nose. “Like what? Double-dates? In this case, I’d rather stay single Irwin, and now get lost you need to call your babygirl or whatever. Our ice cream is melting and our friends-day is not over yet. So you better hurry your red-dyed, slicked back visage up.” I responded harshly but with a loving lilt to it.

“On my way, woman. Love you, don’t eat my ice cream.” I just huffed, waving him off quickly. “Love you too, you ashy bitch.” I then almost choked on my water when I saw his expression at my words. He grinned and shook his head, pressing his phone against his ear.  

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 16: Locks - This Is A Little Bit Much Chap. 1 - My Ghost Just Got Squared

What does the ghost of a half-ghost look like?

Danny sighs at the board, philosophy mixed with ghosts and his parents' tech was honestly more concerning than it had any right to be. Watching as his teacher slaps a hand on the whiteboard, “everyone's ghost is locked away inside them. Existing in its base undefined state. Waiting for deaths key to imprint on it it’s true form”. Before pointing at the guest, who’s wearing a white lab doctor's coat, “Dr. Lewis here, lovingly provided to us by the Fenton’s, will be demonstrating this in a way I’m sure you’ll find riveting”.

Anyone who wasn’t paying attention, which wasn’t very many since nearly everyone always did when something was about ghosts, is acutely interested now. As Dr. Lewis stands up, waving around what looked like a neon green mirror on a red sliver handle, “this device, the Ghost Mirroring Key, will allow us to glimpse inside the keyhole. See what your ghosts look like at their base form at your current age”, Danny groans internally as the guy keeps talking, “now because ghosts often retain the clothing they died in, none of your clothing will change or glow. All we’ll see here is your basic ghosts ghostly attributes. Skin colour, hair colour, ear shape, if you have claws, if you have fangs, eye colour, and any other more unique traits. Such as equipment, flames, permanent ghostly tail, or even a cape or cloak”.

Needless to say, Danny’s a bit freaked out by this. Just how much like Phantom will he look? What about Dan? It’s always haunted him wondering just how much of Dan was Danny and how much was Vlad. Because physically? The only Vlad attributes he had was the cape and red eyes. The rest was all stuff either both of them had or just Danny.

Watching his parents' doctor friend, Dr. Lewis, pass around the little mirror-like palm-sized plates; and tentatively taking his own. Danny’s not exactly surprised that everyone else is eager, they really don’t have any reason not to be. And honestly? Danny was curious too. Just way less curious and far more nervous. If anything Danny’s more curious about what his friends will look like. Man he wishes they were in the same class. But pretty well everyone in grade twelve was doing this, okay, it was probably everyone. Something tells Danny that this was going to become something of a senior year tradition. Getting to glimpse your ghost for a day.

Dr. Lewis clears his throat, sitting on the corner of the desk, “now that that’s all sorted, simply place your hand on the device for ten seconds. You’ll turn invisible for a few seconds before gracing us all with your ghostly selves”.

Danny only stares down at it, watching his reflection and mentally making black hair white and blue eyes green; while the rest of his class instantly uses it. Glancing his eyes around, Danny can’t help but snort at Dash looking like a green wingless gargoyle. Expected, but still funny. Kwan literally looks the same but purple-skinned and red-eyed. Paulina, who’s fingers are just a little too long with pink skin and long lazily flaming red hair, is fawning over Star's white hair and green eyes. While Star goes on about how every ghost and human wouldn’t be able to look away from Paulina’s hair. Which just descends into them complimenting each other back and forth.

Looking around the rest of the room, no one really looks scary. Dale’s fangs stick over his lips, Todd’s claws are closer to blades, and Mikey didn’t have lips at all; but no one really looked non-human. Well okay, Lily has a second set of arms.

Danny bites his lip and looks back down to his ‘mirror’ before getting slightly started by Dash, “what? You afraid of your own ghost Fentit? Or are you just afraid it’ll be as weak and loserish as you”.

Dale laughs, “of course! Poor little freak won’t be able to look at himself without screaming!”.

Jasper sighs and shakes his head, “guys be nice, this is probably horrifying for the guy. Today will be like an exercise in not running away for him”.

Danny grumbles as he side-eyes the jocks, “that’s honestly more insulting than helpful”, before looking back to the mirror. Getting startled again by someone kicking his foot.

