#which is worse than pretending because it means he genuinely only experiences half an emotion when he's getting his ass beat

[herssian]

friend

[theusurpersdog]

A Bird in a Cage

Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is all about boxing her in. Not only is she a hostage in King’s Landing, she’s also expected to pretend she’s not; she has to attend Court with a smile on her face, playing the role of Joffrey’s betrothed every day. Showing any honest emotion is punished by verbal and physical beatings. Her entire life becomes a performance she must put on to keep the monsters at bay. Everything about her world is meant to be stifling; from the physical restrictions to the emotional ones, it all makes her retreat deeper and deeper within herself.

But the real magic of this book is the moments where she finds a way to push back or escape her bounds . . . 

Captive

In more ways than one, Sansa is a captive in King’s Landing.

The first kind of abuse she’s subjected to is physical. Beatings are a part of her everyday life. Because Robb was crowned king, or because she was happy Janos Slynt was sent to the Wall, or because Joffrey decided to be especially cruel one day. Sometimes for no reason at all.

She has to take care to dress carefully to hide the bruises:

The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey’s gifts as well.

This should go without saying, but domestic abuse is not rational; nothing Sansa does could stop Joffrey from abusing her – no clever words or tricks she could do to keep him happy. Half the time he has her beaten, it’s because of something Robb did.

Because she could be beaten at any moment, Sansa always keeps one eye on Joffrey, terrified that his mood could turn:

So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved.

. . .

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

Not only is she afraid of being hit, she’s genuinely afraid he could kill her:

When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat.

Sansa knows her life balances on an incredibly delicate string. Jaime being Robb’s prisoner gives the Lannisters a reason to keep her alive, but Joffrey had reasons to keep Ned alive, too. If anything were to set him off, he would kill Sansa without hesitation. That’s why Sansa feels safer with Cersei around to watch her son, because she’s the only thing that remains to keep Joffrey in check. And Sansa knows that if Robb were to do anything to Jaime, her life would be over:

Gods be good, don’t let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

The beating she endures after Robb wins the battle at Oxcross is so bad that she can barely walk afterward; and as I already mention above, she has to be careful to wear dresses to hide her bruises.

And not only does she have to endure the abuse, she also has to carry on the farce for the rest of the court. Everyone knows she’s a prisoner, and everyone knows that Joffrey is having the Kingsguard beat her, but she’s not allowed to show it; all of her pain has to be kept hidden, pushed deep down inside herself.

Which leads me to the other kind of abuse Sansa experiences in King’s Landing. Everything about her time there is meant to emotionally destroy her. Joffrey intentionally tries to taunt her with threats to murder her family:

“It’s almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I’ll feed him to wolves after I’ve caught him.

. . .

“I’d sooner have Robb Stark’s head,” Joff said with a sly glance toward Sansa.

. . .

“I’ll deal with your brother after I’m done with my traitor uncle. I’ll gut him with Hearteater, you’ll see.”

He loves to play mind games with her, like when he promised to show Ned mercy and then cut off his head and said that was mercy. The constant way that he twists reality around messes with her head and leaves her understandably paranoid:

What if it was some cruel jape of Joffrey’s, like the day he had taken her up to the battlements to show her Father’s head? Or perhaps it was some subtle snare to prove she was not loyal. If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she’d come?

The constant cruelty she suffers, and Joffrey and Cersei’s profound betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones, make it hard for her to trust anyone, even when they show kindness:

He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

How is she supposed to trust anyone, when everything around her is false? When everything is a carefully constructed jape at her expense? Especially because she’s surrounded by enemies; anyone making their home in Joffrey’s court is sworn to kill Sansa’s family.

And Cersei intentionally makes her isolation worse, rotating her bedmaids:

Sansa did not know her. The queen had her servants changed every fortnight, to make certain none of them befriended her.

Sansa truly has no one to talk to, not even friendly servants to keep her company. Her loneliness is so profound that she enjoys being watched over by Arys Oakheart because he’s the only person who will actually talk to her.

She realizes that no one in King’s Landing cares if she lives or dies:

She [Cersei] spared Sansa not so much as a glance. She’s forgotten me. Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won’t even think about it.

And before the Battle of the Blackwater started, Tyrion told her this:

“I ought to have sent you off with Tommen now that I think on it.”

Unlike Joffrey and Cersei, Tyrion doesn’t wish Sansa any harm; he orders Joffrey’s men to stop hitting her, tries to comfort her afterward, and doesn’t want her to be married to Joffrey. But she is not one of his priorities. It didn’t even occur to him to try and get her safely out of the city.

This is dehumanizing. Sansa has no friends or even anyone to talk to, and the people around her treat her life as an afterthought.

Sansa also suffers from the emotional fallout of Joffrey’s abuse. She blames herself when he has men hit her:

She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey.

The fear of being hit by Joffrey is nearly all-consuming for Sansa. It affects everything down to the smallest details of her life, like how she dresses and does her hair:

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he’s always liked me in this gown, this color.

Instead of getting to live as her own person, doing things to make herself happy, Sansa has to live for Joffrey’s satisfaction. Even when she’s being physically beaten, she thinks of him instead of herself:

Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

Everything about her life is a performance for other people. She wears the gowns and jewels Joffrey likes, dressing to hide the bruises his men leave all over, and says the words they tell her to say:

“My father was a traitor,” Sansa said at once. “And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well.” That reflex she had learned quickly. “I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.”

Sansa repeats that phrase over and over throughout the book, always at once. Almost like a reflex. An actor on stage repeating their lines, rehearsed and performed a thousand times.

The worst part of the act is that everyone knows it’s exactly that: an act. Sansa is required, every day, to declare that her family are traitors who deserve to die, and for no reason at all. The way Joffrey abuses her is an open secret:

“He’s never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation.”

There is no way anyone could ever believe Sansa actually loves the boy who killed her father and intentionally humiliates her in front of his court. No matter how well Sansa tells the lie, it will always be see-through; especially because everyone knows that she’s a prisoner, being held until Jaime is freed. Sansa has to repeat the lie of believing her family to be traitors to try and please the Lannisters – if she said anything different she would be beaten or killed – but there’s no way they will ever be happy, because even when Sansa says the lies as convincingly as humanly possible, they know they’re lies because there’s no way they could be anything else. Sansa cannot win.

That’s never clearer than during her conversation with Cersei inside Maegar’s Holdfast, while the Battle of the Blackwater rages on:

“I pray for Joffrey,” she insisted nervously.

“Why, because he treats you so sweetly?” The queen took a flagon of sweet plum wine from a passing serving girl and filled Sansa’s cup. “Drink,” she commanded coldly. “Perhaps it will give you the courage to deal with truth for a change.”

If Sansa told Cersei the truth in this moment, she would be severely punished. And Cersei knows that, because she would be the one doing the punishing. Yet she verbally berates Sansa anyway.

The same dynamic plays out between Sansa and the Hound. At the end of A Game of Thrones, he gives her this bit of advice:

“Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

And as one of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, he knows first hand of the abuse Sansa suffers if she says anything that could even be construed as out of line. Yet when Sansa tries to follow the advice he gave her, he throws it back in her face:

“ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you”

Everyone in King’s Landing is always threatening to kill Sansa if she tells them the truth, and then calling her stupid when she repeats back the lies they want to hear. They’re forcefully dehumanizing her, demanding she remove all of her own thoughts and emotions and replace them with hollow lines they’ve given her, and then getting mad when her words are empty.

This plays on one of Sansa’s greatest insecurities about herself, which is her intelligence. Because of her low self-esteem, she already thinks of herself as being less-than. That’s very clear whenever she does an act of kindness – she steadfastly refuses to give herself credit for anything:

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court?

. . .

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

She never thinks to herself You are doing this because you are a good person. She always punishes herself internally, calling herself stupid and childish for believing in good things. Joffrey and Cersei have destroyed her so much that she can only see herself through their eyes, cruel and mocking.

The fear that she’s stupid is one of her greatest anxieties:

“My Jonquil’s a clever girl, isn’t she?”

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

And she doesn’t like to be watched by Ser Preston Greenfield because he treated her like a lackwit child.

Everyone around her is comfortable calling her stupid and emotionally abusing her, and it’s easy for Sansa to start internalizing those messages. Joffrey and Cersei’s betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones forever changed Sansa; the fear that she could ever be so wrong again, and the fear that she was stupid to believe in them, haunts her. Throughout her time in King’s Landing, her self-worth plummets, and she really starts to believe all the things that Joffrey, Cersei, and everyone is always telling her about herself.

Because she has to endure so much abuse and cruelty every day, it starts to become normal to Sansa. Compared to the way Joffrey treats her, anything would be an improvement; she has a soft spot for Arys Oakheart because he hesitated to hit her once:

Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued.

At least he had argued is one of the saddest lines in a series of books that has a lot of sad lines. Sansa expects so little of the people around her, and is subjected to so much cruelty, that the mere act of hesitating before hitting a defenseless child is enough to stand out in her memory as an act of kindness.

And Sansa thinks this when Tyrion asks her if she’s flowered yet:

Sansa blushed. It was a rude question, but the shame of being stripped before half the castle made it seem like nothing.

This is a perfect moment to show the small ways in which Joffrey is breaking her down emotionally. Tyrion’s question is embarrassing and impolite, but Sansa doesn’t even care because it is so much less embarrassing than the humiliations Joffrey makes her suffer. Joffrey has set the bar for cruelty so high that Sansa is willing to ignore others mistreating her because it isn’t as bad as Joffrey.

The secret friendship she has with Dontos makes this even worse:

“And if I should seem cruel or mocking or indifferent when men are watching, forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did your father’s.”

Dontos is not wrong, but it doesn’t make it any less toxic a message for Sansa to hear: I’m cruel and hit you for your own protection. That’s on display when Joffrey is beating Sansa for Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Let me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a “Morningstar” whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all.

Sansa is happy that Dontos is the one hitting her, because at least it’s better than Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Dontos volunteering to hit her is an act of kindness for Sansa; which further reinforces the idea that someone hitting her is okay.

All of this works to lower Sansa’s standards and warp her perception of what is and isn’t okay; and in the case of Dontos, it is outright grooming on the part of Littlefinger. He intentionally paid an older man to win Sansa’s trust and get her used to the dynamic of secrecy and pushing boundaries, all so he can swoop in during A Storm of Swords. Sansa’s stuck in an endless cycle of her abuse conditioning her to accept more abuse.

All of the abuse and isolation Sansa suffers also leaves her incredibly depressed throughout A Clash of Kings. When she gets the note telling her to go to the Godswood, she thinks she will kill herself before she’s caught:

If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself.

After the bread riot, Sansa has panic attacks; so much so that she feels suffocated in small rooms:

Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She crossed over the dry moat with its cruel iron spikes and made her way up the narrow turnpike stair, but when she reached the door of her bedchamber she could not bear to enter. The very walls of the room made her feel trapped; even with the window opened wide it felt as though there was no air to breathe.

She likes to go up to the roof of the tower so she can see the entire city laid before her; it’s the only place where she doesn’t feel so claustrophobic and trapped.

That passage is also so fantastically written to show just how depressed Sansa is. Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She's too depressed to go riding around the courtyard; she doesn’t see the point in going around in circles. We know from A Game of Thrones that Sansa has plenty of hobbies: playing the high harp, needlepoint, reading, and sharing gossip with her best friend. In A Clash of Kings, she’s too isolated to have anyone to talk to, but we never see her doing any of her other hobbies either. Nothing brings Sansa happiness in this book.

Especially because she’s constantly surrounded by reminders of her trauma. The way Sansa copes with her grief is by pushing it out of her mind and pretending like it doesn’t exist:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears.

Sansa actively tries to forget about the people who mean the most to her because it hurts too much to think of them.

But she can’t forget about Ned when she’s surrounded by reminders of his death. Joffrey and Cersei intentionally throw it in her face, and she has to walk through the same halls his men died in:

Sansa moved as if in a dream. She thought the Imp’s men would take her back to her bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast, but instead they conducted her to the Tower of the Hand. She had not set foot inside that place since the day her father fell from grace, and it made her feel faint to climb those steps again.

The reminder that hurts the most is the presence of Ilyn Payne, a recurring figure in all of Sansa’s nightmares. Just his presence makes Sansa’s skin crawl:

She was climbing the dais when she saw the man standing in the shadows by the back wall. He wore a long hauberk of oiled black mail, and held his sword before him: her father's greatsword, Ice, near as tall as he was. Its point rested on the floor, and his hard bony fingers curled around the crossguard on either side of the grip. Sansa's breath caught in her throat.

. . .

She looked for Ser Ilyn, but the King's Justice was not to be seen. I can feel him, though. He's close

When Sansa’s afraid she’s going to die, it’s always his blade she fears:

I'll not escape him, he'll have my head.

. . .

Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won't even think about it.

. . .

If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she'd come?

. . .

If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

Watching Ilyn Payne kill her father is the worst thing that ever happened to Sansa, and she lives in constant fear that the same thing could happen to her.

The only thing that keeps her going is the thought of her family. Sansa is insecure in herself enough to start believing the abuse that Joffrey and Cersei inflict on her; but she loves her family too much to ever believe the lies about them. Even though she’s forced to declare them traitors every single day, her internal monologue is always fighting against it:

Rob will kill you all, she thought, exulting

. . .

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell.

She even finds a way to make Joffrey’s words work in her favor:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

One of the only moments where Sansa is even remotely happy in this book comes when she’s talking to Tommen, because he reminds her of Bran:

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa’s name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. “Sansa, did you hear? I’m to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could.” Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe.

Sansa would have given anything to be with him. “I fear for the life of your foeman,” she told Tommen solemnly.

That’s a short passage, but it so beautifully captures a small piece of what Sansa is truly like, outside of the abuse and the fearing for her life and the never being able to express her emotions. She loves her family so much and wants nothing more than to be with Bran again. And while Joffrey mocks Tommen for his knightly dreams, Sansa is so nice to him, building up his confidence before he competes. She’s old enough to have grown passed the childishness of Tommen facing the quintain, but because she knows how important it is to Tommen, she gladly plays along with him. We never got to see any scenes in A Game of Thrones of Sansa interacting with Bran and getting to act like a big sister, but this scene does such a good job of showing us that Sansa was a great sister to him.

Sansa also feels a much stronger connection to the Godswood, the ancestral home of her father’s gods:

The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood, even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

And even though Lady’s long dead, Sansa still has a strong connection to her wolf. When she believes she’s going to die during the Blackwater, Lady is the first thing she thinks of:

“Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

The more abuse Sansa suffers and the more pressure is put on her to denounce her family as traitors and give up on ever going home, the more Sansa falls back on her family. That’s the only form of comfort she has in King’s Landing; the memory of Winterfell, and the belief that Robb is coming to save her.

The Lannisters have Sansa held captive physically and emotionally in King’s Landing; she has to suffer through beatings and repeat their words to stay alive. But as long as Sansa has her family - has Winterfell - to hold onto, there is a part of her that the Lannisters can never have. Even if it’s only within the walls of her own mind, Sansa has fought herself a small piece of freedom.

Courtesy is a Lady’s Armor

Trapped within the political machinations of King’s Landing, Sansa starts to learn how to play the game in earnest.

Even before she consciously starts to do it, though, Sansa is already in many ways an adept political actor. There’s a reason that all highborn children are taught from a young age how to conduct themselves; Westeros is a society built on the cornerstone of tradition, and knowing how to perform courtly behavior is important. Because Sansa took all of Septa Mordane’s training seriously, she already knows how to walk the dangerous tightrope of courtly speak:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

This is the same skill we saw in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, when she was proud of herself for telling the Hound that no one could withstand Gregor during the tourney – she managed to say something courteous without telling a lie. Just as she did then, Sansa manages to say an apology to Tyrion that’s true.

It also shows just how good Sansa is at keeping a level head, because just moments before she was thinking this:

Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn’t the gods who’d been cruel, it was Joffrey.

Faced with the men responsible for killing her father, she manages to think on her feet and fulfill the role of a Lady.

She also learns how to use that same skill to benefit herself. Whereas at first she was just trying to perform the functions of a Lady, she starts to use her courtesy to talk the people around her into helping her in such a way that they don’t even realize it’s happening:

“I would sooner return to my own bed.” A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. “This tower was where my father’s men were slain Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked.”

Tyrion Lannister studied her face. “I am no stranger to nightmares, Sansa. Perhaps you are wiser than I knew. Permit me at least to escort you safely back to your own chambers.”

Part of why Sansa’s so naturally gifted at this kind of political double speak is because she understands people so well; she’s an empathetic and emotional character, and is extremely aware of the emotions of everyone around her. To affectively influence others, you need to understand what they want and be able to give it to them. Because Sansa is so aware of the people around her, she intuitively knows what they want; and all she wants to do is give it to them, because she doesn’t want to be hurt again.

The whole conversation she has with Tyrion in the Tower of the Hand does an excellent job showing how intelligent she is:

“I . . .” Sansa did not know what to say. Is it a trick? Will he punish me if I tell the truth? She stared at the dwarf’s brutal bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”

“Loyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?”

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell. “I pray for an end to the fighting.”

Again, she shows an unparalleled ability to lie without actually lying. And she’s clever enough to tell Tyrion what he wants to hear without saying anything that’s actually false, that way it can’t come back to bite her later. She learned her lesson in A Game of Thrones not to trust someone just because they’re kind, and is careful not to show her cards to Tyrion. But in case he’s being honest in trying to help her, Sansa does not reaffirm her love for Joffrey. That’s why her answer of I only want to be loyal is so smart; whether Tyrion is playing her false or no, Sansa has given him the answer he wants to hear. She’s kept all of her doors open without creating additional risk for herself.

Having to survive Joffrey every day also teaches Sansa how to get what she wants without actually having to say it. When she saves Dontos’ life, she plays to Joffrey’s ego:

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

All Sansa wants is to save Dontos’ life, and in the moment she comes up with a spectacular lie. Of course Joffrey would think it humiliating to make Dontos into a fool, so Sansa convinces him that would be an even greater punishment than death. She manipulates Joffrey into doing what she wants him to, and he doesn’t even know it’s happened.

Learning how to slyly insult Joffrey is one of the few ways Sansa can actually express herself as a prisoner, and she gets incredibly good at it. She starts by passive-aggressively getting one over on him:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

But as she gets better at politics she goes even further, actively tempting Joffrey into getting himself killed:

“They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest,” she said recklessly. “Though he’s older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown.”

Joffrey’s biggest insecurity is that he can’t rule in his own right; Cersei won’t let him do certain things, and Tyrion is in charge of him as the Hand of the King because he hasn’t come of age yet. While Joffrey’s anger is normally aimed destructively at Sansa, here she figures out a way to make it work for her; using his own emotions against him to do something reckless.

As well as learning the art of political double-speak, Sansa starts to understand the broader political machinations at work. Because she was a diligent student of Catelyn and Septa Mordane, she has almost every sigil in Westeros memorized; at Joffrey’s name-day tourney, she recognizes every competitor by their House. This may seem unimportant at first glance, but it’s actually very important; twice in Arya’s chapters in A Clash of Kings she wishes she knew Houses and Sigils as well as Sansa, because than she would know who she was dealing with.

Since Sansa knows who everyone is, she has head start in understanding where everyone’s loyalties lie. On top of that, she’s also incredibly observant; she’s constantly taking in everything around her, stopping to pay attention to every little detail and interaction between people. Even though Cersei and Joffrey are trying to keep it hidden, Sansa notices that Joffrey’s tourney is held inside the Keep because he would be mobbed if they went out into the city. And she knows the Redwyne twins are hostages just as much as she is:

The Redwyne twins were the queen’s unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey’s tourney. Not their own, she thought.

That’s not something anyone would have told Sansa. For one, no one is even allowed to talk to her per Cersei’s orders. For two, Cersei doesn’t let anyone acknowledge that she has hostages – in the same way Sansa has to pretend she is a guest of Joffrey’s court, the Redwynes have to pretend they’re willing guests. That means that Sansa, with no help from anyone, has of her own accord put all the pieces together and realized the Redwynes are political pawns just like her. Very impressive for a twelve-year-old.

Sansa’s attention to detail is clear when she meets Shae, and immediately notices something is not right with her:

Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to show her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes.

And when she’s entering Maegar’s Holdfast at the start of the Blackwater, and notices the guards:

The two guards at the door wore the lin-crested helms and crimson cloaks of House Lannister, but Sansa knew they were only dressed-up sellswords. Another sat at the foot of the stair – a real guard would have been standing, not sitting on a step with his halberd across his knees – but he rose when he saw them and opened the door to usher them inside.

Her encyclopedic knowledge of Westerosi Houses and her attention to detail combine to give her a really good head for political machinations. She sees how the Lannisters use empty titles to flatter their lesser servants while saving the best prizes for their family:

Hallyne the Pyromancer and the masters of the Alchemists’ was raised to the style of lord, though Sansa noted that neither lands nor castle accompanied the title, which made the alchemist no more a true lord than Varys was. A more significant lordship by far was granted to Ser Lancel Lannister.

She manages to keep pace with Littlefinger and Tywin’s games:

She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. Robb has beaten them every time. He’ll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must.

I cannot emphasize enough that Sansa, following the tiny thread of Littlefinger looks happy to be Lord of Harrenhal, manages to predict the Red Wedding a whole book before it happens. That’s pretty incredible. Right now, Sansa has no power to start pulling meaningful strings of her own, but it’s clear that she fundamentally understands the complexity of geopolitics and would be well-prepared to make decisions of her own when the time comes.

Another way Sansa continues to learn about the realities of ruling is through people around her trying to teach her lessons. Because Sansa’s a hostage and isn’t allowed to say anything she feels, she basically becomes a blank slate for people to project whatever they want onto. Cersei, Dontos, and the Hound all try to “teach” her something as they project all of their own fears, insecurities, and trauma onto her.

Dontos tells her to play the fool:

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

“Let them. You’re safer that way, sweetling. Queen Cersei and the Imp and Lord Varys and their like, they all watch each other keen as hawks, and pay this one and that one to spy out what the others are doing, but no one ever troubles themselves about Lady Tanda’s daughter, do they?”

Of course, Sansa already knows this. All the way back in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, Sansa thinks to herself that Moon Boy is smarter than he looks and is only pretending to be a fool so he can go wherever he likes; and Dontos confirms her suspicions when he reveals Moon Boy is a spy for Lord Varys.

It’s a consistent pattern that everyone around Sansa is constantly underestimating her; partly because of their own biases, and partly because Sansa is an almost entirely internal character, rarely letting people hear her honest thoughts. People assume she’s as hollow as the words they force her to say, but in reality she’s an introvert and a hostage.

The Hound also feels the need to impart some “lessons” onto Sansa:

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They’re all liars here . . . and every one better than you.”

Again, he’s assuming Sansa’s much dumber than she actually is. Sansa already knows that everyone in King’s Landing is a liar, and has sworn to herself never to trust them again.

The most valuable lessons Sansa gets are from Cersei during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Certain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn.” The queen studied the wives, daughters, and mothers who filled the benches. “Of themselves the hens are nothing, but their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf of a brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment.”

In this moment, even though she’s not doing a particularly good job actually doing it, Cersei articulates what’s really important about politics: optics. Her true motives for protecting the Ladies don’t matter as long as the Ladies believe that Cersei is doing it for the right reasons. That’s what monarchies are built upon. They’re a fragile house of cards constructed out of people’s belief.

That’s a lesson Sansa learns again when Joffrey sets her aside and takes Margaery as his bride. Sansa knows it’s going to happen, and is coached by Cersei how to react:

I must not smile, she reminded herself. The queen had warned her, no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed the world must look distraught. “I will not have my son humiliated,” Cersei said. “Do you hear me?”

But in front of the court, Joffrey carries on the charade, pretending Garlan’s offer of his sister’s hand is brand new information. Sansa watches from the sidelines and sees how people react; chanting and cheering to the theatre of it all. She gets to learn in real time how important it is to be performing your duties for the people. Other characters – most notably Jon Snow and Daenerys – can never quite figure that part of ruling out, and it has grave consequences.

I don’t mean performing in the negative sense. Of course, it can be used like that, like when the Tyrell’s intentionally starve King’s Landing so they can swoop in and make a big show of providing food. But it can also be used for good; it is an absolutely necessary aspect of ruling to let your people know what you’re doing for them. Jon in particular gets in trouble at the Wall because he doesn’t explain why he does things; he just does them and hopes people will trust him. Part of the courtly aspect of ruling is doing the work of showing your people how you’re helping them. That way you build trust with them, and they know you care for them. That’s what Sansa’s learning how to do.

Sansa’s also very good at the literal courtly aspect of politics; the time actually spent in court, sitting for hours and hours as the tedious day-to-day of ruling takes place. After the Battle of the Blackwater is over, Sansa has to sit in court for an entire day as soldiers are given their reward. She manages to stay focused the whole time, giving incredibly detailed accounts of each prize that’s awarded and each act of valor that caused it. She handles herself better than the grown men in the hall:

By the time all the new knights had been given their sers the hall was growing restive, and none more so than Joffrey. Some of those in the gallery had begun to slip quietly away, but the notables on the floor were trapped, unable to depart without the king’s leave.

Actual adults can’t even tolerate it, but Sansa manages just fine. This talent of hers is taken for granted by readers, but really stands out when you compare it to other characters. Sansa has the benefit of being raised to be a Lady, unlike a character like Daenerys who never had to sit through the training. Dany can’t make it through one day holding court in Meereen, and calls a lid early because she’s so bored – then stops holding court all together. Actually being a Queen is horribly bureaucratic, and that’s a skill that takes some practice to be able to perform.

Sansa’s ability to hold her own as a leader also really shines during the Battle of the Blackwater, when all hope seems lost and Cersei abandons the women in Maegar’s Holdfast:

“Oh, gods,” an old woman wailed. “We’re lost, the battle’s lost, she’s running.” Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. “Don’t be afraid,” she told them loudly. “The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There’s thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . .”

“What’s happened?” demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. “What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?”

“Tell us,” someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son.

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. “Joffrey’s come back to the castle. He’s not hurt. They’re still fighting, that’s all I know, they’re fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon.” The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. “Moon Boy, make us laugh.”

Sansa has no reason to do this. Cersei has given Ser Ilyn orders to kill her if the castle falls, and all the women in the holdfast are older than she is. She’s the last person who should be capable of standing up to take charge, considering her age and her impending death by execution.

She knows she’s faced with a choice: try and save her own life, or stay and comfort the women in the holdfast. And she decides to stay.

True Knights

This book sees Sansa’s worldview start to deepen. She’s only a child when the series starts, and like most kids has a very simple understanding of the world; there’s good and bad people, and good and bad things that happen. Songs were the way Sansa gave that worldview structure. They taught her that the good things happened to the good people, and the bad things happened to the bad people. Westeros is fair, and only the good people could be put in charge to do good things. Kings, queens, and knights were all avatars of the inherent goodness of the world; people put in place specifically to protect others.

This worldview became unsustainable for Sansa after Ned’s death. Every single rule the songs taught her was violated by her father’s execution. In her last chapter of A Game of Thrones, we see Sansa turn to nihilism as a result; her father is dead, her prince is a monster, and the knights sworn to protect her are the ones beating her. She doesn’t believe in anything anymore, so much so that she just wants to die.

In A Clash of Kings, Sansa starts to grapple with the overwhelming cognitive dissonance. Ned’s death and Joffrey’s cruelty taught her how evil people can be; but she also knows how good they can be, because she grew up in Winterfell. For all of their shortcomings, Ned and Catelyn were loving parents who tried their best to do good, and raised their kids the same.

Sansa still believes in goodness, but sees that everyone around her fails to live up to it:

Knights are sworn to defend the weak, protect women, and fight for the right, but none of them did a thing. Only Ser Dontos had tried to help, and he was no longer a knight, no more than the Imp was, nor the Hound . . . the Hound hated knights . . . I hate them too, Sansa thought. They are no true knights, not one of them.

Notice how she thinks They are no true knights. Sansa is surrounded by unimaginable cruelty, but she holds on to an undying sense of optimism. She knows that real knights don’t fight for the right, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to believe in those ideals. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, when her belief in good was attached to specific people like Joffrey and Cersei, Sansa’s new worldview isn’t dependent on people to live up to. She believes in doing the right thing no matter what, even if the people around her let her down.

Sansa’s conception of beauty is the same way; in the first book, she assumed that beautiful people must also be good. But in A Clash of Kings, she reverses that order; people become either beautiful or ugly to her based on how good or bad they are. We view Joffrey through many POVs, and it is clear that by any standard that he is objectively attractive; yet Sansa now finds him ugly:

His plump pink lips always made him look pouty. Sansa had liked that once, but now it made her sick.

And she thinks this of the Hound:

The scars are not the worst part, not even the way his mouth twitches. It’s his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger.

It’s not his physical appearance that scares her, it’s the anger in his eyes. That’s the part of him that’s ugly to her.

This evolution in Sansa’s understanding is never clearer than in her interactions with Dontos. The parts of his appearance that Sansa finds unattractive are his blotchy skin and broken veins, which are both symptoms of his constant drinking. It’s his drinking that bothers her:

“I prayed and prayed. Why would they send me a drunken old fool?”

. . .

This is madness, to trust myself to this drunkard

But Sansa manages to look beyond that as soon as Dontos invokes Florian the Fool. As much as Sansa understands that the songs aren’t true, the idea still appeal to her. When Dontos says he wants to make amends and become a true knight, in spirit if not name, Sansa treats him as if he actually were a knight:

“Rise, ser.”

. . .

Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. “My Florian,” she whispered. “The gods heard my prayer.”

Sansa’s growing understanding of the world around her also changes the way she thinks of class. To some extent in A Song of Ice and Fire, every single character is classist because they’re all rich people in an extremely hierarchical society. The entire structure of kings, lord paramounts, lords, knights, and peasants requires you to be classist; if you believe everyone in Westeros is equal, the entire structure of the society crumbles. While some of the POV characters like Jon and Davos make great strides in understanding how bankrupt the Westerosi class structure is, they’re still generally classist; it’s almost impossible not to be when you grow up in the culture they did. Davos grew up poor, but the indoctrination of classism has given him an almost religious fervor to follow Stannis as the “true” king.

Sansa especially had a very rigid understanding of class in A Game of Thrones; Arya making friends with the butcher’s boy was anathema to her. But the more that Sansa sees the people in power as the monsters they really are, the more sympathy she has for the people below her. In the sept praying before the Battle of the Blackwater, she holds hands with a washerwoman:

The old woman’s hand was bony and hard with callus, the boy’s small and soft, but it was good to have someone to hold on to

The more Cersei and Joffrey try to isolate Sansa, the more they try to snuff out any feeling of goodness or loyalty she had, the more Sansa reaches out to connect with people. Everything bad that happens to her makes her feel more connected to the people of King’s Landing. She’s too young and privileged (class-wise) to have a fully functioning understanding of the true evils of hierarchy, but she fundamentally understands something most of the aristocracy do not: that the common people are people and should be treated with respect.

She knows the common people will suffer the most if Stannis breaches the city walls, and prays for theme:

She sang along with grizzled old serving men and anxious young wives, with serving girls and soldiers, cooks and falconers, knights and knaves, squires and spit boys and nursing mothers. She sang with those inside the castle walls and those without, sang with all the city. She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike

Sansa gladly positions herself alongside the working people, not offended to be among them the way the Lannisters certainly are.

Sansa’s deepening worldview also gives her an incredibly complex relationship to the songs and stories she used to love. As I’ve already mentioned, she doesn’t disown them entirely; the high ideals of the songs are still very important to Sansa. The concept of a true knight, who would actually defend the defenseless, is the cornerstone of Sansa’s belief system, and she doesn’t need that person to actually be a knight – as long as they fulfill the moral obligation of being good. (Little does she know that very person is later tasked to find her.)

But now she knows that the stories lie. She understands their role as propaganda; when Arys Oakheart tries to say the peasants believe the comet heralds Joffrey’s reign, she doesn’t believe him:

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure.

And she can’t even finish a sentence defending knights without realizing it isn’t true:

“Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn’t, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there’s such a dearth of good sacking songs.”

“True knights would never harm women and children.” The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

The words ring hollow in her ears because Sansa does know what happens when a city is sacked; earlier in a previous chapter, she thinks this:

The whole city was afraid. Sansa could see it from the castle walls. The smallfolk were hiding themselves behind closed shutters and barred doors as if that would keep them safe. The last time King’s Landing had fallen, the Lannisters looted and raped as they pleased and put hundreds to the sword, even though the city had opened its gates. This time the Imp meant to fight, and a city that fought could expect no mercy at all.

Cersei underestimates Sansa, assuming everything she knows is from a song, but here we see that Sansa knows that the songs don’t tell the whole story. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, she no longer holds them in complete reverence. The Sept used to represent everything beautiful about the songs to her:

Sansa had favored her mother’s gods over her father’s. She loved the statues, the pictures in leaded glass, the fragrance of burning incense, the septons with their robes and crystals, the magical play of the rainbows over altars inlaid with mother-of-pearl and onyx and lapis lazuli.

It was the song’s come to life. But after Ned’s death, she hates it:

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

She literally wants to set fire to the things that used to represent the songs.

But songs and stories are the foundation of Sansa’s world; even though she doesn’t believe in them the way she used to, they still shape her perception. She doesn’t want to let them go:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.

She still uses the template of songs and stories to interact with the world, but now with the understanding that the world is so much more complicated. Whereas before, the songs represented a sanitized version of war, Sansa begins to understand it in its entirety:

Away off, she could hear the sounds of battle. The singing almost drowned them out, but the sounds were there if you had the ears to hear: the deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.

It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

Thinking about something through the lens of a song no longer represents a childish fantasy for Sansa. Her conception of them is no longer permanent; her view of the songs has changed to fit with her new reality, but it’s still a comforting way for her to make sense of the world around her.

She even incorporates her love of the songs into her political manipulations:

"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."

"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . ."

Her use of the songs nearly saves her life here. Joffrey doesn’t know enough to be sure that she’s lying, so once the Hound corroborates her story, he has to believe it’s true.

Sansa’s attachment to the stories is integral to her character, and GRRM does a tremendous job of making it important to the arc she starts in this book, which is her continued journey from pawn to player in the Game of Thrones. Sansa’s perspective as a political actor is entirely unique from anyone else for many reasons, and one of those is her connection to the ideal version of Westeros that lives in the songs. Even as Sansa realizes the songs are lies and that the world is so much darker than she thought, she never gives up on the hope that it could be good. Her unwavering optimism for the world, in the face of so much trauma, means that she will never stop trying to make the world better.

Flowering

Throughout her time in King’s Landing, Sansa’s experiences with sexuality are inextricably linked to violence. The way Joffrey physically abuses her comes with a nasty undercurrent of sexual violence. The total control he exerts over her means she has to let him do what he wants:

The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still.

The subtext of that scene is drawn to the forefront when Joffrey has Sansa beaten after Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Leave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.”

. . .

“Boros, make her naked.”

Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa’s bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel.

This is one of Sansa’s first experiences with sexuality, and it is nonconsensual and done specifically to humiliate her.

The relationship between sex and violence is never clearer than at the start of the Blackwater:

"Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it."

He had never sounded more like a stupid little boy. Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey

Joffrey is asking Sansa to kiss his sword; the metaphor here is not exactly subtle. To Joffrey, sex and violence are one in the same; having power over someone, hurting someone, turns him on as much as physical attraction. And as his betrothed, Sansa is on the receiving end of his sexually charged violence.

Unlike Joffrey, Sansa’s not turned on by violence, seeing it and sexuality as two separates things. And she would rather suffer through the violence, thinking to herself she would rather kiss the sword than kiss Joffrey. Her experiences with being found attractive to someone have all been so traumatic that actual violence scares her less.

Arguably the most traumatic experience she has is during the bread riot:

Sansa dug her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy, twisting and pinching, worse every day. Nightmares of the day Princess Myrcella had sailed still troubled her sleep; dark suffocating dreams that woke her in the black of night, struggling for breath. She could hear the people screaming at her, screaming without words, like animals. They had hemmed her in and thrown filth at her and tried to pull her off her horse, and would have done worse if the Hound had not cut his way to her side. They had torn the High Septon to pieces and smashed in Ser Aron's head with a rock. Try not to be afraid! he said.

In the nightmares she has of that day, she dreams of being murdered; a knife cutting through her stomach until she’s left in bloody ribbons. It’s not hard to see the violent sexual imagery in that description. Sansa knows what those men planned on doing to her, and the memory haunts her. It’s no coincidence that she wakes from those nightmares to her first period:

“No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

The way GRRM writes her reaction is so visceral. As tears streams down her cheeks, she tries to wash herself, cuts apart her sheets, burns them, and tries to drag her entire bed into the flames as well. And the whole time she does this, she keeps thinking They’ll know or What will I tell them? or I have to burn them. She’s so completely and utterly terrified that anyone could ever know, she’s hardly even thinking. It’s just sheer, overwhelming panic.

This line in particular stands out:

The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

Down to jewelry she wears and the way she styles her hair, Sansa’s body belongs to Joffrey. Her job in King’s Landing is to look pretty for him in the hopes that it will save her from his wrath. Her body exists solely to please him. She’s literally stripped of her own agency and control.

Flowering is the last straw for Sansa because it means she can be tied forever to Joffrey through marriage, and he’ll be free to rape her and force her to have his children. And there’s nothing Sansa can do to stop it. Her own body has betrayed her by merely existing.

Sansa’s period is again equated to physical violence during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“You look pale, Sansa,” Cersei observed. “Is your red flower still blooming?”

“Yes.”

“How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here.”

Then a second time, Cersei compares sex to violence:

“You little fool. Tears are not a woman’s only weapon. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it.”

Through Cersei’s eyes, we get the clearest summary of the point GRRM is trying to make. Existing as a woman in Westeros is inherently oppressive to the point of smothering the life out of her. Where the men are given swords, women are given marriage and childbirth; but the latter is no less violent than the former. In Cersei’s words:

“We were so much alike, I could never understand why they treated us so differently. Jaime learned to fight with sword and lance and mace, while I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, while I was to be sold to some stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever my new owner liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime’s lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood.”

“But you were queen of all the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said.

“When it comes to swords, a queen is only a woman after all.”

In many ways, Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is centered around this idea; the violence of femininity in Westeros. Being a child isn’t enough to spare Sansa the horrors. The whole reason she’s trapped in King’s Landing to begin with is because of her body; the Lannisters want to use her like property – a broodmare to sire them sons to inherit Winterfell.

It’s no surprise the climax of Sansa’s chapters in A Clash of Kings pushes this concept to its furthest bounds . . .

Ser Dontos and The Hound

Throughout Sansa’s chapters in King’s Landing, GRRM is deconstructing the trope of the Princess in the Tower. Sansa more than any other character is aware that her life takes place within a story, and she prays to the gods to send her a hero to save from the Red Keep. GRRM had already subverted the idea of a charming Prince with Joffrey in the first book, so A Clash of Kings subverts the trope of a knight coming to save her. That’s why her two protectors in King’s Landing are Dontos and Sandor Clegane – two men who aren’t quite knights.

For most of the book, the narrative treats Dontos and Sandor as foils. The story of why either one is not a knight puts them on two opposite ends of a spectrum. Dontos has his knighthood taken away from him because he’s too soft. He would rather drink and let people laugh at him than fight with a sword, which is why Joffrey makes him a fool. On the other hand, the Hound likes killing too much to be a knight:

“Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers.” Sandor Clegane spat at her feet to show what he thought of that. “So long as I have this,” he said, lifting the sword from her throat, “there’s no man on earth I need fear.”

This dichotomy between them is made clearer in the way Sansa has to escape their advances. Around Dontos, she’s dodging kisses:

"Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck." He swayed toward her.

Sansa dodged the wet groping lips, kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, and bid him good night. It took all her strength not to weep.

But it’s a steel kiss she has to dodge from the Hound:

He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel.

The idea of Dontos and Sandor as opposites is driven home further by their different approaches to Sansa’s love of stories; Dontos uses it to win Sansa’s trust:

“I think I may find it in me to be a knight again, sweet lady. And all because of you . . . your grace, your courage. You saved me, not only from Joffrey, but from myself." His voice dropped. "The singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all . . ."

"Florian," Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her.

"Sweet lady, I would be your Florian," Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her.

The Hound uses it to berate and belittle her:

“There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.”

Sansa backed away from him. “You’re awful.”

“I’m honest. It’s the world that’s awful. Now fly away, little bird, I’m sick of you peeping at me.”

