#that quote from interstellar

[blindmanbaldwin]

i’m just a man waiting for atsv to come out on 4k so i can (re)write my deranged letterboxd posts onto tumblr dot com with gifs and screencaps

[lone-nyctophile]

We used to look up in the sky and wonder at our place in the stars. Now we just look down and worry about our place in the dirt.

[higgs-boson-420]

the horrible curse of "what quote do i use for my yearbook quote"

[petrichara]

‘Love is the one thing that we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space.’

“Eulogy from a Physicist” by Aaron Freeman, with quotes from Interstellar by Christopher Nolan, and images from NASA, Interstellar, Getty, Petrichara, and Reuters.

1- NASA: GOODS-South.

2- NASA: NGC 1850.

3- NASA: Iberian Peninsula.

4- Christopher Nolan: Interstellar.

5- NASA: From the Earth to the Moon.

6- Hannah La Folette Ryan: Subway Hands.

7- Adams Evans: Heart Nebula.

8- NASA: Exploring the Antennae.

9- NASA: Crescent Moon from the International Space Station.

10- Petrichara.

11- Getty Images.

12- NASA: SMACS 0723.

13- Reuters

[archofcorpses]

nothing much. Wbu?

[norrisradio]

SOME KIND OF FAITH

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "I'm not a religious person but I do sometimes thing God made you for me." - sally rooney, normal people

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.6K ᝰ GENRE: fluff, angst, some religious themes, oscar yearns, mentions of australia 2025 ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: welcome to the first installment of line by line! super excited to bring all of your favorite quotes to life ꨄ︎ requested by anon!

send me an ask for my line by line event!

Oscar’s never been a religious man.

Not when his mum made him sit through Sunday mass as a boy in Melbourne, his little legs kicking the pew out of boredom. Not when the chaplain at boarding school passed around wafers that stuck to the roof of his mouth like paper. He was never moved by sermons or scripture.

But something shifted the first time he met you.

It was raining sideways the day you arrived—one of those rare cold weeks where the wind curled under the doors and the air smelled like damp textbooks and wet leaves. You’d transferred mid-term, shoes still caked with mud from wherever you were before. The hallway buzzed with whispers as you trailed the headmaster to your new dorm, expression unreadable and hair sticking to your cheeks.

Oscar was fifteen and mostly quiet. He liked things with order—lap times, smooth apexes, knowing exactly when to downshift. But you were chaos in sneakers. You rolled your eyes at the dress code and laughed too loud in the library. You asked him what he was always scribbling in the back of his notebook, and he lied, said it was maths. You caught a glimpse of a gear diagram and raised a brow. “That’s not maths. That’s obsession.”

He didn’t argue. You didn’t press. And that was the beginning.

Friendship came slow and steady, like watching frost melt in sunlight. One day he was ignoring you in Chemistry, the next you were shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the common room, arguing about whether Interstellar was overrated. You slipped into his life so easily he didn’t realize you were already a part of it until months had passed and your shampoo lived in his shower caddy. Until you were stealing his hoodies and he wasn’t asking for them back.

Now, years later, you’re still here. Not next to him, but close enough. Close enough to send voice notes that ramble and laugh and drift off like you're thinking aloud just for him. Close enough that his hands still remember the weight of your wrist during three-legged races at school carnivals, the smell of bonfire smoke in your hair when you fell asleep on his shoulder on that one frigid field trip.

He thinks about those things more often than he admits.

Oscar’s never been a religious man.

But he finds himself praying in traffic. To red lights that hold long enough for your voice to stretch across the Bluetooth. To quiet corners of hotel rooms, where the only thing he wants is to hear you laugh like the world hasn't chewed at your edges. To whatever force keeps you picking up his calls, even when you're half-asleep or halfway through dinner with someone who isn’t him.

He never says what he really means. Not directly.

And lately, he’s started to feel it again—that creeping, silent thing lodged in his ribs. That ache that doesn't quite have a name. Especially when you call him at 11:47 p.m., voice groggy and slow.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say.

Oscar is thousands of miles away, in a hotel bed that smells faintly of bleach and stale air. He stares at the ceiling and closes his eyes like maybe, just maybe, you’ll appear there.

He doesn’t ask why you called him of all people. He just listens.

Sometimes you talk about your day. Sometimes about nothing at all. Tonight, it’s a story about some guy who tried to get your number at a conference—a guy who ordered for you without asking and called your job “cute.” You laugh about it, but Oscar hears the edge in your voice.

“Sounds... promising,” he says, but it comes out stiff. Like swallowing a stone.

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do and let him get away with it. You’ve always been kind like that.

There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet.

You breathe into the receiver.

And not for the first time, he wonders if God is cruel — to make someone like you for him, and then keep you just out of reach.

He thinks it when you hum without realizing. When you say his name like it's a safe place. When your silences are the only kind that don't make him restless.

He never says it. Of course not. He just tells you to get some sleep, soft and low.

And when you do—when your breathing evens out and your side of the line goes still—he doesn’t hang up.

Just lies there in the dark. Listening.

As if you might stir. As if you'll whisper his name in your sleep. As if prayers ever worked for people like him.