Turning around to see Valerie, he’d honestly forgotten she was in this class too, seeing as neither often showed up or showed up on the same days. Danny has to restrain a smirk at her red skin as she points a clawed hand at Danny’s mirror. Speaking while rolling her purple eyes, “just do it. I mean I can deal and you know how I hate ghosts”.

Danny grunts but turns back around, biting his lip again before tentatively putting his hand on the ‘glass’. Of course, putting this off meant everyone was staring at him.

Danny flips over his clawed whitish-green hand a few times, it also glowed far more vibrantly than was normal. While Paulina cries out, “what?! Why’d that loser freak have to get white hair too!”. While Dash huffs, “yeah, Fentina is nowhere near cool enough to share colours with Phantom”.

Danny looks down into the mirrored surface in time to spot Valerie’s red hand pat at Danny’s flaming hair. How funny that looked is the only thing really stopping Danny from cringing at his reflection. White flaming hair was very very Dan. Least he still had his green eyes, which like everything else, were glowing strangely bright. Danny’s just chalking that up to him already being partway ghost. He’s got no clue why there’s a tip of green flames to his hair though.

Most of the class goes back to talking in their little groups while Danny checks out his, fuck those are bigger than Dan’s what the fuck?, fangs; and sticking out his, pointed and elongated but thankfully not forked, tongue.

Danny tilts his head back as Valerie taps on his shoulder, resulting in her snorting at his face, “green eyes too? You better make sure you don’t get offed wearing monochromes”, squinting at him, “what’s up with your glow though?”.

Danny shrugs, he had no damn clue, “well I am around my folks' stuff and frequently get accidentally shot by it. Probably been accidentally consuming ectoplasm for years”. Valerie hums in agreement.

Dr. Lewis claps his hands, “remember this only lasts for a few hours. So enjoy your unlocked states while you can. And please, try not to get unlocked permanently through natural means anytime soon. Ghosts may have powers and you may all look very cool, but they’re still dead”.

Danny can’t help but chuckle, he was never going to see this look again. Since he couldn’t actually fully die anymore.

Putting his chin in his palm as Dr. Lewis walks around to look people over, causing Danny to notice there are white flames where they logically shouldn’t be if it was his hair. Looking down at his chest and going wide-eyed at the white and not weirdly brightly glowing flames of what he damn well recognises as his cape. The sides pinned together via two green skulls and a smoking shadowy black chain. Sticking his left hand behind him to scrunch up the familiar plush-lined velvet fabric, with a mental groan. Of course, that was here! Before near panickedly groping through his hair flames for the crown. His hand stilling as his fingers push against the flaming metal, that’s why there’s green tipping! His crown is literally hiding inside his hair, since it wasn’t actually meant for someone with fucking flaming hair. Danny can’t help but laugh over the image of the crown just floating above the flames, like two feet above his head. Like a damn sims icon. Ancients that would look silly!

Danny leans back in his chair and stares down at his Ring Of Suffering, of course, something like this would be imprinted on the very base of his ghost.

Overhearing Dr. Lewis speaking to Valerie, “I’m not surprised at least one of you has a cape”, making Danny look behind him, this time actually noticing that Valerie’s got a cape. Red and thin with black lining. From the looks of it, Danny guesses it’s about knee length, unlike his which drags across the ground for about a foot. Dr. Lewis continues but is addressing the whole class this time, “having things like artifacts or tools. Such as a guitar or maybe a ring. Means that something is a source of power for your ghost, that other ghosts don’t naturally have”.

Todd laughs as he smacks the whip on his hip, “so we’re basically better ghosts”.

Dr. Lewis tilts his hand in the air, “you could put it that way, yes, but it’s more so that you have a niche and special skill. This could be a bad thing in some situations”, while Danny mentally grumbles about how being High Ghost King did indeed suck sometimes, Dr. Lewis clears his throat, “as for capes or cloaks. They’re simply signs of power, skill and leadership in some form. Ghosts with capes or cloaks are always a cut above the rest. The apex ghosts so to speak. More fanciful capes and cloaks, means more powerful or important. Things like length, number of colours, accessories, details, etcetera. A ghost with a simple brown cloak would be below, so to speak, a ghost with a simple brown cloak that had clasps”.

Danny easily hears Valerie mutter, “damn fucking right. Even my ghost is better than ghosts”. Making Danny chuckle, before tensing up over Dr. Lewis looking him over. Mentally chanting, ‘don’t notice the crown, don’t notice the crown, don’t notice the crown’. While the rest of the class comment about how ‘of course little miss gymnastics would be a powerful ghost’.