But underneath the superficial differences, Dontos and the Hound have the exact same relationship to Sansa. When Joffrey is having her beat after Robb’s victory at Oxcross, both make efforts to help her – Dontos volunteering to hit her with a melon instead of a sword, and the Hound telling Joffrey “enough” – but stop short of doing anything that would put themselves in danger. They both make advances on Sansa against her will – Dontos with kisses and the Hound with knives, but the overt sexual nature of both cannot be denied. They both position themselves to Sansa as a sort of mentor figure, telling her how to act and what to believe, with the implicit (and often explicit) message that she’s not smart enough to think for herself and it would really be in her best interest if she just trusted them instead. Both men position themselves as Sansa’s “protector”, but they never protect her from much of anything; in the few moments they’re actually given the opportunity, like during the Battle of the Blackwater, they both panic and leave her to fend for herself.

What really connects the two men is how they use Sansa. To them, she’s the paragon of youth and innocence; the way she believes in the stories reminds them both of what they used to be like before the world beat them down. Sandor was a boy who played with toy knights before Gregor burned his face, and Dontos was saved as a child by the knight of knights Barristan Selmy.  While they’ve both grown jaded, Sansa brings out the parts of them that still believe in the stories. That’s clear from the way Dontos reacts to the Lannisters winning the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Oh! the banners, darling Sansa! Oh! to be a knight!”

And even though the Hound claims to hate the stories, it’s a song he wants from Sansa:

“Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids.”

Sansa as the princess in a tower appeals to the fantasy of both men to be her hero.

But this is a subversion of that trope, not a straight retelling. Particularly in regards to Sandor, GRRM really deconstructs the destructive nature of this male fantasy. Before Sandor asks Sansa to sing him a song, he comments on her body:

“You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you’re taller too, almost . . .”

Sandor wanting to play the knight with Sansa is always tied to his sexual attraction to her; in every single instance, GRRM always ties them together. There is never one without the other. It should go without saying that this is not good; Sansa is barely twelve, and hasn’t even had her first period when Sandor’s sexual advances start. She is a child. In Maegar’s Holdfast, she’s shocked that men would view her sexually:

“Enough drink will make blind washerwomen and reeking pig girls seem as comely as you, sweetling.”

“Me?”

“Try not to sound so like a mouse, Sansa. You’re a woman now, remember?”

This passage also very clearly draws the connection between Sandor’s relationship to Sansa and violence. Cersei explains to Sansa the way battle makes men into monsters around women, and then the next chapter Sandor appears in Sansa’s bedroom with a knife. This is not meant to be a romantic scene, or else GRRM would not have framed it with threats of rape and violence.

This is further re-enforced by the song Sansa sings to Sandor. When he holds the knife to her neck, he demands she sing the song of Florian and Jonquil:

He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

But Sansa can’t remember the words, and instead sings the Mother’s Mercy hymn:

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, sooth the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

It is incredibly symbolic that the Hound demands Sansa sing him a song of romance, but she physically can’t; the only song she can remember the words to is one of forgiveness.

So much of Sansa’s narrative in A Clash of Kings is people demanding things that she can’t give them. Joffrey wants her loyalty, Cersei wants her words, Tyrion wants her trust, and Dontos and Sandor want her love. Everyone is pulling her in different directions, and her entire personality starts to crumble under the pressure; there’s no way she can give all of these people everything they want. Something has to give.

And when Sansa can no longer play her role, when the fear of dying is too visceral for her to wear her courtesy like an armor, the one thing Sansa can still give Sandor is her mercy. . .

Radical Empathy

The running thread that connects all of the themes in Sansa’s chapters is her being trapped. Physically through Joffrey’s abuse, emotionally through Joffrey, Cersei, Dontos, and Sandor, and even by herself mentally as she begins to internalize the abuse. Everything about the Red Keep is meant to turn Sansa cruel and self-interested, just like everybody else; even if they aren’t intentionally cruel like Joffrey, they’re okay with Sansa being hurt because that’s just how life is, like Cersei. Or Dontos and the Hound, who don’t intend to hurt Sansa but do because they’re too caught up in their own narrative to acknowledge her humanity. Even Arys Oakheart, who really doesn’t want to hurt her, but is too afraid to say no and defy the class structure of Westeros.

That makes Sansa’s defiance through empathy stand out in such radical contrast. The kindness Sansa shows everyone, even those who hurt her, is how GRRM brings the songs to life. Sansa doesn’t love those stories because she’s silly and naïve; she loves them because they justify her belief in the inherent goodness of being kind.

Empathy and kindness are Sansa’s defining character traits, and that’s why her arc in A Clash of Kings opens with her saving Dontos’ life:

Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.”

Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?”

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm.

Even though just moments earlier she had noted Joffrey’s mood was turning dark:

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

The way Sansa stands up for Dontos is particularly notable because he had the chance to do the same for her in A Game of Thrones, but chose not to:

Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away.

- Sansa V

Dontos wouldn’t even risk treating Sansa with basic courtesy, yet she risked her live to save his.

And that’s not the only time Sansa stands up to Joffrey to save someone:

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag.

- Tyrion IX

The only other character we ever see move to actually stand up to Joffrey is Tyrion, who is also the only person in court who doesn’t have to be afraid of Joffrey’s retaliation. Everyone else sits by day after day and watches as Joffrey abuses Sansa and says nothing; or worse, they actively participate. But whenever Sansa sees Joffrey hurting someone, she risks herself to make him stop.

Sansa also uses her kindness to give herself courage:

Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. “You should go with her,” she told the king. “Your brother might be hurt.”

Joffrey shrugged. “What if he is?”

“You should help him up and tell him how well he rode.” Sansa could not seem to stop herself.

She’s too afraid to speak back at Joffrey when he’s abusing her, but as soon as she sees him mistreat Tommen, she finds the courage to stand up for others.

Kindness is almost an involuntary reflex for Sansa:

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

Lancel Lannister, who stood by and egged the crowd on as Sansa was stripped and beaten after the Battle at Oxcross. She has every reason not to help him; she knows if she stays in that room, with the battle all but lost, Ser Ilyn is going to kill her solely because of the Lannisters’ spite. She has no reason to stay and help Lancel. But she can’t stop herself.

The moment where Sansa’s kindness stands out the most, though, is when the Hound comes to her room during Blackwater:

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

I think reading this passage out of context is what allows certain fans to paint this scene in a romantic light. The softness of Sansa reaching out to touch Sandor is an indelible moment. But it does the moment a disservice to read it that way. This scene is so well written because of what comes before it:

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” he heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

Afraid for her life, Sansa closes her eyes. But Sandor is too bitter, jaded, and wrapped up in his own self to realize that’s why she closes her eyes; he thinks it’s because she still can’t look at the burned ruin of his face. He came to her room with kindness the furthest thing from his mind; the flames dancing on the Blackwater Rush made him scared like a wild animal, and he’s come here to get something from Sansa – whether she wants to give it or no.

(And while certain people are interested in carrying a lot of water to redeem this character, GRRM has really left no ambiguity in Sandor’s intentions. The passage He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed, taken in tandem with his confession to Arya, I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf, make it very clear that Sandor intended to rape Sansa. That is not up for debate.)

Sansa singing the Mother’s Mercy hymn is the last thing Sandor expected. The idea that in this moment, as Sandor becomes all of the worst things he’s ever believed about himself, about to do one of the most monstrous acts a person can do – that in that moment, Sansa could still show him mercy, is enough to stop him. He can no longer pretend that all the songs are lies and that everyone is only pretending to be good, because in this moment Sansa is still somehow capable of showing him kindness. 

Sansa’s ability to have empathy for seemingly irredeemable characters is not limited to Sandor (though certain shippers would like to pretend that’s some unique characteristic of their relationship, it most certainly is not). The dynamic between Sansa and Cersei is so rich because of Sansa’s inability to hate her, even though Cersei is responsible for pretty much every bad thing in Sansa’s life.

The Sansa and Cersei dynamic is one of the narrative’s most dynamic and complex, as Cersei represents a dark mirror of Sansa. Both were in love with the idea of becoming Queen as children, but arrived in King’s Landing to find their Prince is not who they thought he would be – Cersei both literally and figuratively, as she realizes she’s not to marry Rhaegar Targaryen but instead Robert Baratheon. They’re both subjected to emotional and physical abuse by the King for things that aren’t their fault – Robert hates Cersei because she isn’t Lyanna, and Joffrey hates Sansa because of his fight with Arya on the Trident.

But Cersei’s Lannister upbringing and life have made her cruel in all the ways Sansa is kind. She can see the parallels between herself and Sansa, but instead of reacting with empathy, she uses it to justify her cruelty:

“You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation. I did.”

Being afraid of the men in her life has taught Cersei that’s the correct way to wield power:

“Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

But Sansa reacts the opposite way:

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me.

This line has become the definitive statement of Sansa’s character because it so wholly embodies her ethos. Cruelty is not in her nature, and her instinct is always to show kindness. It also ties a direct connection to her own personal experiences shaping how she wants to be as Queen:

“Fear is better than love, Mother says.” Joffrey pointed at Sansa. “She fears me.”

Sansa knows what it feels like to be afraid, and she never wants anyone else to ever feel like that. Where the cruelty Cersei suffered taught her it was normal and good to rule that way, Sansa learns what it feels like to be at someone else’s mercy. If she ever has control over someone, which she will in books to come, she’s learned to always be kind because she knows what it feels like when someone isn’t.

All of her chapters in A Clash of Kings are full of moments that show how much Sansa values kindness. While I’ve already highlighted the life or death examples, she also shines in the small moments, like when she encourages Tommen before he faces the quintain at Joffrey’s name day tourney. And she comforts him when Myrcella leaves for Dorne:

Prince Tommen sobbed. "You mew like a suckling babe," his brother hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry."

"Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

- Tyrion IX

She tries to comfort Lollys Stokeworth across the bridge to Maegar’s Holdfast:

She greeted them courteously. “May I be of help?”

Lady Tanda flushed with shame. “No, my lady, but we thank you kindly. You must forgive my daughter, she has not been well.”

“I don’t want to.” Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. “Please, please, I don’t want to.”

Sansa spoke to her gently. “We’ll all be thrice protected inside, and there’s to be food and drink and song as well.”

Her prayer in the Sept before the battle starts shows just how much she cares for everyone:

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today, and for the children and the wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

There’s only one person in the whole of Westeros Sansa won’t extend her empathy to:

But when the septon climbed on high and called upon the gods to protect and defend their true and noble king, Sansa got to her feet. The aisles were jammed with people. She had to shoulder through while the septon called upon the Smith to lend strength to Joffrey’s sword and shield, the Warrior to give him courage, the Father to defend him in his need. Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

This line feels especially important. A lesson that’s drilled into Sansa time and time again by Cersei and Sandor is that her kindness makes her weak. It was used against her in A Game of Thrones, where her trust in Cersei and Joffrey left her completely vulnerable to Ned’s death. But this passage shows that it is not weakness that makes Sansa kind - it’s strength. For a character as kind as she is, and subjected to so much abuse, it would be easy to see her narrative as someone repeatedly letting herself be run over. By including this line, showing that Sansa’s empathy is a choice she makes – and making it clear that she chooses not to have it for Joffrey – it shows that Sansa still has control over herself, and will set boundaries. 

Instead of using her experiences in a negative way like Cersei, Sansa learns to carefully apply the lessons of her life; she won’t let abuse stop her from being kind, but she knows when to stop herself from trusting someone again.

Because Sansa’s kindness and optimism are the most important aspects of her character, her arc in A Clash of Kings ends there. Joffrey setting her aside in favor of Margaery is an emotional rollercoaster for Sansa:

Dontos waited in the leafy moonlight. “Why so sadface?” Sansa asked him gaily. “You were there, you heard. Joff put me aside, he’s done with me, he’s . . .”

He took her hand. “Oh, Jonquil, my poor Jonquil, you do not understand. Done with you? They’ve scarcely begun.”

Her heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“The queen will never let you go, never. You are too valuable a hostage. And Joffrey . . . sweetling, he is still king. If he wants you in his bed, he will have you, only now it will be bastards he plants in your womb instead of trueborn sons.”

Throughout A Song of Ice and Fire, the narrative is constantly testing Sansa’s commitment to her ideals. Everything she knows is constantly turned on its head, going from a dream to a nightmare. The momentary joy she feels knowing she doesn’t have to marry Joffrey is only allowed for a second, until it collides with Dontos’ harsh reality.

But instead of ending there, the narrative takes a page out of Sansa’s book and leaves on a vision of hope for the future:

It was a hair net of fine spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. “What stones are these?”

“Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight.”

“It’s very lovely,” Sansa said, thinking, It is a ship I need, not a net for my hair.

“Lovelier than you know, sweet child. It’s magic, you see. It’s justice you hold. It’s vengeance for your father.” Dontos leaned close and kissed her again. “It’s home.”

[xxtha-blog]

Dream and a Life of Loneliness

A rarely, if ever talked about internal struggle of canon Dream is his undeniable battle against loneliness. Dream's canon shows strong evidence of an ongoing, and near impossible to escape battle with isolation and loneliness, that Dream struggles against throughout the timeline of his character.

Some may wonder how it's possible for Dream to be lonely. He's shown to have almost everyone like him, he travels around from universe to universe, meeting new people and making friends, while also constantly helping people. Surely, Dream is anything but lonely. But loneliness is not defined by the number of people one meets or the number of people that adore oneself, it has rather been shown that loneliness is most commonly attributed to a person's ability to have meaningful and strong connections to people. People they can trust with their deepest secrets or emotions. People who have a few very strong and trustworthy friends are less lonely than those who have many friends, but none they share strong emotional bonds with. This is the key to understanding Dream's never ending struggle with loneliness, as his inability to form complete trustworthy bonds with people is tied intrinsically to the role he was assigned to be: the protector of positivity. In this essay, I’ll explain every aspect of his canon that contributes to his extreme loneliness.

First, we must go back before the apple incident, to when Dream was a child. There, it is a canon fact that during this time, Dream only had two trustworthy people in his life: his brother, and a cat name Neil. Neil lived as an outcast to the village, and was very cold to Dream at first, but they became very good friends, actual friends. The first true friends either of them had ever had. It was stated Neil was the only person Dream could actually talk to, as the villagers treated him like nothing more than a vessel of positivity meant to help them with whatever they wanted, and Dream did not want to upset or worry Nightmare. Before Dream had met Neil, he had been alone in his struggles. The villagers overwhelmed him and treated him like a machine, there to do their bidding, and his altruistic nature and belief he was meant to make people happy, made him continue to help them. Even so, he would run away from the village to cry away his feelings without anyone noticing he was upset, and without anyone noticing he was struggling. He had to, after all keep on a happy smile for everyone else. These early behaviours are important to understanding how Dream handles his powers and emotion later in life, as his powers and trauma exasperate these issues to an extreme degree. 

Trauma

The inciting incident of the true depths of Dream's loneliness is unsurprisingly the day Nightmare corrupts. It is on that day Dream loses his brother, his mother, his home, his chance at seeing his best friend ever again, and gains powers that will cause him never-ending struggles for the rest of his life. He is trapped in stone, unable to move, barely conscious, but not entirely unaware. He is trapped in a prison of fear and hatred, completely isolated from the world, while only still connected to it by the haunting feelings of emotions all around him, emotions he can now feel radiating off of every being nearby. He's unable to help them, and no one's successfully able to help him. He is truly, and utterly, alone. 

When he finally breaks free, Dream is at first very overwhelmed by the prospects of what his life has become. He's finally able to fully face the fact that everything and everyone he has ever known is gone, his brother is out to kill him, and he is now carrying the responsibility of keeping emotions in balance for the multiverse. He's uncertain of how to handle the intense negativity overwhelming him, wondering if he is incapable of accomplishing what he's supposed to, wondering if he's inadequate. However, Dream has also spent hundreds of years completely unable to help those around him, while feeling  them suffer horribly, and he blames himself for what happened despite never doing anything wrong. Dream is trained by Lanny (the protector of the tree of magic), before heading into the multiverse, but never develops a strong friendship with her, as she resents him for the fate of his mother. Thus, Dream is left with a horrible amount of conflicting emotions and thoughts inside him, with no one to tell them to, so he puts on a smile, like he always has, in the hopes it might make someone, anyone a little happier. This is a situation that only worsens as he heads into the multiverse. 

Dream's Powers

The two powers that play heavily into Dream's continued loneliness are his empathy and his positive aura. Dream is already someone who puts the desires and worries of others well before himself, but Dream's empathy gives him the ability to feel other people's emotions, allowing him to feel almost every hint of negativity or positivity they do. While this is an added weight to his existing emotions, it also means that if Dream vents his struggles to someone, or breaks down in front of people, he runs the risk of making someone severely upset or hopeless. Imagine, the embodiment of positivity, breaking down into tears and confessing he feels empty and lonely and scared. That he doesn't believe he can do this. While a few people would support him and try to help him, I believe a vast majority, even those genuinely wishing to help, would feel a sense of: 'if the embodiment of positivity can't be happy, then how can I?' or may simply feel negative by seeing Dream so upset. Because of Dream's empathy, this means, should he do such a thing, not only is he making someone upset, which is something he never wants to do, but he's also able to feel that negativity reflected straight back at him, and will only end up feeling worse. It's a direct feedback loop of: 'if I express my true feelings, I not only feel worse from making someone else feel negative, but am a bad person for doing so, as my only purpose in life is to help others and make them happy. I am selfish for putting my own emotions ahead of that purpose'. Instead of trying to find people he can share his feelings with, Dream actively tries to downplay any negative emotions he has, putting on a smile, and claiming it's nothing. 

His second power, his positive aura, arguably does something even worse, as the empathy is something that can be worked past, but his positive aura is a constant creator of paranoia for Dream and his ability to make new friends. Dream's positive aura is simple enough. People close to Dream feel positive emotions due to the energy he radiates. This, while looking harmless enough on the surface, creates many problems for Dream that are completely out of his control. The first is people's tendency to mistake his aura for feelings of love. If you stood by someone and suddenly felt positive, it's not hard to understand why some people may mistake that for love, despite not genuinely being in it. For very negative or possessive people, they could become overly attached to that feeling, or even addicted, and when Dream has to leave, become negative and potentially violent. Dream's aura creates a barrier between Dream's ability to form genuine connections with people, as he's always worried people he befriends will become too attached to that feeling, or mistake it for falling in love with him, when in reality, they've only fallen dependent on his power. Dream is consciously aware this problem exists, and actively distances himself from people because of it. The second problem created by Dream's aura is its reaffirmation that Dream is only a being of positivity, meant to make people positive. He fooled half the fandom into thinking it simply by keeping on a smile, imagine the subconscious assumptions people would make when met with an aura of positivity, radiating off a visibly happy person, who is said to be the embodiment of such. They would likely assume he cannot feel negativity, he cannot understand their problems, and/or that he is there as a tool to make people positive, all of which, reaffirms to Dream and others, that he is only meant to help people, and his problems are not important. While he has the ability to tell them, 'yes I do feel negativity', or ' I'm an empath and can feel everyone's negativity', etc, doing so has the risk of making people upset, concerned, or overall negative, giving him a strong reason not to. All of this, with the addition of his complete loss of all support, and his trauma connected to the inability to properly help people, Dream is in a place of complete isolation and grief, with new powers that severely inhibit him from forming new genuine connections with people, and trauma that makes him suppress everything he feels down so he can continue to help people lest something like the apple incident ever occur again.

Outside of his AU, Dream does not meet many true friends, or anyone he can truly trust. It's canon that he and Ink experience a falling out due to Dream's desire to help AUs, and Ink's insistence allowing timelines to play out so stories can happen without interference. The people he does meet, and does help within the AUs, even those who treat him kindly, are quickly left behind as he goes to the next one. Nightmare is out to hurt him in any way he can, and any person Dream began to visit frequently could be at risk of being attacked, or tortured by Nightmare. Friends could also be used as leverage against Dream to try and gain the apple, making Dream extremely hesitant to connect fully with anyone.

Truly, Dream is stuck in a deep place of pure and utter isolation and loneliness, with his trauma, powers, and experiences constantly keeping him from connecting with people on a genuine level, or ever being able to truly express the true depths of his negativity. Nevertheless, Dream continues to put on a smile, and continues forward, pretending he was never lonely in the first place, and so, he continues to be completely alone, against the world and his own struggles, until he can find a way to open up and trust again.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Seventeen

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

September 13th, 1985

Remy laid back on his bed, studying the cracks in the paint on his ceiling. He wanted to sleep, but he was finding it hard without his blanket. He’d had it for as long as he could remember, but his parents had hidden it away somewhere today, and they had refused to give it back. He had begged, he had offered to do anything for its return, but still they refused. And when he was left on his own, he had cried.

He grabbed Bones and snuggled the dog close to his chest. At least he still had Bones, he definitely didn’t want Bones to be taken away, ever ever ever. Next to his blanket, Bones was his biggest sense of comfort. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Sooner or later, it had to work, and then maybe tomorrow he could set out in search of his blanket.

  January 3rd, 2001

Remy had few rules in his life that he would not listen to, and even fewer that he would discard entirely. And rule number one, that he had made when a young kid, ignored time and time again, only to get hurt, time and time again, was “don’t get attached.” Don’t get attached to that toy, Mom and Dad will take it when they think you’ve outgrown it. Don’t get attached to that animal, its owner will eventually have to take it home and Mom and Dad would never let you get a pet of your own. Don’t get attached to people, if you think you’ve made friends with them they’ll crush your very soul when you least expect it and Mom and Dad will say it’s your own fault.

He had been pretty good at following that rule starting in high school, but even then, he only lasted three and a half years with that rule before he had realized he’d thrown it out the window. Emile came along, and he got attached. Worse, he got friendly. He couldn’t imagine what his past self would say to him right now, but he knew it would be something along the lines of being an idiot.

And now, he was breaking another one of those rules, which was “tell no one.” Because here he was, spilling his guts out to Kim, explaining how he had grown attached to Emile and how he didn’t even realize how much the man meant to him until their first therapy appointment and what Emile had said afterwards. “...And I guess it’s a good thing, you know? Most people would say that it’s good I’ve made a friend, and that I want to make more friends, even if it’s just so I can have a safety net. But in my past experiences, friends have only ever tried to hurt me, sooner or later.” Remy scratched the back of his neck. “I still don’t even know why I’m explaining this to you, because one of my other things was that I didn’t want to tell anyone about this. They’d see it as a ‘problem,’ when it’s not. It’s just how I live.”

Kim sat there and nodded as Remy talked, and when his hands fell back into his lap, which they had both realized meant he was done talking, Kim spoke. “Different people certainly do have different ways of living, Remy, but humans are social animals. We need other people around us, who know us, and who can interact with us, if we want to stay stable.”

“Everyone says that, but there are days where I find that so hard to believe. Humans are cruel, we hurt each other for sport, and laugh when someone cries over something, and we’re often forced to hide parts of ourselves we don’t want to be mocked for, because being mocked is a genuine concern,” Remy said. “And, like, I know Emile won’t hurt me. At least, not on purpose. But I don’t know if that’s the case for anyone else, not for sure. I don’t want to put myself out there only to get crushed again.”

“And yet you still want friends?” Kim asked.

Remy nodded with a sigh. “I want to skip past the rocky part where you don’t know much about each other and just know right off the bat if I can trust them or not. But I’m not the best judge of character.”

“And every relationship has that rocky part. From what you’ve told me you and Emile had quite a bit of clashing at the beginning of your friendship?” Kim asked.

“Yeah. Mostly because of me. I’d do something that hurt his feelings, or else I’d just try and push him away so I could be alone, but he didn’t give up. He kept trying to talk to me. And eventually I gave in, and he’s a good guy,” Remy said. He shrugged. “I got lucky. He wasn’t trying to get close to me to exploit me.”

“Is that how you see most people? Out to exploit you?”

Remy shrugged. “I mean, I guess. That’s how it was in the past at least, you know? And people don’t really change all that much, unless they make an active effort. And I never saw any effort from them.”

“You’ve never seen what these potential friends might have been doing by themselves to make them better people, either,” Kim pointed out. “Just because it doesn’t happen when you’re around doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

“I know that,” Remy sighed. “But it seems...insincere.”

Kim pursed her lips. “You know, Remy, there’s not much else I can say except to tell you that you’re going to have to take those chances in your life. And yes, there are going to be times where you’re going to make mistakes, or misjudge someone, or say something you shouldn’t have. But that’s not a good reason to not take a chance. College students are much more forgiving than high school kids, I’ve found. You might find that more people are like Emile.”

“No one’s like Emile,” Remy said. “He’s a beast unto his own. No mere mortal would be able to get me in this seat.”

Kim laughed, and Remy smirked. “Well, we do crazy things for the people we love. And obviously, it doesn’t have to be romantic love, either.”

Remy agreed quietly. “I’m...I’m coming to terms with that one, at least. That you don’t have to love someone romantically to do kind things for or with them.”

“Did your family not do those things with you?” Kim asked. “Because that outlook is typically not something one has to learn.”

Remy laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. “That’s a good one, my family doing kind things for me. Toby might have, but Mom and Dad? Didn’t remember that I existed half the time.”

Kim frowned. “They neglected you?”

“I mean, I don’t know.” Remy shrugged. “They made sure that at the end of the day I had food, and water, and a place to sleep.”

“But did they hug you? Did they give you reassurance when you were hurt? Did they make sure your emotional needs were met?” Kim asked.

“What...what are emotional needs?” Remy asked. “I don’t...because we weren’t very touchy-feely in my house, but...”

“Emotional needs are things such as feeling safe, feeling loved, feeling special in someone’s eyes,” Kim said. “Physical touch can be one way to express love, but you don’t need to hug someone all the time in order for them to help you meet your emotional needs.”

“Uh...” Remy wracked his brain for something to say that wouldn’t sound bad. “I mean...my brother...Toby would help me with those.”

“But not your parents?” Kim asked.

Remy inwardly cursed himself. “Does it really matter who’s meeting those needs, so long as they’re met?”

“Yes,” Kim said. “Your brother should not have had the responsibility of taking care of you.”

“Well, he didn’t—”

“—Emotionally, Remy. Taking care of someone physically or emotionally should not fall on a siblings shoulders, especially when that sibling is a child themselves. That was your parents’ responsibility. One which, evidently, they neglected.”

Remy swallowed. “It wasn’t that bad...other people have had it way worse than me...”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean that what you experienced wasn’t bad,” Kim gently said.

Remy looked around, and saw their time was almost up. “Uh, quick question before I go...”

“Yes?” Kim asked.

“How do I...explain this to Emile? Like, he asks me about our sessions, and I share whatever I’m comfortable with, but if I...if I don’t want to unload all this trauma on him so I don’t hurt him, but I do want to share the concept...how do I do that?” Remy asked.

“Introduce the subject, either off-hand or outright, depending on what you think Emile would prefer,” Kim said. “Once you give him the basics, allow him to ask his questions. You obviously don't have to answer any of them, but he won’t ask a question that he isn’t comfortable hearing the answer with. He’ll make sure you’re not overstepping his boundaries by stopping you if he gets uncomfortable, and not asking questions that may upset him in the first place.”

“That’s it?” Remy asked dubiously.

“That’s it,” Kim said.

Remy leaned back in his seat. “...Why does that feel so obvious in retrospect?”

“Hindsight is often twenty-twenty vision,” Kim said with a regretful smile.

Remy sighed. “I should have known all this stuff already,” he groaned.

“I won’t say that you shouldn’t have,” Kim said. “But I will say that you didn’t. No one was there to teach you. And while the best time to plant a tree may have been twenty years ago, the second best time is today.”

“What does that even mean?” Remy asked.

“You may have been ‘supposed’ to have learned this already, but you didn’t. So the next best thing to learning it back then is learning it now,” Kim explained.

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess,” Remy said with a shrug.

Kim smiled at him. “One thing at a time, Remy, remember? That’s what we’re working on. Find one thing to focus on and work through that. Don’t let all your worries overwhelm you.”

Remy nodded, they both stood, and Remy walked out to find Emile waiting, as per usual. “Hey, how’d it go?” he asked.

“Pretty well, I think,” Remy said. “I’m realizing some stuff about my family.”

Emile stiffened, but Remy pretended not to notice. “Oh?” Emile asked.

“Yeah,” Remy said as they moved through the parking lot. “Apparently my parents could be considered emotionally neglectful. Which I didn’t even realize was a thing.”

Emile blinked. Remy looked him over. “You okay?” he asked.

“There are days where I would absolutely kill your family in a heartbeat,” Emile replied.

“Don’t kill Toby, at least, he did a lot of the stuff my parents didn’t. And he didn’t have to, he did it because he thought it was the right thing to do,” Remy said.

“It was the right thing to do, but it shouldn’t have been his responsibility,” Emile said. “Nor should it have been yours.”

Remy sighed. “Yeah. I know. But at least I had someone looking out for me, you know?”

“Too small a consolation, in my opinion,” Emile said, practically snarling. “What kind of parents would do that?”

Remy felt nausea build in his stomach. “Hey, listen, they weren’t all bad, Emile.”

“Right,” Emile said, voice dripping sarcasm. “Because people responsible for child neglect must have some redeeming qualities, like kicking puppies or tax evasion!”

“Emile!” Remy exclaimed. “That’s crossing a line!”

Emile was shaking. He ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t...I can’t believe that they would do that to you, Rem. I just can’t. It’s cruel and unusual, and it’s not fair at all to you. You deserve to have parents who love you. Who respect you. Who treat you like a human being.”

“They did treat me like a human being,” Remy said.

Emile silently got in the car.

Remy turned red and got in the passenger seat. “Emile. I haven’t judged you or any of your quirks in a while. Because that crosses a line for you. Well, you talking about my family, and my parents like that crosses a line for me. They weren’t the best, and yeah, I’ve cut contact with them for the time being while I can get my bearings back, but you bashing them isn't going to endear me to you any!”

Emile gripped the steering wheel tight as he started to drive. “Remy...I’m trying real hard to bite my tongue right now. I want to respect your wishes. But what you're saying is making me angry. You shouldn’t have to defend your parents. Because they shouldn’t have to be brought into question over this in the first place. But they are. Just...let me be mad.”

Remy sat there in stunned silence. “I’ll let you be mad, but I disagree with you.”

“I’ll allow that,” Emile said. “So long as you allow me to blow off steam once we get home.”

“Of course,” Remy said.

Emile nodded, and they drove the rest of the way back to their apartment in silence.

[woodzwrites]

good to me | song mingi

► genre: enemies to lovers!au, high school!au; angst, fluff

► pairing: reader x mingi

► word count: 8.8k

► warnings: explicit language, underage drinking/alcohol

everyone has had their fair share of first times. but for you, this surely wasn’t your first time attempting to get half-wasted: drunk enough to have fun with your friends who aren’t as half as giddy and energized as they are during the school day, but to also be able to drive back home safely before midnight and fall sound asleep in your room as if nothing happened.  and it’s not your first time at mingi’s high-scale hilltop pad. everyone knows that he probably came from a line of old money, but he was never treated like the new kid. miraculously, he immediately fit in when he transferred to your high school in the first year.