Oscar’s never been a religious man.

But he starts bargaining with the sky the moment the rain begins to fall Sunday morning.

The plan had been simple. Seamless. Like the clean arc of a lap executed perfectly: maiden pole, win, you in the paddock. His home crowd thundering in his ears, champagne dripping from his suit, and you waiting for him at the barrier with that look that always melted him down to the screws.

It was supposed to mean something. He’d visualized it all week—crossing the line, holding your gaze as the national anthem played, telling you what he’s been holding in his chest for years, letting it spill finally, finally, now that he had something to give.

But the rain – the rain. 

It’s light at first, mist curling along the halo, soft enough to ignore. But it thickens during lap 40, silver threading through the clouds like a warning. He feels it in his chest before it even begins—the wrongness of it. The crack in the air.

Still, he clings to the plan.

You’d said yes to the race two months ago. Your first in person since uni. You’d booked flights around conference dates, rerouted your thesis schedule. You’d smiled when you said it, too—"Wouldn’t miss your home GP for anything, Oz."

And he had smiled back, because the timing felt divine. Like something had shifted in the universe just enough to make room for both of you again. He’d even practiced what he would say in the driver room after.

But then the rain came.

One corner. That’s all it took.

The rears locked just enough. The front twitched. The car was gone. Onto the grass, the gravel biting like teeth. Cheers turned to gasps. Gasps turned to the hiss of radio static and his own voice, low and stunned: “I’m off.”

He clawed it back. Ninth. Eight places from where he’d started. Every lap was a punishment he bore alone, helmet fogging, tyres screaming, the track never quite drying, never giving him what he needed.

And then there was media. Cameras, microphones, a parade of tight smiles and repeated questions—Walk us through the mistake. What were you feeling in that moment? Do you think you let the fans down?

He repeated the same phrases like rosary beads: "The rain caught us out." "It was my fault." "I should’ve handled it better."

Every word was a cut. Every smile, a lie.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he sees you. For a moment, he considers disappearing. Ducking the debrief. Flying straight back to Monaco. Avoiding the sting of it, the shame. He rehearsed a podium speech. Not this.

By the time he makes it to his driver room, his race suit feels like a wet second skin. His shoulders ache. He wants to disappear into the floor. He wants the world to stop spinning long enough for him to catch his breath.

He doesn’t expect you to be there.

But you are. Sitting quietly, back against the wall, a bottle of water balanced on your knee. You look up as he enters, eyes catching his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like the universe hadn’t just tried to drag him under and failed.

You don’t say anything at first. Just look at him like he matters. Like he didn’t just choke in front of his whole country. Like he isn’t unraveling by the seams.

And then you whisper it.

Soft. Gentle. “Oscar.”

And it breaks him. That’s all it takes.

And the way you say his name—

It feels like absolution.

He crosses the room in three steps, falls into you like gravity was always leading him here. You catch him like you knew how. Like you’d been waiting.

He doesn’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not in a rain-soaked race suit, with his hands still shaking and his throat dry from lies. But it slips out anyway, cracked and quiet into the fabric of your jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I love you.”

You freeze.

Oscar’s never been a religious man. But he knows faith when he sees it. And he sees it now, in the way you hold him tighter, in the way your lips brush the shell of his ear like gospel.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. And he’s not sure what you’ll say. But you just touch his cheek, thumb running over the smear of dried rain and sweat.

“I thought you knew,” you say softly. “I’ve loved you since boarding school.”

He exhales, shaky. Half-laugh, half-relief.

The fluorescent lights above buzz. Somewhere outside, the sound of an engine roars as the next session begins. But here, in this small driver room filled with silence and sweat and grace, time feels suspended.

Oscar presses his forehead to yours.

And maybe Oscar’s never been a religious man.

But if this is what absolution feels like— Your arms around him, his name said like it means something, your heartbeat steady under his cheek— Then maybe he’s starting to believe.

[tritoch]

why doesn't venat tell the convocation?

one thing you'll see come up from time to time: why does venat, the largest ancient, not simply eat the other sorry wrong notes. Why does Venat, who has access to time-loop knowledge, not simply tell the Convocation what she knows and try to fight the Final Days in her time?

it's an understandable question: why wouldn't you want to change the future, if you know what comes to pass? Answering this question does a lot to flesh out our understanding of the Ancients, as well as Venat herself, in fun ways. It also highlights the heightened tonal register FFXIV operates in where the Ancients are involved. Most crucially, it confirms that your ultimate victory in Endwalker is not due to time loop predestination, but because of the collective efforts of everyone along the way.

all quotes, as ever, sourced from xiv.quest (except for some stuff from the very end of myths of the realm which i pulled from gamerescape). spoilers through endwalker follow.

(post-completion edit: this got insanely out of hand and way too long and it's honestly not even very insightful. you were warned.)

The way I see it, there are two broad versions of this question: First, why doesn't Venat warn the Ancients about the Final Days? And second, why doesn't she reach out to the Convocation and try to nip it in the bud?