Dr. Lewis pokes at one of the large green skull clasps with a raised eyebrow, chucking, “I’m not sure if Maddie and Jack would be proud or bothered. You’re going to be something impressive”, he laughs, “well here’s hoping you don’t retain you skittishness of ghosts in the afterlife”.

Danny’s about to thank his lucky stars before Dr. Lewis parts away some of Danny’s hair flames and raises both eyebrows at Danny, “well then. I’m not going to claim to understand how or even why. Just do me a favour and don’t be a human-hating ghost”.

Danny gives the guy an awkward nod and just decides to be glad that Dr. Lewis’s body blocked him from the rest of his classmates' sight. Valerie of course, heard everything, being the only person sitting near Danny. Whispering at him, “so that green isn’t part of your hair”. Danny just shrugs awkwardly.

When the bell rings, Danny doesn’t really want to stand up but he’s also brutally curious about his other friends now. He already knows they’ll look at Valerie and smirk. Then look at him and cringe. Well, it’ll probably be in reverse order but still.

Valerie whacks him on the arm, “well get up you lucky, or unlucky I don’t really know, asshole. Also fuck that cape’s soft”. Danny chuckles and rubs his neck, “tell me about it. Pretty sure the inside is damn plush, I could sleep in it”.

Valerie snorts as she gets up and starts walking, looking back at him, “you got a damn napping cape. Figures”. Danny can’t help but blink and start laughing, before shaking his head and getting up; cape tail flopping onto the ground.

Resulting in whom ever’s still in the classroom to stop talking, as now that Danny’s not slouching or hidden by the chair the capes collar flames are extremely noticeable. Danny walking out to whispers over the cape and how it’s ‘highly decorated’ and ‘really fancy’.

Shouldering his way past Dash and his merry band of pricks, while Dash sneers, green fangs on full display, “wow I’m surprised Fentaco hasn’t run screaming yet. What? Am I not scary enough?”, making a point to attempt at snarling.

Danny, kind of done with Dash’s shit and having the confidence and pride boost of his kings wear, rolls his eyes, “hardly”, smirking and baring his own fangs a little, “and Dash, this is how you snarl”, before giving Dash a more proper and threatening snarl. Starting the jocks.

Valerie bumps shoulders with Danny as they walk past, “the hell Danny?”.

Danny rubs his neck before pointing at her, “oh don’t tell me your cape isn’t a bit of a confidence booster. And Dash looks like a knock off gargoyle. A one in a million ghost. And it’s Dash, still human. No powers. Working heartbeat”.

“Point”.

Both turning their heads as Dash shouts at them, seeing him pointing at Danny, “hey! What are you doing with a cape!?!”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “doing better than you apparently”, before running his hand through his hair, easily revealing the flaming crown, and speed walking away. Danny

Valerie pokes him as they’re approaching Sam and Tucker, pretty well everyone staring at them, “you are going to trip someone with that thing. And I know you’re used to getting odd looks but this is a bit much”. Danny shrugs, looking around a little, he hardly noticed. Basically everyone stared at him as Phantom. Fenton got it less often and it was usually more mocking.

Danny smiles seeing his two other friends also with capes. Was it surprising? Not to any of them. Tucker’s got nearly black skin tinted green, with a near floor-length off white cape lined with gold and etched with hieroglyphs.

Danny pats him on the shoulder while his two friends stare at his hair, “how very Egyptian Tuck. Red eyes kinda suck though”.

Sam pokes his hair with a pale nearly white green clawed hand, “says Mr. Fire hair”.

Danny pokes her horned helmet right back, “least I have hair”. Her green eyes and purple cape covered in green vines, was one hell of a reminder of Overgrowth. It honestly made sense that the ghostly bullshit they’ve all gone through has affected their base ghosts.

Sam and Tucker look Valerie over then, both chuckling slightly. Tucker stretching out some, “wow, the whole quartet got capes. Nice”.

Danny nods and looks around, “not the only ones”, jerking his head at Mia in a black cape with a red grid pattern and Hanna in a purple cloak. Danny couldn’t really help looking to see if she had some kind of time-related clasp or something. She didn’t, but it would honestly be weird if she did.

Valerie shoulders him, “well yours is still the most excessive thing I’ve ever seen”. Danny just rubs his neck and shrugs.