you stood on the side of the ping pong table, which had turned into an impromptu beer pong table for the sake of mingi and his friends’ constant gaming bets on each other. your close friend was up against mingi, who was standing on a wooden stool as if he wasn’t already a tree himself. he just had to make sure that everyone knew that this was his house. “y/n! help me out here huh?” she smirks from cheek to cheek and raises her cup too high with a little too much power that a couple of drops of beer spill out.  “what am i gonna gain from this?” you shouted at her over the loud trap music. “a chaance!” she shouts even louder than you as she tilts off the side of the table, tipsy. she falls back onto the couch behind you. “jesus....” only she knew about your slight, perhaps very minor, attraction to mingi since... sadly, freshman year. it had gone on and off, but it got worse as you got closer and closer to his friend circle and he started to (at least) acknowledge your presence. you still felt like a nobody to a lot of people but tonight, you wanted mingi to remember your name in the worst way possible. “hey mingi!” you screamed as you raised a solo cup filled with the beer you were still iffy about. he laughs with that stupid smile he’s had for years and squints to see that your friend isn’t there anymore. “y/n, who you tryna fight?” he takes a step down from his stool as he continues laughing. “you, headass.” his friends around the table all boo in unison towards mingi at the outlash from a girl like you. “oh, MY bad. let me put a fight with you, and we’ll see.” “wanna bet?” mingi’s head freezes and turns at you as he realizes, even over the entire commotion of his party, that you stole his line. his iconic line. “you win, you leave. cause i know you wanna leave. you lose, you’re stuck at my house until the crack of dawn until you make this house crystal clean,” he smirks and takes a larger sip of his beer as he gains a little more confidence from talking big with you. he always has. “damn......” almost the entire group around him echoes. “deal.” you smile even brighter at him and toss the first ping pong ball without his cue and immediately make it in. after countless rounds and the commotion around the game room getting louder and rowdier, it’s finished when mingi tosses the last ping pong ball.  “KOBE!” splash. an instant win as the ball floats on top of the solo cup, ever so gently on the cheap store-bought beer. everyone around mingi starts crowding around him as if he’s made the nba playoffs of the season, and you flip him off. your friends all laugh it off as you take your last shot of beer, and of course, you join in on the laughter. you text your mom that your friend is taking you and the “girls” out for boba, and that you’ll be home by midnight. yes, you were expected to be home by 10 because you sleep extremely early for a high school upperclassman. instead, you’re stuck with mingi and his dog cleaning up his house—which seems to have no end to it, from what you’ve been sweeping after for almost 30 minutes now—and being the slight gentleman he can at least be, he offers to take you home. “no, it’s fine,” you say from across the humongous kitchen with a swiffer in your hand. “my car’s parked down the street. i’m sober now, so i can drive.” “what, did you sneak out here?” mingi looks up with a questioning look. “maybe, maybe not,” you shrug and continue sweeping. “i didn’t expect the party to end that early,” he sighs and takes a nice, cold glass of water from his (take this) third samsung fridge in the house.  “maybe because it’s the middle of summer and people are actually tired? the best parts of summer are when it starts and ends. in the middle, you’re kinda scraping to make plans and do something,” you say from experience.  “damn facts,” he laughs and places his elbows on the side of the acrylic island as he gazes at you. you pretend not to notice, but walk farther away from the kitchen. “i’m gonna turn on some music, it’s too quiet.” “aren’t you already sick of being at your own party with the music ten times louder than it should be?” you turn around before you can maneuver away from the living space. “what? can’t hear you!” mingi had already planted his body into the silky soft couch by the fireplace as the spotify sound rang through the room.  you dropped the swiffer and called it a night. whatever, his cleaning ladies would come over whenever he would need them. before you could put on your lanyard attached with your car keys, mingi called you. “yo wait.” you didn’t look back. “you never look like you’re having fun at my parties. these are so exhausting for me to try and sneak all of these when my parents are out!” mingi whines. you don’t feel like replying so you flip him off again, signaling to him that every time you get caught up in his summer parties, you always end the night feeling ticked off.  “just dance a little.” you roll your eyes at him. “you’re literally one of the best dancers at school, i’ve never seen you dance normally at a party.” the compliment he sneaks in between the conversation makes the heat rise up to your cheeks a little, but somehow, you still find yourself walking back to the living room. “cause maybe,” you step harshly. “i don’t. want to.” “tuff,” he stands up and changes the song to goldlink crew. “how the hell do you want me to dance to this, this is like our chill song.” “damn you listen to my playlists?” you immediately object. “what? no- no, no. i mean like, everyone knows this song but i’m not gonna dance to it.” little did he know that you always listened to his playlists. you guys had similar music taste but you never fully admitted it to him and always said to people that you were open to all genres. in complete and terrible pitch, mingi throws himself around the countertop to face you. “she see money all around me,  i look like i’m the man” you roll your eyes at how obnoxious he’s being because it feels as if the party never ended. and yet somehow, you end up cracking up at him as he continuously becomes more and more drunk as the song continues. you tiredly give into singing along. “you came out of hiding, girl don’t act like i’m your man” you point at each other as mingi uses the crushed red solo cups left on the floor and you use the beer cans accidentally thrown into the sink as mics. now you know he’s completely drunk when he decides to stand on the counter top, his 6’1 looking ass nearly touching the ceiling. you try to pull him off by tugging on his arm, but end up losing balance yourself. you almost fall back when mingi comes down in an instant and catches you before you hit your head on the fridge as crew still plays in the background. you’re in this position for what feels like forever, but what hurts more is the fact that mingi has never looked at you like this for more than 3 seconds. you’ve been nothing but an acquaintance to him, maybe even a vision. barely a friend until tonight. from the constant bickering in your friend group, to the multiple plans that both of you have flaked on for being “busy,” many of your friends thought you guys genuinely hated each other. truth is, it’s just that you’ve never had these moments like these with him. the feeling of him getting comfortable with you made you uneasy, but to him, it doesn’t feel foreign.  but you thought, hey, seize the moment before the moment seizes you. and everything after that happens in a blur. you grab his wrist to pull him closer and immediately crash into him, eyes already closed. it doesn’t feel foreign at all. it’s almost as if this has already happened in a past life, a deja vu with the same feelings. mingi doesn’t believe what’s happening. the girl he’s always thought of as one of the boys is kissing him right now as if nothing else mattered. and it wasn’t just a normal kiss. it felt like the climax of a kdrama, when the main lead couple finally confesses to one another. a person in the couple is shocked and keeps their eyes open as the kiss unravels, until they finally melt. but mingi didn’t fall so easily. his eyes were indeed open, but the way your hand effortlessly grabbed and fit into his, and the way that everything that just happened in the past 5 minutes seems rehearsed is insane. you’re insane. you know that this doing this would immediately fuck up any kind of friendship or relationship you guys had going on, but you knew that this was the only way to have mingi remember you that summer once and for all.  you pull away from the kiss and can barely look him in the eye. he’s looking at you even deeper now, almost as if they’re screaming at you “what the hell just happened.” you brush off his wrist and remind yourself where you’re supposed to be going. fuck, it was probably already midnight.  “i.. i. i’m going now,” you shape your left hand like the figure of a prospector’s hand pointing towards a river full of gold.  “u-uh. yeah.” “going.” you put on your sneakers and throw around your keys, feeling more conscious than ever now. “b-bye,” you wave and bow to mingi besides the fact that him and you only have a small age difference. “yyeah. bye.” he waves with no emotion. and the first thing mingi does when you close the front door is touch his lips with his fingers to feel that same weird, burning feeling. and though he doesn’t put his hands up against his chest, he can hear his heartbeat beating so loudly and fast in his ears. and the first world that he can spew is: “fuck.” — “you’re off.” “off? who’s off?” mingi smiles at his childhood friend, hongjoong. out of the entire friend group, hongjoong had been the one who had matured greatly and could easily tell whenever his hyungs didn’t feel like themselves. their crazy group has been through a lot, and hongjoong knows he’s spent his high school days well. “i don’t know man, who do YOU think?” he stuffs a french fry in his mouth as mingi, hongjoong, yunho, and wooyoung huddle around a carls jr. table after a summer class lecture. yunho, being the scholar he is, recommended all of his friends to take the early summer classes since they had more space and it generally felt better. but everyone knew he used that as an excuse to sleep in for the rest of the day until he would get wasted at mingi’s house again. “you’re not saying much,” wooyoung shakes his head. “yeah... cause i’m hungry, i don’t know. today’s lecture was boring,” you try to change the topic. “this is the first lecture this summer that you didn’t manage to fall asleep in the first five minutes of. something on your mind, man?” yunho noticed. “no. you guys are so dramatic!” “and this is how he changes the subject. go ahead mingi, tell them you’re having another party tonight for pete’s sake,” hongjoong remarks. “i’m not having a party tonight.” “WHAT?” all the guys go googly-eyed towards mingi. “wh.. why? my dad is coming home tonight,” mingi insists. “you said BOTH your parents were gonna be out all week. yeah, something’s definitely up,” wooyoung immediately directs his attention to his phone to look up nearby cafes because he couldn’t stand eating this cheap fast food anymore. “you stopped texting me at like 1. AND you were drunk, so how did you knock out so easily? you weren’t even on league...” yunho tries to recall all the little details he knew from last night. “i don’t know. it’s kinda foggy but after the party, i remember drinking a little more and then knocking out on my bed.” “that’s... that’s never happened. ever,” wooyoung almost laughs at the statement. silence fills up space on the fast food joint’s table until hongjoong looks up from his phone after scrolling a good amount on instagram. “oh shit. did you...?” “did i...?” yunho catches onto what hongjoong is suggesting immediately. “bro. y/n.” “well like, no. kinda yes but no.” mingi sighs and knows he’s gonna immediately get grilled for this. he doesn’t worry too much, though, he knows that you have probably told at least 5 of your close friends at this point. “when we were cleaning because of that bet, i accidentally tripped, she caught me, and we kissed,” mingi said it so effortlessly, the fact that he said it with no worry in his tone scared the guys even more. “DUDE!!!!!!” chaos amongst almost-grown men in a fast food joint after your third lecture of the month feels unsettling. it feels like he’s in a mirage. ”what the hell are you gonna do now? er i don’t know, maybe cause you have someone named yerin on your dick right now?” yunho’s eyes dilated at the way he said yerin. if yerin ever knew... “apologize or something. we were both drunk, so we just gotta acknowledge that whatever happened in the past is already over.” and you’ve had your fair share of meltdowns. this time around, you haven’t left the house since the party and you still haven’t told your closest friends. and so what? you were busy with summer classes and you didn’t feel the need to hang out or text them. you distracted yourself as much as you could at home, and every time you would have go on campus, you ignored him. you knew damn well that he was there living his best life acting like the kiss probably never happened. because of her. because of the stunning, mysterious yerin.  yerin, in short, could probably be the love of mingi’s life. when you first barely befriended him, you only heard and saw bits and pieces of conversation of how much he loved her and how she didn’t reciprocate that love back. and that’s got you thinking. would mingi ever tell yerin about this? it seemed like they “like” each other, but you couldn’t imagine all the tea she would be able to stir up if she ever found out mingi kissed you when first of all, she wasn’t even officially dating mingi. mingi would always hold her hand and look at her like a little puppy, but it was almost as if she was slightly embarrassed by him. you’ve seen the pictures and videos they’ve had together, but it seems like there always had to be a friend there too. it had never been just the two of them.  the most unsettling part of their so-called relationship is that every time a dance would come around, yerin had to confirm that they were going out as friends. even when mingi kissed her multiple times when asking her out to prom. confusing, isn’t it? so you’ve been doing well by dwelling at home and attempting to distract yourself in all ways possible and going out with family more. until he texts you. mingi: hey mingi: you free rn? we should talk y/n: uh why mingi: typing... mingi: wdym why mingi: you good mingi: i haven’t seen you at class for a while y/n: yeah y/n: mingi just get straight to the point and don’t waste my time “yikes, she’s fierce. this the same y/n who was the big nerd in first year?” yunho sat next to mingi as he sent these texts as he was the one who convinced him to send them. mingi: have you told anyone about ... y/n: no y/n: i’m being fr mingi cringed before he could finish his thought. “dude, why do i have to say this!” mingi groans as his head falls back on his sofa. “because your ass won’t stop thinking about it. so it’s better if she just lets go of everything right now, and it’ll be good on both of your sides. don’t you have a date with yerin tonight?” yunho asks. “no, she cancelled. she keeps cancelling but she still nods and says hi to me on campus,” mingi wonders. mingi: why did you mingi: er do it y/n: typing... y/n: cause i was drunk headass y/n: i have pretty vague memory past that party but i do remember having to stay longer at your house y/n: i knocked out p badly.. i think i slept in my clothes you held your knees so tightly in bed and bit your fingernails after making up that lame excuse. you were completely sober when that happened, so you’re just gonna act like you knew nothing. y/n: we didn’t...? mingi: oh god nonono “DUDE WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING IT!” yunho groans louder. “because she genuinely doesn’t remember! if she doesn’t remember, it never happened,” mingi justifies his awkward texting. “or maybe, she’s just saying that because she doesn’t wanna get into the talk about yerin. or worse, get this. her feelings for you.” mingi is on the verge of screaming and losing his mind. “since when has she liked me, jesus christ!” “ooo...........” yunho whistles and turns his eyes into the other direction. it was his way of showing through actions to mingi “you absolute complete moron.” mingi: so you good then?  mingi: you’re not sick or anything from my party right? y/n: nope y/n: nice talk mingi: uh yeah mingi: nice and that was the last message. “god, that was so exhausting,” you fall back onto your bed before you can scream even louder into your pillow. “dude, you’re fucked,” yunho smirks. “but hey, no date tonight? looks like we’re going to wooyoung’s pad tonight.” he stands up and pulls mingi up from the sofa. “wooyoung? what, are we watching movies tonight?” “no, party tonight. have you completely lost your sense of time?”  “oh,” mingi voluntarily nods. he kind of forgot wooyoung still held parties during the summer, but he was more focused at the fact that it’s almost been a week since the kiss. and going to this party became one of the worst decisions if not his life, then this summer. “truth or dare, mingi!” hongjoong, slightly tipsy, shouts amongst the crowd in the outside pool area. “aight, truth,” he raises his cup towards hongjoong. “do you think yerin really fucks with you in that kind of way?” hongjoong laughs and his friends around him echo that same laugh. mingi knows hongjoong wouldn’t pull those type of questions in front of his friends, but it geniunely made him think a little bit.  yerin cancelled almost every date this summer, and many of them are without excuses. mingi, being the gentleman he is, lets her and doesn’t ask why. but now, it’s reaching july, and the last time mingi talked to her one-on-one was at an awkward encounter at hongjoong’s place with all of her girl friends.  “i mean, yeah, why wouldn’t she?” mingi shrugs and smiles with the side of his mouth.  and that question lingered until later that night. mingi has been childhood friends with wooyoung. though they weren’t the closest of the bunch, their families were friends and they always ended up going on vacations together. it wasn’t until high school when wooyoung finally moved to mingi’s school and he immediately fit into his friend group as if he was the missing puzzle piece. he was sure the crowd-pleaser, but mingi knew he was an ambivert, and enjoyed a lot of his time alone, reading a book too. maybe that was why mingi thought he was so eccentric back when they were kids.  mingi was exhausted, but it was merely eleven. maybe thursday wasn’t his best party day? mingi: yo woo i’m coming up to your room mingi: i’m gonna play smash on your switch ok he ran upstairs and made a beeline to wooyoung’s room, clearly identified with a poster of the smiths taped up on the front of the white door. he rattled the doorknob and realized it was locked. “silly wooyoung,” mingi knew the trick since they were little. he shook the knob three times and then turned the knob counterclockwise completely until he heard some sort of cracking noise. what he didn’t expect to hear was a moan coming from inside the room. and he doesn’t wanna believe what he sees when he opens the door. “m-mingi.” wooyoung looks up from the bed with disgruntled hair.  and there lays yerin, literally fucking him on the bed mingi and wooyoung grew up on. “what the fuck.” “it’s not what it looks like.” “yeah, i’m pretty damn sure it’s not what it looks like when both of you look like you’ve been fucking each other for the past hour.” yerin and wooyoung look at each other after realizing that he’s right.  “min-“ wooyoung calls him louder this time. “fuck off.” mingi storms out of the house and goes out the back way so no one can see him leave. he’s always gone this way when he and wooyoung would go on late night skating trips back in middle school, but never in his life would he expect yerin and him together in that situation. angrily, he holds his driving wheel even harder with his fists hardening with each turn. before he gets home, he decides to drive around town, maybe grab a cup of boba before he heads home. anything to distract himself. he heads to the asian strip mall a couple miles away from his neighborhood and parks upfront to the boba shop. and there, he sees you. he doesn’t know whether or not he should be surprised, but it was extremely late and he wanted to ask why you were working this late during the summer. you notice him. and you notice how much longer his face had become since the last time you saw him. something must have happened. you knew that he didn’t even like boba that much! why was he here? “oh, hi mingi,” you gather the last ounce of respect you have for him and wave to him as if everything’s splendid. “hey y/n. could i just, uh, get a wintermelon milk tea. with boba.” “y-yeah. what’s good man? you never come here,” you refuse to make eye contact with him.  “yeah uh. rough night. why do you work here?” “summer job. late-night shifts pay more so i thought, hey, why not?” you smile. he hated the fact that you smiled like nothing was wrong all the time. except all the times you’ve smiled like that, there was always something wrong.  “can... c-can we talk? are you free?” mingi hands you his money. “oh! uh.. yeah, we can. i can’t take breaks during night shifts but whatever. there’s like 2 dudes in the back, we’ll be fine,” you grin. he never noticed how free-spirited you were until now, and it kinda makes sense from the way that you hated parties but you would much rather be down for cliff diving or late night drives to the city. “so uh, what’s good?” you try to make the atmosphere not awkward. especially the fact that you were still in your boba shop uniform and your hair was completely down, a violation if your boss ever caught you. “uh... god how do i even say this.” “no, take your time,” you smile. you were incredibly nervous. there’s no doubt he was gonna talk about the kiss again. why else would he look so down? “i kinda uh. caught wooyoung and yerin fucking in his bedroom during his party tonight.” fuck.  “oh, shit...” “god, this doesn’t even feel right, i feel sick.” “how’d you even end up there?” “i texted wooyoung that i was gonna go play smash in his room during the party.” “and instead, you ending up seeing him literally smashing your girlfriend.” “oh my god, if you put it that way,” mingi wanted to scream. you were laughing so hard and he was wondering how you could take situations like these so not seriously.  “yeah uh... i don’t even know what to say about this. my childhood friend and the girl i was in love with... literally hooking up.” “was?” “i hate to say this, but i think i’m falling out of love with yerin.” “that’s crazy. it can’t just be because of this,” and you’re hoping he still forgot the kiss. “yeah, you’re right. she’s been canceling every date, literally acting all embarrassed whenever i come hang out with her and her friends, and she just doesn’t feel the same.” “as in?” you hope that they hadn’t hooked up before. you knew mingi had strict parents from whenever you came over and did projects with him, and it probably took his parents a while to adjust to the fact that he was dating her in the first place. “i think i was just so over my head back then and i kept thinking that she was the one even though she didn’t do anything to me. hasn’t mina already told you this?” he seemed slightly annoyed that he has to say this to you, but you were more. “mina doesn’t have to tell me everything. i can get to know a person however way i want them to. but i guess we’re doing this in a boba shop,” you laugh it off. mingi liked that about you. you didn’t need anyone to tell you what to do and you gave zero fucks. “hey, come with me,” you guide your hands to the fire exit. “what?” “don’t ask. just come.“ you ran through the fire exit door (which surprisingly didn’t beep this time) and ran up the stairs, causing mingi to run up against you at the same pace.  “and welcome to my secret haven.” it was the roof of the three-story strip mall and you could nearly see the entire city from here.  “god whatever, i’m over this,” you take off your brown visor and apron with the boba shop’s logos on it and threw it into the direction of your backpack, which was already up on the roof. he somehow found it 10 times more attractive when you fixed your hair and laughed over your stupid boba shop uniform.  “i go up here almost every night when i get breaks to myself, and i don’t really talk to myself, but no one can hear you up here. so i SHOUT LIKE THIS!” mingi’s startled and you laugh even harder. “WHY LIKE THIS?” “BECAUSE I CAN TELL PEOPLE TO FUCK OFF AND THEY WON’T KNOW!” then mingi starts cracking up and you see that classic eye smile. if only he knew how hard your heart was beating. she was living her kdrama cliche right now. the dude that she’s given up on is suddenly giving interest to her and it feels so out of place. “whenever i got fed up at home with my parents, i would go to work then come up here. i would just scream these long strings of curse words until i got exhausted.” “it’s really pretty up here though,” he looks around the entire rooftop, then back to you.  “yeah... a lot of my emotions were just spilled out here and i’m glad they did.” “what about the night i kissed you?” and there it was. “the night i- what?” “don’t lie to me, y/n. i know you weren’t drunk.” mingi didn’t look at you. it was silent for a moment. “i lied because i was so fed up over the fact that i probably made you so uncomfortable...” your voice faded into the night air.  “why?” “because you were literally dating the love of your life, what the hell was i supposed to say to justify an entire kiss?” mingi almost laughs. “can’t wait to hear what yerin has to say about her and wooyoung hooking up. she would fuck anything with a pulse except me.” “listen, i’m sorry if i kind of left you hanging. we don’t even talk much, so it felt so out of place after that.” “we used to. so let’s make that change,” mingi suggested. “dude, if you want her to feel ok after what just happened, treat her well. take her to the mall or something and just make her feel like a good friend. she’s not your good old mina, but she’s done something that i know it would take a long time for her to forget. make her forget,” yunho tells mingi after he counsels him about the kiss. “what?” “we should just... talk more. maybe it wouldn’t have felt so weird and out of place if we actually talked. i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable before,” mingi adds on to his long overdue apology. “no.. no it’s fine. don’t apologize,” you wave him off. “so we’re starting fresh? something like that?” “starting fresh.” you reach your hand out to signal him to shake hands with you, and he gives you a big, genuine smile. — two weeks later “oh my god, you’re joking.” “i’m not, look at this order!” a postmates order pops up on the kitchen ipad as you come running in. 20 whole orders of boba that have to be done by 8 pm. “an entire fucking fraternity just pulled up,” mingi laughs. “how are we gonna finish this?” you read over the entire order just to completely sure that there are twenty, two zero, orders of boba. “leave the newbies to do it and we run back up?” mingi smirks. you hate him. “mingi, you’re literally a newbie.” he shrugs and laughs as he rings up his last order of the night, that is, if he doesn’t take care of that fraternity order. “i’m just saying...” mingi opens up one of the cabinets atop the kitchen exit with his backpack and his nintendo switch peeking out of it. you grunt, but you seriously want to leave too.  “hey newbies?” two sophomores in high school turn around from behind the tea jugs.  “do you mind if we take our break for a little bit? it’s been a while. one of you take the cashier and one of you take care of the online orders. is that alright?” “yes miss!” you snicker at the “miss”. “no need for formalities. just call me y/n,” you grin and flip your hair back unintentionally as you take off your uniform visor. so fucking flawless. mingi thought to himself as he stared at you from the door. why were you so good at everything? and why were you so incredibly nice to everyone? except him, of course. it had been a week since mingi had called it off with yerin. it wasn’t really official, it was more like a breakup text that wasn’t really a breakup. it was essentially yunho and hongjoong giving emotional support to mingi as he wrote lame replies to explain to yerin that he wasn’t in love with her. it took a lot of manpower, but the job was done. what job wasn’t done was you working at your part time job at the boba shop. and what you didn’t expect was a day after being exposed by mingi about the kiss, the man himself walking in with a resume in his hand once he was accepted, he wanted to have as many shifts with you as possible even though you hadn’t been working there for long so you weren’t considered a senior. you also wondered why he wanted to have a summer job, out of all things, to spend one of his last summers as a teenager.  “imagine this. huge letters on a newspaper. local asian fuckboy works at boba shop instead of having parties at his parents’ rich place because quote, he’s tired of it,” you sit back on the beach chairs you two set up on the roof a couple weeks ago. “i am! why don’t you believe me?” “you’re not me, mingi. you’re party animal mingi, the cool basketball player every girl looks up to both figuratively and literally because you’re a living tree.” “i mean... so?? it’s nice to have a break since i’m done with my exams and i can get extra money. and free boba, of course,” he still felt kind of flattered after you said every girl looked up to him. it was a stretch. “imagine needing extra money when your parents already have that much money...” you sighed. he threw a piece of popcorn chicken at you. “shh. watch the movie.” you guys decided on “the interview” tonight. every night shift, you guys alternate on choosing movies on netflix to watch on your laptop up on the roof. things have changed for the better or worse. it’s only been a couple of weeks into summer now, and your life has been surrounded by mingi. same goes for mingi. all his parties have been cut down to night shifts with you, shopping for his dog and his own wardrobe with his personal stylist (you), and even driving to summer classes with you. just when you thought you could finally get rid of him, he becomes your honorary annoying best friend. though yunho and hongjoong were rooting him on, they didn’t expect him to be so involved in it. when he forcibly apologized to wooyoung and he did the same, things with yerin were still uncomfortable. to make things easier, mingi announced to everyone that he would never date her ever again. and although wooyoung doesn’t want to lose mingi’s trust, he knows. mingi knows that they’ve been secretly going on dates ever since the apology and not much as changed. so much for a girl and his childhood best friend, huh? mingi meanders over to check his phone and sees that some of his group chats have blown up. “yo, fourth of july is tomorrow. i think wooyoung wants a party,” mingi nudges. “sure. i mean, not at his house. ptsd for you,” and then mingi remembers the situation all over again. “god, yeah. my place then?” “sure. haven’t been there in a while,” you laugh. the shift ends in less than 30 minutes and the two of you have missed nearly the entire shift. you take the back entrance and wave him goodbye as he’s assigned to lock up for the night. you drive back to your house to see your older brother already asleep, the rest of your parents out of the house to visit family up in the city. the lame excuse of “college preparations” was how you escaped a week-long trip upstate to do nothing but babysit your cousins. mina 🤢 is calling... you take a beeline to the almost entirely dark living room and fall on the couch to pick up your friend’s call. mina? Y/N WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ? I’VE BEEN CALLING YOU ALL NIGHT what? girl i- you open up your phone app during the call to see 8 missed calls from the devil herself, mina. oh shiiit. sorry dude, i was at work. work? this late? i thought the shop closed at 10. nope. closes at 12, mingi locked up for me so i’m home a little earlier. well.  mina seemed fazed by you and mingi and more concerned about her “issues.” anyways, i was TRYING to call you because i had a little emergency. you worried a little bit since she had been in quite a serious of a relationship with her boyfriend. oh, what’s wrong? well nothing’s wrong. actually, i know this is something you’ve wanted to do for a while since we’ve made our freshman bucket lists. remember that? you laugh softly into the phone and nod, forgetting that mina can’t see you. anyways, my boyfriend wanted to take me down on the coast highway after the 4th of july party that wooyoung? i think, is holding. you know him right? man, do you. we wanted to watch the sunrise together and bring a couple of friends. mina, that sounds fun. you’re right it’s been on my bucket list for a while. great! oh, not great. right. your ass took 70 years to reply so my boyfriend already left town and his sister doesn’t want to take us. no hard feelings of course, but it’s kinda awkward when this was meant to be a romantic thing and with you of course. oh. mina! why’d you tell me?? i don’t know, maybe we should keep this on a tab. don’t forget about it, and you should definitely have someone to go with next time besides me, if you know what i mean. i don’t, mina. i wanna go with you! these were my teenage plans with you back then. sis, you might wanna check your notes. you got up and turned on the kitchen lights — not the living room lights because they were way too bright and you were planning to knock out on the couch immediately after this call — to open up your notes and read better. you scrolled through the long checklist that had been updated constantly throughout your high school years, to find “drive up the highway and watch the sunrise with my s/o <3” in bright orange text, somewhere embedded in the even longer bucket list.  oh god. how do you even remember me writing this? you’ve been wanting this ever since you’ve been wanting a solid relationship with someone. and when you did have a boyfriend, this never worked out so... mina! sorry sorry! i’m just saying... keep it in mind. mina, i’d still love to take you tomorrow after the party because yes i’m dying to see this sunrise but. you have someone, i don’t. we’ll save this one for next summer, ok? before you can let mina finish, you say goodnight. wait, y/n! you cut her off and turn off your phone.  sweet dreams, you whisper to yourself as you delve deeper into your couch. then the annoying marimba ringtone of your generic iphone rings once again. mina- mingee the frog is calling... mingi? yo, can you take the shop keys for tonight? i feel like i’m gonna misplace this with the party being tomorrow. oh, oh yeah, sure.  you straighten yourself up and (finally) turn on the living room lights. you can come over now, i’ll be at the door.  actually, i’m already in front. WHAT? you run to your front door to see mingi in (not but maybe) your favorite black hoodie and keys in his right hand in front of. no. you unlock the door and jog out in the freezing midnight mist. “SONG MINGI! the ROVER?” “what’d you think, huh? thought it would be good revenge against wooyoung. gotta take her for a ride one of these days before i leave,” he laughs. mingi spins the lanyard of keys in his fist in resemblance to a teenage girl who just got her license and you immediately recognize that he’s only carrying wooyoung’s lanyard and not the lanyard with the shop keys. “where are the shop keys?” you tilt your head.  “gave them to the sophomore who took care of the frat orders. now, the range rover. isn’t she a beaut,” he steps away from the huge car and shows it off like a golden trophy. you facepalm and know that he only brought you out of your house to show you that he had balls to steal from his own (also rich) cousin. “ok and... what about it? it’s cold mingi, go home,” you yawned and waved him off even though you weren’t that tired. you exaggerated because you just wanted to be in the safety and comfort of your own home. “come with me.” “what?” you turned around. “come with me. i’m still super awake because i put like, 4 shots of monster in that last cup of boba i had,” mingi points to the empty boba cup in the white range rover’s cupholders. “mingi, very funny. now drive yourself back to wooyoung’s house before he beats your ass and go to sleep. you have a party to plan tomorrow, don’t you?” “i don’t plan parties, babe, i just let them happen,” your heart skips over the slight pet name mention. you don’t wanna reply and hope your speed walk back to your door will make him go away. “oh and... your bluetooth is still connected to wooyoung’s car from last time he gave you a ride. not sure when.” “oh, sorry. disconnect me, would you? good night, mingi,” you bow and wrap your hands around the silver knob of your door. “i might have heard you and mina talking.” you stop.   “and... i might have heard about you wanting to watch the sunrise. with someone. preferably someone who could drive you up there who isn’t mina or her boyfriend.” you want to smile, but also kind of scared that he heard everything you said to mina. you still don’t look back at mingi. “so here i am. making an excuse to be at your house at 1 am to drive you to the beach until sunrise using wooyoung’s car, in which i’m gonna get killed for anyways.” “mingi, just go home.” your sudden sternness as you look into his eyes comes out of nowhere, maybe out of anger. held back feelings. it comes off as rude. “see you at the party tomorrow,” you finally step into the house with the door unlocked. “i’ll let you listen to my playlists because i know you secretly like them. i’ll let you wear my hoodie. i’ll let you lie down next to me watching the stars because i don’t wanna be anywhere else when i’m near you.” you close the door. “song mingi, is this how you asked out yerin? am i just your emotional fill-in for yerin?” the way you said his full name shocked him. you’ve called him everything for the past month except his full name. but everything he just said about you made your heart race faster than it did in years. the atmosphere was stiff despite the sudden one-sided confession. “i-“ “i’m kidding with you, jesus christ, kid. you should have seen the look on your face. and thank you, i’ll be taking your hoodie, it’s getting cold,” you lock the door behind you and run up to mingi. mingi’s left breathless. y/n is nothing but trouble for him. you run into the shotgun seat and grabs the black screen printed hoodie on the seat. it’s from a j cole concert he went a couple years back and it still smells like good old mingi. you don’t want to say it, but you want to keep it forever. you also don’t wanna say much in general, because mingi may or may have not just confessed to you. “sunrise is at 5 am. you ready?” he jumps into the driver's seat with nothing but a smile on his face as he sees you already in his hoodie. “born ready.” he starts the car and backs up from your driveaway, and puts his arm on the back of your head cushion to see behind him.  “oh-“ and your horny ass thought he was about to pull you in for a kiss because of the vicinity his body was to you. “what?” he turns around, knowing exactly what he just did and smirks at your flustered face.  “nothing. just hope my sister doesn’t kick me out for coming back at home at literally 7 am.” “don’t worry, just sleep over at my house after and say you accidentally knocked out after work,” he shrugs as he leaves your neighborhood and enters the junction into the larger highway towards the city. “i feel like she already heard me coming home...” “so? i’m sure she wouldn’t mind you coming home from a guy as good looking as me,” you wanted to throw up but still had the urge to keep looking at the way he drove the range rover like a master. this was only his second time driving it, but you didn’t need to know. you spent the rest of the half hour drive listening to his night playlists (undoubtedly some of the best songs that you both know and like) and stop by a 7/11 and a couple of gas stations for some snacks and soda to take to the beach. by the time you two reach the coastal highway, it’s almost 3 am (oddly) and the highways are almost completely empty.  when mingi sees you rapping along and holding his hoodie tighter, he wants to say something but he can’t. it’s the wrong timing. he’ll have to wait just a little, but he hopes you still want to return the half-lived confession. “couple more hours. what are we gonna do?” mingi asks over the music.  “i don’t know. talk. walk around the coastline. push you into the water.” “if you do, i’m gonna make sure you do bathroom duty next shift,” mingi threatens with zero intention because he knows he really wouldn’t. the kindness he felt towards you had also occurred out of nowhere and it felt way too foreign. “i’ve never done this before so... enlighten me, lover boy.” “who said i’ve done this? only i would take your lanky ass to the beach at 3 am because, wait-“ he rolls down the windows and turns down the music. “smell the air.” you both take deep breaths in of the cold, salty air and grin. you’re so grateful to be alive right now. mingi turns and stops by the side of the cove to drive down to an empty parking lot. the beach is closed so mingi will manage to park in front of the huge beach mansions on the side of the streets. rich people won’t care about another rich person trying to park in front of their house now, will they? it’s almost 4 and it’s beyond freezing now. as you both exit the rover, mingi grabs his keys but notices you slowly walking out of the car without saying anything. “still cold?” “... uh... just a little bit,” you say slowly, hoping that mingi won’t even be able to comprehend you. he walks to the back of the car and opens the trunk with a button on his keys. there inside the trunk is a stack of blankets, food from the convenience stores, and his backpack. on top of the blanket stack is your favorite blanket that you left on the boba shop roof since it was your favorite. “song mingi. have you been planning this ahead of time?” you laugh at the sight. he rolls his eyes cutely and shrugs while mouthing i dunno.  you walked down the side of the street while still looking at him. he could feel your gaze as you walk down towards the beach, but at this point, both of you were too nervous to say anything. you find a spot mid-way to the coast and the fencing off the cliff of the beach and set down all your stuff. it was nearing 5 am and you noticed the sky getting lighter. you were also extremely exhausted, but you let it pass. as you yawned and put down all the blankets, your first move was to lay down and close your eyes.  “hey don’t sleep yet!” mingi threw a pillow at your head.  “i’m tired as fuck, leave me alone,” you groaned as you pulled his hoodie tighter and turned your body to the side. mingi sat down and made the area around you comfier, then pulled out another blanket to put around himself.  he checked his phone for the time, then looked towards the horizon. “ya... ya! it’s almost sunrise!” you were still facing the other way. “oh my god...” he said in the worst accent possible as he tried pushing you off the blanket. “y/n!” at this point, you knew you were just teasing him. but instead, he pulled your arm closest to him, hoisting you up, but all too fast that your entire body was within 1 cm of his, too close for comfort. “u-uh, i,” you said as his face was a little too close to yours, all while you attempted to look away at the sun that was beginning to rise up the horizon. mingi knew it was now or never. and he wasn’t gonna let you have the chance of initiating it again. “y/n.” you looked back at him dumbfoundedly. he had been staring at you this entire time, right until he pulled the side of your face closer and crashed.  his lips meeting yours wasn’t foreign at all. despite the spontaneity of the last instance, both of you still remembered the taste of it. and both of you secretly wanted it again, so badly.  you were still shocked at how fast he managed to do that, but you regathered your senses and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.  shocked at the movement, mingi pulled away from the kiss and looked at you. “wait wait wait, hold on. do you even..?” your arms still hung around his neck as you gazed at him. “yes. a lot. for a long time. having to act like i didn’t care about you for the longest time was so exhausting. glad we’re on the same page now,” you winked and smiled. “oh my god,” he gazed at you with all the euphoria in his chest. how were you so perfect? and how was he so oblivious to how perfect you were for him this entire time? this time, he couldn’t hold back. he pulled you in even closer by holding your hoodie ties and deepened the kiss from last time. you closed your eyes immediately, and held one of your hands on his neck. his chest was bursting and although he couldn’t feel it, both of your hearts were beating erratically. you still couldn’t believe that the song mingi, the boy who you crushed on from the opposite side of your math class-then-turned somewhat enemies, is the reason for your happiness right now. mingi grabbed your hand and tightened it as he felt the cold within your palm. he pulled away again, but just to look at you and smile. he then turned towards the sunrise that had been going on the entirety of the confession, and the reflection of the warm hues that had been painted on of you. you were so beautiful in this light, and you never wanted this moment to end.  “so...” “so...” “wanna head back to my place and sleep over?” and you knew that that meant an entirely new definition of going back to his place now that you both have basically spilled your feelings to each other. “hmm... maybe.” you wanted to keep him guessing, just for fun. he stood up and picked up his blanket. “alright then, i’m leaving,” he started turning away. “okok, i’m joking, take a joke,” you giggled and stood up. you ran over and tippie toed so that your arms could reach around his neck. you placed a kiss on his cheek and smiled even more brightly than before. he smiled back. he was so lucky to have you, and you wanted to know every single part of him as you fall deeper and deeper into him.

—

a/n: hi ! my name’s chae and this is my first writing published on tumblr. because this is my first work, please excuse any grammatical mistakes and writing errors!! ive been reading fics and au’s for a while on tumblr for a number of kpop groups, but i hope that i can debut some of my blurbs on here in the future.

please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, it’s gonna help me a lot in the long run : ,,)

also my requests are open!! i don’t have any restrictions on what prompts/pairings/groups are allowed right now, but i mainly write reader x, and my ult groups are ateez, skz, and x1/produce male trainees (see header).

[lawbreaker13]

Why is everybody so upset with Stormy Weather 2? This was like a super important episode??

Seriously guys, I don’t know what the problem is. There are flashback episodes in basically every show, but this was a crazy important marker for Miraculous Ladybug. I’m gonna go into detail about everything that was learned, but I just want to start by saying that what this episode did for us indefinitely was set itself on a timeline. It explicitly stated that everything through Chris Master happened within a year-and-a-half timeframe before this episode. It also set Marinette in a place where she’s officially declared, in writing, that she and Adrien are “just friends.” Like, she used Adrien’s “just a friend” line. And we know how this show is with parallels, so I count that as a pretty big one.

I’m gonna get more into this now though, so here we go.

Right off the bat we have the idea of change. Chloe taunts Marinette with the idea that she’ll never change (and we all know how much Marinette likes to challenge Chloe’s words). The word “change” is something that is brought up throughout the whole episode, so watch out for that.

We have Marinette genuinely reflecting. Like not just thinking on her rooftop and complaining about how Chat Noir is a glutton and would drop his guard for a couple of macaroons, she’s really thinking over her life’s choices. It’s framed in such a different light than the way we normally get our characters thinking.

“Adrien has become a true friend.” “Adrien’s become a friend who I can talk to about anything.” “Can you still be in love with someone even after they become your friend? Do you think I’ll ever be able to tell him that he means much more to me than ‘just a friend?’” This is what Marinette thinks of relationships. She thinks that the friends-to-lovers trope is crap and that you have to dive straight into a relationship. And that’s why whenever Adrien talks about her as a friend she becomes so heartbroken. She doesn’t think it’s a step in the right direction, she thinks it’s completely on the opposite end of the spectrum.

I don’t know WHAT Gabriel is plotting with “Ms. Tsurugi” or whether that means Kagami or her mom, but I’m a little terrified.

"Things may not be going exactly as we had planned, but change can be a good thing.” Gabriel’s first line is about change. Hm.

Nathalie’s entire monologue gives us so much background I don’t even know where to start.

She’s starting to regret having taken the job in the first place

She really, genuinely cares about Adrien

She officially, canonically, is in love with Gabriel and it’s because his dedication to his wife is admirable which show how much of a detail-oriented person Nathalie is because WOW she’s missing the big picture here, and also that there is going to be some major love triangle stuff going on towards the end of this between Gabriel, Emilie, and Nathalie (but how might that work?? Redemption arc??? Prison marriage????)

Emilie’s condition is progressively getting worse

Nathalie is still getting sicker, despite only having used the peacock miraculous once (on-screen)

(Also, side-note, hearing Nathalie speak so much at once was like an out-of-body experience for me and her passionate voice about Gabriel was...something)

Adrien really just wants to talk to his dad about his day and their relationship is so screwed up that he can tell by LESS THAN a side glance that Gabriel doesn’t want to hear it from him. Like geez.

Gabriel can recognize familiar emotions. So...does an emotion from Chat Noir feel the same as emotion from Adrien??? Guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Nooroo just wants to see Gabriel and Adrien happy together. Gabriel is a dick. This is not new information, just needed to be reiterated again.

Also, save Nooroo, please.

Gabriel does in fact have the ability to feel remorse. However, he chooses to ignore it, in his own words “at any price.” The only things worth changing his mind are his family, though he does care about Nathalie too. We’ll see how well that holds up.

“People don’t change, they only grow.” Huh. Episode themes from Gabriel Agreste.

“My father will never change.” YOU GUYS PICKING UP ON A THEME HERE????

Plagg’s “I like people who never change. You always know what to expect!” is first off, adorable, second, reverse psychology. He does this to Adrien consistently throughout the series. Considering he’s the one who keeps trying to change Adrien’s mind about Ladybug, he obviously knows what he’s saying isn’t entirely truthful. But Plagg is an adorable, cheese-loving psychopath. Whatcha gonna do?

On the complete other end of that, Plagg talking Adrien through all the ways he’s changed shows how much he cares about him again.

Why Plagg is defending Gabriel, I don’t know. But this is definitely something to note. Does he really think Gabriel is changing for the better? Is Gabriel supposedly changing for the better? (I vote no) Is he unintentionally setting Adrien up for disappointment in a later episode? Guess we’ll see!

Side note, Plagg pretending not to know Marinette’s name is one of my favorite things. It’s not like he can’t say it because Tikki can talk about Adrien, he just chooses not to. And he knows very well who she is. This was confirmed in Weredad.

The scarf has been brought up again. Everybody note this immediately.

ZAG does, in fact, have somewhat of a legitimate animation budget. That volcano is sick.

Of all the villains to use as a filler, Stormy Weather was a solid choice, you all have to admit. Especially when you contrast the repetition of a villain to the episode’s theme.

Ladybug puns. This has been confirmed.

“A little change is good, don’t you think?” HMMMMMMM. Just think about how this was followed by the line “I love that girl.” HMMMMMMM.

Nino and Alya chill on Alya’s bed. Nino never regrets meeting Alya. He loves his girlfriend. Alya loves her boyfriend. They are one of the sweetest canon couples ever to exist.

Nino has a flirty voice he uses on Alya. This is important information.

I don’t want to get into what would’ve happened had the twins not burst the door open, but I want this thought to be noted.

Nino has been adopted by the Cesaire family.

Chloe literally stands on her rooftop with a bat signal every time there’s an akuma. Obsessive much?

"There’s nobody nicer than me!” *cue reel of Chloe being the worst human in the country* is honestly one of the best jokes in this series.

“Once a villain, always a villain,” has an incredible amount of significance but it can pretty much be summed up into the idea that Chloe doesn’t understand change.

Ladybug knows that she and Chat Noir know each other really well now. She reflects on how much they trust each other, literally with their lives, and how their relationship is the reason they have new powers and fighting abilities.

Also, character development. Did anybody see that super soft look Ladybug gave Chat Noir when he said he always agrees with her? Would Ladybug have stopped to admire anything about Chat Noir 2 seasons ago? HMMMMMM.

I would like it to be noted that professional cinematography equipment is several thousands of dollars and it physically hurts me to think of that camera screen breaking in the cold.

Apparently you can take down a super villain with a photocopier and a pencil. Take notes, people.

Alya’s sisters have an akuma victory dance. More important info.

Marinette has gathered up enough courage to write Adrien a note. Last episode she tried to express her feelings. She very well had it in her to do that again, and what she chose to do was to make it clear that they were just friends. She wants Adrien to know that they’re on the same page. It’s in writing. And in Adrien’s hands.

“Good job, we’ve got ourselves a new and improved Marinette!” Change, anyone???

“She’s always been that way. She never changes.” HMMMMM.

Plagg wants Adrien to move on. He’s genuinely trying to convince him by reminding him of how Ladybug is not interested. But maybe there are other girls out there? Hint hint.

*Looks at valentine from Marinette* “You can’t just change your feelings just like that.” *conveniently timed note from Marinette arrives* GUYS. IT’S CALLED SYMBOLISM. Or something like that. Also foreshadowing.

Now this I need to explain super in-depth because there are so many complaints about this part. Adrien was just looking between the two notes. He knows how Marinette gets around him and he knows how it compares to when she’s talking to Chat Noir or Alya. He remembers things from Troublemaker. And he’s holding the two notes in his hands at that moment. Incredibly similar handwriting. He thinks. He remembers how she had pictures of him in her room. And he consciously knows that the valentine he got in response to his own is not from Ladybug. He knows it’s from someone at school. Doesn’t think, he knows. Adrien has figured it out. “No, Marinette couldn’t possibly be in love with me,” he says sadly with slight question in his voice. “She’s just a friend who loves fashion. Besides. There’s Luka.” *cue flashbacks of Adrien watching Marinette and Luka on a date, with the absolute saddest music I have ever heard play in this show playing in the background while he reflects* Guys. This is how Adrien thinks. This is what Adrien thinks of relationships. He believes that you can only like one person at a time. He can’t like Marinette, he likes Ladybug. And Marinette can’t like him, she likes Luka. He DID figure it out. The only reason he dismissed it is because he doesn’t understand her feelings. He doesn’t understand that love isn’t clear-cut, finite, one-and-done. He knows for a fact that she went out with Luka once, so how could she like both of them? That’s not possible...is it?

And are you telling me that “It’s just a person that has similar writing, that’s all,” wasn’t spoken in the most melancholic, disappointed tone of voice that Adrien has ever used on anyone other than his father?

Adrien’s 14. Marinette is 14. They don’t understand life. They don’t understand how complex feelings and relationships are. They think you fall in love with your soulmate and it’s golden from there. They’re dumb kids, but they’re not stupid. Adrien did figure it out. But he can’t bring himself to believe it. He doesn’t understand. And be honest. Did you understand when you were 14?

A couple side notes about the episode that didn’t fit directly into my play-by-play.

That valentine thing went full-circle. Dark Cupid was the first episode with any real lovesquare plot-progression and here we have the exact same setup, but this time with internal monologuing. We start with Marinette reading Adrien’s letter and end with Adrien reading Marinette’s letter. Just like we did in Dark Cupid, but this time it’s in reflection. It’s a parallel. I’m not fabulous at analysis, but I do know this much. Parallels.

This was a Valentine’s Day episode in the same way that Chris Master was a Christmas episode. Themed but not centered. It was a nice change of pace if you ask me.

The end card is always kind of a mini-synopsis of the episode. In this one, we see Marinette, confident and proud of herself for accepting Adrien’s friendship, and Adrien, staring longingly at a valentine that he knows isn’t from Ladybug, wondering if it could possibly, possibly be from Marinette. Huh. That feels a little backwards, doesn’t it?

And I’m just still so stuck on how sad that music was with the Luka flashback. Like, that kinda hurt to listen to??? Wow Adrien.

Side note, I just...I can't get over this. When you were a kid and you heard someone liked you (let alone was in love with you) did you believe it? I'm an adult and I wouldn't believe it if someone told me they liked me. When you feel as unloved as Adrien does every single day, the idea of a good friend of yours being completely in love with you sounds almost...too good to be true, doesn't it? Why should he think she likes him? Especially since he’s just drawing that conclusion on his own?

I personally would like to believe that the reason the rest of the episodes have been postponed is so that we can mull this over for a little while until the rest of them come out. Because from this point forward, there will be some changes. And speaking of which.

CHANGE. Can we all agree that that’s what this episode was about? Why would they place it on a timeline otherwise? Why would they explain to us what came before unless we’re supposed to know what comes after? IT’S THE CONTINUITY THAT WE’VE BEEN ASKING FOR. ACCEPT YOUR GIFTS.

This is the best continuity and information we’ve been given since episode one. And it’s set up in a way that my 6-year-old cousin could understand perfectly. It’s a show for everyone, guys. And this episode was the perfect example of it.

I personally think this is one of the best episodes thus far. In fact, if it weren’t for my Marichat-loving heart, it would be number one by a long-shot. Of COURSE they needed a recap episode. Because if they didn’t have one, do you know what we’d say? “Oh, but Thomas Astruc says there IS no continuity! Did he LIE???” Let the man win for once. We asked. It was delivered. This. Is. Continuity. This. Is. Character development. This. Is. Plot. This. Is. Miraculous.

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.

[thesummerstorms]

Rev Recaps Hard Contact (Chapter 7)

CW: mass execution

TL;DR Recap: Niner & Omega watch the Separatists murder Hokan’s old militia. Etain and Darman meet and it’s incredibly awkward. Hokan takes time to gloat. The truth finally comes out about Atin.

Beginning Kal Count: 10 Ending Kal Count: 12 (or 12.5)

THIS RECAP IS THE LONGEST YET. Everything seems to happen in this chapter.