To start with, let's get the answer straight from the source:

Venat cannot tell the Ancients generally because she cannot trust that they will not panic. No judgment should be taken as unquestionable, obviously, but Venat is a nigh-immortal scholar and researcher who also did a long stint as traveling counselor and savior and friendly neighborhood video game protagonist, who repeatedly and fervently declaims her love of the people of the world and her belief in their ability to surmount any obstacle if they simply find the strength within themselves. She has also, in-fiction, seen the wider world unsundered. Our exposure to the Ancients, on the other hand, is: her; the ruling council of their people, turned evil dimension-hopping wizards; a slice of particularly detached academics in a mad science lab (comedy version); a slice of particularly detached academics in a mad science lab (horror version). That's it! And of course, the revelation of the Final Days ultimately does result in panic and a series of increasingly drastic measures. While we only have her reasoning to go off of on this one, I don't know that there's any evidence that goes firmly against her reading of the situation.

As to the Convocation, she's right: the first time Hermes got the full picture of the Final Days, he immediately turned against you and tried to wipe your memories to prevent you from using your knowledge to stop them before they start. And that's really bad, because Hermes isn't just pretty important to stopping the Final Days: without the benefit of time-loop knowledge, he's the guy who draws the conclusion that connects the Final Days to the celestial currents of aether!

"Having shed light upon the phenomenon, he dedicated to himself to devising a countermeasure. Were it not for [Hermes's] knowledge of the celestial, we would never have made the connection—and thence forestalled the Final Days." Elidibus strongly implies here that Hermes is the guy who conceived of the Zodiark plan in the first place, or at least came up with the the mechanism by which Zodiark could actually use aether to protect Etheirys.

Hermes is a guy you absolutely have to have on your team if you're going to respond to the Final Days, because he is not just the guy who knows about dynamis. He is also, as far as we know, the only Ancient with a meaningful knowledge of outer space and celestial currents. Meteion herself is pretty explicitly parallel to a prototype space probe, a first-of-her-kind interstellar traveler. Given that the Ancients use magical concepts for seemingly nearly all their technology (there sure is a lot of stuff going on with crystals, I'll grant...but crystals are just aether, sometimes with concepts inscribed in them!), he is the closest thing they have to an aerospace engineer.

Space in FFXIV is obviously weird (no one's wearing a helmet on the moon, Midgardsormr flies through it, etc.), but nonetheless we know that space travel is difficult, and Hermes highlights in his explanation that Etheirys is unusually rich in aether while aether is much rarer in space generally. And we can surmise no one before him devised a way for the extremely aether-dense Ancients to travel and survive in space, or presumably that would have informed his own designs and he wouldn't have had to turn to under-researched dynamis. And we know no one worked with him on Meteion or understands anything about all the dynamis and, celestial currents stuff; Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch tell us as much.

Hermes might not be the literal only Ancient with knowledge of these things, but he is certainly the most knowledgeable, seemingly by a long shot. There is plenty of reason to believe the Ancients, while they have godlike power on Etheirys, don't have a huge body of working physics information. For example, the discovery and use of magnetism in creations was the signature achievement of Hermes' immediate predecessor as Fandaniel, per a Ktisis readable.

So you need Hermes, and cannot afford the possibility of losing him. Even with the benefit of the Warrior of Light's future knowledge, not having Hermes would fatally undermine any efforts by the Ancients to combat the Final Days—not only in terms of identifying which areas were likely to be affected, but also in terms of creating and implementing Zodiark, and with respect to any hypothetical "Ancients go to the edge of the universe to fight Meteion" plan.

That kind of full-spectrum involvement makes him only more dangerous. Sure, maybe you can approach the Convocation and convince them (and I'm not so sure of that: one of their members is there when you explain all this, after all, and he vehemently rejects the possibility right up until the moment the time-loop starts!), but how can you ever be safe with Hermes on board? Worse, what if this time he doesn't announce his betrayal? What's to stop him from building a flaw into Zodiark, or any one of the other plans along the way?

Well, but set the problem of Hermes aside for a second: why not approach other Convocation members? Aside from the information security concerns with Hermes, there's the fact that she already has some advance intel on that options. First, Emet-Selch already heard and experienced all these revelations, and he vehemently denied and rejected them. The only reason he ended up cooperative through the events of Ktisis is because "get to Hermes and stop Meteion" fulfills both your goals. You're literally out the door on your way to start the time loop post-Kairos and he's like "I still don't believe your future visions by the way! But if it's true then don't fuck it up!"

Second, if what you told her is true, Venat already has reason to believe Azem might not be willing to side with her. After all, one of the only pieces of knowledge you were able to pull directly from the records of the past is that even with 75% of the Ancient population sacrificed and preparations for the third sacrifice underway, Azem would not reply to the Anamnesis Anyder faction.

So she has good reason to believe her successor might not be willing to side with her, and she knows that successor's bestie will definitely counsel against trusting these future visions.

But what if she just shows them her memories and past events via the Echo? After all, reconstructing past events is a key part of your adventures in Elpis in the first place!