Eventually, the bell goes off and they’re stuck going their separate ways, largely because Danny’s stuck running off outside. Ghost sense making him groan. Though blinking and wondering just what the hell going ghost is going to look like right now. So he zips into a bathroom instead of out in the open. He transforms and stares in mild shock. The whites of his jumpsuit glowed slightly green, same with his hair; which was oddly not flaming. His skin was black and all the black on him seemed to suck in the light. His glow, normally white, was green. To say Danny was confused would be an understatement. Muttering down at his hands, “what the fuck? How the heck is my ghosts base ghost different from my humans base ghost. My ghost from and human form have different base ghosts...What the absolute fresh hell?”. Well, at least his Kings get up was easy enough to turn invisible.

Shaking his head and phasing through the ceiling and promptly kicking Technus in the face.

“You look strange ghost child! Perhaps you are trying out some new styles yourself!”.

Danny laughs, “I unlocked Phantom 2.0, and I must say, it’s made me one hell of a glow bug!”, before blasting Technus in the face. Blinking at his hand over how absurdly bright the blast had been.

Technus springs up, “you are stronger whelp! 2.0 indeed!”.

Danny shrugs, “don’t know what to tell ya dude. Wait! Hey! Get back here!”, rushing off to fly after the fleeing villain. Who cries, “I must regroup!”.

“Oh I don’t think so!”, Danny slams him over the head with the thermos and sucks him in. Wiping his forehead and looking around. Shaking his head at some people taking photos. His weird look was going to be the talk of the town for days.

Turning invisible and flying off into the bathroom. Locking the bathroom door to really stare at himself in the mirror. Waving his hand around to see he’s leaving light tracers, pale green ones. “Sam and Tuck are going to lose their shit”.

Shaking his head as he transforms back, before leaving the bathroom. Only to bump into a red-skinned Wes. The bathroom door getting stuck slightly open when it caught on the end of Danny’s cape.

Wes looks him up and down with Halloween orange eyes, “why the hell don’t you look just like Phantom. How do you always manage to pull something off? And what’s with the cape?”.

Danny smirks, “oh? I thought everyone knew Phantom was a King. Since you seem to think he’s me, then, of course, you’d see me with a cape”.

Wes glares down at the ajar door, “I ain’t seeing shit Phantom”.

“But I thought you just said you could see a cape?”.

“I hate you”, crossing his arms and looking around, seeing they’re alone, speaking more seriously, “seriously though. What’s up with the look?”.

Danny shrugs, “dude you know I’m a weirdo. And everyone knows Phantom’s fucking weird. Wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t entirely dead or some shit”, shrugging and pulling out his phone, “oh and apparently Phantom looks weird today too”.

Wes deadpans, “yeah, I bet you do”.

Danny holds up his phone, showing a pretty decent photo of Phantom 2.0 he’d already found on twitter. Wes snatches the phone and stares before gesturing wildly at the screen, “what the hell is this!”, looking up at Danny, “how?!? HOW!?!”.

Danny shrugs and takes back his phone, “for once, your guess is as good as mine. I don’t even think ghosts are supposed to glow that brightly. Wish I was there”, smirking and looking back at the bathroom, “an up-close look would be really neat”.

Wes just glares and kicks in the door, nearly tripping over Danny’s cape as he goes.

Danny throws his arms over Sam and Tucker as the wave bye to Valerie. Tucker chuckling, “so are you actually going to go home like this?”. Danny shrugs, “folks know what’s happening today and literally insisted on seeing my ‘ghost unlocked’. Not surprised but first...”. Danny looks around and points to an alleyway, “have y’all checked out Phantom on twitter lately?”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “giant tech companies are slowly crushing the middle class and destroying the youth through mindless distractions”.

Tucker shakes his head as Danny steers them into the alley, “so that’s a no then. And Danny dude, I don’t think anyone has. Too interested in being ghosts, sorta, for a day”, poking him, “you’re the only one that this isn’t a novelty for”.

Danny lets go of his friends and spins around to be in front of them, looking excited, “oh that’s where you’re wrong. I’m about to slightly blind you”. Before transforming, rings brighter than usual, and floating in the air. His green glow making the alleyway look eerie, like it was part of the Ghost Zone. Tucker and Sam both gaping at him.

Tucker eventually snorting, “dude, when you’re literally a half living paradox I thought I’d seen the most impossible thing ever. But now you’ve literally got two base ghost selves”.  

Sam nods, “that seems more impossible actually”.