So we open with Niner being bored, Fi being Fi, and Atin being cheerful because he’s up to his elbows in electronic guts. The scene starts pretty quiet before a massive tonal change, but it’s honestly the front half that’s my favorite, just for character reasons.

Niner is bored and grumpy, so logically he’s thinking about how to revise the training manual. Plus his little “if one precaution was good, two were better.” Good old Niner.  Fi being amused that Atin is made content by shredding a computer to pieces. I don’t know, it’s just the little things about their dynamic that makes me happy.

Niner is still upset with Atin, but he’s also curious. He doesn’t have long to think about it though, because the Separatist troops assigned to Uthan along with some of the battle droids assigned to the planet start approaching Hokan’s old Weequay militia. The squad watches as the Separatist officer and the droids proceed to murder every single one of Hokan’s old “associates” in visual range with no warning then retreat back to their base, which Niner finds understandably worrying. 

We switch then to Etain, who is frustrated and paranoid and is building herself an emergency exist by loosening the boards in the back wall of the barn where Jinart has been hiding her. She’s yet again frustrated that she can’t do more with her Force powers, and her lack of self-esteem really comes out in full measure.

“She wondered why Jedi blood had bothered to manifest itself in someone who was so fallible.” Sweetheart...

Jinart arrives to take her somewhere and lets Etain finally feel her presence in the Force. But when Etain mistakes Jinart for a Jedi and asks why Jinart didn’t tell her what she was... Jinart tells Etain to shut up.

“And given your competence, I’m the one who’s most at risk. Now, silence.”

Okay, listen, if you could give her even like three seconds of genuine explanation rather than just attacking her for not trusting you after her teacher was literally sold out and then tortured to death, then you wouldn’t need to tell her to STFU. I’m just saying, Jinart.

Anyway, Jinart tells Etain that there’s a soldier waiting up ahead for her, so Etain heads in that direction, despite Jinart still being extremely shady. She’s about to meet Darman, and while I love them both dearly, while this ship is my OTP, it’s... really fucking awkward.

Listen. This is just weird as hell, okay? I’m gonna admit it. I also pretend it ... wasn’t written like this. Because while Darman is naive and inexperienced, he still has enough neurological development (and enough experiences that go beyond the pale of normal adulthood even) that this weird framing of him as “childlike” just comes off creepy. So I ignore it. That’s really all I have to say about it.

Etain feels Darman’s scope or his attention through the scope or whatever, and decides “well, I’m going to fuck someone up before I die, if I can”, which to be fair, is a very Etain thing to do.

Darman sees her lighstaber is like “oh, finally a Jedi”, and tries to greet her politely. Except this is Etain, who really has no idea what the fuck is going on except that she’s been on this planet for three or more months, the only person she trusted was murdered, and there’s an evil Mandalorian somewhere who wants to hurt her badly.

So naturally when her vision clears (Darman blinded her with some kind of light), she see his helmet, assumes Jinart’s shadiness was in fact the prelude to a betrayal and that this is Hokan...

Darman getting worried now:

And Etain being Etain,she launches herself at him.  (ง'̀-'́)ง(ง'̀-'́)ง(ง'̀-'́)ง

It... doesn’t go well. Darman deflects most of her attacks pretty easily and literally dumps her in the river, continuing to try and calm her down to no avail, but she’s reached her breaking point and is pretty much in a blind rage.

“and when she was frightened and desperate and angry that was very hard indeed. She hadn’t know it until now.”

Listen, it’s a very un-Jedi-like but very Etain thing to do, and also who can really blame her given what she thought was happening and the kind of time she’s had on this planet so far. But Darman is exasperated, and I’m pretty Etain was embarrassed looking back at this for the remainder of her very short life.

Anyway, Darman finally manages to calm her down enough to let him talk, and in the process, he tries to smooth things over by taking the blame. He didn’t identify himself, it’s his fault, etc. He introduces himself (with the wrong designation- KT uses CC 1136, which would make him a Commander, rather than RC 1136) but in doing so, he uses terms of ranks, confusing the hell out of her. She asks when they got a Grand Army and-

We get the iconic “handing her back her lightsaber from the river” scene, except the official art for that picture always neglects to depict the fact that as gentlemanly as he’s trying to be, she’s dripping wet with her hair plastered in her face and desperately trying to politely ask her not to either get herself shot or go after him with a lightsaber again.

Instead of “meet cute” it’s more of a “meet extremely awkward”.

Anyway, this is all coming on the heels of several really bad months for Etain and the utter dismissal she just got from Jinart, so her insecurity really comes out in this conversation. It’s not really pretty.

(Side note, for once I do have to give KT some points on effectively carrying a tiny world building thing: Dar was embarrassed when Jusik asked for his name, he’s embarrassed that Etain is doing it now, and he’s going to be embarrassed again when she asks the rest of his squad.)

“talking army gibberish” lmao.

Again, self-esteem issues. But to be honest, as embarrassed as I am for Etain in this scene (she really doesn’t give her best here) it’s probably because I can relate a hell of a lot to her emotions?

Like, imagine. You’ve already got major issues with your self-worth from a lifetime of not being good enough for the people and the system that raised you, you just got dragged by an old woman after months of struggling behind enemy lines, you failed in your mission to protect the one person who gave a shit about you, and some (to your knowledge) regular human just successfully took you down without too much struggle when Jedi are supposed to be more than human, the best of the best. Then he turns to you with wide-eyed confidence and insists you are now his commanding officer, and you almost feel worse because he’s trying to absolve you of any fault. 

I’d be kind of prickly and asshole-ish, too, if I’m honest.

Again, we start with her having trouble with some wounded pride. But... we end on that bomb shell, and I would not blame Etain for short-circuiting at being told a 10 year old had been “bred to serve [her]. It’s a hell of a lot.

Anyway, I’m aware I copied and pasted almost the entire scene, but there’s a lot there, okay? But next comes more Hokan, and he’s basically just gloating that he’s now more powerful than Ankkit.

*long, exasperated sigh*

Listen, I could write a college essay about characterization just focusing on this man’s use of the word decadent, holy fuck. Also, the gloating is “vulgar” but all he does for pretty much his entire appearance in this chapter is gloat.

You know who Hokan would have gotten on with? Vizsla. Wait- no. Even Vizsla kicked him out. Anyway, Hokan finishes gloating and then goes off to murder a farmer for not divulging important information quickly enough/trying to trade it for booze.

This chapter is long and I know I’ve made this post really long, but we cut back to Niner and Fi again. They’ve made their way to one of the rendezvous points, only to find the trees that should be there aren’t. Fi eventually guesses that they’ve been logging and makes a disparaging comment about intel. Niner gives a little bit more exposition on how terrible the Kaminoans were, including a rumor about clones with impaired eyesight who disappeared and a comment about how Jedi giving orders is different from Kaminoans because Kaminoans are the only things he fears.

Fi is sighing, and eventually Niner prods at him:

And we get our biggest Kal Count yet. Technically this is one continuing remembrance, but it’s also long as hell and includes lots of little memories, so I almost want to include it as 1.5 towards our Kal Count, bringing us to a total of 11 (or 11.5). I’m way more interested in their conversation before Kal is brought up than after, honestly. But the reminiscing gets broken up when Omega is suddenly shot at by a few Separatist officers and a bunch of battle droids:

Please, please imagine this moment with the cartoon B1 battle droid voices from The Clone Wars. Please, I’m begging you.

Atin saves Niner’s life, which is honestly the most positive thing that has happened between the two of them so far and marks a turning point for them in general. It’s also the first time we get to see Fi jump in as squad medic, but he’s super efficient about it. Also, he snarks at Atin as he’s actively trying to decide if Atin is dying or not:

Niner offers to carry Atin’s pack for him until he’s doing better, which means he’s probably carrying something like 300 lbs now, even if Atin did save his life. And I know my screenshots for this post have been ridiculously long, but Niner finally, finally reconciles with Atin enough to figure out why Atin has been an asshole about Darman this whole time (minus the Vau thing):

It’s a pretty nice closing line to the scene, honestly. Also, technically speaking our Kal Count just jumped to 12.

I’ll spare you most of the closing scene because it’s just Hokan being pissed and thinking it’s impossible clones could have done this, but:

a) Mandalorian. Honor. Complex. You’d think Mandalore the Ultimate had been in charge for the last few years instead of Jango.

b) seriously. What is it with the word “decadent”??????

But it’s over quickly with Hokan making the wry observation that if he didn’t know better he would think he was being haunted by Jango’s ghost.

[panda-noosh]

New Addition {Keith x Reader}{SONDER series}

Words: 5.9k

Summary: Keith’s world is flipped, yet again.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: pregnancy + birth. female!reader. 

Notes: masterlist - SONDER - hello. you guys won. i wrote a follow-up. 

---

Trembling hands, a racing heartbeat, the sudden, desperate need to just get up and run as far from this small, cramped room as you could possibly get.

  It crashed down upon you with a weight unlike any other. It slumped your shoulders, grabbed you by the throat and demanded you give it an attention you could not deny, because the positive pregnancy test you currently held in your hands was not something you could just pretend never happened.

  It was a responsibility, and yet you couldn't quite figure it out.

  It wasn't like this was your first time looking down at the little blue cross. You'd done it before, and under much worse circumstances; you'd been with a man who didn't really care about you or what was happening, and you had been much, much younger – so young, in fact, that you were convinced you wouldn't even be allowed to keep the little girl for yourself – your daughter. The light of your life.

   Things were different now. Hope was seven years old. You and Keith had been together for two years, had lived together for a year and a half. Things were brighter, made more sense, and yet you couldn't stop the onslaught of tears that slid down your face from the moment you looked at the confirmation that things were never going to be the same again.

  Keith wouldn't be home from work for another few hours, meaning you would have to bottle the news up for a little while longer. Hope was at her grandmothers. You had the entire house to yourself, a good amount of time to process what it was you needed to process – and yet you couldn't handle it. You couldn't just sit in your own silence and wallow until Keith got home. You'd get lost in your own head, would break down long before you had a chance to fully process what was happening.

  That was how you found yourself grabbing your clothes, pulling them on and heading out the front door with the pregnancy test stuffed deep into the pockets of your coat; it was dark now, meaning the chill was difficult to ignore even in your seemingly paralysed state. Sitting on that bathroom floor, you'd were certain you'd never feel anything ever again. The cold was enough to prove you wrong, and yet you continued, refusing to turn back. You pulled open the door of Voltron Pizza Parlour and stepped inside, immediately being greeted by Lance who stood tall behind the counter, doodling on an old note pad.

  He looked up at the sound of the bell jingling above the door, immediately raising a puzzled brow in your direction.

  “Y/N,” he said. “You're not meant to be working today.”

  “Is Keith in or is he off doing deliveries?” you asked, ignoring his comment.

  “He's just finished delivering,” Lance replied, raising a brow. “He should be back any minute now. Why? Is Hope alright?”

  “Hope's fine.” That's all the information you offered before you turned on your heel and took a seat by the window. The parlour was empty at this time of night, though it could have been overfilled with people and you wouldn't have noticed. Your heartbeat was racing at a million miles per hour, that dreaded voice in the back of your head so loud and bold that it made your stomach turn.

  Keith was going to be a dad.

  You squeezed your eyes shut, leaned forward enough to press your forehead against the cold metal of the table; you were overjoyed in a weird way. If Keith took the news well, it would be life changing for both of you. A new little addition to the family, an experience for Keith to take on and learn from.

  But you thought of Hope. Of course you did. Your precious little girl with whom you would personally pluck the stars from the sky if she asked you to. Her bond with Keith was unlike anything you had ever seen before – what if Keith concentrated more on this baby than her? What if he realised that this child was his own, his genuine flesh and blood, and he put Hope to the side in favour of them?

   The thought was bizarre, and you knew that. Perhaps it was some early pregnancy hormones swirling in your brain, tilting your thoughts until they hit the point of worst-case-scenario. You knew Keith. You knew he would never do such a thing, and yet the possibility was too there for you to ignore it.

  The bell above the door jingled, and you stiffened, didn't look up until you felt his presence at the side of you.

  “Well, hello there,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “What can I get for you, pretty woman?”

  You looked up, straight into his eyes, and it was then that his smile fell and his shoulders slumped. You didn't even need to say anything before he kneeled in front of you, grabbed your hands and bunched them up in your lap, his large fingers engulfing your own. His eyes softened, his mouth tilting into a frown until he finally managed, “What's the matter?”

    “Keith...” Oh God, you were beginning to regret this decision more and more. Lance was feet away, whistling to himself as he cleaned the oven in the kitchen. Keith had just got off work. Your brain was muddled – you should have waited, should have given yourself a chance to process the news for yourself before you came clambering to Keith.

  You looked away, nibbling on your bottom lip. You weren't sure if you were going to cry or not – at this point, you couldn't really tell.

  “Hey,” Keith said, shaking your hands to get your attention back on him. “I know something's wrong. Tell me what's wrong.”

  And it was the genuine concern in his voice that whittled you down. “I've been. . . I've been feeling sick recently. Really sick.”

  Keith raised a brow. You didn't miss the sudden paling of his cheeks. “I told you to go to the doctors about that. Was it bad news?”

   “N-no. No. I didn't go to the doctors.”

  Keith's grip tightened. “Y/N, you were throwing up all morning on Tuesday. That's not just something you should-”

   You waved a hand. “I know why it's happening. I'm fine. At least – at least, I think so. I hope so. God, I hope so.”

  Keith stiffened, looking up at you with his eyebrow still raised and his hands still kneading the flesh of your own. “So what is it?” A part of you knew he could tell what was about to happen. He wasn't stupid.

  But you said it anyway, because you had to say the words for you to truly believe them right now. “I'm pregnant, Keith.”

    Keith wasn't one to filter emotion well. It was one of the few things about him that was a downfall – he heard news, and he didn't know how to handle it, so he just didn't. He would stare blankly at the person until someone else stepped in and saved him from either looking plain disrespectful or just downright rude.

  But there was no delay in his reaction now.

  His lower lip quivered. You saw that first, followed shortly by the tightening of his grip on your hands, which was then exaggerated by the smile that slowly made its way onto his face, brightening up every tired feature his expression once held.

  You gawked down at him. “You're happy?”

  “Are you serious?” He whispered it, flicked a look over his shoulder to make sure Lance wasn't looking before he shot upright, dragging you along with him. You couldn't help the eruption of laughter that immediately spilled from your mouth when he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you into him, hugging you so tightly that you were on the verge of telling him to let you go just so you could catch your breath.

  But you didn't. In fact, you challenged him by squeezing him back even tighter, burying your face in the crook of his neck because never before had you felt so elated, so overcome with relief and happiness in such a short amount of time.

  “You're happy?” you repeated, needing to hear him say it, his actions not being enough right now. You just needed everything to be straight forward. You needed to make sure you weren't interpreting anything wrong.

   “Fucking hell, Y/N, of course I am,” he mumbled into your neck, swaying back and forth, not once letting you go. “Hope's gonna be a big sister.”

   Your eyes flooded with tears. “She's gonna be so happy.”

    “When did you find out?” he asked, suddenly jolting away from you. “Oh God, I wasn't there. I should have been with you when you took the test. That's the right thing to do, isn't it?” He narrowed his eyes. “You did take a test, didn't you? None of this weird Old Wives Tale bullshit.”

  You giggled. “No, I took a test.” That was when you remembered. “Oh! Here!” You reached into your pocket and tugged the little blue stick out, showing it to Keith. He hesitated for only a moment, clearly understanding the process it took to get the results, but he eventually pushed those hesitations aside and took the test from between your fingers.

  His own were trembling.

  “A-and the second line means it's true?” he said, looking back at you with wide, curious eyes. “You're pregnant?”

  You grinned, nodding.

  Keith hollowed out his cheeks, looking back down at the test as if making sure it was real, making sure all of this was real and you couldn't blame him. Even as you stood before him now, with the smell of pizza heavy in the air and the darkness engulfing the outside world, the test proving everything, you still couldn't quite believe what had happened tonight.

  “Wow,” Keith whispered, shaking his head. “And it's definitely mine?”

  You groaned. “You don't even need me to answer that question.”

  “I know, I know,” he mumbled. “It's just . . . so surreal. Like, this literally all happened in two seconds.” He shook his head, looking up at you. “You've literally just changed my entire life in two seconds.”

    “I'm sorry I kinda came out of nowhere,” you said. “But at the same time, it's partly your fault that I'm pregnant, so I feel like the least you can do is let me show up at work to tell you.”

  Keith grinned, pulling you back under his arm. “When are we telling Hope?”

    “Whenever you want.”

   “Let's make sure everything's alright with the Little One before we tell her. I just wanna make sure it's not too early on to be getting the Big One's hopes up.”

   You smiled. “You've already got nicknames lined up?”

   “They've been ready for months.” And with that, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before he pulled away and said, “So what are your thoughts on pregnancy sex?”

  ---

  Hope would be home from school at any moment, and you were counting down the seconds.

  You hoped and prayed Keith hadn't lost his willpower; all day he'd been walking around, talking about how excited he was to finally let Hope in on what was going on, on what was happening, on the fact that she would soon be a big sister. He'd all but vibrated with his own excitement, and the fact that he was alone in the car with her now spiked your anxiety to new heights.

  You leaned against the kitchen counter, ringing a towel between your hands because it was the only thing you could do to keep yourself distracted from the impending task. You and Keith had planned the entire speech out the night before, interrupting one another, nudging each other, saying “No, that'll never work, let me say this part!” until finally, it looked like you had the solid foundations for a decent announcement.

  But it wouldn't really go how you planned, and you knew that better than anyone.

  The sound of the front door opening startled you out of your daze. You could hear Keith telling Hope to take her shoes off, could hear Hope ask her usual question of “Why?” even as she did it anyway; no matter how many times you and Keith told her that you didn't like mud being tracked in the house, she still never failed to ask the reason why behind everything.

  Keith appeared in the doorway, having ignored her question. His violet eyes were wide, his steps quick as he marched over, grabbed your arm and said, “We're doing this now?”

  Your head snapped towards him. “What? You said yesterday-”

  “I know, I know,” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “But I'm nervous!”

   You couldn't stop the giggle. Keith frowned, furrowing his brows as you reached up and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “You're gonna be fine.”

  “What if she doesn't even want a brother or sister?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “There's not a lot we can do about it now, is there?”

  Keith opened his mouth to reply, no doubt some sarcastic retort, but his verbal genius was cut off by the soft pattering of Hope's bare feet against the kitchen tiles. She did her usual routine of hugging your legs absentmindedly before making her way towards the cupboard.

  “Can I have Jaffa Cakes?”

  “In a bit,” you replied. “Me and Keith need to talk to you first.”

  Hope frowned, still reaching for the treats cupboard. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” said Keith. He reached down, bundled Hope in his arms and placed her on the counter. She giggled, looking down at the floor before she bunched her knees into her chest and rocked slowly back and forth.

  “Mummy doesn't like it when I sit up here,” she whispered, as if you weren't standing two feet away from her.

  Keith planted both his palms on either side of her, caging her in to stop her from falling. “Well, we're making an exception now. We have something important to tell you.”

   “Important?”

  “Very important.” Keith lowered his voice. “Top secret, okay? You can't tell anyone – not until Mummy and I say it's alright.”

  “That's right,” you said, stepping forward and leaning over Keith's shoulder, lowering your own voice to a suspicious whisper.

  Hope looked up, eyes wide, darting between you and Keith before she started nodding frantically. “I promise I won't tell.” She paused, frowned. “Not even Grandma?”

  “Not yet,” you said. “Once Keith and I tell you it's okay, you're allowed to talk to Grandma about it however much you want, but right now, this is between you and us.”

  “It's a big girls secret,” Keith added. “Think you can handle it?”

  Hope sat up straighter, buffed out her chest in the way Keith taught her; she had fallen down in the park one day, started crying until Keith sat beside her and told her to copy him. The two of them had sat there, straight backed and frowning into the abyss for what felt like ages – but it got Hope to stop crying. Now, it was her way of showing people just how tough she was.

  “Okay,” she said. “I'm ready.”

    You and Keith shot each other a glance. You'd known Keith long enough to recognise the tell-tale signs of his panic, and they were in full throttle now. His violet eyes were blown wide, his tongue constantly darting out to moisten his bottom lip. His index finger rubbed at the inside of his middle finger to the point where the skin slowly started to brighten into redness. You reached over, tangled your fingers with his before you leaned forward and said, “How would you like a little brother or sister?”

  And Hope wasn't stupid. She didn't tilt her head in confusion, didn't require any further explanation as to what it was you were asking �� her green eyes widened, her jaw dropping open for only a few seconds before she closed it again and hollowed out her cheeks.

  Keith burst out laughing. Even you were unable to hide the amused smile forming on your face, though the relief that immediately whisked through you was enough to mute any noise you would have made.

  Hope slammed her fists into Keith's chest, bundling his shirt in her little hands with her excitement. “Really?!”

  “Really,” Keith chuckled, grabbing her hands and pressing gentle kisses to the back of her knuckles. “Are you excited?”

  “When can I meet them?” she asked, ignoring Keith's question. “Will they look like me? Oh, Mummy, I can share my toys with them, too!” She frowned then, slouching. “Unless it's a boy. Boys don't really like my dolls.”

   “You never know,” you said. “If it's a boy, he might love playing with your toys.”

   “On the other hand, if it's a girl,” Keith added, “she might hate playing with them.”

  Hope frowned as if this possibility had never dawned on her before. You chuckled, reached over and pinched her tiny cheeks, unable to help yourself – god, you were happy. So, so happy that the news had been announced with little to no hassle. Hope was all but bubbling up with her excitement, hands still bundled in Keith's red shirt.

  “Will I meet them soon?” she asked, voice quieter now.

  “Soon enough,” Keith replied, reaching down and placing a gentle hand on your stomach. The touch startled you, and your eyes snapped up to the side of his head. He wasn't looking at you, though – his attention was firm on Hope, a small smile adorning his features that you knew for a fact you would never, ever get used to seeing. No matter how often you saw it nowadays, it still managed to send butterflies stampeding through your very being.

  “Grandma told me that Mummy eats a lot when she's having a baby,” Hope blurted out. “She told me that you used to eat for two.”

  You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing; the furrowed brows on your daughter told you she would be most confused if you started chuckling at her absurd observations – she was serious. “Grandma was right.”

  “She was?” Keith said, raising a brow and looking over his shoulder, a slow smirk replacing his previous grin.

  You shrugged. “I am eating for two.”

  “Well, you can share with Hope,” he said. “I savour my food.”

  Hope gasped, swatting Keith's shoulder before turning to you. “You can share with me, Mummy. I don't mind.”

   You nudged Keith. He rolled his eyes, only forcing another cheesy grin to appear on your face.

  “Thank you, baby,” you said. “It's very much appreciated.”

  ----

  You'd forgotten just how nerve-wracking ultrasounds could be.

  It had been a while since you'd last had one, a while since you'd last felt the gel touch your stomach, the slight ache of the remote as it dug into your flesh. You focused on the feel of Keith's hand, the way his thumb glided over your knuckles, the way his breathing picked up whenever the machine beeped and the ultrasound technician would print yet another picture for the two of you to examine.

  It was an exciting time, but to say you weren't nervous would be a lie.

  Anything could show up on that screen, a fact that Keith refused to let slip from your brain. You knew it was just his way of calming himself down – this was his first time doing anything like this, at the end of the day. He sat beside you in the car, going on and on about how he would be there the entire time, how he would hold your hand, how he would hold you if anything went wrong. He then quickly shook his head, dismissing his previous statement by saying, “But nothing will go wrong, so don't worry.”

   But the worry had already been lodged into your brain.

  The ultrasound technician was oddly quiet as she worked. Her mouth twisted, her beady eyes narrowed and her posture straight and professional. Her hands showed no mercy, all but ripping your shirt up so she could get a glance at the tiny little bump already beginning to form. She had then taken the remote to your stomach and got to work with little to say bar the odd direction for you and Keith to look.

  “That's its foot.”

  “There's an arm.”

  “I'm pretty sure that's its left pinky...”

  “You keep saying it,” Keith said, startling you. The room had been quiet until then. “When are you gonna tell us if we're having a boy or a girl?”

  “Keith,” you hissed, before turning to the ultrasound technician. “Don't mind him. You take your time.”

  The nurse smiled, though it was clearly forced, before she turned back to the screen and got back to work. Keith hollowed out his cheeks, running his free hand through his hair and slumping back in his seat – you were also growing impatient, but you knew there was no point in rushing something like this.

  You squeezed his hand in reassurance only once before the ultrasound technician sighed, clipped the lid back on the remote and started printing out the final photos. Keith scrambled forward, you following suit, and the two of you stared at her expectantly.

  She wiped her hands on some paper towel, turned to you and said, “Congratulations. You're having a boy.”

  ----

  “He's not wearing that.”

  “Keith, look. You're not even looking.” You grabbed his arm, shoving the tiny little baseball cap into his hands. “Look.”

  Keith narrowed his eyes, plucking the baseball cap from your hands and inspecting it closely. “I have looked.” He shoved it back onto the shelf. “And it looks awful. Our poor little boy is gonna get bullied before he's even started walking.”

   You groaned. Keith simply rolled his eyes, grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the shop again, ignoring the glances being thrown at you from the workers – the workers who had spent a good portion of their time just watching you and Keith parade through the shelves, arguing back and forth.

  “You're worse than I am, you know,” you said, stumbling into step beside him though neither of you let go of the others hand. “I thought it was the mother who was supposed to get all fussy about the clothes?”

  “I'm not being fussy-”

   “You're being fussy. Fussier than Hope when she hasn't had her hot chocolate before bed.”

  Keith gasped. “Take that back.”

   You grinned, nudging his arm. “I'm being serious. I had no idea you would take this kind of thing so seriously.”

   “What do you mean 'this kind of thing?'”

  “You know.” You shrugged. “The fashion side of things. The accessories. Tiny little baseball caps.”

   “He's not wearing a baseball cap.”

   “You've made that clear.” You looked away. “But he's gonna be put in a baseball cap eventually.”

  Keith groaned, but even he couldn't help the tiny little laugh that slipped past his lips. You grinned back at him, taking his amusement as a success even as the two of you continued walking round the shop with little success whatsoever – so far, you had agreed only on two things, and one of them was a plain white vest that you insisted the baby would need at some stage. Keith had agreed, and that was that.

  However, the more dramatic pieces of clothing were more difficult to agree upon.

  It wasn't long until the two of you found yourselves in the shoe section of the clothes shop. Keith was genuinely pondering over a pair of tiny little high tops, tapping at his chin, his lower lip pouted. You could only stare at him, an amused smile fighting its way to the surface.

  “Keith.”

“Hm?”

  “You do realise we don't actually need to buy shoes until after he's born, right?”

  He glanced at you. “What do you mean? Of course he's gonna need shoes.”

  “I mean, eventually, yeah, but I think we should actually get him something to put on his back first. He's gonna be carried everywhere for quite a while.”

   “But his outfits gonna look wonky if he doesn't have a pair of shoes.”

   You raised a brow, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. “Right. His outfit. The outfit we haven't actually picked out yet.”

    “If this is about the baseball cap-”

  You lurched forward, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the side. He grunted, stumbling after you. “This isn't about the baseball cap,” you insisted. “How about we make a deal.”

  Keith narrowed his eyes. “I'm listening...”

  “You pick out any outfit you like, and I have to let you get it. No arguments. Then I'll pick out any outfit I like, and you have to let me get it without argument, too.” Keith froze. “It'll get us started at least.”

   He pondered on the idea for a minute, eyes tracing your face. It was clear he didn't quite trust you with the task, his mind no doubt zooming back to the god awful baseball cap he seemed to have some vendetta against. It was a few seconds before he finally hollowed out his cheeks, shook his hand from your grip, turned and said, “Fine. Meet back here in ten minutes.”

  And that was exactly what you did.

  All it took was ten minutes. You snatched up the cute t-shirts and the tiny little jeans and the onesies and darted back to your meeting place. Keith was already there, rifling through his assortment of clothes with a frown on his face, inspecting each one before he looked up and met your eyes.

  “I got a little more than just an outfit,” he said.

  You held up your own armful of clothes. “Same here.”

   “Let's see what you got then.”

   “You have to let me get them. That's the deal.”

  “The deal was an outfit-”

  “Keith.”

  He rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely to the pile of clothes hung over your arm, silently saying get on with it. You grinned from ear to ear, tugging the clothes up and showing them to him with your smile still spread wide across your face; it was pure amusement that coursed through you at the way Keith ruffled his brows, the way he bit at his knuckles to keep his comments back, the way he winced at the sight of a t-shirt you'd picked out consisting of a dinosaur scoring a goal in a game of football, the words “Dino-score” printed beneath it.

  When you were finished, all Keith had the energy to say was, “You're just so proud of yourself, aren't you?”

  “I personally think Little One is gonna love it.” You thrust the clothes into the basket. “Now, what have you picked out?”

  Keith's demeanour immediately changed. He straightened up, started showing you the clothes he'd picked out, and you would be lying to claim they weren't decent. They were, though you knew they would be; Keith may have hid it well, but he knew how to put an outfit together when he wanted to. He may not have put that much thought into his own outfits on a day-to-day basis, but it was clear in the fashionable fabrics he was showing you now that he was going to take a lot of thought into the order of his sons clothes.

  You nodded along to each one before Keith thrust them into the basket and said, “Well?”

  “I'm not gonna lie to you, Keith Kogane,” you said. “You haven't done too bad.”

  He grinned. “I wanna get Little One and Hope some matching clothes, too. How cute would that be?”

   “Hope would be mortified.”

  “Hope'll love it.” He intertwined your fingers together and started for the counter. “Her and her little brother walking around in matching tracksuits-”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Keith frowned. “What?”

  “We're not putting them in tracksuits.”

  “But it's okay to put them in things like that Dino-score shirt?”

  “That shirt's funny! Hope would love it.”

  Keith rolled his eyes again. “We'll see about that when we get home, won't we?”

  ----

  July 28th. The day everything changed forever.

  Lance's birthday. Already a time for celebration, though Keith could not make it to one of his oldest friends birthday parties. He was cooped up, too busy holding your hand and trying not to cry in the hospital room he had been cooped up in since 3am that morning.

  He paced back and forth for hours. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion. His legs were stiff, his mind numb as the caffeine thrummed through his entire body. You had been able to take a quick nap through the contractions, and Keith had tried to join you, but the chair was too small and his thoughts were too quick and he couldn't quite bring himself to sit still long enough for his body to realise the state of exhaustion it was in.

  The sun had come up. Keith sat by your side, held your hand, whispered soothing words in your ear because that was what he'd heard he should be doing – letting you know you were a damn hero, letting you know that he was there and always would be. Your eyes fluttered closed, face pressed against the pillow, shallow breaths slipping past your lips that sounded pained and exhausted. Keith wiped the sweat from your forehead, held your phone to your ear when Lance and Hunk had called, asking for details. Lance had jokingly said, “You better hold it in for another few hours, Y/N! I don't fancy sharing my birthday.”

   But it seemed like Lance's request was going to be impossible, because a few hours later, you were ready.

  Keith hated hearing you cry out. He hated that he couldn't do anything, that he could only sit by your side and tell you how good you were doing, how close you were to being a mother for a second time, how this was all going to be worth it. As he watched your face contort in pain, listened to your screamed curse words, he was beginning to doubt that it would be worth it – in that moment, he didn't pay attention to the fact that he was minutes away from becoming a dad, or that his life was about to change forever. He was looking at your face, at the face he'd woken up to every morning for the past two and a half years, and he was concentrating on how hurt you looked and how he'd never seen anything so heartbreaking in his entire life.

  But then the sound of crying spilled into the room, and you suddenly stopped screaming and were merely gasping for air, and Keith couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, could barely move as the doctor placed the tiny bundle on your chest. The nurses were saying things, congratulating him, maybe, but he couldn't even hear them.

  The only congratulations he could make out was your own. You looked up at Keith and said through tears, “You're a dad. Look at him. You're a dad.”

  Keith was certain he could listen to those words all day long and never get tired of them.

  He slumped down on the chair by your bedside, took the scissors from the doctor and cut the umbilical chord. His hands were trembling, but he did it, and when his hands were finally free, he placed them on the bare skin of his son and felt the meaning of his life in physical form. This was what he was here for. For twenty four years, this was what he'd been preparing for, and it was finally here and Keith couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop running his fingers along his sons arms, making sure to nudge your fingers every time he did so.

  Neither of you could speak. The nurses measured him, weighed him, did his little foot prints, and neither you nor Keith could say anything. The smiles were too big, the shock still too overwhelming; speaking would just shatter it, bring you back to the reality. Keith wanted to live in this moment of bliss for a moment longer.

  ---

  “Lincoln Lance Kogane. 6 pounds 9 ounces. Born on July 28th at 6:04pm.”

  “The same day as Uncle Lance!” Hope exclaimed, a little too loudly. Tiny little Lincoln grumbled, squirming in Keith's arms at the volume of his big sisters voice; Hope immediately gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth and nuzzling into your shoulder again. “Did I scare him?”

  “You've just gotta be quiet,” you assured her. “He's sleeping, you see.”

  “He does that a lot,” Hope said. She slowly leaned forward again, glancing at the tiny black hairs peeking out from the blanket in Keith's arms. “Will he wake up and play with my toys with me?”

  “Not just yet,” said Keith. “Give him time, though, and he'll be playing dolls with you all day, every day.”

  Hope grinned at the prospect, and the sight of it made your heart tug. You took a tiny, subtle step back just to admire the people standing before you – your family, the people you loved most in the world. Keith, with Lincoln bundled in his arms and his eyes on Hope. Hope, with her curious hands poking gently into her new little brothers blanket. Lincoln, so small and carefree, eyes closed and black hairs already growing at a rate you knew would be difficult to control as he got older.

   Keith looked so happy. So inexplicably happy – you knew he would be, but this was so beyond anything you could have imagined that it startled you, made you think you would wake up one day and realise it was all a lie, a dream your brain had conjured up. He was grinning from ear to ear, playfully swatting Hope's hand away, making her squeal with excitement as she tugged it back.

  “Be careful. Lincoln might eat your hand off.”

  “No he won't! He's a baby!” Hope squealed, glaring at Keith as if to say I'm not stupid.

  And as you watched them, your arms folded over your chest, you realised that this was everything you'd ever wanted. From the moment you'd looked into Hope's eyes all them years ago, there was no question as to how you'd wanted your life to pan out – it could take on whatever direction it wanted, could lead you anywhere, as long as your family was with you, as long as they were safe and happy. You would be fine with anything else. Just as long as they were okay.

  Keith looked up, met your eyes and mouthed you okay?

  Before you'd met Keith, you would simply nod and say “I'm fine,” because it was the easiest thing to do. But now, you could grin, say “I'm perfect,” and mean it with every fibre of your being.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG146 /X_X/*

- Replacing things chronologically, what Jon was doing vs. what he was saying and telling the others throughout the season? (Not suuuure about the first having happened before MAG124, though, since. Yeah. We had squinted at that comment, back in MAG125. And it could take on A Very Special Meaning if that actually came just after Jon’s first victim.)

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: … The first was a supermarket cleaner. Em, ended up lost for a week in an endless warehouse. I didn’t even…! I–I just went in for some shopping, and he was there, and I–I just… asked.

(MAG124) ARCHIVIST: It’s been a week and… Melanie’s attitude towards me hasn’t softened. And Basira, though she is very willing to talk, still doesn’t seem to trust me enough to let me in on whatever plans she might have.

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: Regardless, I’ve hit another research dead end with this. It’s… frustrating, to be honest. I finally feel myself, I feel… focused, and ready – and I find myself basically alone.

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: The second was, uh, it was after I got… stabbed by Melanie. MELANIE: You are not putting this on me! ARCHIVIST: No, that’s not what I meant! [SIGH] I was walking the streets, I–I thought I was trying to clear my head– DAISY: [DELIBERATE] But you were hunting. ARCHIVIST: … Apparently. I found a woman who… every year on her birthday, wakes up in a fresh grave. Just for her.

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry Basira, I–I will try to keep anything I learn about you to myself. My priorities haven’t changed; I hope you can believe that. [SIGH] I’m still on your side. You can trust me.

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: You can trust me, Basira– BASIRA: Stop saying that.

(MAG146) DAISY: And the third was after the coffin. ARCHIVIST: A man rejected by all who knew him, searching ever-darker places for love. When he told me his story, he started… weeping maggots.

(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: Look, I’ve… been where you are. BASIRA: Have you? ARCHIVIST: Yes, I have. Like you’re the only one responsible for everyone, the weight of all their lives on your shoulders: it leads to bad decisions. […] Fine. I don’t care if you trust me, but I think I’ve proven at the very least that I’m useful. So use me. Because if you go it alone, you are going to die. Even Gertrude worked with people. We make bad decisions when we don’t communicate…

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Jess Tyrell, the woman on the tape… [SIGH] She was the fourth. I–I just tried to… I was weak, r–ravenous, I–I didn’t feel…

What Jon did would have warranted the others’ anger anyway; but I think what made it even worse is… that he spent the season taking the higher and stable ground, assuring them that he could be trusted, that they had to communicate and work together, and actively complained and presented himself as… a victim who was tragically cut out by the others? And in the end, Basira was right from the start, without knowing it: he was actually untrustworthy, and unreliable to us listeners.

And it’s not even a New Jon thing! He hid himself to the tapes back in season 1, covered up his true feelings and played pretend because he was afraid that acknowledging the supernatural and the feeling of being watched would only make it more real.

- So, personally? I felt so relieved by the girls’ reaction: yes, it’s irrational; yes, it’s confrontational; yes, it’s not constructive; yes, they’re probably making a series of mistake again. But after MAG142 (and the fact that Martin was partially refusing to believe it was Jon-Jon behind it, then presenting Jon as someone who needed to be protected rather than protected from, and Daisy who was also prompt to highlight how Jon had suffered himself), I… think I really needed characters to be horrified and disgusted by what he had done; to express something raw, leaking betrayal, hurt, disappointment and disgust.

The setting of The Intervention 2.0 is especially interesting since… it’s once again something that Martin, though reluctant, slowly planned or at least contributed to put into motion:

(MAG058) MARTIN: Look, look, you just got to let me work through this. Alright? I suggested therapy, but he just says no, so– TIM: Well, we need to do something! MARTIN: Yeah, maybe.

(MAG059) ARCHIVIST: Supplemental. Everyone is avoiding me. They’ve taken to working farther away from me than normal, and when I call them for any reason, they’re always keen to leave as soon as possible. They share furtive glances when they think I’m not looking. I don’t like it. I feel like they’re planning something.

(MAG060) ARCHIVIST: You don’t mind if I record this, I trust? ELIAS: Well, to be honest– TIM: –That’s kind of one of the things we wanted to talk about. MARTIN: This is an intervention. ARCHIVIST: Excuse me. [CHAIR] ELIAS: If you’d rather it was an official disciplinary hearing, Jon, we can arrange it. ARCHIVIST: … Fine. Say your piece. NOT!SASHA: We care about you, Jon. And you’ve been rather erratic since the Prentiss’s incident. MARTIN: And we’d really like– ELIAS: To not have to fire you. MARTIN: –to make sure that you’re doing okay.

(MAG142) MARTIN: [SIGH] Th–the worst part is I don’t even want to talk to him about it. I’m just… [SIGH] I suppose I’m just getting comfortable with the distance. […] I should probably try to get him this tape, let him know what happened, that someone came in to… But then, ahah, would that just come across as an accusation? Like, because I don’t wanna… And then, then I guess he’d… hear this bit as well, so… I… I… [LONG EXHALE] What do I do…?

(MAG145) BASIRA: Martin left a tape for us. [SHUFFLING NOISE] ARCHIVIST: And what exactly is on this t– … Oh… MELANIE: Yes.

(Martin had tried to partially lead the “intervention” back in MAG060: the way he had corrected Elias was especially impressive, given how Elias was “just” his boss at the time.)

But now, it’s an entirely different team confronting Jon about his actions than in MAG060 – from Martin, Tim, Not!Sasha and Elias, to Melanie, Basira and Daisy: back then, it was half composed of people who… were not being honest to the others about who they were (Elias was scolding Jon for his behaviour and paranoia induced by Gertrude’s murder, when he was the one responsible for it in the first place, and knew about Not!Sasha; Not!Sasha was gleefully pouring salt over the wounds while she had killed Sasha a few months ago, while the others didn’t know yet). Now, unless twist, the three new assistants have made mistakes of their own but are not “toying” with Jon, and are genuine about their feelings; and, more importantly, the three of them have been victims of Jon’s statement-induced nightmares. Daisy had deemed them bad enough to knowingly sign an employment contract, to get immunity from them even though it meant trapping herself in work for Beholding. They all know, from experience, how difficult to bear the dreams were, for victims.