Venat can probably share her memories via Echo vision, but there's no reason to think that would work: after all, Emet-Selch was already there for most of these events and was still skeptical the whole way through. Plus, at that point you're really still just relying on Venat's testimony. Additional memory evidence certainly has some corroborating effect, it's not unimpeachable, particularly given the problem of Kairos. Hermes, Emet-Selch, and Hythlodaeus will all have memories that contradict Venat's because Kairos doesn't just erase memories, it straight up alters them.

But why not do the CSI crime scene reconstruction thing? Well, as Venat notes, those memories are prone to fading, and are etched on the aether of the world the same way memories are on the soul. So assuming, you were perfectly lucky and none of the aether got too altered by other events, you could reconstruct what happened from the moment Meteion connects to the hive mind . . . right up until everyone enters Ktisis Hyperboreia. Kairos functions by overwriting the memories etched into aether with yet more aether, and given that it targeted not just the group in the final room but the entirety of Ktisis Hyperboreia, it has presumably substantially altered whatever aetherial ripples remained of the day's events. Consider that if it's blotting out multiple days worth of memory over a large area (Ktisis Hyperboreia is a full-on spatial anomaly, after all), our only comparable event in lore is the Seventh Umbral Calamity. That's a lot of aether! Kairos moots any attempt to employ memory reconstruction as evidence.

So you can't tell everyone because they'll panic; you can't tell the Convocation because Hermes is untrustworthy; you can't tell the Convocation without Hermes because there's no point in recruiting the Convocation without Hermes because his expertise is what you actually need; even if you did want the Convocation without Hermes, there's reasons to believe that would go poorly; and you can't use the Echo to help you win them over because the well on memory-as-evidence is already poisoned thanks to Hermes inventing Kairos.

A brief interlude on the possibility of the Ancients getting to and fighting Meteion. Links to sources only because this post is already stupid long. Okay, pretend we perfectly secure Hermes on-side and rally all the Ancients. After making Zodiark early thanks to Venat's warning, the remaining 50% of the population sets to work on the problem of space travel to Ultima Thule. It'll be a lengthy process, since devising the propulsion systems of the moon took the Loporrits six thousand years, but sure, it's not like lifespan is a big issue for the Ancients. Then there's the matter of having enough energy to get there; Hydaelyn accumulates the aether of the Mothercrystal for over twelve thousand years to make that happen. But maybe we shortcut that with human sacrifice again. Okay, we've flown a spaceship full of Ancients to Ultima Thule. They can't do anything here because the dynamis is too thick for aether to do anything. Your allies can only reshape the reality of Ultima Thule to allow aether-based life to exist via dynamis in the first place. The Ancients themselves seem largely unable to interact with dynamis. Any familiars or entelechies they could try to use against Meteion would probably be overwhelmed by the transformative power of her own critical mass of dynamis. Probably your best bet is to send in wave after wave of Ancients to die in a delaying action while Hermes in the way way back with a megaphone tries to persuade Meteion to chill out? Part of the whole Endwalker thing is that the Warrior of Light's victory is an incredible piece of luck enabled by a whole host of actions both intentional and accidental. The thing about miraculous victories is they're miraculous because they were otherwise exceedingly unlikely!

"Well," one might ask, "shouldn't there still be something she can do? Couldn't she reach out to trusted friends to share this information and work to stop the Final Days and persuade the Convocation without accidentally reconnecting Hermes to the knowledge that caused this problem in the first place?" And the answer is: Yes, that's what she does! It just doesn't go great and results in the creation of Hydaelyn!

As you are departing, Venat confirms to you that she will try to find a different way to resist the Final Days. She also tells you that she will not take for granted that the future you have told her will come to pass, and will simply do her best to try to fight the Final Days.

We have a good sense of the results of her efforts because her closest and most trusted allies are left behind as the Twelve and the Watcher. Rhalgr and Oschon were literally just fellow travelers she met during his journeys. Nald'thal was a merchant. Nophica was a landscape architect. Probably the most outwardly accomplished members of their number were Halone (candidate for the seat of Pashtarot), Thaliak (brilliant university president), and Menphina (brilliant university student). They were, sometimes literally, just some guys she found by the side of the road.

The truth is that Venat's message and efforts were simply not that popular in the unsundered world. We see her efforts to reach the people, conveyed allegorically, in the Thou Must Live, Die, and Know cutscene: her appeal to the better natures of her countrymen fails. They cannot be deterred from their path of sacrificing the lives of others for their own comfort.

The result of Venat's best work to rally the world against the Final Days, outside the auspices of the Convocation, is the Anyder faction. And the Anyder faction, though it makes its case to the Convocation and to others, ultimately cannot win enough people over to shake the Convocation from its intentions.

The Ancient world in FFXIV often operates in a heightened register. From the name references that invoke Greek mythology and Utopia to aesthetic elements like their theatrical masks and genre-breaking art deco architecture, the game takes pains to emphasize how otherworldly the Ancients are. This helps make their stories work emotionally. Emet-Selch and Elidibus and Lahabrea are personally responsible for six worldwide genocides, plus countless other associated sins. Even in the already heightened fantasy world of FFXIV, trying to take their stories semi-seriously would break them down. Instead, the game uses a number of cues (Emet-Selch's dramatic nature and taste for literary allusion help considerably here, as does the English localization consciously adopting slightly archaic language) to indicate to the player that the Ancients' story is being told in an epic register, that they are a fairy tale, that their story is a creation myth.