Danny sticks his hands out to the side, “I know right! I know I like to joke about being a glow bug but this is excessive”, dropping one arm and charging a painfully bright ecto-blast, “and I’m stronger. I think I may have actually startled Techy”.

Both Sam and Tucker are shielding their eyes, Tucker giving him a thumbs up anyway, “dude you could actually blind someone with that”.

Sam shakes her head and pats Danny’s arm as he extinguishes the blast, “so a ten-second mirror-touch gives you a multi-hour power boost”.

Danny smirks, “video game power-up mode unlocked”.

Tucker snorts, “what bonus achievements do you think this unlocked?”.

“Mass confusion, pissing off Wes level three, one confused call from Vlad, and at least twenty new FentonWorks inventions”, Danny taps his chin, “oh and one mild existential crisis because I have TWO BASE GHOSTS JUST WHAT THE HELL?”.

Tucker snaps his fingers, “Pokemon dude”.

Both Sam and Danny look at him, “what?”.

Tucker rolls his eyes, “come on dude. All the best Pokemon have three evolutions, and a mega-evolution”, Tucker counts off his fingers, “there’s your first, human. Second, ghost. Third, halfa. ‘Cause let’s be honest, halfas are stronger than y’all would be if you had just skipped straight to death. Besides, you were probably full ghost for a bit before getting half your life back. And now this”, gesturing at Danny, “your stronger, got a flashy appearance upgrade, and it has a time limit. It’s fucking megaPhantom. Your mega-evolution, the Ghost Mirroring Key your Phantomite”.

Danny borderline squeals like a little girl and Sam sighs but smiles, “you two are dorks”.

Danny waves goodbye to his friends with a little amused pep in his step, pushing open his houses front door only a little while later.

Speaking with mirth, “I’m home! Please come and check me out so I can escape the poking to flee into my humble lair”.

Jack laughs at his sons' humour as the two parents indeed come to look Danny over in the living room. Danny’s not even surprised they start poking at him and lifting up the cape. His dad running his hands through both sets of flames before pointing at his hair, “that one’s colder, and flames are pretty fearsome”.

Danny tilts his head at the approving tone his dad used, “you seem... happy? about that?”.

While Maddie brushes imaginary dirt off his capes shoulders, “the capes impressive too. You’ll be strong”.

Now Danny’s really confused, because that sounded approving too; even a bit proud. But promptly internally cringes as his mom goes to ruffle his hair, nearly stabbing herself with his crown. Jerking her hand away only to motion for him to bend forward for her to get a better look.

Danny’s practically holding his breath waiting form them to say something. His dad speaking up, “of course a Fenton would wind up ruling ghosts! Teach them how to behave and keep them in line!”.

Standing back upright, “okay seriously, why are you guys happy about this? I figured you’d be, you know, not. ‘Cause ghosts”.

Maddie successful ruffles his flaming hair around this time, “think nothing of that sweetie. We fully expect you’ll be a ghost someday. You’re already so ghostly as a living human”.

Jack nods, “and with you being obviously destined for strength those other filthy ghosts won’t be able to bother you over being a Fenton! Not that any Fenton would ever let a ghost harass them freely!”.

Danny’s flat out stunned and gapes a little, before shaking his head, “so wait, you guys want me to become a powerful leader ghost? That could potentially be a threat?”.

Jack grabs both of Danny’s shoulders, “better you to be a strong ghost than a weak one, when around them. And Danny-boy, you could never be a threat. If any ghost could resist a ghosts nature to be evil, it would be a Fenton’s ghost! Besides! If we needed to catch you I’m sure I could just coax you to join me for some fudge!”.

Maddie nods and smiles at Jack, before turning to look at Danny, smiling softly, “now, of course, we don’t want you to become a ghost. To die but not rest”, shaking her head, “but you’re already so much like one that it’s obvious you’ll become one. Setting off detectors, being affected by anti-ghost weapons, bloodblossom allergy, you snarl and purr, baring your teeth and curling your hands like claws”, while Danny’s realising he acts way more ghost than he though, Maddie shakes her head again, before continuing to speak, “with all of that how could you not become a ghost”, glancing at Jack, “and though it would be funny watching your father coax you with food, I’d rather us be long gone by the time you join the Ghost Zone”.

Danny rubs his neck, cape bunching up a bit and still feeling a bit thrown, “uh, thanks”.