(Not even counting the additional symptoms described by Jess in MAG142. And I can’t help but think that there is something a bit… stronger, for women, to hear about a woman who was terrorised by a man, who happened to be someone close to them. MAG142’s whole setting had made me viscerally uncomfortable more than horrified (“story about a woman being preyed upon while on a date, cornered once alone, pressured to do something painful, then receiving the thanks of her tormentor” was… Heavy) so, although it’s a sheer emotional&personal response, hearing characters-who-are-women unambiguously denouncing what happened without searching for excuses for the perpetrator, meeting him with nothing but coldness and anger… was reassuring. Yes, narratively and strategically, it’s probably not going to help the characters. But emotionally, if felt, to me, like a necessary reaction.)

(And it was even more significant, in the story, that amongst these three characters, Melanie has always been leaning a bit towards denouncing oppressive social structures (her rant about Elias in MAG117 was… yeah.), and the two others… used to be police officers. Basira, especially, led the intervention as an interrogation against Jon; being firm, pushing him to confess, not allowing him to dissimulate or minimise the hurt – though she also made herself partially a judge, in this case, by claiming what Jon was, and I think that was her emotions pouring out.)

- I’ll try to cover the statement first: it was a very interesting case, time-wise, because it intertwined multiple lives and events. The doors had haunted Marcus McKenzie for most of his life, but his father ended up pursued by one and was the first to leave his statement, on August 24th 2003 (MAG027). Marcus left his statement a week later, on September 1st  2003 (MAG146), in reaction to his father’s. Jon stumbled upon Paul’s first, but already learned at the time, through the follow-up work, that Marcus had also given one:

(MAG027) ARCHIVIST: Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.” This leads me to believe that Marcus McKenzie may also have a statement lurking somewhere here in the archives, lost among the mess and misfiling.

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … So it seems we did have Marcus McKenzie’s statement after all. I spent so long looking for it, back when I found his father’s, and… no luck.

And Paul had died “of a stroke” two months after leaving his statement (MAG027), which was confirmed by Helen (MAG146: “And technically, I didn’t eat the old man. He passed away from terror!, before I even had the chance to open properly.”)… while Marcus had been fine for almost fifteen years, given how Jon’s team had been able to contact him, back in (April or earlier) 2016, but this wasn’t the case anymore as of now (June-July 2018):

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: And his son Marcus, he… he was fine, when I found his father’s statement two years ago – but now, suddenly, I can’t get through to him! HELEN: No… I imagine not~! I decided it was time to finish that game a few months ago.

So things kept going, Spooks kept on terrorising innocents, and this time it was one who is… closer to Jon. The first statement Jon had read at the Institute post-coma had already been about someone who got snatched while he was already in charge:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: […] I did do some light searching myself on Gregory Cox. … Vanished, unsurprisingly. Sometime in late July 2016, which is… [CHUCKLE] two years ago. … That doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t feel like… … There’s just this… great… gap of time, where I wasn’t. No notes or follow-up here that I can see, just… [SIGH] It looks like the statement came in just after Gertrude disappeared. Another gap. And whoever took it didn’t do any follow-up, just… filed it away. I may be the first person to actually read it, so… sorry Angie, I suppose.

Most of the events involving innocents have been taking place during Gertrude’s era: there were sometimes pleas of people knowing that they were losing someone, or on the verge of being eaten themselves (which was the case for Paul McKenzie in MAG027: “I guess that’s why I’m here. This is what you people do. You investigate these things. You know what to look for and can identify the signs of things that… aren’t right. You know, not of this world. I’m not saying it’s a ghost or anything like that, it’s just… that well, if it was a ghost, you’d be the ones to talk to, right? I just need it to stop. And I don’t want to be put in a home.”), and we were getting glimpses of their gruesome fates from a later point in time – Jon and his team digging through a distant or recent history, but overall covering events that were absolutely unrelated to them. They didn’t know anything while it was happening, and they couldn’t have done anything. But in the case of Gregory Cox, there had already been the fact that the statement had come in when Jon was (on the verge of, or just) beginning his work as the new Head Archivist, and that Gregory disappeared while he was already well-installed; now, with Marcus McKenzie, it’s someone who he had been in contact with, through Martin. It’s the slow dissolution of one of Jon’s own eras, too: because back in MAG027, the Archival Assistants were Sasha and Martin (who had worked on this peculiar case) and Tim, and now, only Martin is left alive, and Jon’s current Archival Assistants are three completely different people.

And indeed, it’s not Team Archives’s responsibility to save everyone; but it’s still someone they had interacted with, and who got consumed since then. It’s closer. It feels more personal, hence, probably… Jon’s franticness: because in the same episode, he acknowledged the fact that he has attacked five people himself, and is confronted to the fact that he hasn’t saved any statement-giver, either.

(- And… remember what Jon had said about Elias in MAG017? “I know he’ll just give me the old ‘record and study, not interfere or contain’ speech again”. The Archives have never been about helping or saving people, nor has the Institute in general, it’s been proven again and again – but it’s something else to be confronted with so directly. In this case, since it was someone Jon’s team had been able to contact, and who got snatched by Helen, who is present in the Institute and has helped Jon occasionally, telling him that she has decided to help him… and there was, obviously, a gigantic echo about deception/relying on (or trusting) someone close, who had repeatedly stated that they were on your side and ready to help you, before you learned about their crimes, with Jon learning what Helen had done, and the Assistants learning what Jon himself had done.)

(- This bit is more gratuitous and solely due to the wording, but I couldn’t help but think about Martin, too, because of the “I’m sorry he’s so lonely, truly I am; I try to see him as much as I can, but I have my own life, and I can’t be there all the time. And I don’t like being manipulated. I don’t like being lied to.” bit (Martin had told Peter word-for-word, in MAG126, “I don’t like being manipulated.”) + the boat painting. Peter Lukas has ruined me for those forever. The familial situation and dynamic was fairly different this time around (… MAG144 was much closer to Martin’s own), but hearing Jon read a statement about someone saying that x was “lonely” because the statement-giver was not around enough also  reminded me, a bit, of the whole Jon-Martin deal.

+ obviously, the ~not liking to be manipulated~ is relevant to Jon as well given his hatred of spiders and his overall Web-related trauma.)

- It’s also amusing because, as much as I relistened to old episodes, I never labelled MAG027 a Spiral episode (and more specifically, a Distortion one) in my mind. Relistening to it, yeah, obviously, it was a Spiral episode, with the statement-giver being aware that others thought he was delusional or getting too old, but back then… there was the door, indeed, but I kind of remembered it as a Dark statement for some reason? The feeling of empty houses, the reflexion about noises and how you become aware of all the strange little things when you’re alone in it, and the fact that… something could come for you from within? I think it comes to the fact that, back then, Michael was not so strongly associated with “doors”, and also because MAG026 had already been about him – it’s rare to get two episodes in a row involving the same person/monster/manifestation unless Jon is actively researching the subject.

- … Jon’s… nostalgia of a simpler time? felt accidentally funny to me, though, because I did remember that I had found Jon especially savage with Paul McKenzie, back in MAG027:

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: … I never thought I’d miss those days, when I could throw out some half-baked speculation about drug abuse or mental illness, and whoosh, away all the statements went. There is… nothing in the world more reassuring than ignorance which we can mistake for certainty. But no. Almost every one of those statements, those… people… that poor old man… [HUFF] Like I can talk…! Like I’m in any position to mourn the suffering of the innocent.

(MAG027) ARCHIVIST: I want to believe Mr. McKenzie, I really do. I am not entirely made of stone, and am apt to be moved by the plea of a scared old man as much as anybody. I mean, dementia is, of course, the most likely explanation, and he admits himself that he has no proof of any of it. Yet part of me still wants to believe him. Perhaps this job is making me sentimental.

And I knooow, Jon was lying and hiding because afraid, but. Still. It had been one of my biggest “OOOH, SHUT UP?!” moment in season 1. How low can you be, to be melancholic about a time when Jon Was Like That.

At the same time, it’s interesting how… Jon’s fake detachment, back in season 1, although absolutely biased and deliberately anti-supernatural, made him sound more… like how you could picture a neutral-uncaring-Archivist. Even in season 2, he was mostly obsessed with the threads going on, the mysteries of the Archives, of the monsters, of Gertrude’s murder. Compared to season 4 in which… with the exception of some recent statements, and although it was just revealed that he had been harming people all along, he was also shown to be softer, more philosophical, more emotional over the victims, sparing a thought for them – and acknowledging their status. More human, in a way, than he had been when he wasn’t this deep in…? (Although still self-centred, in a different way, but more on that later.)

- On the subject of echoes and the situation feeling closer: there was also the fact that… Marcus McKenzie had done absolutely nothing to earn what had happened to him, that his targeting was absolutely unwarranted and began when he was just a little kid (“… The first door I remember seeing that shouldn’t have been there must have been when I was five or six. […] So one night – it was in the Christmas holidays, so I must have been six… I wake up. There’s a noise in my room, like something being… dragged along the floor.”) – just… like Jon, who was only eight when he stumbled upon A Guest For Mr. Spider. And we had the proof that Marcus was pursued and toyed with (before eventually getting eaten) throughout his entire life; so what does it say about Jon’s own situation…?

(- And in the list of things just plainly sad: Marcus’s “and I watched my most treasured possession disappear forever, as the door closed behind it, and I ran back to bed.”, accompanying the end of his innocence – since the door kept popping up, more and more sneakily and/or threatening, starting with this incident.

In the list of “aouch” and conveying a lot in just a few words: “all that remained of my worldly possessions were packed up for yet another return to childhood.”)

- Smaller echoes: the way Marcus was, at first, trying to hide that he had seen another door fairly recently (“But they were just… specific, weird little hallucinations that have long since stopped! Haven’t had one in… Well, it’s not important.”) before finally telling about a last encounter that had taken place recently, after fifteen years of nothing – just like Jon had been hiding his current streak of victims (and even gave the lower number before admitting the actual one, when cornered).

- Slow build-up with Jon introducing the statement with a beautiful circumlocution… and finally calling a spade a spade:

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: Statement of Marcus McKenzie, regarding a series of… unexplored entryways. […] But there is one thing I know an awful lot better now, than I did when I read his father’s statement: I know an awful lot more about doors…! [CLICK.]

And… more concerning:

(MAG146, Marcus McKenzie) “And as I passed that empty space of grass, there it was – a pale yellow door, stood all alone, like the entrance to a house that I just couldn’t see. It had no frame around it, but I was sure that if I grasped its handle and twisted… it would still swing open, silent, and inviting. […] The street was silent, but I could feel it screaming at me to open it. I just about managed to not do. I was… just about able to walk away. […] Sometimes, you just have to leave. Even if what’s on the other side scares you.”

And ooooh, do Jon does have his own “doors” – Mr. Spider’s, which he almost knocked on; Michael/Helen’s (and the fact that Elias had described how, in his dreams, Jon “knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out. The Archivist turns away.”); his own inner door of knowledge, with the danger of drowning…

- And Marcus’s case was big enough for Jon to… finally knock (bang.) on a door, which, I think, was the first time we ever heard him do? He was especially adamant about not knocking on this particular door?

(MAG131) ARCHIVIST: Oh. This, this door… It shouldn’t be here. MELANIE: Yes. ARCHIVIST: I, uh… I don’t want to open it. I’m not going to. [MELANIE SIGHS, KNOCKS ON THE DOOR]

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: Haven’t seen Helen much. The door is… sometimes there, sometimes not. … I haven’t knocked. I’m never going to trust it. Trust… her. … Trust it. [DRY EXHALE] And I shouldn’t. Whatever its relationship to the person who was or is Helen… assuming that I can ever know its motivations is a mistake.

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: [BREATHING HEAVILY, FRANTICALLY BANGING ON A DOOR] [A DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [DISTORTION SOUNDS, BRINGING CONSTANT STATIC] HELEN: You rang~?

I didn’t keep tabs in season 4 but I think it was still a Thing that nobody ever knocks on Jon’s door when they expect him to be inside (… Georgie did in MAG145, but she was pretending to not know), although the assistants did, between them. And of course, knocking on a door might have a special connotation for Jon! It’s what almost got him killed when he was a kid, and ~compelled~ to knock by a Web book!

(And I just realized with this episode that, doors-wise, Martin and Jon actually make the worst combination possible. Jon would have been snatched by Mr. Spider if he had knocked on its door; and on the other hand… Martin stayed holed up inside of his flat while harassed by Jane Prentiss’s constant regular knocking. Jon having a trauma related to being forced to knock to go inside; Martin having a trauma related to something knocking and threatening to come inside.)

- One of the themes mentioned by Arthur in the previous episode also poured into this one: the perception that we have of a person, and how “many” of that same person there is.

(MAG145) GERTRUDE: What was Agnes like? […] ARTHUR: I… [PAUSE] I don’t know. Not really. You got as many answers to that as… folks who met her. Never really knew what she felt ‘bout any of it! Not really. Not in her own words. […] At the end of it, you’re always just the… point of someone else’s story. Everyone clamouring to say what you were, what you meant, and… your thoughts on it… all don’t mean nothing.

We could see a glimpse of that idea throughout Marcus’s statement: in Marcus’s point of view, his father was obsessed with the idea of protecting him, and had made up the story about his own door to try and manipulate him into going back to living with him. That point of view… didn’t age well: Helen confirmed that The Distortion had gone after both father and son, so Paul’s words were likely genuine (and there was nothing about an obsession with his son in his statement). And the theme was, once again, present within both Jon and Helen deceiving people: Helen, who had been fairly benevolent towards the Archives (trapping Jared and neutralising him, allowing Jon to go inside and offer him freedom against what he needed, announcing that she would help the Archives, fetching Jon and Basira back from Ny-Ålesund, swallowing Manuela) was also revealed to have embraced the “feed what feeds you” lifestyle and to be killing innocents without any remorse. In the same way, Jon, whose “monsterhood” had mostly been existential and manifesting through his abilities in the first half of this season, was revealed to have attacked and condemned five innocent people to his nightmares since he woke up – and hid that from both the Assistants and the tapes.

- (“Jack… I was wrong… I was so wrong…………”) => I really wanted to believe in Helen, damniiiiiiiiiiiiit ;; I'd been hoping that Jon was wrong to not trust her, but he was right…

I had hope that Something Had Indeed Gone Wrong with Helen becoming the Distortion, since she had mentioned that Helen hadn’t been “ready” when she had supplanted Michael, and that eating a man had made her feel “wrong”… It looks like she’s not getting second-thoughts anymore about these kind of things. Was it deception, back then? Was it an unavoidable process? Or did it happen partially because Jon pushed her away that time? As far as monsterhood goes, does it have to do with the nature of the Distortion itself? The Distortion sounds like a very particular case, since Helen uses “I” to refer to itself/herself, but also identifies with Michael Shelley and Helen Richardson, while also being able to detach itself/herself from them and refer to them in third person. It… fits The Spiral, obviously, and the whole identity-is-hard, and there is the question of how much what happened to Helen Richardson (being eaten/fusing with/being consumed by The Distortion) can be relevant to Jon’s own experience of… ~becoming~ The Archivist. Back in season 3, Jon had already regarded The Distortion as a “mantle” and was fearing that the same might apply to him – but Jon… did keep his personality, when Helen indeed doesn’t sound much like Helen Richardson anymore/is becoming more and more like Michael and an overall function…?

Though what remained (… officially, unless misleading/lying) is that Helen wanted to help and talk with Jon because Helen Richardson liked him. So, is Helen genuinely trying to “help” Jon by encouraging him to embrace his need to feed, because it’s indeed making him feel bad right now?

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: You… Why…? HELEN: Not sure. I suppose Helen didn’t have quite the same attachment to him as a project. I’m not quite as much for decades-long campaigns of subtle terror, these days. ARCHIVIST: [QUIET] … That’s horrible… HELEN: Is it? We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? … Don’t we, Archivist? ARCHIVIST: … Yes… HELEN: It would be better if you embraced it. ARCHIVIST: … It’s not… […] Were you controlled? HELEN: What a delightful thought! … I don’t believe so, no. But the Spider’s strings are subtle, so I suppose it’s not impossible. Why? ARCHIVIST: I–I want to know; can The Web control another avatar, one that serves a different power? HELEN: [HELEN LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] ARCHIVIST: Make them do things they don’t want to, make them… [BREATHING FASTER] find victims, feed? HELEN: [SLOWLY STOPS LAUGHING] Perhaps! Perhaps not. Would that make life easier for you? ARCHIVIST: [SHAKY EXHALE] HELEN: Are you so sure you didn’t want to? ARCHIVIST: [FRANTIC BREATHING] HELEN: [HELEN LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] [THE DOOR CREAKS CLOSED]

Or is Helen getting her kicks from tormenting him, because he’s confused, unsure of what is happening and of his own actions (=> food for Spiral)?

- Alright so: yeah, no, I don’t think it’s The Web, Jon. At most, She made him leave the Institute when he needed to feed and/or led him towards people with stories (possibly because She knew thanks to the Chelicerae?), through the lighter or something else. But then, Jon talking to them and getting their “stories”? Not, it’s The Eye, it’s The Archivist, it’s Jon, it’s his new status, it’s what his “choice” meant, and he’ll probably have to acknowledge it and come to terms with it (that he’s not only an “existential” monster with powers, but something who feeds from others’ pain). And it’s an influence, but Daisy had showed us that it’s not absolutely unavoidable… as long as you acknowledge the parts of you which are responsible for it.

- It’s not The Web, but we already had proof that She can manipulate avatars:

(MAG121) OLIVER: Honestly, I’m… still not exactly sure why I’m here. But… you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what She asks!

But not for Jon’s particular case, most likely. (And it’s… really the ideal culprit, for Jon, who hates spiders, who has been traumatised by them when he was just a little boy. But… probably not The Web here, and most likely having to do with himself. I don’t even think that Jon is actually fearing that he is controlled: as Helen highlighted, it would be more of a relief. Would that fear feed The Web although The Web did nothing? And what is the fear of learning that it was you all along, not something else making you do atrocious things?)

- Elias had told Jon he knew that Jon “had problems with moderation” (MAG092), there was the talk about Jon relentlessly seeking knowledge (MAG092, “In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see.”), even Georgie reminded Jon that he tended to be the one asking dangerous questions (MAG093, “You were always the one who pushed too far, and asked smart-arse, awkward questions.”)… so yes, he was a recipe for disaster re:spooky influence and addiction dealing a god of knowledge.

But the biggest question is HOW did Jon manage to stop smoking, around the time he joined the Institute? (MAG080 “I’m going to have a cigarette. […] Sorry, I’ve been quit for five years now”.) He began smoking again at an unknown time (Elias’s “He’s not smoking again, is he?” in MAG039, Jon had cigarettes on him in MAG080, MAG091 and MAG111…) but. He had stopped, once upon a time. Disaster who affirms that he Cannot Stop at every turn had managed to stop, a few years ago. How.

(Or was it “Ahaha, I’ve quit!” while he was still smoking five cigarettes a day, and in denial about that too.)

- Jon’s way of “defending” himself also tied in with bits that we had already seen previously, and which are In True Jon Fashion: rejecting responsibility when confronted, minimising, etc. It’s… a bit like what he did with Tim in MAG065? He tends to be fiercely defensive when called out about things that he did directly (while more easily accepting blame when things happened due to his inaction, or peripherical to him)…?

(He. Tends to really react like a kid, sometime, and. It’s really Jon. It’s the same Jon, reacting in Jon’s fashion.)

- Fun Thing: we began the season with “zombies” and here we are.

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE, INHALE] Statement of… er… Lorell St John, regarding… zombies. […] Right… Well, I guess we should probably… let one of the nurses know I’m awake. I’m sure they have all sorts of… tests to do. Make sure I’m not a… zombie, or…

(MAG146) BASIRA: I’ll tell you all what I find. Don’t let him eat anyone’s brain while I’m gone. ARCHIVIST: That’s not what I do.

(And, well. Basira had seen what he had done to Breekon, live.)

- I… am not 100% convinced yet that Martin indeed sent the tape to the Assistants, himself and deliberately. Because true, he was hesitating about finding a way for the tape to reach Jon:

(MAG142) MARTIN: I should probably try to get him this tape, let him know what happened, that someone came in to… But then, ahah, would that just come across as an accusation? Like, because I don’t wanna… And then, then I guess he’d… hear this bit as well, so… I… I… [LONG EXHALE] What do I do…?

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: Been a while since you’ve all come to see me together. I assume it’s… not good news. DAISY: No. MELANIE: What the hell have you been doing, Jon? BASIRA: Martin left a tape for us. [SHUFFLING NOISE] ARCHIVIST: And what exactly is on this t– … Oh… MELANIE: Yes.

… but on the other hand… we know that Martin can begin letters without sending them (MAG042 and Jon finding “an unfinished letter, addressed to his mother in Devon”), so… the most likely is that Martin indeed chose to send it, but I’m not shutting off other options: even if there was a message with it or something, it doesn’t mean that he had indeed sent it, and either Peter either The Web could have arranged for it to reach the Assistants’ hands given the… consequences of hearing the tape.

In any case, it’s probably Not What Martin Wanted, given how he had ranted about Jon jumping into danger at every opportunity, back in MAG142. (I’m curious about how he will react to this one.)

(- I’m glad that “Jess Tyrell” has a name! I was super-uncomfy with the “Bystander” back in MAG142 – and it’s… quite significant that Jon was able to tell her name, while Helen hadn’t been able to identify her victims with theirs. Though: how did Jon understand what the tape was about, in this episode…? Was there a label? Was it accompanied with the complaint? Martin himself didn’t know her name, so he wouldn’t have been able to write it on the paper, but then, Jon could immediately tell what it was about. How…?)

- Basira’s dryness, coldness and harshness towards Jon make… a lot of sense. Jon repeated time and time again that she could trust him, although she was extremely wary of him when he woke up. Her reactions in MAG143 (telling Jon that he didn’t have to face the Dark Sun) hinted that she had either warmed up to him since then, or had been forcing herself to be cautious all this time – at the very least, she wasn’t ready to see him sacrifice himself, she wasn’t ready to “use” him. And now, it turns out that… she had been partially right, when she was berating Jon for being a monster or not being what he seemed.

She snapped at him for taking Floyd’s statement in MAG141 but still allowed it to happen; The Dark’s ritual turned out to have been a bust, encouraged by Elias; and previously, Elias had sent her around on wild goose chases, explicitly acknowledging that he just wanted her to leave Jon alone to allow him to go inside of the coffin (… and Jon coming out of it was followed by a third victim). She’s been played by Elias; she accepted Jon’s actions; and turns out she didn’t manage to accomplish anything since Jon woke up. I’m not that surprised that she decided to rush it to Hill Top Road – Daisy had told Martin that she was prone to improvising, and in this case, it’s probably reinforced by her own personal frustrations? I don’t think that she believes that The Web is behind Jon’s actions – maybe she’s hoping, maybe she’s not; or it could be sheer anger at Jon and the desire to put him face-to-face with the fact that he did it all, that there was no Hidden Spider Forcing Him To Do Things. Or maybe a mix of everything. I don’t know.

- Now that Jon’s activities are known, I wonder how long it will be before the others learn that Basira’s intel had been Elias… I’m not sure that Jon hasn’t picked up on that (since we now have confirmation that he had been hiding things from the tapes for months). Daisy didn’t know about Floyd (which means that Basira had hidden this one from her, already), but making it known that she had been in contact with and listening to Elias all along… won’t go down easily with either Daisy (who had been coerced into working for him, with Basira as blackmail, after her own blackmail when Elias told her “statement never given”) or Melanie (the fact that Elias trapped her, and MAG106… ;;). They… still haven’t picked up on the fact that trying to keep Big Secrets in Beholding’s temple, while Elias is able to spy on them, is an ESPECIALLY bad idea, uh.

(;; And now, I’m afraid that Melanie and Daisy also have their list of Dirty Secrets accomplished during this season…)

(- I HATE HOW THIS SEASON BASICALLY FEELS LIKE ELIAS WINNING AT EVERYTHING, AAAAAARGGGG.

Because Bastard most likely knew and witnessed Jon feeding from people and extorting their statements?! And he mostly used Basira to cultivate Jon into using his powers: isolating him and extending the status quo until Jon would go inside of the coffin, playing on Jon’s uncertainty about The Dark’s activities to get him to meet the remnant of the cult.)

- About Hidden Activities: I’m really not sure that Melanie knows that Helen has been eating innocent people? She disliked Jon, but I doubt she would have been so casual with Helen in MAG131 if she had known?

- Meanwhile, yes, Basira is utterly biased about Daisy, but… she kinda… had a point…

(MAG146) MELANIE: [EXHALE] So. What do we do, now? ARCHIVIST: I don’t know. BASIRA: You’re a danger, Jon. A monster. You’re hurting innocent people. ARCHIVIST: So did Daisy…! BASIRA: Shut up! It’s not the same thing at all. DAISY: Basira… [EXHALE] He has a point. BASIRA: You didn’t know what you were doing! DAISY: [SIGH] BASIRA: And since you did, you’ve spent every waking hour resisting. He knows exactly what he’s doing. ARCHIVIST: I don’t–! Uh, it’s not that simple, it–it feels… [BREATHING QUICKENING] … I don’t know if I can control it, I don’t know if it’s even me doing it…!

Because unlike Daisy, Jon had the knowledge about monsters: Elias excluded, he was the person in the Institute who knew the most about them and what they did. And he kept telling the others to trust him, while hiding the harm he was causing from them. Since she came back, Daisy took responsibility, insisting that it was her, although she wasn’t proud of it and was regretting it; Jon… is currently trying to shift the blame on something else. Daisy made sacrifices since she came back (not going with them to fight The Dark, avoiding thinking too much about Elias…); Jon… didn’t even try at all…? And I really think that it wouldn’t hurt the others as much if Jon hadn’t shown some understanding of their situations, encouraging them to get better, while he (Jon “One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.” Sims) himself apparently didn’t try. Even for unspooky things: while Melanie went to therapy, Jon only passive-aggressively confirmed that Georgie wouldn’t accompany him, when she brought it up. Even Jess… had recalled how she had fought to heal and get better:

(MAG142) JESS: So. It… It took a long time to get over that. I mean… That’s not weird, right? I mean, it was a bad time. You know? It–it stays with you. I was signed off for, what, probably about six months, with the injuries? I had pretty bad, uh, nightmares, claustrophobia, I mean… Obviously, right? But, uh, but–but I did my physio, and, you know, talked wi–with the counsellor they gave me? Look, I did everything I was supposed to, and–and yeah, I… I guess I was fine. You know, once the bruises were gone, I… Well, it’s easy to blame memory, right? You know, ha–hallucination, coincidence, all the… classic shite you tell yourself. Look, life went back to… normal, I… I was fine. Until… [CHOKING] about two weeks ago. MARTIN: And that was when you met J– … Er, one of our employees. JESS: … That’s when he showed up.

And both Daisy and Melanie, who had been under influence, acknowledged their feelings and actions as their own:

(MAG131) MELANIE: And then, one day, I suddenly have this thing that takes all that rage, and it holds it. Tells me it’s right. That it’s me. It didn’t stay in my leg because of some Ghostly Masterplan; it stayed… because I wanted it.

(MAG142) MARTIN: Oh, that can’t– that can’t… I mean, it’s not him, is it? Not, not really? It’s, what, addiction, instinct, maybe mind control, something like that? I… can’t believe he’d choose to do something like that. … No, no, I, I can’t think like that, though, I, I can’t let myself, ‘cause I mean, if, if he’s already gone, then all of this is just…

(MAG142) MARTIN: It’s alright. Wasn’t you. [INHALE] Not really. DAISY: No, it was. I hate… a lot of what I did back then; doesn’t mean I’m not… responsible for it, doesn’t mean it… wasn’t me.

Of course, Jon has his issues. Daisy was right about him having PTSD, being self-destructive, being plagued by survivor’s guilt. He’s probably depressed, hence the aimlessness and his whole sinking (the fact that Martin cut all ties was stated multiple times to make him brood). And he’s still acknowledging that what is happening to innocent people is wrong (and it is genuine, and not only a reaction to match the Assistants’ outrage: he was upset, before, both on his own and in front of Helen).

But Jon is not “only” a victim anymore, like he was in season 3: now, he actively causes harm, he hurts people. The way Jess described her life in MAG142, it got utterly ruined and there is likely no fixing (she was in obvious distress, she couldn’t work anymore, couldn’t function; even if she’s supposed to live like this for the rest of her life, we just got Helen mentioning that one of her victims had died of “natural” causes due to his terror – with the amount of stress Jess is put under, she probably won’t live long, and if it’s manifesting like this for the four others… neither will they?).

- That said, I DON’T WANT TIM TO HAVE BEEN RIGHT ABOUT IT, GDI…

(MAG114) TIM: So, why don’t you “Archivist” me, then? Just pull it straight out. ARCHIVIST: Because I don’t want to! I am not your enemy, Tim. TIM: [DISMISSIVELY] Like that matters! These things aren’t human. It’s… instinct. You can’t not. ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] I’m still me, Tim. [TIM HUFFS] I’m still… me.

And getting confirmation that no, it’s nooot The Web making him feed, could act as a wake-up call? Or… actually listening to Jess’s tape could, maybe. Because the portrayal she made of Jon was especially upsetting:

(MAG142) JESS: But he just starts talking. Slowly. But real intense. He says he works here, at the–the Magnus Institution and I say what even is that, and he says he wants my story. He says he needs to hear what happened to me. And I… I wanted to tell him to–to–to to go away, I–I wanted to–to to kick him, and run. But… I… [SHAKY DUMBFOUNDED EXHALE] I sit down. […] It felt like… like I was throwing up all those feelings again, and I wanted to, to scream, but instead I just… sat, and calmly told him my life story, and he just watched me. His eyes, like… his eyes, like, we–were… drinking in every fragment of my misery. I can’t… It… [PAUSE] And then it was over. And he looked… he looked at me like he’d just eaten… like, a perfectly cooked steak. You know what he said? He said: “Thank you.” “Thank you,” just like that. Like… like reliving the worst parts of my whole life were just a bit of a… a favour, that I’d done him. And then he left, and, and I… I just sat there, and cried for a while.

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Jess Tyrell, the woman on the tape… [SIGH] She was the fourth. I–I just tried to… I was weak, r–ravenous, I–I didn’t feel… […] I don’t–! Uh, it’s not that simple, it–it feels… [BREATHING QUICKENING] … I don’t know if I can control it, I don’t know if it’s even me doing it…!

And the Whole Thing came up now, not at the end of the season. Which raises the question: why should Jon be kept alive…? The fact that the assistants directly confronted him is a proof that they didn’t totally antagonise him (they would have plotted and thought about a way to get rid of him if they genuinely thought he was… over and done with. There is still the coffin in Artefact Storage.) but… if Jon isn’t even trying to be kept in check, if he’s fated to target innocent people, if he’s not trying to find a way to control it (nor tried to warn the others about it, to be contained or monitored)… there is absolutely nothing differentiating him from the monsters we previously saw? And there is the added looming threat of The Watcher’s Crown? I don’t think the overall conclusion will be that yes, he would have been better off dying, and that Tim actively trying to die was The Only Respectable Way Out. I think there is probably still ways to do something meaningful in their current situation? But there is the fact that, right now, Jon isn’t paying the price of his powers anymore (his victims are) and that, as far as they know, there is nothing else than The Eye’s ritual in front of them.

- It feels like what’s currently happening also had to do with Jon’s overall passivity regarding his powers. He had told Georgie, in season 3, that he couldn’t stop his research. He had realised, in America, that he was indeed dependant of statements, and had decided, at that moment, to just accept it since he didn’t have the time to interrogate it (since there was The Unknowing coming closer – but after he woke up, Jon didn’t have… much to do, and it would have been the moment to ponder about it). It was highlighted with Jon’s passivity around the tape recorders, contrasting with how Basira had chosen to… woosh them away:

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: And we’ve got an audience. Perfect. I thought you said you decided to throw them all out. BASIRA: Yup. And I did. And here’s another one. ARCHIVIST: Maybe it’s hungry. BASIRA: Seriously? ARCHIVIST: I mean, I did have a statement I was planning to record. BASIRA: Great. Perfect. You can get on with that, and I’ll just leave, then.

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: [DRY EXALE] There was a tape recorder waiting for me when I sat down. They’re not even hiding it anymore. There weren’t any tapes from when I was… away – I checked. Whatever they are, they are here for me. I suppose I should be worried, but I have so much to keep watch over. So I’ve decided to let the tapes run. They’ve… proved useful before, so… [TINY CHUCKLE]

(MAG146) MELANIE: [EXHALE] Why didn’t you record them? BASIRA: Why do you think? Because he was ashamed. ARCHIVIST: No! I don’t– … I–I mean, I don’t record anything anymore, not… not really, I just… sort of assume they’ll… turn on, if it’s important. BASIRA: Well, they didn’t. ARCHIVIST: … No, I suppose not.

(Also: eff you, tape recorders, for not thinking that these people’s stories were Important :<)

And it was also shown in the way Jon… kept saying that he couldn’t control his Knowing:

(MAG127) ARCHIVIST: [STATIC] Look, I don’t know, Basira. I hope I’m still human, but it… but it’s seeming more and more unlikely. BASIRA: … I didn’t ask. ARCHIVIST: No, I suppose you didn’t. BASIRA: Don’t snoop in my head. ARCHIVIST: I’m not “snooping”, I’m not looking. That’s not… how this works.

(MAG128) BASIRA: You heard me. Don’t ask about them, and don’t know about them either. ARCHIVIST: I can’t exactly control that! BASIRA: Learn.

(MAG133) DAISY: [BREATHING HEAVILY] Basira said you could just… “know” all this now anyway. ARCHIVIST: Yeah, it’s… I–I can’t really… control it.

(And unless he lied to us about it too, he kinda managed to keep in check for Martin’s and Basira’s activities, in the end, when they pressed him to stop? So… maybe, sadly, being firm and cutting Jon on his bullshit is the only way to get him to actively try to hold on.)

- Daisy seemed to have picked up on a pattern regarding Jon’s feeding, though, which is that they happened after he used his powers in new ways and/or experienced another Fear and/or got hurt by spooks:

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Jess Tyrell, the woman on the tape… [SIGH] She was the fourth. I–I just tried to… I was weak, r–ravenous, I–I didn’t feel… … The first was a supermarket cleaner. Em, ended up lost for a week in an endless warehouse. I didn’t even…! I–I just went in for some shopping, and he was there, and I–I just… asked. The second was, uh, it was after I got… stabbed by Melanie. MELANIE: You are not putting this on me! ARCHIVIST: No, that’s not what I meant! [SIGH] I was walking the streets, I–I thought I was trying to clear my head– DAISY: [DELIBERATE] But you were hunting. ARCHIVIST: … Apparently. I found a woman who… every year on her birthday, wakes up in a fresh grave. Just for her. DAISY: And the third was after the coffin. ARCHIVIST: A man rejected by all who knew him, searching ever-darker places for love. When he told me his story, he started… weeping maggots.

So: first one after waking up from the “coma”, second after using his powers to see and remove Melanie’s bullet (and getting stabbed), third after coming out of the coffin, Jess Tyrell… after trying to peer through the Lonely (at the end of MAG139). There is still Floyd: why was he recorded? Is it because he had been involved with someone we already knew (Salesa)? And how come there was nothing after The Dark – is it because Floyd worked as a power up/healing by anticipation?

- I’m sad for Daisy!! ;; Daisy, who had spent time around Jon, who had shared things (The Archers!!) with Jon, and who was giving the impression that she was pulling him off… She sounded like she could understand the mechanism, but at the same time, Jon… didn’t tell her. Too ashamed? Not trusting her enough? So deep in denial…?

- DAISY CALLED MELANIE “MEL”!!! FRIENDS!!!

(MAG112) DAISY: Couldn’t find Tim, but he’s gone with Martin and… the other one. BASIRA: Melanie. DAISY: Sure.

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: … So we’re going with her. DAISY: [SIGH] Come on, Mel. I’ll see if I’ve got a stab vest in your size. MELANIE: … Yeah. Sure.

Daisy came so far, with her ;w;

- On the one hand, it’s hilarious, indeed, that Melanie acts like a voice of reason.

(MAG146) MELANIE: Uh, okay, seriously. [CHAIR SQUEAKING] I–I’m going to have to be the one to point out that this is a terrible idea? BASIRA: Daisy? DAISY: … Be better if we could prepare. MELANIE: I–I just think that… we shouldn’t be exposing ourselves like this until we have a little bit more than a hunch…!

… On the other hand, we still don’t know if her therapist is a Regular Therapist or a potentially Web-y spook, so the fact that she was inciting the others to not go to Hill Top Road… could be due to an influence. … Or not, and it’s just regular therapy putting some common sense into her.

- The Annabelle mentions were interesting because:

(MAG146) BASIRA: … So you say you’re being controlled. ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know. Maybe? Th–The Web, it– BASIRA: What, what was the name you said before? Annabelle Cane? ARCHIVIST: … Yes, uh, she’s… she’s been watching us, I–I’m pretty sure of it… DAISY: Jon… I’m not sure there’s actually the– BASIRA: No. No, if he is being controlled, we need to know. And we need to know now. Do you know where she is? ARCHIVIST: H… Not… not properly, I, I think she has some connection to Hill Top Road.

1°) … we have no connection between Annabelle and Hill Top Road as of now, except that both are Web-business. (Not all Spiders, Jon.)

2°) When Jon discussed about Annabelle Cane in MAG136, it was actually with Daisy! So either Jon has been sharing some thoughts about her with Basira, either Daisy told Basira (which would match with Daisy communicating overall!).

- On the one hand, Jon hypothesising that The Web could be behind the fact that he has been attacking people sounds like something he might have thought about because he just heard Gertrude (another Archivist) mentioning how she had been manipulated into doing what She wanted, in her own youth:

(MAG145) ARTHUR: Alright. Agnes: how’d you do it? Never did understand it, not really. GERTRUDE: Ah. That’s a fair enough question. [PAUSE] It was… The Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident – but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations. I was very new to it all, of course. I mean, I was, what? Can’t have been older than… twenty-five. […] Like I said, mm, I was young. Naïve. I somehow found just the right books, made just the right connections, and even got what I thought was a piece of blind good luck, when I found a tin box in the ashes of Hilltop Road, containing some perfectly preserved cuttings of her hair. Of course, what I thought was a “banishment ritual” turned out… not to be. The circle I constructed was more of a… an invitation. It let the Mother of Puppets bind me to Agnes, interweave our existences at some… metaphysical level, as it had with Fielding and the house. … It was the most painful experience of my life.

On the other hand, Jon… researched quite a bit about the notion of “control” this season, and thinking all along that he might be puppeteered could have been the reason behind that?

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves. […] Perhaps a coincidence, just… people… shopping their traumatic event around… but I have to wonder… how much their actions were their own.

(MAG125) ARCHIVIST: In many ways, The Slaughter fascinates me. There seems to be, in all cases, a question at its heart about… control. Is it a mindless dance, dragging participants along by the beat of a drum or… is there a kernel of will in there, a lucidity and deliberateness to the random fury and violence? I suppose that’s the question with so much of “violence”, “war”: how much are you really in command of yourself or of others? I’m not sure what scares me more: the idea that deep down, everyone is in complete control of their actions, that everything is, on some level, intentional; or that ultimately, we don’t have any control of ourselves at all, and the rest is just… rationalisation.

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I don’t like this. I don’t like… not being sure what’s going to be in my mind. What thoughts are mine and what are from… elsewhere.

(MAG136) DAISY: You think I’m weak, just… [SIGH] ‘cause I’m not already chasing the next kill? You think I’m less me? ARCHIVIST: I… [SIGH] I don’t feel like I’m exactly in the best place to judge the… intersection [CHUCKLE] between free will and humanity. Still trying to figure that out myself. [SILENCE] DAISY: Jon… when you went into the coffin. Was it you choosing to do that? Did you actually think you could save me, or was… that something telling you to do it? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: It was me. I was… drawn to it, I’ll admit, but it was my decision.

Though it was, once again, a consideration which was also relevant to his Beholding powers (the fact that he knew things unprompted).

