saccharinesylph:
Welcome )(ome.
Sweet dreams…
You’ve been so BRAV—E.
I’m so proud of you.
It’s okay.
It’s all OV—ER now.
—
Continuing sadstuck… I’m sorry, precious boy. Here’s hoping this DOESN’T happen… But, if it does, I hope he gets his sweet rest on in the dream bubbles. If NOTHING else happens at the end of this story, I want every one of these kids to lay their head somewhere safe and get some well-earned sleep. I don’t know what it is, but the fact that these poor kids have barely slept or eaten this whole time pretty much rends me to bits. Maternal instincts?
But. EVERYONE BE OKAY WHEN THIS IS ALL OVER. PLEASE.
I was thinking about this yesterday, actually — and stay with me as I get sort of off-topic for a second here, I swear I have a point.
The last few years of Doctor Who have had heaps of episodes about artists, Dickens and Shakespeare and Van Gogh to name but three, where there’s a scene where the artist learns their work will live on for a long time and be loved and appreciated. That, to me, is very telling about the daydreams of the people writing Who, the things they’ll never hear but wish they could, someone from the future saying ‘your art is still loved when you’re gone’.
And then there are stories like Harry Potter, where the wish-fulfillment of the creator is very different: it’s someone from the past, someone lost forever, smiling at you when you are weary and heartsick, and telling you “you’ve been so brave”.
And I’m a writer so of course on an intellectual level I understand why writers want to imagine being told their art stays vital long after they’ve finished their lives, but in terms of what gets me right under the ribs and breaks my heart it’s the second type of story, every time.
A gentle smile you thought you’d never see again.
“You’ve been so brave.”