Jack nods with a smirk and puts his fists on his hips, “of course Danny-boy! And this way we’ll now know what you look like as a ghost! So will your friends!”.

Maddie smiles and motions for her two boys to follow her into the kitchen, “and when things eventually come to pass, everyone will know not to shoot at you or hurt you”.

It takes a beat for Danny to follow, far too stunned. His folks wanted to see him, not to examine him, but to be able to recognise him as a ghost? So they wouldn’t harm him? By the time he gets into the kitchen, he’s barely keeping tears from flowing down his face. Promptly hugging his mom from behind and nearly whispering, “thank you. You-you don’t know how much that means to me”.

Maddie grabs and rubs her thumb over one of Danny’s green arms. Leaning her head against his head resting on her shoulder, “always sweetie. Ghost or human, and regardless how tall, you’ll always be my little boy”.

Danny squeezes her a little tighter before promptly hugging his dad, who was somewhat awkwardly standing behind them. “Thanks too, dad. I promise I’ll always come for family fudge. Maybe when things happen, and if you guys wind up ghosts too, I’ll come find you. Bring you some”.

Jack squeezes back hard, “I could think of no better thing you could do”, patting Danny on the back firmly, “who knows! Maybe you’ll have to keep us in line!”. Making both of them laugh and Danny wipes his eyes quickly before sitting down.

Danny can’t help but smile throughout dinner, which doesn’t go unnoticed by his parents.

Maddie asking, “you really were worried how we’d react to you as a ghost, huh?”.

Danny rubs his neck and looks around, “how could I not? You guys hate ghosts and chased after Phantom even though he was pretty good”. Not to mention the fact that Danny was Phantom and his third biggest fear was that they’d still shoot at him even if they knew. The second being anyone dying and the first being becoming Dan.

Jack chuckles a bit awkwardly, “yeah we were a bit quick to the trigger back then. But everyone learns! You’ll have to learn to be a leader even! Judging by the crown”.

Maddie smiles and giggles slightly, “though I don’t think you’ll be doing much learning”.

Danny tilts his head, “what do you mean by that?”, before eating some more of his mash potatoes.

Maddie points at his spoon, “that. Your eating around your fangs-”.

Jack cuts in, “which are really impressive!”.

“-with ease. Like you just know how. And I don’t think you’re even noticing when your ears swivel, like you’re used to it. You easily move around your cape to keep it out of your way and you’re not fiddling with the ring. Like it’s always been there”.

While Danny’s internally freaking out a little bit about that all being apparently a little too obvious. Maddie continues, “so even your body knows what’ll be. All you’ll have to learn, I think, is how to go about being a leader. I’m sure you’ll do well though”.

Jack nods and pushes away his cleaned off plate, “you’ll be respected and looked up to! Good! Like, well, like Phantom!”.

Danny blinks, he knew his parents' opinion of Phantom had changed some. But to hear that so bluntly was stunning. Threatened to make him tear up again. Clearing his throat to distract himself, “I guess my bodies already got things figured out”, rubbing his neck before blinking and going wide-eyed at his parents, “wait, are you guys thinking of calling a truce? With Phantom?”.

Maddie nods, “we’ve been thinking it over for a while now. And we really have heard everything you kids have said about him”, ruffling Danny’s flames, “and you look a lot like him. And thinking of that, you as a ghost. You’d probably be a lot like him. Quick wit and...and defending others. Being helpful”.

Jack laughs, “honestly! You look more ghostly than he does!”.

Danny can’t help but chuckle, that’s because Phantom was only half-ghost and Danny currently looked full ghost. “I bet he’d get a good laugh out of that. And I’m glad, for the truce thing. He’s a good ghost”.

Maddie nods with a smile while Jack speaks up, “I imagine he’s pretty confused today! A bunch of teens running around looking like ghosts!”.

Danny snorts and pulls out his phone, looking down at the picture of, snort, megaPhantom, before looking back to his parents, “yeah about that. You know how he frequents the school?”.

Maddie raises an eyebrow, “yeah?”.

“Well, what’s supposed to happen if a ghost uses the Ghost Mirroring Key?”.

The two parents exchange a glance.

[b----4archived]

🏡 A memory about a location, please

“Why do we dream?” 

The question sounded vaguely sentimental - like a child musing about the workings of the universe. B-4 had not meant for it to come off that way. He was genuinely curious as to the point of coding dreams into their secondary functions. To him, the act seemed superfluous. Meaningless. 