- Since Peter mentioned his belief that The Extinction could have been born from The End, although taking an active form, I still wonder if that could have been the case originally between The Eye and The Web, or if they aren’t currently merging due to the information&control-related fears being especially overlapping with our era’s development of the means of communication…

There have been so many moments, this season, in which I wondered “is it the Web, or Beholding?”, and especially in the way Jon got dragged towards x or y statement. Trying to get an overview of season 4 regarding the nature of statements and how Jon stumbled upon them (when he was the one reading or listening), there are… recurring threads? (ha.)

* MAG121: Oliver’s statement, about choices; Web interested in Jon.

* MAG122: (Statement brought by Basira; feeling like the only person left in the world)

* MAG123: Web & Annabelle, link with the Institute

* MAG124: (Simon Fairchild casually feeding)

* MAG125: Slaughter statement, notion of “control”, led to Melanie’s surgery

* MAG126: Pre-Spiral ritual

(MAG126) ARCHIVIST: … I remembered Gertrude’s notebook […]. I’ve been staring at it for hours, in the hope something from it would just… come to me. And it worked well enough to point me towards this statement, which is… useful background, and perhaps gives some insight into how Gertrude formulated her counter-rituals, but… not much more.

* MAG127: Jonah Magnus & Beholding (Albrecht)

(MAG127) BASIRA: And what was that you were doing yesterday? ARCHIVIST: … When…? BASIRA: You were sat on the floor for like four hours. ARCHIVIST: … Oh! Er, n–n–no, I was, er, I was… listening. Y’know, it’s, trying to see if any of the statements… called to me. BASIRA: And? ARCHIVIST: [FLIPS PAPER]

* MAG128: Breekon’s visit, Jon “extracting” his statement; going towards Daisy’s rescue

* MAG129: Buried statement, notion of “anchor”, going towards Daisy’s rescue

(MAG129) ARCHIVIST: I don’t like this. I don’t like… not being sure what’s going to be in my mind. What thoughts are mine and what are from… elsewhere. Why I just know some statements are what I should be reading. I assume this one is related to the coffin. To Daisy.

* MAG130: Flesh ritual (Lucia Wright surviving it), nudging towards Flesh-as-anchor or Jared (kept in Helen’s corridors), towards Daisy’s rescue. Tape explicitly sent by The Web.

(MAG130) ARCHIVIST: I found this tape tucked in the corner of my desk drawer. [AGGRAVATED SIGH] Covered in cobwebs. I suppose subtlety is gone out the window a bit. And the question is now simply … how much I trust the Spider to have my… best interests at heart. … Hm. I suspect my assuming it has a heart might be a clue I’m looking at this the wrong way. […] what is it trying to tell me with this? Is it about… rituals? About getting Daisy back? About… about an anchor. What was it she said, “the siren call of Flesh”… Hm. It’s possible, I suppose.

* MAG131: Jared’s story (bit of Flesh ritual), notion of “anchor” through Jon’s ribs, going towards Daisy’s rescue

* MAG132: Coffin trip, Daisy’s rescue

* MAG133: Hunt ritual (Percy Fawcett surviving it)

(* MAG134: Martin reading Adelard Dekker’s letter about The Extinction)

* MAG135: Pre-Dark ritual

* MAG136: Web & Annabelle, link with the Institute

* MAG137: Slaughter ritual (Wallis Turner surviving it)

(MAG137) ARCHIVIST: There’s a box of tapes and statements in the corner. Obviously those Elias either didn’t feel he could trust me with yet, or maybe just the ones he was checking himself. […] So I just took the first one that called to me, and it’s… [DRY NASAL EXHALE] It’s good. I suppose.

(* MAG138: Martin reading Robert Smirke’s letter to Jonah Magnus, warning him about The Watcher’s Crown/Beholding)

* MAG139: Desolation, Agnes, Hill Top Road

* MAG140: (Statement brought by Basira; about The Dark’s ritual attempts)

* MAG141: Jon feeding on Floyd, statement regarding Salesa’s activities and (presumed) death. The tape recorder activated on its own.

(* MAG142: Martin taking Jess Tyrell’s complaint, about how Jon had attacked her two weeks ago.)

* MAG143: (Jon making Manuela give her statement about the failure of The Dark’s ritual)

(* MAG144: Martin reading an Extinction statement)

* MAG145: Desolation, Agnes, Hill Top Road, “anchor”, The Web manipulating an Archivist and tying them to another avatar in order to neutralise Agnes (/Gertrude too?).

(MAG145) ARCHIVIST: And here? I reached out, I took another tape, eh!, hoping for a bit of guidance, but… [HUFF] To be honest, this hasn’t helped.

* MAG146: Spiral-statement, Hill Top Road.

(MAG146) ARCHIVIST: So it seems we did have Marcus McKenzie’s statement after all. I spent so long looking for it, back when I found his father’s, and… no luck. But now, I decide to start looking properly into Hill Top Road, and all of a sudden… I’m drawn to rearrange a filing cabinet – and what do I find behind it?

When Jon “knows” something, it’s clearly Beholding, no problem. But when he feels the “call” of a statement, is it Beholding/the Archives, or is it The Web making him take one, and Jon rationalising that he had felt something? Most statements, this season, have involved Web and/or getting the means to save his assistants (/getting involved with other Fears), and/or learning about rituals – and now, about Hill Top Road. A lot of them seem possibly… pointed?

- Same old questions: we can guess that The Web has plans for Jon, hence the lighter, hence sending Handsome mlm Death Prophet Oliver to convince him to choose avatardom, hence the cobwebs following him around (Jon mentioned them in MAG123), hence revealing itself when sending him MAG130’s tape (and encouraging him to go inside of the coffin, and possibly helping him come out of it, if it was indeed The Web which made Martin set up the tape recorders around it?). But ~what does the Spider want~? Is Jon supposed to fix the “scar in reality” left by Agnes&Fielding’s fight, somehow, since he managed to do things that had never been accomplished before (getting out of the coffin) and has proven that he could “kill” powerful phenomenon (seeing the Dark Sun)? And what is Her stance on The Watcher’s Crown, amongst other things…? Is She just there to enjoy the show, is She worried about something (The Extinction?) or has She decided to jump on The Watcher’s Crown’s bandwagon, or does She want to make sure it doesn’t happen?

Georgie had been the one to recommend that Jon find “anchors”, back in season 3, but season 4 expanded the meaning of the word: “anchors” as a way to escape the clutch of a Fear, an “anchor” as a way to neutralise a Chosen One – and Jon likened his own situation to Agnes (MAG139), before learning that she had been bound to an Archivist to put the Desolation’s activities on hold (MAG145), by The Web itself. If The Web was indeed behind a majority of Jon’s readings and researches lately (after all, Gertrude highlighted how The Web had manipulated her through her researches, by orientating her towards specific books and materials!), everything could sound like it’s supposed to slowly introduce Jon to the concept of being, himself, bound to something/someone…?

(- We’ve been putting so much excitement on the prospect of seeing Annabelle, of thinking that Annabelle is currently pulling all the strings, though… that I can’t help but wonder. What if she is actually… dead. Because that would strike quite the blow on a lot of things re: who is currently in control.)

- Practical questions regarding the Hill Top Road trip, from London to Oxford

* Are they going by train? Or by car, and if by car, who’s driving (Basira and Daisy both can drive, it has been mentioned), and does that mean Melanie will get stuck with Jon in the back seats?

* Will they actually reach Hill Top Road, or will something happen before. (Web preventing them from doing so, or even… lonely endless road, courtesy of Peter, if Martin hears about the Expedition and threatens to stop doing his spreadsheets?)

* Will the tree still be there…? Anya had seen it in April 2009 (MAG114) although Ivo Lensik had uprooted it in November 2006, the night of Agnes’s death (MAG008)… (And there was the tree burning in MAG127, that Albrecht/~the master~ had wanted “dead”…)

* What or who will they find, if they manage to reach Hill Top Road? They certainly won’t take The Web by surprise, so if they meet some of Her agents, it will be because She consented to it. Annabelle herself? Another Web avatar? Melanie’s therapist, if she isn’t Annabelle herself? Oliver, once again as a messenger? Adelard Dekker? Weird ghosts from the past haunting the place (Agnes or Raymond)? A Giant Big Spider? Or nobody, and only an item? A message? A Guest For Mr. Spider, for Jon to have a breakdown? Elias and Peter’s 9th marriage certificate from the last four years? A tape or a statement giving them a clue?

Alriiiiiiiiiiight alright alright, unless we’re being dramatically misled, title for MAG147 promises ~Web stuff~. Part of me is a bit sad, because the… exact title had been used for a while by the fandom to refer to something/someone Very Specifically, and it probably means that past that episode, it will be entirely jossed and we won’t be able to use it the same way – but eh, that’s the deal with Speculation overall. Other part of me is “YIIIIIIIIIIIIH” because. Yep. That’s it. Something Is Coming.

Forms of the title have been roughly used by Martin in MAG117 and Elias in MAG106 (and other times, but those two uses stuck with me), but it’s probably going to be about… Annabelle? Although it doesn’t match her official title of ~the Story Spinner~ used in MAG123. It could be something else Web-related, though – we… don’t know much about Raymond Fielding except for how he was getting Babies in the house, technically? Or something else entirely?

As for Events… Martin meeting Peter’s friend (who is a “he”) is still pending, so it could be that, just to make us even more impatient about the Hill Top Road trip. Or it could also be Annabelle or another spider visiting him while the others are off. Or it could be the group at Hill Top Road, so soon. Any of these cases would mean: DREAD. /o/

[roaminginspiration]

The Empty Space Next to Me

chap 1 (x)  / chap 2 (x) /  chap 3 (x) / chap 5 (x) / chap 6 (x) / chap 7 (x) / chap 8 (x) / chap 9 (x) / chap 10 (x)

Chapter 4

His phone screen shows half a dozen missed calls and twice as many texts. Mostly from Sam and Bucky, but also from other fellow teammates.

Sitting on the bed of his room, Steve is bent over, his elbows resting on each thigh, hands joined together in a fist with his chin resting upon it. He hasn’t given real news since he left the compound four days ago, or only vague ones to avoid causing any worries.

He was hoping to call — or even better, turn up to New York with Natasha — but the situation has become complicated. He is not sure how to bring her up, or he should at all considering how she has made it a point never to return to that life and that she has just kicked him out of her new one. Involving the whole team would just stir more tension; but then he owes them the truth, too.

His phone buzzes — it’s Sam calling in for the third time in the past hour. He answers the phone but Wilson immediately picks up something is wrong. But is something wrong, really? It should quite the opposite. Natasha is alive — that should be enough to make him happy. And as much solace he finds in the thought that she is alive, he cannot ignore his heartache right now.

Steve yields and tells Sam the truth. He explains the reason for his sudden departure and debriefs the current situation. Sam is stunned.

“Want me to come?” his friend says but it isn’t a real question. Steve can hear how his voice is slightly shaking with emotion — he’s missed her, too.

“Not now. She’s not ready — and I don’t know if she ever will. We need to respect that.”

A few seconds go by before Sam agrees to the terms.

“Do you want me to call Barton and let him know about the situation.”

Steve frowns. “No,” he says, shaking his head.  Clint has mourned her and he has started to move on — maybe keeping him away from all this, for now, is for the best. “No. I think it’s better if we wait for now.”

The conversation somehow veers off to more trivial matters, mostly related to the Avengers. But only briefly. At the end of the conversation, Sam asks:

“How is she?”

Steve nods slowly. “She’s well. I think she’s happy.”

It is a blissful thought. One he could live on for the rest of his life and that would ease the void inside him if he were to leave this place without her.

“Well, I’m glad,” Sam echoes his thoughts wistfully, then he adds. “Steve, I’m sure you’ll work this out.”

But he is not so sure about that. Nodding silently to himself, he hangs up.

Dinner is cold — and it is not the food — the three of them eat silently in the dining room. Katherine started it off, Steve could not do much about it and kept his tail between the legs, and Eliza had no choice than to adjust. Katherine keeps her eyes on her plate, sometimes throws a glimpse at the elderly woman, but they wander farther across the table.

Once the meal is over, she gets up to wash the dishes, before excusing herself and disappearing upstairs. He tries to make eye contact with her as she swings past him without success.

Eliza is probing him but he has not noticed, his eyes fall back down to the floor.

“You know her, don’t you?” she eventually says. “You knew her from before.”

He is startled and looks across at her with a deep frown. “The way you look at her…it certainly is not like someone who met her three days ago. More like you’ve known her for years.”

There is no point denying it.

“She was my friend.”

Eliza furrows her brows, slightly surprised.

“Friend isn’t what I had in mind,” she comments.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. She moved on. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me in her life.”

“She doesn’t want you in her life or did you not make your place in it?”

He looks at her quizzically.

“If you allow me an analogy,” she begins. “Being amnesic does not mean she is shapeless; it means she has taken a different one. You can’t mold her, you can only learn to know the new her.”

“You do pottery?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.

Eliza smiles. “Tried it years ago but dropped out of class after three weeks.”

He snorts quietly then turns pensive again. “I think it’s too late,” he says softly. “I don’t think she’ll let me stay.”

The woman’s eyes light up and she smirks. “There’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

A loose board from the parquet flooring squeaks under his foot. His eyes suddenly to the entrance door and the frown on his face disappears.

Katherine comes back an hour later, finding him and Eliza conversing over a glass of lemonade.

“Oh Katherine,” Eliza calls as she catches sight of her. “I have some good news. It looks like we may have found a handyman.”

She puts her purse down in the touch and approaches cautiously. She pretends to ignore Steve’s presence.

“Great. Who?” she asks.

Eliza glances over at her guest. “Steve said he’s interested in the job.”

Katherine furrows her brow.

“What a surprise,” she comments with a dubious expression. “Because Steve is supposed to check out today.”

She shoots him a long and penetrating look — not the friendly kind.

“I can stay,” he assures. “I think spending some time here might do me good.”

She crosses her arms and her body turns completely in his direction, leaving Eliza out of the equation.

“But you were so eager to get back to New York just this morning,” she reminds him dryly with an arched eyebrow.

“Katherine dear, we urgently need someone to mend the plumbing.”

“We need someone with experience. I doubt the wrench is his weapon of choice,” she answers to Eliza, but really, she said to Steve.

“As if we had a list of candidates,” Eliza chuckles. “The ad has been out for weeks and we didn’t have a single call.”

She is now frowning deeply. She eyes Steve with a perplexed expression and a slightly worried look. It is brief, but long enough for him to notice it. He has known her long enough to recognize any shadow of emotion that passes through them. It does not leave him different him — worse, it troubles him.

She disappears into another room without protesting longer but he cannot her silence for victory.

The last thing he wants is to be a cause of worry for her.

So he goes to find her in the backyard as she tidying up old crates and boxes. She pauses upon seeing him then resumes her work.

“I’m sorry,” he begins. She throws a glimpse in his direction and walks over to pick up more boxes. He leans against the corner of the house façade. “You were right. You set boundaries and I overstepped. I was just so…,” he sighs and looks at her. “I just wanted you back so badly that I overlooked what you wanted. But I can see you’re happy here, and I shouldn’t have been so selfish and tried to change that.”

She is looking at him at him, and he pauses. Her intense gaze somehow strips him off his ability to speak. He clears his throat and quickly glances away. “That’s why I’d like to stay. I want to know about you — about the new you — and about your life. Maybe get you to like me: I promise you I’m usually not such a dick. I just…I got blinded by my emotions. I want to make it up to you, now.”

“I don’t know if I want to engage on that path. I don’t want to wonder if I’m living up to the expectations of whatever strong relationship you had with Natasha.”

“And you don’t have to,” he steps off the distant corner, coming closer. “I’m given this second chance and I don’t want to blow it. I can’t.”

He is suddenly caught up by the memory of his crying on his knees on Vormir. “But I want to do everything right this time. I won’t take the job if you don’t want me to. But don’t cross me out of your life completely, please. Katherine…,” he whispers softly and realizes it is the first time he says it aloud. She looks at him with a surprised expression. It feels unexpectedly pleasant on his tongue. “Allow me to stay and be your handyman, an acquaintance that visits you from time to time, a partner, your l—,” he stops and swallows the lump in his throat. “I’ll be anything you want me to be and I promise you I will fill whichever role you choose without ever crossing the line. As long as I don’t lose you again. But I cannot go on with my life with that empty space next to me. I tried and I failed miserably.”

His hand instinctively goes up to cup her face without him realizing. She holds back her breath and glances down at it, before gazing into his eyes again. “Just tell me who you want me to be,” he murmurs.

Everything has disappeared: the mansion, Louisiana, the Avengers, his duty, even Jake. God, he truly wishes the latter has vanished into the abyss of oblivion.

But alas… Katherine reaches up, lays her hand on top of his and slowly pulls away. She smiles a genuine smile he has not seen since he turned up for the first time a few days ago.

“How about a friend?” she asks.

He reminisces an old conversation in a stolen car. It almost feels like old time.

Almost.

He closes his fist and lets her move away before lowering his arm.

“Looks like we have a deal,” he answers with a smile.

She does not recognize the shadow of wistfulness which passes through in his eyes.

She then bends down, picks up a couple of crates and drops them in his hands.

“Welcome to Miller’s Guesthouse,” Katherine says with a smirk.

[magaprima]

Part 2 Episode 3 Thoughts (post 3/?)

When we first see the cottage, from Lilith’s point of view, we see that Adam has gone home to literally cover the entire place in romantic lighting, with red candles everywhere, and then there’s all these bouquets of red roses (which he obviously went out and bought after leaving the office), and has put on some romantic-dinner sounding music, he has cleaned and tidied, and basically he has tried to make the place look amazing and romantic for her arrival and, quite frankly, seems to have gone overboard. In other posts, including my previous episode post, I said how I believe Adam suspected Mary had had an affair, and that’s why she looked so different and seemed so surprised and reluctant to see him (it’s a more much likely conclusion than Mary has been killed and this in fact the Mother of Demons who is now pretending to be her). And so he is going overboard in trying to rekindle everything, to make up for being gone so long (he does constantly reference that as if he blames himself for anything that happened due to being away), and to remind ‘Mary’ of their love for each other. Adam is clearly trying to be Mr Romantic and I think, for someone in a long term relationship with him and being a mortal, would see this room of candles and flowers and music and feel very touched, and even swept of her feet.

But we have Lilith. Who walks into this room of romance like a wild cat who is suspicious of the plate of food that has been left out for them. She calls out ‘hello?’ in a way reminiscent of victims in horror movies, and is clearly very much on guard and on edge. She’s keeping to the perimeter of the room, her back against the wall, nervous, wary and suspicious. She looks like she expects Adam to suddenly attack and I think it’s very revealing of all her previous experiences with men. Lilith remembers the first Adam (the man we all presume she’s referring to when she says ‘he was only ever cruel’) and his behaviour and the way he treated her, and we also know her ‘relationship’ with Lucifer is a violent and abusive one, and odds are most men, warlock, mortal or demon, have treated her, or at least tried, to treat her in the same abusive, dismissive way. 

I mean Lilith is extremely powerful, she’s strong, she’s commanding, and yet here she is acting hesitant, defensive, all because of the sudden presence of a man being forced into her life. She has all the markers of someone who has experiences emotional, physical or sexual abuse at the hand of a man, and so is immediately like a frightened, guarded animal when dealing with any of them. 

She instinctively tries to keep a distance from him, but Adam, both in believing her to be his fiancee, and also trying to rekindle a romance he fears has not grown fonder with distance, just goes over to her with the same over-eagerness he had in decorating the cottage, and kisses her almost...urgently. He seems so nervous and tense, and it all goes to support he fears he’s losing her, so he’s trying his best to remind her of their love, to hopefully win her over again. Like, hi, I love you, I tidied up, I made you dinner, please love me too. 

Lilith, obviously, does not reciprocate, but the way she also doesn’t entirely fight back again tells you a lot about her experiences, how, with men, especially First Adam and Lucifer, she has learned not to fight back openly and physically as that always ends up worse. I think her experiences with violent, cruel men are part of the reason why Lilith values the subtle approach so much, because it’s also the tactic that has helped her survive and defeat so much in the past. 

“Why don’t you sit down, honey, and...I’ll give you a neckrub?”

The way she suggests this, the ‘pretty wife’ voice she puts on, the expression on her face; this is exactly what she believes all men expect of the women in their lives, because over the thousands of years, that’s all she’s ever experienced herself and seen for herself. And, sure enough, Adam does agree ‘sure, we’ve got a little time to kill’, which, at this point, only proves to Lilith that Adam is just like the rest and therefore definitely needs to be killed off before she does anything else for the night. 

The way she says his name, her mouth actually contorts into hate. We saw earlier how horrified she was to discover that his name was Adam, and now we’re seeing the disgust the mere mention of it makes her feel. Her memories of her time with the First Adam in the Garden are so violently horrid to her that she can’t even bear the name. 

Also, as she’s massaging him, you can hear she is thinking up a cover story for his sudden disappearance ‘and you’re often out of town travelling’ she declares as she reaches down for the knitting needle she plans to stab him in the neck with. I do love how high she lifts her arm in order to thrust it into his neck, and then he gets up and she just looks so annoyed by this sudden turn of events. She is the embodiment of ‘ffs’ in that moment and I do love it. Especially when she very prettily puts the needle back.

But when Adam says ‘I’ve brought you a gift’, she doesn’t look at him wide-eyed, she doesn’t pretend to be interested, she doesn’t even roll her eyes or sigh or anything; she literally just stares solemnly. Because how often has Lucifer given her ‘gifts’ and how often have they been something that wasn’t a gift at all. Even his gift of returning Stolas to her is tainted (though she doesn’t know that yet) so I imagine it’s not the first time he has used gifts to manipulate her, in the way of, ‘i’ve got you a gift...but you can have it, once you’ve done this task’. And so she doesn’t anticipate this moment with any false excitement or honest boredom. She is just solemn. Because again, this is her learned behaviour from her experiences with men, or more specifically in this case, Lucifer. 

And then to her great surprise Adam produces something she, Lilith, actually likes. She’s immediately interested, and it’s as he’s holding up this doll, that Lilith, for the very first time, is the one to close the distance between them. This is the first time we don’t see her pull back from Adam, but in fact go towards him, because, unexpectedly, he is giving her the exact kind of gift she loves. Something ‘disturbing...but also beautiful’. 

She’s stood close to him and she takes the gift from him carefully, considerately, and we see the very first marks of something indefinable between them as she looks at this doll, and actually speaks entirely honestly to Adam ‘I must admit...I really love it’. She even looks at him to say it, she makes eye contact, smiles; she’s being open here, and we can physically see that, and we have never seen her be open with anyone else so far.  She has known this person five minutes, and already he has done something no one else has; given her a gift she actually loves and without asking something in return. And when Adam replies ‘well I really love you’ and kisses her, she doesn’t tense up or immediately pull back like before. Her eyes do remain open, but as before they were filled with wide eyed surprise and mild horror, now they’re filled with confusion and just a hint of curiosity. 

She seems to be lost in that confusion and curiosity when Adam mentions the Sweetheart’s Dance, because she’s all breathless and ‘oh, well, oh, yes’, and I think she is thinking a thousand thoughts right now; primary of them being how the hell does a mortal man turn up suddenly and manage to get her a gift she actually likes? And I do sort of headcanon, that as this is the first little moment between them, their might even be the hints of thoughts and feelings Lilith had instinctively in reaction to all this that she doesn’t quite understand, which is just adding to her confusion. 

But then she realises she has a way to escape this entirely weird moment; she has to chaperone the dance. She gives the excuse of ‘I’m afraid I’m chaperoning so...’ like ah dang, guess we can’t have this night together. Because I genuinely don’t think Lilith would know what to do. She either kills him or goes through with the dinner, but killing him isn’t quite as appealing anymore, but going through the dinner means acting like Mary and doing mortal romance things, and she’s not sure she can do that either. So yay, high school dance to the rescue. Only Adam, in more of his romantic efforts, seems to think this is the perfect opportunity for them to spend time together, to dance and talk and take a walk down memory lane. 

Lilith’s whole face as she stands there while he walks off, almost looks like Aurora in Sleeping Beauty when she’s told she’s actually a princess; she basically cannot believe what is fucking happening right now. She then turns to look at him and her face is literally ‘are you seriously kidding me? a high school dance is fun??’. Her eyes go back down to the doll, and we see that consideration again but then...she remembers her plans for mass murder, and that is a nice familiar feeling for Lilith, and so we see that old menacing smile. Clearly thinking that murdering half the student body will be a fun way to get her right back on track. 

[thenobodyhasarrived]

Writing Abuse

So, I just realized a big pet peeve of mine: people incorrectly representing food issues and abuse in all media but mainly books. As someone who was abused as a child I thought to make a list of some of the big things I see off the top of my head. This is on mobile and my abuse was largely centered around food so keep that in mind.

1.) Hiding food:

I've seen some stories, a lot of times fanfiction if I'm being totally honest, have the idea that as long as the abuser does not see the person being abused eating that it has been successfully hidden. That is, usually, extremely incorrect. whenever I read a character just taking from the pantry when a parent figure is asleep, I get incredibly stressed because that would have gotten me in a huge amount of trouble. A big part of hiding food is what I like to call cushioning. Cushioning is when you do not eat the first or the last of anything, ever. If you open a package then it is far more likely to be noticed. If you are the last one to eat something then the package has to be thrown away and the loss of the package becomes much more noticeable. people are much less likely to notice a little bit of something taken from the middle. Unless the abuser has multiple children and abuses each of them in a different way or only abuses one of them, and unless those non abused children stick up for the abused kid and realize that food is being deprived from them, then the loss of the food is very prominent.

2.) Obtaining ≠ Success

So another thing is that it's not just about eating the food, it's about being able to keep down the food. If the character has been abused this way for a long time then it usually becomes kind of ingrained that eating is bad all of the time. I am almost perpetually hungry but I cannot bring myself to eat enough to fill my stomach more than half of the time. I once didn't eat all day and then made myself a plate of spaghetti, ate a single bite, and then stared at the plate for 4 hours after because even though I was ravenous I could not eat the food for the life of me (this often results in stress which could result in crying or anger or complete dispassion depending on how a person responds to trauma.) so it's not just about being able to get the food to eat, it's about being able to physically and mentally make yourself eat.

3.) Behaviors

I want to preface this with saying that my father was the one who abused me and I haven't seen him since about between the ages of 12 and 14, and I am 18 now and I still experience these behaviors. Being possessive over food is a very big behavior. A lot of times these cues are subtle and even the person experiencing the behavior might not know what's causing it. One of my behaviors is that whenever I eat something off of a plate I will curl my arm around it, no one really notices because my posture is very casual it kind of looks like I'm just steadying the platw but in reality it's so that no one can take my plate or take from my plate without my permission and so that I can hunch over/snatch my plate if need be. Being giving with food is also a common behavior. Just the phrase "I haven't eaten" sends me into a panic regardless of who's saying it. I once overheard a conversation between two people that I didn't know at my high school, it was exam week so we were not having a lunch that day we had to bring our own, and one kid said that he fainted the day before because he didn't drink anything for a few days and then I heard the dreaded "and I haven't eaten" which was compounded by "in days". I gave him my water (of course), I think I gave him a granola bar and maybe also a Pop-Tart. I offered to give him money so you can go to the vending machine. And then I told him the only reason I wasn't giving him more was because his stomach probably couldn't take that and I didn't want to make him puke. I had a friend with anorexia and I would give her parts of my lunch every single day I would split it in half,and that was as young as an elementary school because to me when you have the opportunity to eat you have to take it because you don't know when you won't be able to eat next. so there is some dikotomy there and if you're writing it or experiencing this it can swing from both sides of the spectrum rapidly or stay on one side of the spectrum or just have certain situations that make their behavior swing. In my household I used to have to ask every time before I ate and the answer was often no. so even years after whenever I open the fridge even if the house is empty I will still ask if I can eat something or I will avoid eating something because it hasn't been opened and I can't pretend I didn't take anything later.

4.) Trash

Under no circumstances should the food your character is hiding end up in the trash.if there's even the slightest chance that the parent might find a rapper or an apple core in the trash then it does not go there. I used to eat apple cores stem and all because it was easier to hide the fact that I ate apples that way. I had my granola bar wrappers and things like that in my book bag and then I would throw it away once I got to school and when there were no school times I would either keep them hidden somewhere in my room until I could dispose of them or I would take them and throw them away at a friend's house. This is something that only works if the abusive parent also does not search the child's belongings.

5.) Food Hoard

The character will almost definitely even years after the abuse have a place where they hide food. Even if other people know that it exists, they still need to be reassured that should they want to they can eat whenever they have safe food from a safe place. a food horde is filled almost exclusively with non-perishable items because they're easier to hide because they don't go bad.

6.) Gaslighting

gaslighting is essentially when someone tries to convince you that something that did not happen did happen or that something that did happen did not. It's something that's very common with abusers. An abuser will ask if they've ever broken a promise and you're supposed to say no even though they have— I've always been a bit slow when it comes to social cues so even with my siblings begging me to lie and say the right thing I was very blunt and I would say yes which would result in worse things. it's not something I see as much as I think I should see in any story about abuse because even physical abuse is usually compounded by some sort of mental abuse. The abuser will try to paint themselves as a decent person when they are anything but, they will say that it was your fault and you made them mad or that they wouldn't hit you you just misremembered because you fell and hit your head and haha what a klutz! I'm including false justification with gaslighting and by false justification I mean things like "my side of the family is prone to obesity and I just don't want you to be fat I want you to be healthy that's why I'm doing this it's to keep you healthy it's a good thing". even if an abuser knows they're in the wrong they will not admit it unless they have to keep their victim complacent somehow, and even then it will be an apology that ultimately pins the blame on the victim or some sort of backhanded compliment etc

There is so much more but as I am on mobile it's already getting lengthy on my screen. whether someone is experiencing abuse and wants help dealing with it because it's a situation they can't get out of or someone wants help writing an abused character, feel free to either reblog this with a question or comment with one or two directly DM me if you want to stay more private. My abuse also extended into verbal and a little bit with physical but not a lot and of course emotional. I'm pretty open about it and I don't mind talking about it now because I'm comfortable, so genuinely feel free to ask me questions I will not mind.

[firesign23]

I would like to read that very angry post and learn the two rules.

Okay, so, I was GOING to be all “Here are my well composed arguments” about this, but… honestly, I’m still digesting the specifics of Brienne’s story in 8x06 and getting caught up on “Soo, we’re going with the shallowest interpretation of her character’s desires and also kinda just making her Jaime 2.0: The Just Edition” (more on this rant LATER, because oh it was so much worse than I thought when I read the leaks), so instead y’all get a slightly edited version of the Angry Screaming I sent a friend a few days ago. Buckle up, I am Riled.

A pre-rant note–my husband woke up this morning, checked his phone, and looked at me like a man who had Seen Some Shit. “The leaks were right.” He has never watched Game of Thrones (he’s been waiting until the show is done, and I’m pretty sure season 8 killed his plans to binge it), but honestly I can think of no better way to sum up this experience.

(Fucking MOOD, Jon.)

So, first off, I do not expect a lot from Game of Thrones. The visuals are amazing, the actors are top notch, but there have always been issues with the plot, with misogyny, etc. What has made me so ANGRY about this season is that it thumbs its nose at storytelling as a craft. I expected it to be dumb. I did not expect it to be “Wow, my nine year old literally has a better grasp on constructing stories” dumb. #subvertedexpectations (As an aside, I could turn this into a series of rants about the different elements of storytelling and how season 8 fucked them up, but honestly I’d rather lose a fucking hand and I still have a spite fic to write to fix what I can. So we’ll have to content ourselves with this rant, and if husband ever DOES binge the show I’ll save the others as a reward for surviving the experience.)

Second of all, I want to make this clear that any writing rule can be broken (some I don’t believe SHOULD be, which is what started this rant, but they CAN), but you must understand the rules you are breaking and why. And you can’t break all of them at once. I have seen exactly zero evidence this is true for D&D, those talentless hacks.

Now, onto the two rules for character arcs that should never be messed with because they are SO structurally important, and they’ve fucked over both repeatedly throughout season 8:

(1) A character must always want something. They absolutely do not need to GET it, but they need to want it. Hell, NOT getting it is basically the definition of tragedy.(2) A character getting what they want should not result in “Guess their story is over, we can kill them or write them off”

This applies to SO MANY of the characters right now, but I’m going to use Jaime as an example of (1) and Brienne as an example of (2) because honestly that’s the only plot I’ve followed with any enthusiasm. (There are definitely better examples of (2) within the show, but I used Brienne as an example in the original rant and I’m carrying that over. Because Brienne. Fight me.)

RULE ONE: A character must always want something.

Jaime’s arc has been about redemption, about listening to his own morals instead of the poisonous family first that has been dripped in his ear for decades. The setup is all there–a brash kid who is forced to make a call between his own morals (not burning half a million innocent people) and the oaths he made (to protect the king), makes it, and is reviled for it because the truth is never revealed. He falls further into this “Family above all else” mindset because he’s been groomed since childhood for this. There’s like a whole meta post from me in the Lannisters and abuse, but people better than I have gone there before. For this post, “Jaime’s arc is about redemption, a redemption he doesn’t always BELIEVE in but has been a core of his character from season 1” suffices.

His death absolutely should have been about this redemption. Whether he succeeds and kills his sister and lives, or kills his sister at the cost of his own life, or he gets there and the decades of brainwashing means that he falters at the final hurdle… THAT doesn’t matter, so much, but the impetus absolutely should have been DRIVEN by that need for redemption. Have him go south because he needs to save innocents, or even the family of choice (THERE IS A FAMILY OF CHOICE SCENE IN THE FUCKING EPISODE!!!) Hell, have him SEE saving Cersei as redemption. (I mean, that would be fucking stupid beyond stupid, but it wouldn’t insult me on a crafting level.) Just… don’t go “He’s happy, guess it’s time for a relapse we lay no groundwork for, and then handwave with forgiveness from a female character because…she’s so good and pure? We want to pretend we are deep?” There is no tragedy in Jaime’s death because they moved the goalposts at the very last second.

(As an aside, the Very Dear Friend subjected to this rant responded to this portion of my ire with “Why would they do that? It’s so meaningless”, and all I could say was “Because it’s ~*~sHocKinG~*~ that way. NO, YOU BASTARDS. You make it shocking by laying the groundwork and then subverting our hopes at the last second, but THE GROUNDWORK NEEDS TO BE THERE. YOU NEED TO USE OUR CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING OF STORIES.” This was the toned down version of my actual thoughts, because Very Dear Friend is genuinely dear to me and does not need to know the depths of my creative cursing.)

RULE TWO: A character getting what they want should not be the end of their story.

As for Brienne… she is such an interesting character because she’s SO driven by her own morality. She wants, desperately, to be a knight. Not just BE knighted, but to embody the spirit of knighthood. She gets that knighthood from someone she respects, deeply–she’s one of the few people who truly knows about Jaime’s struggle with morality vs oaths and has utter faith in him–and so she gets what she wants. Great, right? WRONG. We are at Unbreakable Rule #2–a character who gets what they want should not then have nowhere to go.

NB–the original rant here was far more articulate and focused on how this rule is broken, but we might descend into slathering rage instead. Because the ending (oh god, seriously, like I said, I’m still digesting the depth of the shit in this because on a surface level it seems happy but it’s really fucking terrible) puts her in this horrible stagnation that is more focused on title than her actual character. She didn’t necessarily want to be a Kingsguard, she wanted to be a Kingsguard for a king she believed in. And, like, she had a say in electing Bran? (Rereading this rant--that’s a weird phrasing. I’ll deal with it later) But that whole thing makes no sense (“I can’t be lord of Winterfell because I’m the Three Eyed Raven, but I can totally be King” ??? I just… honestly, my brain is not computing this well.) and I just… CAN WE FUCKING TALK ABOUT HOW SHE HAS PREVIOUSLY PLEDGED HERSELF TO PEOPLE WHO ARE IN SOME WAY VULNERABLE??? Seriously, who has she pledged oaths to before now? A gay man and women. Because that was always fucking important to me, and this is just… no.

The ending as it is basically just makes her Replacement Jaime–a highborn heir who instead takes the role of Kingsguard, but don’t worry guys she’s so Noble and Caring that she absolves Jaime of his sins by writing his story in the book. Where’s the fucking vomit emoji? (Don’t get me wrong, that scene is emotional and moving and honestly FUCK YOU GWENDOLINE CHRISTIE FOR BEING SO LOVELY AND TALENTED, but in the wider context of this show I just cannot see it as a good thing.)

I just… look, in my rant a few days ago I’d read the leaks, but I still had some hopes the ending would be better on screen; right now I can’t even articulate the number of levels it bothers me on, so just know that I SHOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING HAPPY WITH HER ENDING! But I’m not, because it is this surface level understanding of what she desires from knighthood, and there is this… okay, so, I’m articulating this TERRIBLY because the original rant was solid but did not account for fuckery, but you know what Brienne’s ending made me think of? Nikolaj Coster-Waldau’s interviews where he would fight for Jaime’s character and basically get told to shut up and follow the script. THAT is what Brienne’s ending feels like to me, and it shouldn’t.  She should have places to GO and GROW from here. Like, there are SO MANY things they could do with these characters that are surprising. Hell, imagine Brienne getting this knighthood and then getting presented with a similar situation to Jaime–does she keep an oath or to her own morals? Make it a smaller scale so that the answer isn’t so simple, have knighthood become shades of grey she never really understood–she gets what she wants, but it’s not simple. Boom, her story will go on after the end credits.

(I also have Capital I Issues with the narrative surrounding her love life and gender and… seriously, this could have been a motherfucking SERIES of rants. I could do a week’s worth just on how they did Brienne dirty)

RULE THREE: If you make me spend over an hour trying to present a coherent explanation for why your writing sucks and I’ve barely scratched the surface, you don’t get to write anything ever again. Sorry, I make the rules and I have decreed it so. All in agreement, raise your hand.

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

The New Romantics Ch. 17-

Please please please comment, friends! Comments mean a lot to me!!!!!

If the READ MORE link doesn’t show, go to the Original Post!

(If you have songs I can add play to a playlist for this fic please let me know!!)

The New Romantics Playlist Here

And So the Moon Fell for the Sun Here

Sweet Sun the Moon is Yours Playlist Here (an in-progress playlist from Keith to Lance)

Part 1 Here

Part 16 Here

AO3 chapter link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484630/chapters/40150598

The creamy substance was cold on his face. Long fingers swept against his face in a patterned motion, and Keith clenched his eyes shut and scrunched up his nose.

He heard a soft laugh and felt warm lips on his. “ Mi corazon, stop making that face. You have to relax so I can spread it evenly.”

“It feels weird,” Keith muttered.

“Babe, you’ve had worse things on your face.”

Keith blushed, and he heard Pidge yelp, “Oh, that was unnecessary information!” Keith opened his eyes to glare at Lance who had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Lance is this edible?”

“Uh, maybe? I never tried… why?”

“Because Hunk keeps sniffing it, and I think he’s two seconds away from tasting it.”

“I got this at an alien store at the Space Mall, so I’d be careful,” Lance said. He turned back to Keith and continued to smear the face cream. “You look cute in a ponytail.”

“ Stop,” Keith groaned, nearly hiding his face in his hands before Lance stopped him with a laugh. Lance gave him another kiss and Keith sighed happily. “Aren’t Allura and Shiro coming too?”

“Yeah, Allura said she was getting Coran, but Shiro said he had a headache and wanted to sleep it off,” Hunk answered. “Lance, this smells like… avocadoes and… cinnamon?”

“Please don’t eat it,” Pidge said with a laugh.

Keith snorted and looked up at Lance as he tilted his face to smear the face cream on him. “You look cute in green,” he said. Lance’s face was perfectly done perfect circles around his eyes and a clean with line of face cream along the outline of his face, his own hair pushed back with a headband. Lance smirked at him and finished up, pulling back and admiring his work- or maybe admiring Keith- and wiped his hands clean.

Pidge had her hair pulled back in two little ponytails that stuck out with a few bobby pins holding back any stray hairs. Hunk’s bandana was doubling as a head band like Lance’s to keep his hair out of his face, but Pidge had also tied his hair back in to a mini-bun.

There were cookies and juice packs in the center and they were spread out along the floor of Keith’s old room which Lance had sort of taken over. He didn’t mind though. Soon, Allura and Coran joined them along with the mice. The mice helped Allura keep her hair back as Lance taught her how to use the cream, and Pidge braided Coran’s hair back as he listened to Lance and copied Allura.