Being a fairy tale or myth means that things can be narratively true about the Ancients which would otherwise not work in FFXIV, a story which tends to shoot for some degree of psychological verisimilitude. A person can survive untold millennia as the only remaining sane member of their people, retain their sanity, and never waver in their mission or crack under the pressure. Three-quarters of the world rising up to spontaneously sacrifice themselves out of love and kindness and a belief in the value of the natural world. In Hermes' case, we are literally directly shown and told, by both magical empathic bird-girl and magical mood ring flower, that he is literally not just the Saddest Man in Elpis, but the Only Sad Man in Elpis. People often poke at this point reflexively ("Why doesn't Hermes go to therapy?"), but his despair is not just all-encompassing and overwhelming. It is literally inexplicable and unfamiliar to the Ancients around him.

Similarly, Venat, actual wandering superhero and benevolent demiurge possessed of an inexhaustible love for humanity and surpassing skill in every field, scours the earth and comes up with just thirteen people (or like, them plus a few) who are willing to stand against the Convocation. Venat does use her time-loop knowledge to spur on a parallel effort to fight off the Final Days. It doesn't work because the Convocation's plans not only have the weight of formal authority behind them, but because the Ancients overwhelmingly did not want to accept their losses, form a plan of action, and fight back. They wanted to undo their pain and suffering now, as fast as possible, and damn the consequences or whatever other lives it cost. If this feels unrealistically emotionally extreme, that's par for the course for the tone of the narrative around the Ancients.

The truth is Venat was just doing the best she could with the knowledge she had and the understanding she had of the arena she was in. She doesn't end up forming the Twelve and sundering the world because she heard about it from the Warrior of Light—the Warrior of Light comes from a world in which she formed the Twelve and sundered the world because that is what she always already would have done in this situation.

We can surmise as much from how the time loop works across the rest of the game: even though there is always at least one person in the timeline who knows about the time loop, events always play out in a way that requires other people to exercise their free will, and those choices end up aligning with the time loop even absent the knowledge of the future. Either the Warrior of Light or Venat (also Fandaniel, now that I think about it, but I don't know of any meaningful insights to glean from that) is aware of the possibility of the time loop at all times: she knows about it from Elpis onward, then shows up in the boat at the start of Endwalker to say "hey fyi you're entering the Time Loop Zone," then you end up in the past with future knowledge of stuff up until you hit the time loop reset point and the whole thing starts again. But in the game through Endwalker, that knowledge never controls events; you and Hydaelyn are only ever individuals on a board with many players, and much of making the time loop work ultimately relies on the Ascians, a group we can definitely say both lacks time loop knowledge (except, again, Fandaniel) and is actively working to frustrate Hydaelyn's ends. On a broader thematic note, consider Zenos: he's ultimately crucial to your victory, and he's a complete wild card whose most important actions you could not possibly have told Venat about because they only happen after your return from Elpis. You don't win because you are predestined to win. You win because many people collectively take small actions which happen to, luckily, line up with ultimate victory.

The Elpis time loop only functions because of countless and almost entirely unknowing large and small actions by more or less every character in the game, and results from and is defined by those actions, rather than structuring and defining those actions. It's not that Venat, armed with knowledge of the future, chooses the time loop instead of averting the Final Days. It's that the time loop results from and incorporates a future-influenced Venat doing everything she can to avert the Final Days.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

hi i loved your bill pregnancy and post partum fic!! Do you think you could write one for Josh just like how you did for bill?

( YES YIPPIE

Title: "It’s Not an Alien, Josh"

You hadn’t planned to tell him like this. In fact, you were going to wait until dinner, after he’d had time to decompress from work. But then you saw him — hunched over the couch, surrounded by open DVDs and a half-rebuilt model starship, mumbling about the continuity errors in Star Trek: Enterprise — and something in you just... burst.

“Josh,” you said, soft but certain. “I’m pregnant.”

He blinked. Slowly. Then again.

And then:

“...Is it mine?”

You stared at him. “What?”

“Wait—no—no, I mean—of course it’s mine, I just—wait—did you—did you double-check? Like, medically? Or are we talking like a ‘mystical-force-sensed-it’ kinda thing, because if this is some Padmé Amidala situation I need more context—”

You crossed the room and set the test in his palm. He stared at the little lines like they were glyphs on the Rosetta Stone.

Josh Levy, now well into his thirties, with his messy curls and stress lines, and a body that had gone from stocky to full-on dadbod without the “dad” part—just froze.

Then his eyes filled. Not just with panic. But with that weird, overloaded Josh emotion — like he couldn’t decide whether to pass out or hug you or throw up or start quoting Galaxy Quest.

“So...” he breathed. “We’re... having a child. Like, a baby. That grows. And then—talks. And poops. And—what if it hates me?”

You laughed. “Josh.”

“What if it’s a Star Wars kid and not a Trek kid? What if they want to play sports? Or—oh my God what if they’re cool?!”