Data had deliberately given him the ability to dream. It seemed a waste of time - after all, B-4 did not require sleep - yet he shut down his cognitive functions each evening in order to experience simulated rest. It did not make sense. 

Data seemed as if he had been expecting this very question. “It was our father’s intention,” he explained. “For me to develop my cognitive abilities to the point where I could experience the undefined nature of dreams and interpret them creatively. I thought it appropriate to give you the same ability.”

“I don’t understand what purpose it serves.”

Data took a moment to consider this. “Similar to organic beings, our dreams are our core processor’s way of organizing, filtering, and clarifying the information we experience when we are in a fully conscious state. It is likely that your dreams will help you to better understand your daily experiences.” 

That made sense actually. It could be helpful, he supposed, for him to reevaluate all information collected during the day. One thing continued to bother him. “What if I have dreams about a place I have never been?”

Data cocked his head to the side. His expression was profoundly puzzled. “That is not possible,” he said. “You will only experience people and places that are familiar to you. For example - the situations in my dreams are unfamiliar, however they include people and imagery I am familiar with: a bird, Dr. Soong, the Enterprise, deceased musicians, extinct anim-”

“I have seen a ship,” B-4 interrupted. “I’ve never been on it before.” 

This was even further perplexing. Data thought for a moment, and then said quietly, “Please describe the ship.” 

B-4 had no problem recalling his dreams. Like every waking memory he had, dreams were stored as video files in his memory engrams and easily recalled. He played the dream back before his eyes, emitting a ‘thousand-yard stare’. “It is dark,” he started. “Vertical lines of dim lights are installed in the ship’s internal structure. The walls and floors are black. There is a green glow emanating from an unknown source.” 

“Are there people on the ship?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who?”

B-4 didn’t speak for several seconds. He seemed to be struggling with an answer before deciding on, “I do not know them.” 

Data stood up now and moved across the room to his brother. “This is highly concerning, B-4,” he said as he went to stand behind his brother. Gentle fingers moved to brush hair away from an external port on the side of his head. “Perhaps you should run a neural diagnostic. It seems images are being transmitted-”

“Praetor.”

Data ceased his movements. “‘Praetor’ is the term for the head Romulan political and military administrator. Do you hear this in your dream?” His brother made a thoughtful humming sound. Since B-4 had never met a Romulan before, dreaming about one would be impossible. His description of the ship was not in line with what they had seen on Romulan ships prior.

Data recalled the last time he had heard the term ‘praetor’ in context. In the past year, they had interacted with the Romulan council to discuss terms of treaty. Prior to this, the term was used in conversation with senior staff in four meetings since his return to the Enterprise. As things stood, relationships with Romulus were cordial. There was no indication that they would attempt to interfere with B-4. Data wondered if they even knew B-4 existed.

Except they did. Of course they did. 

“B,” he said quietly. “I believe you are recalling memories from...before.”

When B-4 turned to face Data, he was already shaking his head. “I have never been on that ship,” he repeated. 

“Correct. Physically, you have never been on that ship. However, I have. You are recalling memories of the Reman warship that faced the Enterprise in 2379.” 

Both of them stood in silence then. No doubt Data was waiting for a response. B-4 didn’t have one to give. 

The events that occurred with Shinzon seemed too far away in his memory. He knew the details, he had read every Starfleet file over and over, but all memories from before the transfer took place were distorted. His positronic matrix had just been too primitive to fully understand what was happening at that time. 

“Oh.” He had never been able to recall his time on the ship before now. Never remembered the name ‘Shinzon’. Never recalled being taken apart, manipulated. He barely recalled his time on the Enterprise before Data’s death. He had no desire to remember any of it. That was a different person. One who caused the death of his brother and nearly destroyed everyone he considered family. 

B-4 looked at Data and bit his lower lip to keep from showing his upset. He squeezed his hands into tight fists. “I do not wish to remember that,” he said with a shaky voice. 

Data nodded. “Perhaps we should suspend the dream programming for a night or two. However, it may be important for you to explore in the future. Perhaps you should have a conversation with the counselor.” 

B-4 didn’t respond. He trained his eyes to the floor. After a moment of silence, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “It is because of you that I am here now. Shinzon would have found a way to complete his goal with or without you. Do not blame yourself.” Data squeezed slightly - a motion B-4 knew was automatic and calculated. 

Do not blame yourself. Easy to say when you couldn’t feel regret. “Okay, Data. I won’t.”