It was a fun sight, really. One Keith never thought he’d be part of. And he could tell how much Lance enjoyed it too. How happy it made him to share something he liked with the others, to see them happy to be part of it. It was the only reason he agreed to getting a face mask. That and the fact that Lance insisted he didn’t need to do his routine since he didn’t want to lose time with Keith, but Keith knew how easily Lance would break out when he skipped his favorite routine. He used to get earfuls of it when they were just friends with benefits and Keith didn’t wait until after his routine.

Pidge had joined because she’d been in the hall when Lance went to go get the face cream and towels, and Hunk joined when Lance went looking for snacks.

After that, they decided it may as well be a group activity.

“Ooh, my face feels all tingly,” Coran said, scrunching his mouth so his moustache wiggled. Allura ate a cookie and laughed.

“How come we’ve never had giant sleepovers before?” Lance wondered.

“Sleepover?” Allura repeated.

“It’s a thing you do with friends. You hang out all together for a night and do fun stuff then all fall asleep in the same room. Hunk, Lance, and I would do it back at the Garrison,” Pidge answered.

“Yeah, and we tell secrets or embarrassing stories or give advice on stuff. In the Garrison, we’d talk about girls, but Pidge was still pretending to be a boy. Jeez, Pidge how’d you put up with us?”

Pidge snorted. “It was all fun and games until you suggested porn once.”

“You what?” Keith yelped.

Even under the face mask, Keith could tell Lance had turned red. “It was one time, and I was freaking out because I thought Samantha McKinney was into me! I felt weird watching alone.”

“So watching with Hunk and Pidge would’ve made it better?” Keith asked, stifling laughter. Allura questioned the porn and Pidge explained it, making both Alteans’ eyes blow wide.

“No! Yes? I don’t know, man, I was fifteen!”

“Why, why did you bring that up?” Hunk groaned, half laughing. “What happened at the sleepovers was supposed to stay at the sleepovers.”

“That just sounds kinky,” Pidge said with a snort. Hunk glared at her and threw a pillow at her face. She blocked it and threw it back. “Stop, you’ll mess up my face mask! Lance!”

“No smudging the face masks, they have to stay for fifteen minutes, stoppit!” He yanked the pillow and fixed them both with a placating finger. “Be-have.”

Keith laughed and helped himself to snacks as Lance gestured everyone to huddle around in a circle. He sat back down beside Keith, and he had to fight the urge to nuzzle into Lance because of the gunk on his face.

“We don’t have to watch the porn, do we?” Allura asked.

“No!” the paladins exclaimed, in varying levels of embarrassment and amusement.

“Well, I don’t know what stories to tell,” Coran said. “I’ve told you all mostly everything about me.”

“Well, not everything,” Lance said with a smile. Keith raised an eyebrow, holding a slight idea of where this was going. “You’ve never told us if there was a Mrs. Coran.” Coran furrowed his eyebrows in question. “Well, I’ve never heard of you being in love with anyone. Everything you tell us is about the war or Zarkon or Alfor or raising Allura. Or your time as a cadet or some other.”

“Relationships. We’re gonna talk about relationships when you and Keith are the only couple here right now?” Pidge asked.

“Actually, yeah I’m kind of curious too, Coran,” Keith said softly. “And it doesn’t have to be about relationships, Pidge.” Keith looked at Coran and tilted his head. “So, has there ever been someone special?”

Coran smiled slightly and sighed. “Why yes, there has been. But we couldn’t be together for a number of reasons.” Keith heard Lance gasp softly. His hand searched for Keith’s and Keith took it, knowing Coran already had him hooked. Allura pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin carefully over interlocked hands, listening. Hunk and Pidge gave in to curiosity and scooted a little closer.

Coran chuckled and shook his head. “We were two of the same. We worked well together. We complimented each other. But I was Alfor’s right hand. I was needed elsewhere. I had other duties that pulled me away.” Lance’s hand tightened in Keith’s, and Keith squeezed back, pressing his knee to Lance’s. “In our youth we were good friends. We were close, and everyone expected us to end up together with a family. But without the time needed for us, we never got a chance. We both had things to do and… before long, I wasn’t quite needed anymore.”

“What?” Hunk asked.

Coran smiled sadly.

“There was someone else,” Pidge whispered.

Coran nodded. “When you love someone, you put their happiness first. I believe that goes for any species. I knew I couldn’t be there for…. I couldn’t bring myself to try and change things. Not after the amount of time that had passed. And once the war began… well, that was a priority. I had to help raise Allura.” Coran looked at her and smiled a genuine smile. “I had to keep you safe, little one.” Allura smiled sadly. “But alas, no one has ever captured my heart the same way before or since. And I think that’s what I like to remember. It’s nicer to think of the happiness that comes from something than to think of the sadness that comes from what might have been.”

Keith longed to ask what made Coran know he was in love. What it felt like to see the person he loved with someone else. But he also didn’t want the others knowing his thoughts, his own insecurities. Even if he had just talked with Lance.

“How did you fall in love?” Allura asked. “Or rather, what made you fall in love with…?”

“Vediran,” Coran supplied. Keith wasn’t sure if that was a guy or a girl name, but somehow that didn’t seem like the most important part of the story. “Well. I suppose it’s what makes anyone fall in love. I was comfortable with Vediran. I felt like I was at peace when we were together. We could talk without talking, be whatever the other needed without question. Vediran knew me better than anyone. And I knew my Vediran better than anyone else. Love is easy with the right person,” he said. “And sometimes you don’t even realize it’s love until well into the emotion. Until one day you look at the person and think, ah yes. That makes sense. They make sense. It can be from one moment to the next, but it builds.”

Coran looked at the expressions on their faces. He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t look so sad, paladins! It’s truly wonderful, and they’re wonderful memories. Vediran will always stay a fond memory and close to my heart. But it’s no need for sadness.”

“But you… got hurt, didn’t you?” Hunk asked.

“Breakups suck,” Lance said. “But you take it so easily.”

“Well, Vediran made me experience love. It hurt not to have lived the rest of our lives together, of course. But without Vediran, I might not have ever known what it was like to love.” Coran turned to Allura. “Except maybe by seeing your parents. They were very much in love as well.” Allura giggled and sighed. “Have you all been in love?” Coran asked.

Keith figured that even Coran had his sadder moods, and this was his way of distracting from them. He wanted to think of the good times only, so to keep from more questions and more sadness, he was turning the conversation to them.

“Love’s a heavy word,” Pidge muttered.

“I don’t know what it would take to fall in love,” Allura mused, laying down to look up at the ceiling. “I’m not entirely sure what I’d look for.”

“I think just someone that fits with you, like Coran and Vediran,” Hunk said.

“Yes, precisely,” Coran agreed. “What would you look for in someone to fit with you?”

“Someone nice and pretty like Shay,” Pidge said with a teasing lilt. Keith and Lance shared a look but otherwise remained silent.

“Well, that’s not all,” Hunk protested. “I think having someone who likes how smart I am would be nice. Someone who’s also smart, and willing to challenge me. Like, in a personality way, I think.”

“What does that mean?” Lance asked.

“Well…. Look, I know I can be scared of a lot of things. I think it’d be cool to have someone who’s not afraid of so much. Someone a little more daring and stuff, who would in turn encourage me, I guess. And also intellectually challenge me. Because I think a relationship should have growth, so you gotta push each other, you know?”

“So Hunk wants someone smart, brave, daring, and encouraging,” Lance summed up.

“And pretty and nice,” Keith added.

“And well, of course someone who makes me feel comfortable. I think everyone wants that. Having someone who feels like home, who feels like someone you can go to for anything, someone that knows you better than anyone.” Hunk shrugged. “Isn’t that kind of universal?”

Coran made a sound, and Keith looked over at him to see him looking genuinely confused. “Well, if that’s what you want, I don’t think you’ve got to look very far. If anyone’s as smart and comfortable for your standards, then Numb-”

“Whoa, hey, I think the fifteen minutes are up!” Keith exclaimed, making a deal about getting up and hauling Lance up. “Doesn’t bad stuff happen if you keep this on too long?”

“Yup!” Lance agreed. “Come on guys! Allura, Coran, you have to keep them on a bit longer because you were last but come with!”

Everyone stood up and Keith noticed Pidge looking unsettled while Hunk looked confused. “Sleepovers are fun,” Allura said. “I feel closer to you all already.” Keith laughed a little at that.

As they made it to the bathrooms, Keith burst into laughter at the sight of all of them in green gunk in the mirrors, all of their hair in different forms of silly updos. He’d been looking at the others, but actually seeing himself, and the whole lot of them as a group just made him lose it completely. He couldn’t stop laughing, and eventually Pidge joined, then Allura and Coran, then Hunk and Lance.

It was honestly a sight he never in a million years would have fathomed a handful of months before. It was funny how quickly things changed. They took turns washing off their masks, if only to prolong time for Allura and Coran.

Pidge walked over to Keith after she washed off and gave him a smile. “Thanks for that. Things would’ve gotten really awkward really fast.”

“No worries, Pidge. If Hunk ever figures out what he may or may not feel for you or what you feel for him, it should be between you two. That’s what you want.”

She smiled and turned her attention to where Hunk was fumbling with his headband near Lance. “Need help?” she called. She and Keith walked over to them, but Lance was hurrying to get a towel to Allura and Coran as they finished washing off.

“I just tied it too tight and can’t get it to come undone,” he said, handing the bandana over to Pidge. “My face feels all fresh and tingly.” Keith laughed. “Hey, what do you think Coran was about to say? He said I didn’t have to look far but then he said numb and I don’t know how being numb relates to the conversation?”

“He was probably trying to say that you had Shay there already,” she said. “She’s pretty daring, right? She let you in against her brother’s wishes, helped you around, she’s smart because she had to survive. And she likes you.”

“Well, yeah, but….” Hunk frowned. “I don’t think Coran has ever actually met Shay. How would he know any of that?”

“Uh….” Pidge shrugged, looking to Keith for back up.

“Hey, I think the Alteans are done, let’s get back and finish those cookies,” he said. “Lance!” God, Lance was better at maneuvering his best friends, he just wanted Lance to help out with the fumbling romance that was sort of but not really there.

Allura kept touching her face and Lance looked smug as they each commented on the softness of their faces. They made their way back to Keith/Lance’s room and sprawled out on the floor again. Only instead of heavy topics like love and relationships, they decided to inform the Alteans about some more Earthly traditions.

Pidge started talking about Hanukah, Hunk told them about Christmas, Keith mentioned Halloween, and Lance brought up Valentine’s day. Despite the conversation, they were all exhausted from the meeting earlier that day, and it wasn’t long before the talking came to a lull. Allura stretched on the floor and yawned.

“I should get to my bed. Today was fun! I hope we can have a sleepover again soon. I’ll see you all in the morning.” She leaned over and nudged Coran awake. He snorted and pulled himself up from the floor, his orange hair all messy.

“Goodnight, paladins!” he said sleepily, following Allura out of the room.

Keith nuzzled closer into Lance and glanced over at Hunk who was sitting against the wall with Pidge’s head in his lap. He kept running his hand through her hair, which was the only reason they knew he wasn’t fully asleep. Before Keith could go to nudge them awake, Lance grabbed his arm and stopped him. He pulled out the holo-phone and snapped a picture before chuckling to himself and nodding at Keith.

“What are you gonna do with that?”

“I just wanted a picture of my best friends,” he said innocently.

“Pidge is gonna kill you,” he whispered. Lance rolled his eyes. Keith moved forward and nudged Hunk gently. “Hey, dude. You guys might wanna get into your beds. Floor isn’t all that cozy.”

Hunk squinted and looked around. “Did Coran and Allura already go?” Keith nodded. “Oh, okay. Hey, what time are you getting picked up tomorrow?” Keith shrugged. “Well, I’ll try and make a big breakfast before you do.”

“Thanks, Hunk,” he said with a smile. He started to reach for Pidge, but Hunk stopped him.

“No, don’t wake her. She’ll get cranky. I can carry her.” Keith smiled and nodded, backing off. Lance was already in the bed, curled up along the edge, but he opened his eyes to see Hunk carefully get up without jostling Pidge too much and then lean down to scoop her into his arms.

“Damn Keith, why don’t you do that for me? Hunk over here being prime boy-”

Keith threw one of the pillows on the floor at him and gave him a warning glare. “Shut up, you sleep like the dead it’s impossible to move you.” Lance grumbled and buried his face in the pillow.

Hunk chuckled and said goodnight before he slipped out of the room. Keith turned back to Lance with a raised eyebrow and Lance grinned sheepishly. “I slipped up because I’m sleepy.” Keith rolled his eyes and joined him on the bed, taking the spot near the wall. “Hey, you know your birthday’s coming up, right?”

“Kolivan mentioned it. It’s why he let me stay. That and… the big Naxzela mission is coming up.” It didn’t have to be said. Even though their plan felt foolproof, they didn’t know what the witch was capable of. Anything could go wrong. Saying it would only make the fear that much worse though, so instead Lance just wrapped an arm around Keith and curled into his chest.

Keith was tired, but he didn’t let himself fall asleep. He kept thinking about what Lance had said earlier that night. About the story Coran told them while they had their face masks. He kept thinking and kept trying to soak in the experience of holding Lance. Of holding his boyfriend.

It was strange not listening to music before bed. That had become a routine aside from video chatting, and now it was just… quiet. The sound of Lance’s slow breaths as he laid his head against Keith’s chest was something Keith easily preferred.

He began to run his hand through his hair, soft brown locks sliding between his fingers. Lance sighed and shifted, hugging Keith tighter and nuzzling closer. It made Keith’s heart soar that even in his sleep, Lance yearned for him. He couldn’t help but think he’d be the luckiest person in the universe if Lance fell in love with him.

With the hand that wasn’t sifting through his hair, Keith began to caress Lance’s face, smiling when Lance relaxed further into him at the touch. Keith began to sing a song under his breath, mostly whispering out the words in a rhythm than being able to hit the right notes with such soft singing. It was a song he’d heard on his iPod that wasn’t on the playlist Lance made for him. But it was a song that made him think of Lance, and now that he had him near, Keith couldn’t help but think of the song.

He kept sort-of singing until suddenly, Lance mumbled, “What song’s that?”

“I thought you were already asleep,” Keith whispered, blushing.

“I was starting to. But I keep waking up because I know you’re here. I heard you singing.” Lance pulled himself up and blinked sleepily at Keith. The action made Keith’s heart clench in adoration. God, Lance was so cute. “What song is it?”

“Just a song that reminds me of you,” Keith said, tilting Lance’s chin slightly before leaning in to kiss him. “Go to sleep. I’m right here.” Lance smiled and took a deep breath before his eyes shut. His breaths evened out and warmth encompassed all of Keith as he held him.

A year ago, Keith never would have thought he’d be in this position. Now, there was no other place he’d rather be.

--

The next morning, Keith woke up to Lance playing with his hand. “Morning,” he muttered, muffled by pillows and Lance’s shoulder.

Lance laughed and intertwined their hands. “Good morning, mi cielo. How’d you sleep?”

A knock on the door interrupted his answer. Hunk’s voice came through, “Are you guys decent? Can we come in?” We?

Lance invited Hunk in, and the door opened. Pidge came through first, followed by Hunk who was holding a large cake. Then everyone else came in, and Keith was suddenly very aware of his bedhead. “What are you guys doing?”

“Lance sent me a text about your birthday coming up, but with the battle around the corner, I thought we should take advantage of you being here to celebrate before you go,” Pidge said. “Happy early birthday!”

“No, Pidge, that’s not how it goes yet, we have to sing,” Hunk said. He turned to Shiro and the Alteans. “Ready guys?” Allura and Coran nodded excitedly, and Shiro just gave Keith an amused smile.

And then everyone was singing happy birthday for him with wide smiles. Keith felt his cheeks begin to ache from smiling so much, felt his smile begin to tremble from exertion. It was an incredible feeling. Pidge jumped over Lance’s legs to give Keith a proper hug, wishing him a happy birthday again. Lance kissed his cheek. Keith pulled himself up on his knees to properly hug Allura, Coran, and Shiro.

Hunk placed the cake in front of him and beamed. “Now make a wish and blow out the candle, buddy.” Keith chuckled and looked at the fire on the candle.

Keith didn’t really have birthday cakes and birthday wishes until he met Shiro. And by then, wishing on birthday candles felt stupid and silly. Now, as his friends and family looked at him with their loving smiles, it didn’t even matter that he was in a war or that he was still looking for his mom. He had so much already within these handful of people, and that was enough.

So as he looked back at his candle, he closed his eyes and thought,

I wish to remember this feeling for the rest of my life.

And then he blew out the candle. Cheers and applause surrounded him before he heard Coran cough anxiously. “My boy, you’re changing colors!”

“Yeah, apparently he does that,” Pidge said, helping Hunk balance the cake so they could cut it. “Are you really happy again?”

Keith nodded, but bit his tongue in pointing out that the first few times this happened, he wasn’t necessarily happy. Lance reached out to touch his ear and hummed. “You did that when you were talking with me the last time you came to see us. But you were frustrated, not happy.”

That’s right. The last time, he’d been trying to get Lance to realize how important his life was. He’d felt aggravated, trying to get the right words, but unsure if it was working.

“You’ve gotten angry before, and that doesn’t happen,” Shiro pointed out, taking a slice of cake before sitting on one edge of the bed. Keith shrugged and tried to hide his clawed hands. “Has it happened with the Blade?”

“Not that I know of. I don’t feel it, it just happens. Someone has to point it out.”

“Oh, maybe it’s like a soulmate thing,” Hunk mused. “Since it’s always happening around Lance.” Keith and Lance both blushed at that.

“It doesn’t matter,” Allura said. “Galra traits or not, he’s still Keith.” She smiled at him and he smiled back, grateful that it didn’t bother her the way it had when she’d found out he was part Galra. “Here, get a slice, it’s your cake,” she said, handing over a slice.

They all either sat on the floor or on the bed, everyone still in sleepwear. The cake was one of the best Keith had ever tasted. And for the first time since he got there, it didn’t feel like everyone was waiting on the moment Keith would have to go back. It felt… normal. It felt calm and peaceful.

But it wasn’t supposed to last forever. A little after they’d finished their cake, the castle communication systems turned on to alert of an incoming spaceship. Allura left to allow Kolivan to land in the hangar, and the others left the room to let Keith change into actual clothes. Lance waited, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands.

Once Keith got dressed, he went over to pull Lance up and gave him a smile. “Thanks for the birthday surprise, baby.”

Lance took a breath and gave him a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. Last year to be a teen, that’s huge.” Keith scoffed and shook his head. “Hey. This Naxzela battle…. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will be. We’re just a distraction. Voltron is the one that should be careful. You guys are gonna be at the target point.” Lance bit his lip and sighed. “Hey. It’ll be okay. We’ve got back up. We’re a step ahead. And when that’s over, we’ll be that much closer to finally taking down Zarkon. And we’ll get to go home to have that first date on the beach in Cuba, right?”

Lance smiled, this one a little more honest. “Yeah.” He leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Can I just… do this thing my mom would do for me anytime I left home?” Keith furrowed his eyebrows and nodded. Lance placed his fingertips on his forehead, then the center of his chest, then each shoulder. Finally he pressed his finger lightly to Keith’s lips. “ Dios te cuide, mi gatito.”

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “Babe, thank you, but… did you just call me a cat?” Lance laughed and shrugged, kissing his nose lightly.

“Come on, so you can get a chance to say bye to the others.” Keith frowned, not entirely sure how he felt about being called a kitten. Then again, with how often his nails turned into claws around him, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier. Though maybe wolf would’ve been a preferred term.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. That wasn’t really a priority at the moment. He followed Lance through the halls, their pace slowing the closer they got to the hangar.

Everyone was already there. Kolivan was eating a slice of cake, talking about some minor details in the Naxzela plan with Allura and Coran. Meanwhile, Keith began the dreaded goodbyes. He was getting swept up into hugs over and over with last minute remarks of-

“Be careful over there.” “We’re gonna miss you.” “We’ll see you soon!” “Don’t forget to call when you get back, okay?”

Until Shiro pulled him aside and brought him into a bone-crunching hug. “I’m really proud of you, Keith.”

Things with Shiro had started to feel a little distant, what with Keith being away. And he hadn’t realized how tense he felt around Shiro until that moment when the tension dissipated. Maybe it was because of the times Lance said he’d been upset or the day he told Lance to go through with a strange alien marriage. Keith never got a chance to talk to him about that or ask what happened. But he didn’t want to spend what little time he got with the paladins arguing with his brother.

At that moment though, Shiro was just Shiro. And Keith was glad he’d been making him proud. “Thanks, Shiro.” He hugged him back tightly, letting go once he saw Kolivan turning back to him.

“Are you ready?”

Honestly, no. “Just about. I’ll be on board in a sec.” Kolivan hummed but turned to the pod with a curt nod at the others. Keith turned to Lance and grabbed his hand. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“In all my blue pixelated glory,” he said in a small voice. He gave Keith a tense smile and nodded. He leaned forward and kissed him softly, before nudging him. “Go. Before Kolivan goes all ‘I-am-your-father’ on you.” Keith snorted and shook his head, pressing a last kiss to his cheek before going to the pod.

He refused to turn around. If he looked back and saw Pidge huddled close to Hunk for comfort or Lance’s sad blue eyes or Shiro’s worried furrow, he wouldn’t be able to keep walking forward. They had a mission, and Keith had to keep moving.

He felt tense the entire ride back to the Blade’s base. But before he parted ways with Kolivan, he turned to him and said, “Thank you, by the way. For letting me spend time with them.”

Kolivan smiled. “Everyone needs some time with family. Go train and be sure to rest up. We head out within six quintants.”

Keith nodded and went to the training deck. He stayed there, pushing himself until he couldn’t feel his limbs from the exertion. Then he went to take a shower and relax in his room, trying not to mull over the upcoming battle too much.

It wasn’t like this was their first. He and Lance had been in several battles together already. Together. Both as part of team Voltron, both always in the same place or often times. This was different. This wasn’t just the Blade or just Voltron. They were going to be fighting together while being in different sectors of a galaxy. Keith would be so… aware that Lance was out there. He’d be distracted, no matter how much he could say he won’t be.

It wasn’t that he underestimated the team. He knew them, he knew how strong they were, how powerful Voltron was, and this plan was well thought out with lots of reinforcements. But caring so much about people, about Lance, made his brain jump to different scenarios, many of which gave him a sudden urge to make Lance sit out. And Pidge. And Shiro. And Hunk. And Allura.

If he was honest… he was afraid.

--

He was tracing the Marmora symbol on his blade when the knock came at his door. Kolivan opened it with a grim expression, hardened now as he prepared for the battle. “Let’s go.”

Keith nodded, feeling his own body tense. He followed Kolivan to the landing strip for the pods battle spacecrafts. A handful of other Galra, including Astriaga were there.

“I know plans have changed considerably since our meeting, but this is a war, and we must be flexible. The Galra base has moved too close to Naxzela for us to create a believable diversion. Our plan now is to take control of the Zaiforge cannon and provide artillery support for Voltron and the rebels. Take down as many as possible and stay focused. There are several other fighters on standby in case the rebels or Voltron need help.” Keith clenched his jaw, reminding himself that Voltron would be fine. It was a quick job. “To your cruisers.” They nodded, left arms at a diagonal across their chest before splitting up and each getting into their respective aircraft, the sound of engines filling the small space.

Kolivan stepped forward and gestured to one of the fighter jets. “This one’s yours.” He regarded him for a second before saying, “Be careful and fight well.” Then Kolivan went to his own jet and started the engine. Keith climbed into his and took a deep breath.

He could do this. He was good at this. He was a fighter pilot. His hands wrapped around the controls, a feeling of power and certainty surging through him. Here, he knew what he had to do. The controls were part of him. They weren’t the red lion, but they were still familiar.

He stayed close to the other six jets, all of them flying in a tight formation. It wasn’t until they reached planet Senfama that they eased up, having to find a blind spot so they wouldn’t be spotted. They had to wait until they got confirmation from Voltron.

Pidge had been working with Ryner to establish an undetected communication system within the Blade, the rebels, Olkarion’s fleet, Voltron, and the leaders for anyone who was ready as backup.

“Blades in position,” Keith said.

“Rebels in position in twenty ticks,” Matt answered, his voice surprisingly clear through the head piece.

“We’re ready for the signal.” Ryner’s voice was calm. “Back ups are present. Has anyone heard from-”

“Voltron checkin’ in!” Keith felt his breath hitch at the sound of Lance’s voice.

“We’ll check back in when we’re closer to Naxzela,” Shiro said. “Everyone in position?”

Three affirmative responses. “Does all of Voltron have comm devices?” Matt asked. The five of them answered in confirmation. “Okay. Pidge? Be careful.”

“Always,” she answered, a fondness Keith had been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end of before lacing her voice. “You too, Matt. I saved your butt for a reason.” There was a chuckle through a few of the comms.

“We’re coming up on Naxzela,” Hunk said, bringing everyone back into their respective roles. “Blades, that’s your cue.”

“Got it,” Keith answered over Kolivan’s acknowledgement. The seven jets spread out and the second alarms started going off, so did their weapons. Keith could hear Matt calling the rebels into action. Heard Ryner setting the reinforcements up. The comms went out once Shiro let them all know they would be landing on Naxzela.

It was up to everyone to stay focused on their own battle, only communicating in case of an emergency. It was a rule set unanimously, everyone knowing that people would be distracted worrying about each other. Particularly Keith and Matt with every member of Voltron.

“Astriaga, Keith, Medris, and Velkra, get ready to land! Orjak, Prexum, stay in the air,” Kolivan commanded. A flurry of responses came as the four of them dipped out of formation, joining Kolivan..

Almost as soon as Keith was out of his fighter jet, his blade was glowing, elongating into a sword, its weight natural in his hands. His senses were heightened, aware of everything and narrowed to instinct.

The first set of sentries were easy enough to take down, done with a series of throwing his blade and managing a forceful kick to the one closest to him to tumble him back against the others. He sliced through another’s chest plate and impaled them against the ones still twitching until their circuits made them shake and go still.

Keith had always been freaked out by how sentient those robots were. He kept moving, feeling his heart rate spike when actual guards started coming out with their guns and blasters. He started running, hoping to be fast enough that they wouldn’t get a clear shot. Then he saw Astriaga running toward them with her own blade, slicing through their weapons at the speed of light. Once Keith joined her, they managed to get through the guards quickly and Astriaga looked over at him, her chest heaving.

“Stay focused, Keith,” she practically barked at him. She kept moving joining the rest as they went in and began spreading out through the hallways.

The corridor Keith took was full of guards and sentries and guns. He hid near the corner of the wall and huffed, letting the others know that the place was heavily surveillanced.

“Then we keep the fight where we have the advantage. We lure them out and attack,” Kolivan ordered. Keith peeked back around and saw that one guard was significantly closer to him. If he attacked one, the others would follow. Back outside where they had air support.

He lunged forward with an angry growl, bringing his blade down. It was met with metallic resistance and Keith could feel his arms quiver with the effort to keep the upper hand. He slid his sword against the guard’s and began to slash quickly, nimbly evading the attacks against him. He moved with quick agility and it frustrated the guard, made him sloppier.

But by then the other guards had noticed and were starting for Keith as well. He looked for a quick way to lure them out without it looking like he was running away, and in his distraction, the other’s blade managed to nick his arm. Keith cried out, but switched the sword to his other hand and fought with renewed vigor, adrenaline coursing through him from the pain of the wound. Just as the others started charging, Keith found an open spot in the guard’s defenses and lodged his sword there, muting out the sound of the impalement with that of the clanking armor coming for him.

He pulled his sword free and bolted, just barely missing one of the blasts from a gun. It made his heart hammer in his chest and he ran quicker. He could almost hear Lance later saying, “Dammit, Mullet, I told you to be careful!” whenever he saw the wound.

Focus, Keith chided himself. His sword shrunk down to a blade and despite not quite being outside, he turned, surprising the guards and used the knife to cause wounds harsh enough to incapacitate them. The blade dug into their thighs, swiped along what would be an artery on human anatomy, sliced clean through the muzzles of their guns.

“Keith, where are you?” he heard in his head piece.

“Kinda busy!” he reported back, flipping his blade up as he ducked from an attack and came back up just in time to catch the hilt, nicking his finger just barely from the grip too close to the blade. He snarled and shoved it between a guard’s shoulders, kicking him away and turning as a sword came down on him.

His reflexes stopped it just as the blade ghosted over his nose. His knife began to elongate into a sword again, giving him better leverage. Then his feet were swept out from under him and he fell back, certain they would have no mercy on him, despite there being a significantly less amount of guards.

But then purple blasts of heated light hit them and forced them back if not to their knees. Keith turned and saw Kolivan with Velkra, both shooting at the guards. Kolivan was shouting something in the head piece and Velkra was bleeding heavily from her side. Keith scrambled to his knees, ducking as he ran to join them.

There were very few opposing Galra left and it was easy to immobilize them. Keith followed Kolivan while Medris stayed watching over the tied up Galra. They went into a control room for the large cannon looming over a cliff, and Keith immediately took to the panel.

“Blades, any news on the cannon?” Shiro asked, the comms for Voltron coming back for a moment.

“Yep. Just took over. Ready when you are,” Keith answered setting the coordinates for the main battle the rebels were in.

“Great. We’re almost done here. I’ll contact when we’re good to go.” The comms went off again and Keith found that the Zaiforge canon had an insane length of range and power. It was no wonder they needed to take this thing to have a chance.

“Keith, we need back up!” he heard Matt shout. “Galra fleets are coming on strong!”

“Give me some coordinates.” A more feminine, robotic voice took over, calm but urgent. Keith locked the cannon in and fired. But just as the fight was getting even, the controls started shutting down. “What’s happening?”

“They must have shut it down remotely. We’re down,” Kolivan said. “At least the Galra can’t use it either.”

Keith cursed and informed Matt about the lack of artillery support now.

There was a pause and then Matt’s voice, frenzied and tired. “The Galra have wiped out a third of the rebel forces. We haven’t heard from the paladins. They’re on Naxzela, but they’re not responding. Their comms are still out. There’s some weird kind of energy field or something, but it doesn’t look natural. And the Galra base has a huge force shield.”

Keith stomach lurched as he ran out of the control room to the light of the jungle-like planet. “Shiro? Lance? Come in! Give us an update.” Nothing. “Lance! Pidge?” Still nothing. Panic seized him. If they realized they would be in trouble, they would’ve turned on their comms and contacted them. But if they were taken by surprise…. “Kolivan, something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re not responding. I need transportation.” His eyes fell to the main cruiser Kolivan brought, about twice the size of the rest, loaded with an extra set of blasters. “That’ll work.”

“Keith,” Kolivan said with a warning.

“Without Voltron, there is no resistance. No coalition. I have to go.” Kolivan regarded him for a few moments. His lack of response gave Keith his green light, and he bounded of to get to the cruiser. As soon as his hands touched the control panel, he started flying as fast as the thing would take him across the galaxy to find his family. He reached Naxzela slower than he would have wanted, but quickly nonetheless.

A full on battle was spread across the stars, explosions and beams of deadly light disturbing what should have been peaceful silence in space. “I’m here,” he announced. “We should focused our attacks on the base.”

“Good to have you, Keith,” Matt answered.

“Guys, guys, it's a fucking bomb! The planet's a bomb!” Hunk shouted into the comm. Keith felt like ice water had just been dunked down his spine.

“What happened? Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, Allura shut down the source long enough for us to escape, but it really drained her,” Pidge answered. “The planet has traces of hexamite. With the pressure the beams across the planet are creating by enhancing the gravitational pull, the planet is a giant bomb, and it'll wipe out anything and everything within ten solar systems!” She was talking so fast, Keith could barely register everything she was saying, but he got the main point. Bomb. Wide range. Death.

“We gotta get through that force field around the base. It's keeping the witch safe, and if we get through it, it'll break the hold she has on that source,” Keith said.

“Rebels are right behind you,” Matt said.

“Me too,” Coran chimed in. Keith had forgotten he was piloting the castle.

“No, Coran,” Allura said. “You need to get as many people as far from here as you can in case we can't these beams off. Take as many people as you can. We're counting on you.”

Keith could hear the hesitance. Coran swore to protect her, and she was sending him away. But there were so many lives at stake. Finally, his broken response came. “Yes, Princess.”

Meanwhile, Keith took the rebels around to shoot at the force field, causing no damage whatsoever.

“How much time have we got?” Keith growled through the comm.

“Based on what Hunk and Pidge said? Less than 20 minutes.” A ripple went through the strange force field around the planet, brightening for a moment before it shrunk into the planet more. “M-maybe less than that,” Matt said, his voice filled with dread.

No matter how many weapons attacked, there was no breach in the force field around the witch. The streams of fuchsia currents and electricity zapping from the base to what looked like the core of Naxzela remained strong.

“There's not enough time to get out of range,” Matt said helplessly. “We can't breach that shield.”

Keith stared, feeling his heart sink.

No. Not after everything. Not after all the work they did, not after all this time they've spent rallying forces and coming together. Not after Keith found a new family. There were too many innocent lives at stake. Too many people who had fought so hard, and if this thing went off all that work would have been for nothing.

His grip tightened around the steering handles. He switched the comm so it only connected with Matt. “Maybe not with our weapons.”

He surged forward, looping his cruiser to hot the force field head on. “Keith,  what are you doing?” Keith clenched his jaw. He couldn't let them die. All those planets. Coran, Allura, Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, Lance…. He couldn't let the people he loved die. “ Keith, don't do this!” Keith shut his eyes. The death of one over the death of many. He understood that now. If his life could save the others, then it was a small price. “ Keith!”

The darkness behind his eyelids brightened and he opened his eyes in confusion, only to see an explosion already bringing down the shield. Instinct made him dip down before his cruiser could become part of the destruction, his breaths heaving as he realized he was still alive.

“Keith? Keith!”

“I’m here,” he answered, his voice hoarse and uncertain. He switched the comm back to normal and heard Coran letting everyone know Naxzela was returning to normal. Sure enough, the planet’s eerie purple glow was gone. The beams had powered off.

“Good work, Keith,” Shiro praised.

“It… wasn’t me.” Keith steadied his ship and saw another hovering above and across from where he was. “There’s another ship… I’m not sure-”

Suddenly a soothing voice filled the comms. “Attention paladins of Voltron and rebel fighters. I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but… I think it’s time we had a discussion.” The voice sent a chill through Keith, his every instinct telling him not to trust it.

“Is that… Lotor?” Lance asked softly.

--

Everyone was to reconvene on the Castle of Lions. The arrival of Lotor, while appreciated, was met with evident apprehension. The only reason the rebels and Voltron didn’t immediately attack him was because he’d just saved various solar systems. Keith didn’t want to speak up. There was a part of him that felt indebted to Lotor now, despite never having laid eyes on him.

Everyone’s ships were stationed around the Castle, but everyone was mostly crowded onto the ship, murmuring around the wide table they usually ate at. Keith was standing beside Kolivan, his entire body tense. He was hugging himself tightly enough to make his muscles stiff, his jaw clenched so hard it was starting to hurt.

“Keith?” He looked up and saw the paladins filtering in. Lance was looking for him. Keith didn’t even ask Kolivan for permission. He just ran forward and collapsed into Lance’s arms. “Hey, now corazon. It’s alright. We’re okay. I’m here, I’m okay. Everything’s okay.” Except it wasn’t. Because had been so sure he would never again see Lance or Shiro or anyone else. He’d been ready, and now he was terrified. “Keith, baby, you’re shaking,” Lance said worriedly, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “We made it, baby, it’s okay.” He pulled him back in and hugged him tighter. Only then could Keith feel how severely his entire body was trembling.

“Keith.” Matt’s voice made dread tighten Keith’s throat, and he pulled away from Lance. “What-”

“Come with me,” Keith said, his voice small and broken. He yanked Matt away from the crowded room of aliens to the hallway. He turned to him with wide pleading eyes. “Please don’t say anything. They don’t need to know. Especially Lance.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “You nearly sacrificed yourself, Keith! How can I not tell them that? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it was our last hope and I wanted everyone to survive. The Blades can replace me, but the universe needs Voltron. Pidge finally found you, Lance wants to go home, there were countless fleets there, was I supposed to let them die?”

Matt stared at him, a frenzied look in his eyes. “Keith, you can’t….” He sighed and crossed his arms. “You’re right, okay? If Lotor hadn’t showed up, maybe your… sacrificed would’ve saved us. But you have to tell the others-”

“For what? To panic them? To make them think I was being impulsive again?” Matt furrowed his eyebrows and sighed in defeat. “Please don’t tell them, Matt. I’m begging you.”

He stayed quiet for a long time before finally nodding. “Fine. Just… please don’t ever do something like that again.” Suddenly, he pulled Keith into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Keith allowed himself to break a little in the embrace. Matt was the only one who knew what he’d planned to do. And the result of it had Keith panicked and shaken to his core. He was afraid to be alone, afraid to think about it, afraid of what could have happened. Try as he might, he couldn’t help the tears that fell down his face.

Now, his brain couldn’t stop being hyperaware. Of every touch, whether it was the warmth of Matt’s hug, longer than it should’ve been because he knew Keith needed it, or the feeling of his own clothes on his skin, his hair at his neck. Of every scent, and sound, and color, like he needed to appreciate it all right at that moment or else it would get taken from him.

Finally, Keith pulled away and tried to collect himself. “I’m alright. Thank you, Matt.” Matt only nodded solemnly. They went back into the dining room. Matt went off to join the rebels, some of whom were crying or had an expression of shock on their faces. Keith returned to Lance’s side, taking his hand and holding it tightly.

The rest of the paladins filed in, with Allura last. Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge went to greet Keith, each bringing him into a tight hug. They’d all felt like they needed to suddenly truly appreciate being alive. But Keith had been a split second away from a conscious decision…. It made him feel guilty and alone and even though everyone seemed relieved to be alive after the threat of a giant planetary bomb, he felt like he was suffocating. He felt like he was on a timer all of a sudden. He didn’t feel real.

Keith wrapped his arms around Lance, hoping to hide his expression by doing so. He knew Lance could read him like a book, and he didn’t want to explain. Pidge was hugging Matt tightly, pulling away to take his hand while Hunk took her other. Everyone needed something grounding them.

Allura went to the head of the table, and everyone moved so they were facing her.

“Lotor has been permitted into the Castle of Lions-” a flurry of discontented rebuttals began to fill the space, but she raised her voice to speak over them, “and is currently restricted to a small chamber without a way to leave unless I allow it. He is cuffed and has been stripped of any and all weapons.” The people quieted down and Allura looked at everyone with a tired expression. Coran was at her side, watching her carefully. “We must decide what to do with him. He claims he wants to help us, that Zarkon has done him as much wrong as he has any of us. That with a common enemy, we can work together and be stronger. However, it is difficult to trust someone who has caused so much havoc in such a short reign.”

It was quiet for a moment. “He did save us all from getting disintegrated. Maybe we could hear what he has to say.”

“Silver tongues are more numerous than genuine people. He could spin his words whichever way he’d like to convince us,” someone else said.

Dissent began among the aliens. “Why save us if he’s with Zarkon?” “He’s the emperor’s son! He can’t be trusted!” “He’s alone, he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t mean what he said.”

Keith sighed and leaned further into Lance, feeling his hand rub his back soothingly. After more deliberation, plenty of back and forth debating and disagreement kept calm only by the Alteans insisting on civility, Pidge spoke up. She moved to the other end of the table where she could be seen by everyone without trying to speak over Allura.

“From what I’m understanding, many of us are curious about Lotor’s plans, but we don’t trust him enough to let him free. Right?” Many nodded in agreement. “Then why not keep him prisoner, under surveillance, and see what information he has. If it’s legitimate, it’ll help us, without letting him go. If he really wants to help us, he’d understand. If not, then he’s still caged up anyway.”

“That sounds like the best compromise,” Allura agreed, looking around. “We can do this for some time. Perhaps we can figure out what Lotor wants or if he has any ulterior motives. We will take every precaution necessary.” Everyone seemed to shift uneasily, but no one could think of anything better. Especially when they all knew it was because of Lotor they were still here and the freeing of every planet behind Naxzela had been successful because the witch had fled. “In the meantime, I think we all need time to recuperate and mourn. I thank you all for your cooperation and dedication. If we go on this way, we will see the end of Zarkon’s reign soon.”

With that, the others began to file out of the room. Kolivan stopped near Keith when he saw him, but Keith didn’t acknowledge him. He just stared straight ahead and remained with his arms around Lance.