You kissed his forehead gently. “Then they’ll have a cool, nerdy, deeply loving dad who will find a way to love sports.”

He blinked rapidly. Then exhaled. Then finally, finally, smiled. It was crooked and anxious and a little watery.

“I love you,” he said, voice thick. “And...I think I already love them, too. Even if they never watch Wrath of Khan.”

---

Title: "Gravity Shift"

(Part Two: The Pregnancy)

Josh isn’t great at handling change. You know that.

So when your pregnancy really starts — when the nausea comes with a vengeance, when smells make you cry, when your nipples get weird and painful and you sob over a paper towel commercial — he panics.

But he’s trying.

God, he’s trying.

He’ll rush in when you gag over the trash can with a towel like he’s defusing a bomb.

He’ll rub your feet while mumbling about how ridiculous it is that your feet are swelling but the fetus is like the size of a lemon right now.

He’ll yell at WebMD for “making everything sound like a damn X-Files episode.”

And the mood swings? He tries not to take them personally. Sometimes he fails.

“Okay, I get it, I’m loud and irritating and I left the cap off the juice again, and you hate me—"

“Josh, I literally just said the lights were too bright.”

“Oh.” He pauses. Rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. My bad. False alarm. Proceed.”

You get weird pregnancy symptoms — not the pretty “glow” people romanticize.

Your gums bleed. Your skin breaks out. Your body odor changes. You have intense, surreal nightmares that leave you sobbing into his chest.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you wake up shaking. You don’t say anything. You just cling to him.

Josh, half-asleep, still holds you like instinct — arms tight around your waist, rubbing your back. He whispers in your hair:

“You’re safe. You’re here. They’re still in there... Right?”

You nod.

He exhales.

“I’m not gonna be a good dad, am I?” he says one night, pressing a kiss to the stretch marks forming along your hips. “I get overwhelmed by, like, car insurance. I can’t even watch Interstellar without crying. And I have so much baggage, like I’m the goddamn Carousel of Emotional Damage—”

You grab his chin. You look him in the eyes.

“You’re going to be real,” you whisper. “And that’s already better than most.”

And somehow, that shuts him up. For once.

Sometimes he spirals. Borderline spirals, you call them. All-or-nothing thinking.

He’ll go from, “I’m building a crib and I’m gonna be a superdad,”

to, “They’ll grow up hating me because I’m a loudmouth burnout who still owns a signed Shatner headshot.”

But you keep anchoring him. And he keeps trying.

And when you cry over hemorrhoids or the fact that your feet don’t fit in your shoes anymore, he kisses your knee and says:

“Hey. I fell in love with you. Not your arches.”

He talks to the baby, too. Through your belly. Nerdy stuff. Rambling sci-fi nonsense.

“I’m just saying, little bean — the Vulcans had some valid points. Don’t let the Federation propaganda get to you.”

---

Title: "Gravity Shift"

(Part Three: The Fall Out & The Rise)

The day labor starts, Josh is a mess.

He's loud, flailing through the hospital bag, yelling at the nurse about wait times, white-knuckling the steering wheel like it personally insulted him. His panic makes you want to scream at him — and you do, at one point.

"Stop breathing so loud! You're making it worse!"

He flinches. Shuts up. But stays. He always stays.

The birth is not beautiful.

It’s not candlelight and gentle music and tears of joy. It’s screaming. It’s blood. It’s hours of pain and pressure and you sobbing that you can’t do this and him gripping your hand so tight your knuckles ache.

He doesn’t say anything poetic. He doesn’t whisper inspiration.

He just leans in, eyes wide with fear, and says:

"You're doin' it. You're doin' it, babe. Jesus christ— You're doin' it." Josh has to look away because he might passout.

When your baby finally cries, you do too.

Josh looks stunned. Quiet, for the first time in maybe ever. Like the world just broke open and remade itself in front of him.

And then the reality crashes down.

---

Postpartum is brutal.

You're bleeding. You're sore. You can’t sit right. You smell weird. You're leaking out of places you didn’t know could leak.

Josh tries to be everywhere at once — burping the baby, doing dishes, looking up every weird rash and googling “how to tell if a baby pooped or just looks like it did.”

But sometimes he shuts down. The crying wears on him. The sleep deprivation makes him snippy. He snaps at you once when you ask him to reheat your food — something stupid — and then instantly regrets it, pacing the hallway and whispering apologies until he spirals into guilt.

"I yelled. I f*ckin’ yelled. My mom used to yell. I didn’t wanna be like her. Shit, what if I mess her up already—"

"Josh," you interrupt, voice hoarse. "One bad moment doesn’t make you a bad dad."

He breaks down, right there. Crying quietly into your shoulder while the baby finally sleeps on your chest.

— his highs are high, and his lows can bottom out fast. He worries he’s not consistent enough. That his moodiness will affect the baby. That his insecurities will bleed into fatherhood.

But he’s also learning to name his feelings. To communicate.

He’ll pause mid-spiral and say:

“I feel out of control. I need ten minutes.”

And he’ll take them. Then come back, softer. Steadier. Still him, just learning to live with it.

---

You don’t have sex for a long time. Not because you don’t want to — but because your body is wrecked, and you’re afraid, and he’s afraid of hurting you.

He doesn’t pressure you. Even when he’s desperate for closeness, he redirects it into cuddling, into feeding you snacks in bed, into rubbing your back while you vent.

And when you're finally ready — it’s awkward. It’s clumsy. You're laughing, tearing up, stopping every few minutes.

He kisses your stretch marks. Traces them with reverence.

"These are so cool,” he says. “You’re like a goddamn warrior or something.”

You tell him he doesn’t have to flatter you.

“I’m not,” he shrugs. “You built a person. I just kept your juice stocked.”

---

The baby starts cooing. Smiling. Clutching his thumb.

Josh starts getting more confident. Not perfect — he still panics if the baby hiccups too hard — but there's less self-loathing behind his eyes.

He wears the baby in a carrier strapped across his vintage Star Trek shirt, one hand clutching coffee, the other flipping off some guy who side-eyed him for bottle-feeding in public.

“Yeah, dickhead, we share responsibilities in this household. Look it up.”

He’s still loud. Still crude. Still Josh.

But when the baby cries and he’s the one who calms her down — when she starts responding to his voice first — you see something new in him.

Not just love.

Healing.

---

[evilminji]

Actually? WOULD Earth be the ones to petition Oa?

They are interstellar Space Interpol. You don't usually call them on different parts of your OWN settlements or systems. You call them in when someone is breaking THE Laws. Not necessarily YOUR laws, though obviously by breaking THE laws they clearly ARE. But THE Big Laws(tm).

Like Geneva Convention for Space type laws.

You have discovered Planet or King X is committing WAR CRIMES. Call Oa. Tax fraud? That's an inter-personal planet side issue they can't help you with. Pointing Nukes at your nursery settlement and threatening to blow up the infants there unless you give them sex-slaves?

Knock-knock! Taste HARD Light Constructs!

But if so? Then how would the situation get so out of hand on Earth? With the G.I.W.? Simple. Tell me, Mr. President, what do you know of the current day to day life of villagers in rural Siberia?

That they exist? Could you even NAME their village, if I referenced specific individuals? Likely not. And no one would realistically expect you too.

There are countless planets out there! With Leaders busy with local industrial conferences and infrastructure bills. Farming regulations. Talks with that planet a few stars over. Very busy. What do THEY know of Earth? Why would they NEED too?

But! As we know, Ectoplasm is EVERYWHERE. Not just earth. And? Thin spots are not just an Earth-centric phenomenon. Other planets most CERTAINLY would have them too. And depending on the species? The culture? To quote the wise sage Bill Wurtz "you can make a religion out of this!"

After all, chosen few, returned from death... glowing and more powerful then before? Immortal? It's a pretty reasonable conclusion to come too. They are clearly Gods Touched. Some sacred task they must complete.

It would likely even shape the ghosts of the region themselves. After all, they TOO, would believe they were chosen for some Important Religious Task. Be it study or collecting rocks. To what end? Unknown. Who are they to question The Gods?

But! Oh happy day! The old tyrant is no more! A chosen Hero! They go to greet him! Honor him, as you do. Traditional gifts and ballads. Maybe some sacred rocks. A fancy hat. But? Oh? The Champion is wounded! Gasp! Still? But the fight with Pariah happened-

And then they are given Grave Warning(tm). Don't go to Earth. Heretics attacking people. KILLING souls! Trying to KILL the king of all the Infinite! He is somber because his living parents were hurt. Preventing the END OF ALL THINGS!!!??

WHAT!?

These "People In White" tried to EXPLODE the very FABRIC of all realities!? Several of them faint. Truely, these Fentons MUST be chosen by the Gods! Heros. Legends. Such bravery in the face of such HORRORS. Please, let them be brought to their Living counterparts! The hospitals are quite good!

And you know what? Fuck it. Danny will take that. Because his Mom n Dad got hurt. BAD.

They learned he was Phantom at probably the SINGLE worst time imaginable and still chose HIM. Chose THEM. The GIW were coming for him. Gonna hurt Jazz. And his parents told them, with fire and blood, it'd be a cold day in hell before they let them so much as TRY it.

They BLEW UP their own life's work. Went literally scorched earth. And now? They're not doing so good.

Because the Zone isn't made for the living. No food, no water, and no real human-safe medical supplies. They've run out. Danny will take what he can get. He'd even go to Vlad but... his Portal's gone too. And the Buzzards said he looked... spirally. Very... "suicide runs until everything BURNS".

So, yeah. No one's doing so great.

Alien planet it is.

They are greeted with fanfare and respect. The best medical teams on the PLANET. The King and his family is there, to welcome him. It's... it's beautiful. Hardly some perfect utopia, but the air is lite. Art everywhere. The stars vivid and so easy to see, at night.

The King kinda reminds him of Mr. Lancer to be honest. Balding and a bit round around the middle, stern but endlessly fair about it, wants people to do their best and succeed in life. Maybe that's why Danny finds himself opening up. Because... because here is a real, honest to God, KING king.