“The Blades and I will remain near the Castle. We want to keep an eye on developments with Lotor.” Keith nodded. Kolivan stood there a moment longer, but Keith didn’t talk. Didn’t ask permission to stay, didn’t budge under the pressure of knowing he was supposed to go with Kolivan. And Kolivan didn’t tear Keith away. He simply regarded him a moment longer and left.

It wasn’t until it was only the paladins, Coran, and Keith left around the table that Hunk softly murmured he would make some food for everyone to eat and be able to collect themselves. Pidge collapsed into a chair and Shiro remained rigid with his head in his hands. Lance and Keith stayed huddled together near a wall. Coran and Allura were both stone-faced and exhausted.

When the smell of spices and the sound of sizzling food filled the air, a little light returned to the paladins. By the time Hunk was done cooking and came out with the platters of food, everyone seemed to have snapped out of their daze long enough to enjoy the food. Lotor had no way of leaving the small space they’d locked him in, so the others put him out of their mind for a while longer. Praises were given to Hunk and small talk was made, but it was all muffled in Keith’s ears.

He ate his food robotically, aware of how good it was, but unable to really process it because of how messy his head was. By the end of dinner, he was the only one still caught up in a daze. Pidge was helping Hunk clean up. Allura and Coran had gone to tell Lotor of their plans before turning in for the night, and Shiro had gone to bed, claiming he had a migraine.

Lance took Keith’s hand and led him to the room, sitting him down and touching his face gently. “ Mi cielo, say something.”

Keith met his cerulean eyes, reminiscent of a the sky in the early moments after sunrise began. Just like that, he was wrapped around him, holding him tightly, needing his warmth, needing to feel him breathing, needing to feel his heartbeat under his hands. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered brokenly.

Lance hugged him back just as tightly, burrowing his face in the crook of his neck. “I know. I know, I was scared too. But we’re okay. I’m right here. And so are you. We’re with each other, and that’s what’s important right now.” He pulled back and tilted Keith’s face to him. “Can you be here with me, baby? Right here in this moment?”

Keith nodded, surging forward to kiss him. He needed it. Needed Lance. He kissed him without reserve, desperately needing to be aware of every little touch and every little breath.

“I’m here with you,” he whispered, gripping tightly to Lance’s shirt. “Can you… help me get this thing off?” He was still in his Marmora suit, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable, he wanted to feel Lance’s warmth on his own skin rather than through the nylon of a skin suit.

“Yeah.” He unzipped the suit and Keith pulled it from his body, stripping to his boxers. “You want a sweatshirt or something?” Keith nodded and Lance turned to grab one from his clothes stack before returning to Keith. He put it on quickly and pulled Lance toward him to lay on the bed.

Lance followed suit and laid with him, their lips immediately finding each other’s. Keith let his hands roam, trailing the length of Lance’s thigh, back up to feel the warm skin of his torso, then pulling back to touch his face instead, to run through his hair, missing the longer curls that had been there before he cut it. He wanted to feel every bit of skin, wanted to feel the radiating warmth, the smoothness.

He pulled himself over Lance, not breaking their kiss. Lance’s hands came to rest on his hips, just above the waistline of the boxers, under the sweatshirt.

“You said… that you wanted to wait until you knew I wouldn’t be gone the next day,” Keith whispered, panting heavily against Lance’s lips. He opened his eyes to find Lance’s vibrant eyes already on him, filled with affection. “With the stuff happening… I doubt I’ll leave tomorrow or even the next day.”

“Keith. You’re saying that because you thought we were going to… die tonight.” He tucked Keith’s hair back behind his ear. “It’s different now that we’re dating. I don’t want it to just be a fuck-”

“It won’t be,” Keith insisted. “It never will be if I’m with you. Never again.” He leaned in to kiss him, letting the anguish he’d been hiding coat his features. “Yes, I’m saying this now because of… everything that happened today. But isn’t that reasonable? I’ve always been afraid to lose you, but my head only connected that to losing you to Rosa or something.” Lance frowned. “Today I realized I could have lost you in a much more permanent way. And that terrified me, Lance.” His voice betrayed him, breaking before he could finish.

“No llores, mi vida,” Lance murmured, hands at his cheeks, waiting for the first tear to escape. “It scared me too. God Keith, I wish you could understand how much I care about you, how much I need you in my life now-”

“So show me. Be with me, right here, in this moment. Just you and me.” Keith chuckled and shook his head. “Sex or not, I just need to be able to….”

“I know. Me too.” He paused and looked at him with a fond smile. “The purple has been spreading and retreating ever since we sat down for dinner. What are you thinking?”

That I might not have gotten a chance to see you again if Lotor hadn't shown up. “Nothing. Just that I want to be with you.”

Lance pulled him into a kiss again, gentle at first until they were caught up in each other and suddenly acting on pure instinct to savor what they had of each other. Keith couldn’t even be embarrassed when the kiss got messy, a clash of teeth and tongue, biting and tugging and moaning. He could feel Lance’s hands tightening where they held him, digging into his skin.

The closeness had him overheating and he pulled away for a moment to pull the sweatshirt over his head, tossing it to the foot of the bed. Lance took the chance to sit up and turn them over, quickly working to paint Keith’s neck and chest in various hues of purple. Keith lt out a low breath and tugged on Lance’s shirt desperately. Lance hunched over, pulling the shirt off and meeting Keith’s lips as he flung it over the side of the bed.

“You’re still shaking, gatito.”

Keith shook his head. “I’ll be okay.” He wrapped his arms around him and kissed him until Lance’s lips were puffy, unable to tire from the taste of him. “I want you to top this time,” Keith whispered.

Lance froze, staring down at him in surprise. “Are you sure?” Keith nodded. He just needed to know Lance was there. Needed to feel him, needed to put all of him in his hands, because he was barely keeping himself together as it was. “Oh, Keith.” Lance kissed him softly, first on the lips, then pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his forehead, his neck. Everywhere.

Until Keith felt Lance rutting against him and he gasped softly, biting his lip as Lance licked up the side of his throat, teeth grazing. He was anxious, unsure of where he wanted his hands because he wanted them everywhere. Keith settled for running them over his back, careful of the claws that seemed indecisive, the purple hue of his skin spreading slowly down his arms.

Lance found his way back to his lips, pulling Keith up with a hand at the nape of his neck. “I'm so glad you're here,” Lance whispered. Keith hummed, allowing himself a smile. “You holding back, baby?”

“What do you mean?”

Lance stroked his face, running his hand lightly down Keith's chest. It made Keith shiver. “Your keeping the purple from spreading. You know I don't mind it.” He leaned down, skimming his lips down his chest. “Human or Galra, you're magnificent. And you're mine.”

“In this and every universe,” Keith whispered, feeling like he was baring his entire soul to Lance. Keith shut his eyes as Lance's hand ran down his torso while he met Keith with a kiss. When Lance pulled away, he was smiling a soft, angelic smile.

“There you are.” Keith didn't have to look at himself to know his skin was a soft lilac color, his nails now full length claws, his ears pointier with tufts of fluffy dark purple fur. But his eyes would still be the same. He could see the fondness in Lance's expression, and it made Keith feel safe.

They kissed again, and Keith mumbled incoherently, slotting his thigh between Lance's, making him moan aloud in surprise. “I'm losing my patience.”

Lance laughed and his hand slid down to palm over Keith's boxers. “What happened to patience yields focus?”

“ Please don't quote Shiro in this situation, oh my God.” Lance laughed again and buried his face into Keith's belly, his laughter making Keith laugh despite the way he bit playfully at the soft skin. “Lance!”

“I was missing your smile, corazon.” Keith hummed and ran his hands through Lance's hair. He smiled and shuffled lower, his fingertips teasing the waistband of his boxers as he ran his tongue down Keith's stomach.

Keith let out a shaky breath, arching into the touch impatiently. “ Lance.” Lance shushed him his fingers tracing lightly along his torso. It was such an innocent touch, but Keith was getting desperate, he was getting greedy. He didn't want to be touched softly, he wanted Lance gripping onto him like someone would take Keith away if he didnt. “C’mon, Lance. Please.”

Lance groaned, moving to remove Keith's boxers. “You don't know what that breathy tone does to me.” He hitched Keith's legs up, spreading them and running his hands along the back of his thighs. “Turn over for me, baby.”

Keith shuffled around to move, chiding Lance when he pinched his ass playfully. Lance stuck his tongue out and yanked at his ankles, so Keith collapsed face-down on the mattress. Long fingers squeezed the flesh of his thighs, running up and down them reverently until he finally reached up to his ass and palmed him greedily.

Keith had almost forgotten the obsession Lance had with his ass. Sure enough, Lance leaned over and bit down softly, making Keith tense as he grabbed a pillow to hoist himself up on. Keith had forgotten how much he enjoyed Lance's obsession with his ass.

His claws tipped into the pillow when he felt a tongue prodding at his entrance. Keith felt his limbs weaken and he melted into the sheets arching his back and trying to relieve his hard-on by rutting into the sheets. But Lance gripped his hips and pulled back to bite the flesh a little harder than usual. “No moving,” he chided.

Keith grunted and huffed. “Keep going.” Lance laughed and did as he was told, working his tongue a little more. Soft moans were being pulled from Keith, muffled by the pillow. Lance's hands kneaded his thighs, grasping handfuls of him before letting go and then doing it again.

He pulled back again and with a hoarse voice said, “Lube is between the bed and the bedframe. Hand it to me, please.” Keith fumbled blindly, still moaning and grunting into the pillow which was getting more and more torn by his claws. When his hands brushed along the cold cylindrical container, he pulled it free and looked over his shoulder to give it to Lance.

Lance grabbed it, eyes locking with Keith's, his mouth never stopping. Keith bit his lip and growled out a frustrated, “Fuck.”

He heard the cap come off and waited anxiously to feel the breach of a finger. Instead he felt a hand running up his spine. “Relax, kitten.”

“Keep calling me a kitten and I'm calling you a furry.” Lance laughed at that and pinched him again. “Ah- Lance!”

“Relax,” Lance said again. His voice got softer, the hand at Keith's back reassuring. “You sure you wanna do this? Is this okay?”

Keith let out a slow breath and relaxed his body. “Yeah. I'm sure. Are you?”

He felt a kiss against his lower back, affectionate and gentle. “Yes.” Then Keith felt the intrusion. It was a slow, patient process. Keith still couldn't get over how strange it felt at first. His current pleasure stemmed from the open mouthed kisses Lance was pressing to his back.

Lance pulled out and this time tried adding another finger, slower, moving more to stretch him properly. Keith breathed through his nose steadily. Lance was constantly whispering reassurances, telling Keith to relax.

It wasn't until his fingers began to move in and out smoothly that Keith relished in the feeling of them pushing in and out of him. And then crooked his fingers, barely brushing the bundle of sensitive nerves that had him moaning a little louder. He felt his face heat up and he pushed back, trying to stimulate himself further.

“Easy, tesoro. I'm getting there.” Keith groaned and panted as Lance spread his fingers, stretching him further. “The walls are still soundproof, Keith. Let me hear you.”

He pressed against his prostate a little more accurately and Keith lifted his head, feeling electricity course through his body. “Oh God. Lance, keep going.”

Lance came up on his knees, shifting. The poorly hidden bulge under his sweats pressed against Keith's was and he bit his lip, refraining from begging for Lance to hurry.

He wanted this. He wanted to cherish every second, every moment of Lance's touch. However slow Lance wanted to go, Keith wanted it too.

And then he was being stretched with three fingers, a slight discomfort in the way they pressed in. “More… lube,” Keith huffed.

Lance pulled away and added more lube, warming it between his fingers before pressing into Keith. Lance's long, thin fingers filled him just enough to tease for what Keith was waiting on.

He'd been moving so slowly, so deliberately, that when he flicked his wrist to push back in harder, Keith gasped and tore through the fluff of the pillow, pulling himself up onto his hands and knees. “Fuck, Lance.”

Lance did the same thing again, draping his body over Keith's, to press kisses to the back of his neck, biting gently at the muscles of his shoulder blades. “I'm so lucky to call you mine. So beautiful. So incredible. I can't believe it took me so long to see it.”

“L-Lance,” Keith murmured, trying to think through the haze of pleasure building in his stomach. Lance's mouth was hot on his skin and he felt every nerve become alert to the most miniscule touch. His cheeks reddened with Lance's soft, honest words. “Lemme turn around. Wanna look at you.”

Lance hummer and pulled his fingers away, helping Keith turn over and situating himself between his legs.

“You're so worked up, baby,” Lance noted, pushing his legs up. He pressed his fingers in slowly, resuming his pace.

“That's your fault,” Keith answered, taking a sharp breath and shutting his eyes as Lance thrust his hand in over and over, grazing that magical spot that had him chanting Lance's name desperately. The pleasure was so close, but not quite where it could be and it was driving Keith crazy. “Lance, you gotta… I'm getting too close- oh God.”

“That's the point. Lance pulled his hand free and wrapped it around Keith's length, moving excruciatingly slowly, and Keith yelped, whimpering as he was restrained from pushing his hips up into Lance's hand. “We haven't done this in a long time, I have no idea if I'll last long enough.” Keith could feel his throat drying with how much he was panting, his hands searching for Lance in the haze.

Lance leaned over and kissed him deeply, sucking his bottom lip hard enough for it to feel tingly when he pulled back. Keith was becoming frantic, had a half a mind to turn Lance over so he could strip him down and ride him as fast as he needed.

But when he tried, Lance ran his hand up his chest around his neck lightly. “Let me take care of you, baby.” Keith bit his lip, but stopped trying to shift their position.

“Lance, please, I'll be fine, just, come on, baby.”

“That's not fair, you know I can't say no when you get like this,” he answered, smiling as he pressed kisses to his chest. Lance pulled back getting rid of his pants and briefs to coat himself in lube,  adding a little more to Keith before he lined himself up and teased by pressing forward enough to stretch Keith, but not actually pushing into him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Keith growled. He wrapped his legs around Lance, using his heels to make Lance lean over him again. He grabbed his face and kissed him desperately, his tongue determined to memorized every part of Lance's mouth, teeth biting and tugging his lips. He pushed his hands into Lance's hair and tugged, trying to bring him in, but Lance wasn't budging.

“Hey, hey, look at me, baby.” Keith tried to catch his breath, looking up at Lance. “It's alright. I'm right here. Ready?” He nodded, looking Lance in the eyes. “Okay. Breathe.” Keith nodded again, taking a deep breath, shifting his legs.

Lance began to push in slowly, stretching him further in a way that felt too good to be painful. Keith moaned, his jaw falling open as Lance slowly filled him up. Keith dug his fingers into Lance's back, soft groans escaping his throat until he burrowed his face in the crook of Lance's neck.

“Oh fuck,” Lance murmured under his breath. “Fuck, Keith, you're… oh my God.” Keith bit down and Lance grunted over him. “Fangs, baby.”

“S-Sorry.” Lance shook his head and took a moment to still when he was fully sheathed inside of Keith. He pressed their foreheads together and licked at Keith's lips. A calm look in his ocean eyes steadied Keith. And then the ocean was spilling over, and Keith reached up to wipe his eyes. “Oh, Lance,” he breathed softly. “Kiss me.”

Lance surged forward, the kiss desperate and heated, and it was the first time Keith felt the weakness and terror Lance must have been holding back. He'd been putting up a front for Keith, and he was letting it down now. Keith wrapped his arms around him, pressing kisses to cheeks.

“I've got you, darling.”

Lance sniffed and smiled, nudging his nose against Keith's  cheek. “Darling? I like that.” Keith smiled and bit back a moan as he shifted slightly. Lance gasped and buried his face in Keith's neck. “God I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Keith whispered. He touched his face and kissed him softly, his gasps swallowed by Lance's mouth when he started moving. The shock of being empty mad Keith whine, but Lance was already pushing back into him, without as much resistance, and Keith felt his breath hitch. He could feel everything, like everything was magnified. He wasn't sure if it was the near death or the conscious understanding they wanted each other, liked each other, they were together, but everything felt like more. His entire body was attuned to Lance's.

It wasn't just the physical pleasure that came from Lance's shallow thrusts, or the way the sound of his low grunts in his ear built the warmth in his body. It was the way his lips skimmed along any skin possible to remain close to Keith, the way it was almost unconscious because even without realizing it, he was drawn to Keith. It was the way he was so slow and careful and the look in his eyes, the way he smiled and his hand trembled as he threaded their fingers together. It was the way Keith felt safe and comfortable and certain despite being at his most vulnerable in that moment. That was what made everything so much more intense.

That's what made Keith's vision swim with unshed tears, made his heart pound with euphoria and the pleasure build higher.

He felt his hair sticking to his forehead, felt an almost unbearable heat at his back, and with Lance draped over him, his own body heat curling around him, Keith was panting for breath, but not wanting any of it to stop.

“Fuck, Keith,” Lance gasped. He pulled himself up, a rush of air welcomed between them, cooling their sweaty bodies. The change in angle made the next thrust leave Keith grasping for the sheets, tilting his head back as he cried out.

Lance pulled out and pushed back in slowly, Keith gasping for breath as he was filled. Keith looked up at Lance and marveled at the way his cinnamon skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, the way his face flushed with exertion. He marveled at the saturated blue of his eyes, the way his puffy lower lip looked between his teeth and his abdomen muscles tightened with his movements.

He couldn't believe that someone so amazing, so beautiful, considerate, and smart and kind could be his boyfriend. Could make him feel the things he did with a smile or a look. He couldn't believe Lance was his.

And he couldn't believe he had been so close to never seeing him again.

He hadn't realized he was crying until he gasped for breath, not a sexual sound, but a broken one this time. It made Lance look at him and his eyes widened in panic.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” Keith assured, tightening his legs around him.

“ Mi cielo, you're shaking again.” Keith shook his head, wrapping an arm around his torso to pull him closer. “We're okay, baby. I'm with you, and nothing's ever gonna change that.”

Hopelessly naive words, but Keith wanted to believe them nonetheless. “Just kiss me, darling.”

Lance nodded, pressing his lips against Keith's, scooping him into his arms, leaning on his elbows, and holding Keith together. Keith shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the pleasure of Lance's movement and the emotional turmoil in his chest. He couldn't stop the tears, simply letting Lance hold him tighter, letting his hips move faster, bringing them both to a breathless precipice.

“I'm… almost…. Ah- Lance.” Lance shifted his weight to hold himself up better as he sped up, his breaths fast and desperate. Keith's body coiled tight, overwhelmed in so many ways. “Lance, Lance, please , oh fuck, Lan-” he was practically sobbing at this point, reduced to incoherent rambling.

His orgasm washed over him so intensely, he couldn't think about anything but the burst of white hot shock and electric currents making his entire body shake. Lance pulled out and finished himself off in his hand before collapsing against Keith.  

He pulled himself up, his breaths shaky as he looked at Keith. A gentle hand wiped his cheeks and pushed his hair away from his forehead, lazy kisses pressed against his jawline.

Keith's brain was still hazy, barely able to register Lance whispering reassurances. “Still with me, Samurai?” he asked in a tired murmur.

“‘M here.”

“You okay?” Keith nodded. “Was it too much?”

Keith stayed quiet, running his hands through Lance's damp hair. “A little. But not because of you. Just….”

“Yeah. I know.” Lance shifted to lay beside Keith, still slightly draped over him, fingers hovering along Keith's collarbone. “Don't think about it too much, kitten.” Keith gave him a side glance and Lance smiled cheekily. Keith rolled his eyes and turned enough to curl into Lance. Lance tugged the blankets up over them, torn as they were. He leaned his head against Keith's shoulder and yawned, and Keith felt his body finally slow down. His heartbeat, his thoughts, the world around him even.

Then he heard Lance softly singing. “ You’re just too good to be true… can’t take my eyes off of you… you’d be like heaven to touch… ‘wanna hold you so much….” His voice was riddled with sleep, hoarse and slow. But it was soothing, and Keith felt a wave of serenity overcome him. Lance resorted to humming when he was too tired to use words, making the upbeat song a lullaby for Keith.

Lance was fast asleep, his bare body curled around Keith’s. Keith turned to look at him and smiled at how serene his face looked. Slack with sleep, slow breaths, lashes fanned out, and the most subtle pattern of freckles sprinkled along his nose and cheeks.

It was so strange how life unfolded. Keith had piloted a lion, had found out he was part alien, had been in a war and seen various planets and species of aliens. And through it all, what surprised him the most was finding that he could have such strong feelings for Lance, or rather the surprising part was that Lance reciprocated them. Still, in the end, it seemed to be what made the most sense. Like this thing between them had to exist in every possible dimension, every universe, every reality. They made sense together, and Keith couldn’t fathom a lifetime in which they didn’t find each other.

Keith looked at Lance again, taking a deep breath as he allowed the emotions flood his entire being.

Yeah, Keith thought as he looked at him. You make sense, darling.

[the-nysh]

I find myself unable to think of Bakugou in any way more positive than "dislike", because he reminds me too much of the people who made my life miserable when I was growing up. (Not that it makes him bad; it's just my emotions.) Do you've any advice on how to bend my mind around that? I don't need to LOVE him, just mentally separate "him" and "the people who make grade school suck for me" so I won't irrationally hate him, because I don't LIKE hating characters.

Hi there! I’m glad to see you come forward, especially tosomeone who’s a big fan of him, after happening to see how far you’veventured through my tags already (whoa dedication!) to seek possible answers or further clarity about this,especially if it’s something that’s still bothering you, oraffecting/preventing you from fully enjoying the series. Because of that, I cantell how serious and genuine you feel about this, so I will take this seriouslyas well. 

(Below, 1800+ words)

Another thing is that it’s okay to feel this way, your personal experiences are still valid,and there’s no obligation to force your feelings otherwise, or subject yourselfto content that may be uncomfortable for you. Please continue to take all theprecautions needed (blocking/blacklisting) for an enjoyable and productivefandom experience. But understanding that even if the characters may havecoincidental similarities to our pasts, they are not direct projections of us, the people in our lives, or our realities.Their world is not ours. So this awareness is another good step to have, tobegin seeing the story (and characters) more openly, objectively and closer tohow Hori originally intended.

Since you’re willing to learn more, and as you may have already seenfrom my content here, Bakugou (Kacchan)became my definitive fav character of the series, but not for thoselingering resentments mentioned. The compelling character I see is so much morebeyond that first ch’s established baseline, which was narratively placed and designedto contrast against who he becomes later on. As a means to gauge and appreciatehis growth and the journey of how far he’s changed into becoming a proper,well-rounded, better person and inspirationalhero. The kind of emotional narrativefocus that always gains my interest and priority to see develop. Already, theperson he is now at 215+ chs is not the same as who he was at ch1 (neither ishe the flanderized, fanon stereotype many have been misled or indoctrinated tofirmly believe he is), and he will keepon developing as the story marches on. I am fully on board to witness thathappen. 

The challenge now, is not letting his initial baseline impression(or the feelings from your own separate –but equally valid– experiences, oreven the vitriol from others) stain or cloud that entire slow-burn progressionof the story going forward. Otherwise the important milestones and insightsinto his character that Hori leaves along the way (which can sometimes bedifficult to see from Deku’s limited pov) end up getting obscured, ignored, oroutright rejected from an internalized feeling of ‘hatred’ that tends to blockout anything newly introduced that would challenge that preconceived perceptionof him. However, to mentally reject such change and prevent the valuedimprovement of a growing person (a learning child in his formative years, forinstance), to otherwise keep the status quo static and unmoving, to permanentlystay rooted exactly the same way as thestart…would in fact be a much more toxic/harmful mindset to have, and actuallydefeats the purpose of telling a proper story as well. 

Setbacks to that challenge unfortunately include thewidespread availability of biased mistranslations (even from official sources),poor/oversimplified characterizations from non-canon content(movies/novels/merch, etc) that’s not written directly by Hori, because all thesethings just reinforce and exacerbate the problem of inflating fanon stereotypesand those preconceived notions that people have already solidified in theirminds as true (when they often aren’t). It gets even worse, and ironicallyhypocritical, when those same people start feeling justified they can go out oftheir way to attack others (includingthe author) for how to ‘properly’ enjoy and interpret the series (for beingdifferent or ‘incorrect’ from the perceptions they believe to be right). Butwhat’s happened is they’ve begun to blindly act on feelings multiple levels sofar removed from what actually is (whatexists as presented within canon, vs what they believe in fanon, vs what exists separately that may beplaguing these people’s real lives), that by then, that kind of maladjustedsocial behavior is inexcusable. Stepping back and realizing when things start crossinglines irrationally out of hand, to prevent that kind of behavior from happeningin the first place, (and again, by taking measures to block/blacklist stuff thataggravates or makes you feel uncomfortable), is the much wiser approach toparticipating and enjoying fandom. So that no matter what happens or what otherssay, they can’t impact or ruin what you love about the series.

Which in my case, includes Kacchan’s character. Basedon what Hori has consistently presented in canon, I can conclude and freely admithe’s the only character I can fully trust. Amazing, right? Because he hasabsolutely nothing to hide. Everything he does (not through his harshwords/temperament, but through his genuine actions),is extremely forthright and honest. He does not half-ass things or hide anyother ulterior motives or malicious intent beyond his dedication to become the best hero. And he takes that goal very seriously. Striving for and expectingexcellence from himself (and all themental pressure that self-imposed perfectionism brings) and others. Currently in the manga that includes Deku now too, whomhe willingly goads (showing support in his own way) and checks in on for hisprogress too.

Remember his fights in the sports tournament, how he takesall challengers with equal commitment/opportunity (gender does not matter),provided they give him their best inturn as well, because to do otherwise –to go easy on them or hold back– wouldbe disrespectful and underestimating an opponent. There’s a very just and admirablehonor in that. Remember how he can’tstand anyone looking down on him, which includes how he misinterpreted Deku’sfeelings of admiration for disdain(he could not accurately read Deku’s intentions, and became so perplexed by himthat he assumed the worst: that Deku looked down on him instead). Considering the level of seriousness and effort he alwaysputs forth, to be confronted with the opposite would be personally insulting.

Remember when the villains invited him to join their ranks(because they misread and shallowly judged his character), he stuck to his idealsand outright refused their offer.(Boldly exploding villains in the face~) Risking death over playing it safe andlying to pretend to follow along totheir whims. (How brave and badass is that?!) Kacchan does not lie, cheat theeasy way out, or do things he’s not feeling or doesn’t agree with. Again, honesty. Becoming a villain, a traitor,or betraying those who’ve earned his trust? Absolutely no chance. Afterlearning AM’s secret and finally understanding/rectifying everything that didn’tadd up about Deku, would he go behind their backs by breaking promises? No way.Again, most trustworthy character. 

Rereading the story a second time over, but from his perspective, practically doubled myappreciation and enjoyment of the series. Thinking about how the foundations oftheir society impacted his world views at such a young age, to the very betrayal he must have felt thinking achildhood friend lied to him aboutsomething as important/vital as a quirk. (And if we already know how he feelsabout cheating liars…hmm, faithful loyaltynow feels like a valued trait.) Other factors include his relatable giftedchild syndrome, all the complexes born from that, and for how extremely intelligent,competent, and much more calmly calculating he is than his short temper may lead one to believe. How he was oncea ‘big fish in a small pond’, now thrust into the ocean to compete among evenother bigger fish, with the pressure to both succeed and prove himself…all whilehis previous world views are checked and challenged every step of the way.

For years he’d been valued and praised for only the promisingpotential and primary trait of his strong quirk. (The reinforcement for his badbehavior on the other hand? Not valued with the same proper attention.) Alreadythat’s an unfortunate consequence of their quirk-filled, hero-commodified society. Think of justhow shallow/fake groupies would be, or how annoying and hollow it would feel tohave people cling to him just for that (for talent and skills over his meritsas a person), and just how difficult forming genuine, natural bonds would be… (Becomingself-reliant now becomes another added pressure he has to juggle on his own.) Beforequirks had ever entered the picture and complicated things further, Deku was probablyconsidered the closest friend he had. Until…misunderstandings happened, andthen the only thing he wanted was for Deku to stay away from him. (A misconception is that Kacchan actively soughtDeku out, when it’s actually the opposite: Kacchan only reacted if Dekuencroached on him too closely.) Because he feared how Deku made him feel,forcing him to face his own shortcomings, and address perceptions of reality hedid not want to face. Because for someone he perceived as the weakest, to boldly goagainst that and do what Deku did (help him out of concern/kindness, but thatintent only read as pitying to him),made him feel even below that. And what’slower than the low of the weakest/most useless? Pretty ouch, so stop followingand stay back. Yet Deku just kept on coming back no matter what, for reasons hecouldn’t yet understand. (Deku felt genuine care and admiration for him, whichKacchan hadn’t realized, so gah, dramatic irony.) His changing feelings, correctinghis attitude, and clarifying his relationship to Deku, who continually challengesand defies his very worldview and perception of weakness, brings a whole otherfascinating draw to the series, which would take a whole other essay to fully analyze(but which many other fans have thoroughly done so already). 

Further considerations include his struggles facing other relatablefeelings. How he confronts the pain and weight of experiencing loss, survivor’sguilt, and assessing powerlessness and the inability to save situations beyondhis control. Internalizing self-doubt, hatred, failure, and inferiority…because‘if only he were stronger.’ What Isee is a child overburdened by expectations and responsibilities beyond hisyears…who has to learn to process and overcome many of those same feelings I’vealready gone through and had to come to terms with growing up. (The very reasonhe’s often and endearingly referred to as a ‘son.’) The majority of adults inhis life assumed he was already ‘strong enough’ and ‘fine’ on his own, theyneglected to give him proper mental guidance going forward (AM even admitsthis). And we unfortunately see the tragic consequences of that. But fortunately,things are getting better, and Hori’s story for him still isn’t over yet.   

Overall, what I see is the chance for an excellent,multi-layered, and well-written character to become even better. And that’s why his narrative is so particularly engaging. Doeshe remind me of the kids that once made certain social aspects of grade schoolinsufferable? No, because that’s not who he is; he’s so far removed and beyond them, that they’ve become extras whono longer matter anymore. Instead of lingering on such negatives, it’s insteadthe positive aspects about him that shine through even stronger. The fact heisn’t perfect, but deeply flawed and learning to address his shortcomings in nowmore productive ways. This progression and growth makes him interesting, and combinedwith the many other traits I’ve mentioned above, favored and loved bymany. Although ultimately I can’t change your opinion about him (that’s stillup to you to decide, and it’s ok to still dislike characters), hopefully I’veintroduced new ways of perceiving and appreciating his character for you. Tohelp see some of the positives that Deku always valued in him as a drivingsource of inspiration too: to strive hard despite life’s setbacks, and win. ‘He may be a jerk, but he’s amazing.’

[reywritesstuff]

Character Analysis: Angus Macgyver

@tomminowrites asked if I and a couple other writers would consider using this list of questions to do a character analysis for Mac in our own ways. This ended up being a hell of a lot longer than I was planning, but honestly everything I write ends up that way so at this point I don’t know why I’m even surprised. Most of this is just what I’ve seen from the show itself plus some headcanons for things we haven’t seen. There’s one section in which I do not agree with the show at all, but you’ll see that when you get to it. Anyways, enjoy!! (@thethistlegirl sorry if anything is really similar to yours lol)

What would completely break your character?

Mac already feels a lot of weight and responsibility when it comes to protecting people, and any time he feels like he could’ve done more to save someone it destroys a little part of him. If he were ever to lose someone he truly cared about, like Jack or Riley or Bozer, or now even Matty, and he felt like he could’ve done more, there’d be no coming back from that. Mac would sink so far into himself, throw himself into the most self-destructive habits he has until he’s nothing but a broken shell of the man he used to be. (By that same token, if any of them were ever to abandon or betray him, well... let’s just say I honestly believe Mac would end up suicidal.)

What was the best thing in your character’s life?

There are two best things in Mac’s life, and those two things are Wilt Bozer and Jack Dalton. Those two were there at his two most trying moments in his life, and he met them exactly when he needed them and they helped him through situations he never would’ve survived (at least not in one piece) on his own.

What was the worst thing in your character’s life?

There’ve been some pretty crappy things in his life, but finding out his dad wasn’t  coming home ever again on his tenth birthday was probably the crappiest. Losing Peña comes in at a pretty close second, but nothing has ever been as bad as that day. Mac remembers feeling numb, asking himself over and over again why his dad would leave him, and over and over again the answer his brain would tell him was “because you weren’t smart enough, Angus.” For Mac, there’s nothing worse than that day.

What seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character?

Mac remembers the smell that used to fill the kitchen when his mom made her favorite apple pie (warm apples and sweet cinnamon sugar). He remembers the shirt he was wearing the day his dad left (blue and white short-sleeve polo with the buttons done all the way up. he did them himself). He remembers the conversation the lady in the grocery store was having with her daughter, the first time he went shopping for himself (No, Sammy, you cannot have an entire bag of marshmallows all for yourself!). He remembers the song Jack sang the first time they rode in a Humvee together (a really horribly off-key rendition of Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again).

Does your character work so that they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they aren’t working?

It’s a little bit of both and neither, really. Mac’s work pretty much consists of all his hobbies, but there are certain projects he takes on when he’s home just for fun. Sometimes a mission will give him an idea, and he’ll test that idea at home, or in the Phoenix labs. He learned very early on that some things were better done in a safer environment than your kitchen. (The last time he tried to experiment in the kitchen, he melted half the countertop and exploded a soap dispenser.)

What is your character reluctant to tell people?

Mac is always reluctant to tell people just how much they mean to him. In his mind, admitting you need someone just makes the abandonment that much worse when they eventually walk away. He’s also always reluctant to tell people that he doesn’t know something. James instilled in him the need to always know the answer, and even now, 17 years on his own, he still feels like he’s going to be yelled at for now knowing something. (Jack has helped, a lot. Bozer too. But having someone in a position of authority and seniority be amazed at even the simplest things you know really helps alleviate the feeling that you need to know everything in order to be treated right.)

How does your character feel about sex?

now this is where I really disagree with the show Mac doesn’t view sex casually. As someone who doesn’t let people in easily, intimacy for him is reserved for people he really, truly, connects with. Nikki was one of the few girlfriends in his life he felt comfortable enough with to have that type of relationship with, but he always knew she was much more focused on that part of their relationship than he was. Mac isn’t someone who just throws that around with people for kicks, he feels it’s something almost sacred between two people who love each other. (fyi yes I was very upset with the way they portrayed nikki’s and his relationship in the first ep, and very very upset with the implications of his relationship with Aly in s2)

How many friends does your character have?

Mac’s the type of person who would be friends with the barista who makes his coffee every morning. He knows the name of every tech worker he’s ever crossed paths with at the Phoenix. On the surface meaning of the word, Mac has an endless amount of friends. In a deeper sense of the word, there’s Frankie, and Penny, and Carlos, and Charlie, and Sam, too. But actual friends, true friends that know almost everything there is to know about him? There’s just Jack, Bozer, and Riley. (Matty is slowly inching her way into that circle, and if Jill was still alive, she would’ve been on that list too.)

How many friends does your character want?

Mac isn’t the type to let a lot of people into his life, and for the longest time his only close friend was Bozer. He’s never been one to want more than that, Bozer and Penny were always enough. He’s always happy to add more friends to his little circle of family, but he’s content with however many he has. (If he never makes another friend in his life, he’s perfectly happy with that.)

What would your character make a scene in public about?

If it’s for his own sake, Mac would hardly make a scene for any reason. But when it comes to his friends or some innocent party, Mac won’t hesitate to make a scene if he thinks he can help in some way. If he thinks someone is in danger, he’ll make a scene in any way he can to bring the attention to himself, anything to take the focus off someone else. And he’s never really thought about why, but he’s been known to make a scene when a child is being unfairly yelled at by their parents, or an authority figure. (Jack always has a sad, soft smile on his face whenever Mac looks at him after, and he never really understands why.)

What would your character give their life for?

Mac has several self-destructive qualities, and he had a penchant for often thinking of himself as the expendable one. Because of that, Mac is always willing to give his life for almost anyone, even the guys he usually tries to stop. He hates the thought of anyone getting hurt unnecessarily, and he’d almost always rather it be him than them. (It’s given Jack quite a few headaches over the years. He tries to think of himself as irreplaceable, but he can’t help it when he sees someone else in danger. It’s like a default setting in his brain.)

What are your character’s major flaws?

Mac has a tendency to come across a bit arrogant without meaning to. He can go off on his scientific rants and correct people without thinking and it doesn’t always work out well. He also has a tendency to assume that he’s the smartest person in the room, and again that doesn’t always work out so well for him. But one of his biggest flaws is his inability to trust people. Because of this, he often thinks that his way is best, that he’s better off if he does it himself, and sometimes that can be deadly for people. He has problems letting other people help, even when he knows deep down that he can’t do it on his own.

What does your character pretend or try to care about?

Mac only pretends to care about something if it’s not someone he particularly likes. He’ll fake a smile, nod a couple times, but usually, his mind’s a mile away working on some project he’s working on in the lab. But if it’s someone he cares about, he never pretends. He tries to care about things his friends do, even if they have no interest for him whatsoever. He doesn’t always have an interest in the music Jack likes, or the food Bozer cooks, or the computer code Riley’s writing. But he makes it a point to try, for their sake. (Jack knows he doesn’t care about classic rock that much, but he appreciates that he tries. Bozer knows he doesn’t care about the exact blend of spices he’s putting in their burgers, but he tries, and that’s all Bozer cares about. Riley knows that Mac can hardly follow the code she’s writing, but he still sits and listens and tries to ask questions he knows she wants to answer, and for her that’s enough.)

How does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?

Mac tries to project an air of toughness and un-attachment, afraid to let people know how much things hurt, or how much he actually cares. But the key world there is ‘tries’. Everyone who’s spent longer than two seconds with him knows that he’s nothing but a giant puppy. Sure, he’s tough, and he keeps his emotions in check, but he can’t help the way his eyes and body language speak volumes. Jack can take one look into his eyes and see just how much he’s hurting. Bozer can see the way he shifts his weight and knows he’s in pain. Riley can see his smile and read the depths of his affection for the people around him. To the world, Mac is gentle, kind, smart, and genuine.

What is your character afraid of?

He’s deathly afraid of heights, so much so that he sometimes loses every piece of useful information he’s ever known until he’s back at a reasonable height. There have only been a handful of times anyone’s ever seen him completely panic, and the majority of those times involve heights. He’s also afraid of abandonment, whether by choice or just by chance. He’s constantly terrified he’s going to lose anyone he’s ever close to. He knows Jack would never walk out on him, not for any reason he can help, yet he’s constantly terrified that one day he’s going to wake up and find out that Jack is gone. He’s terrified he’s going to come home one day and find every one of Bozer’s possessions absent from the house. And for the longest time, was scared he was never going to know why his dad actually left. (Until the day he did find out, and now he’s terrified that the man he spent most his life trying to find is now going to end up being a permanent resident in his life.)

What is something most people in your setting do that your character thinks is dumb?

Honestly, Mac thinks social media is dumb. Sure, he gets the appeal and idea of Facebook, of being able to keep up to date with certain friends you don’t see as often as you wish you could. But things like Twitter and Instagram? He doesn’t get it. Instagram to him is just a bunch of people trying to prove they have a better life than they do. Twitter is just people begging for attention, from anyone who’s willing to listen. He gets it a little on a casual level, but the fact that there are people who are actually famous on Instagram just makes zero sense to him. (He does enjoy reddit, though. He’s constantly getting into discussions about scientific formulas and ideas and better ways to do things, posting project successes and failures and advising other users on certain procedures. He’d never breath a word of it to anyone. He has no idea that Riley found it somehow, and spends some of her lazy nights laughing hysterically at his projects and discussions.)

Where would your character fall on a politeness/rudeness scale?

Fairly in the middle, leaning a bit more towards polite than rude. He never means it, but to people who don’t know him he can come across like an arrogant know-it-all. He also has a sarcastic streak bigger than Texas, and he’s hard-pressed to keep it at bay, especially when he’s around Jack. He sometimes has an issue with authority, as well, and it’s gotten him into quite a bit of trouble. But he’s unfailingly polite when he deems it necessary, and he’s always the first to offer a smile and kind word to people he passes in his daily life. But if he doesn’t like someone, he errs just a bit more on the rude side. (There’s was a fellow eod tech in the sandbox that Mac didn’t particularly like. He wasn’t exactly a jerk, but he was a tad pretentious and haughty and Mac didn’t even bother keeping his sarcasm in check when it came to him. Every other person in their unit thought Mac was an angel except for that tech. He didn’t understand how people thought Mac was nice.)