Somebody who was actually TRAINED to do all this King stuff.

Unlike Danny.

And Danny? He's scared. People expect him to Lead now. To know what he's doing. To somehow just... suddenly KNOW how to do all these things he's never even heard about. He only barely just died. Has BARELY been keeping everybody safe.

BARELY stopped Pariah.

He doesn't know what to do. But he pours his guts out. All the things that have bottled up. And King Not-Lancer listens. Somber and thoughtful. There is little, if anything he can TRUELY do to help. But... there ARE things he can do. Lessons on statescraft, while he's here, for one.

As for the other? Well, as King, he does have the local Lantern's Call Sign. Not to be used lightly, mind you. But what Danny describes? And from what the Sacred Ones have reported? THAT must be reported to Oa. He can show Danny how to do that.

(He does)

[The Lanterns of Earth get a VERY exciting call from Oa. Are every different shade of pissed. But? Whoops! Looks like they ACCIDENTALLY put the Watchtower into a complete Quarantine! Well, dang. Guess we're all stuck here for two weeks!

Reset it? *sound of smashing computer terminal* Yeah, don't think that's gonna work! :)

WHO WANTS TO PLAY 20 QUESTIONS?? We'll start! :) Who here has heard of an organization called, and I quote, The Ghost Investigation Ward? :) ]

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[hellfiresky]

The rain pauses too

Summary: A chance encounter during a rainy afternoon in Coruscant’s Federal District leads to a fleeting conversation between a weary worker and an equally tired clone trooper.

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2067

Warnings: None

A/N: This is my very first x Reader fic and my first-ever one-shot! Inspired by today’s rainy morning that lingered until midday, paired with Vienna by Billy Joel playing on repeat.

Join the taglist if you’re interested

(Rex picture from TCW and Coruscant from Episode III, Yannick Dusseault. The photo in the middle is courtesy of myself)

———————————————————————————

You finger brushed your damp hair back and tucked it behind your ears. The hovertrain was busy that morning, like almost every morning in the Galactic City. You couldn’t remember when was the last time you could effortlessly enter the train and get yourself a seat - you always had to squeeze your way in and hope to god you wouldn’t crash into someone holding a hot caf and spilled it on their shirt. This time, at least, you managed to snag a free grab handle - better than leaning awkwardly against the separator by the door. It was raining again. You wondered if the weather control systems were glitching. There’d been reports about that last month - supposed to be summer, but instead, everyone was layering up like it was autumn. It took a week for the engineers to fix it because, of course, the topsiders raised hell over their ruined summer picnics.

The next station is Orowood. The doors on the right side will open. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.

A sigh escaped your lips. Five more stations, you thought. You wished you could live closer to your office, but your mid-level salary didn’t stretch to the business district. You wonder how it would be when the war ends - would it be cheaper then? Or would things be worse? And this entire galaxy would go into a galactic-wide dystopia and you would have to find the latest available commercial starship to fuck off this planet and go to some desolate rock like Tatooine? Or worse, a Cthon outbreak might turn the Remnants of Us holoseries into reality. At least that universe had that handsome Kiffar actor.

The next station is Calocour Heights. The doors on the left side will open. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. Change here for the Federal, Southern, Rotunda, and Uscru Line.

Finally. You muttered the word under your breath as you double-checked your pockets - no pickpockets today, thankfully. You slipped into the river of commuters flowing towards the escalators, and finally broke off towards your usual tapcafe as its shutters slid open. Four people ahead in line. Not bad. You stepped into place, already tasting the first sip of caf. The next few minutes was a blur, it was like your body moving on autopilot to where you work as a communications specialist for the Interstellar Children’s Aid Fund. The next thing you knew you were in front of your terminal, clacking on your keyboard for the next press release on the joint effort between ICAF and the Galactic Senate, a collaboration so mind-numbingly routine.

Your datapad vibrated on the desk, demanding your attention. You scrolled through the business group chats. The protocol group for the Core Worlds Educational Reform Committee hadn’t replied to your request for a quote from their head senator. Typical. You’d sent the request yesterday, clearly marked urgent, but as usual, anything involving Senate bureaucracy felt like trying to steer a starship through a nebula without sensors. You returned to the draft on your screen, re-reading it for the third time, wondering if you could sneak in one of the standard placeholder quotes: "This initiative is a testament to the enduring cooperation between the Galactic Senate and civic organisations like ICAF." You winced. Generic. Sounded like you asked a droid to write it. Still, it might have to do unless the protocol group got their act together.

By the time your shift ended, the rain had returned, misting the transparisteel windows of Galactic City's towering spires. The train ride home felt heavier somehow, and you didn’t even bother to grab a handle this time, just leaned back against the cold separator and let your mind drift. You thought about nothing. You thought about everything. About how things might get worse before they got better - if they ever got better. Funnily, nothing was happening. It was neutral. Your life was neutral. You had a great career, a group of friends that you occasionally have drinks with, a nice one bedroom apartment in Orange District. It was alright.

Along the way, you changed your mind and got off the train at the Federal District where you were greeted by the drizzle. The shoes you’d splurged on last week as a treat splashed against shallow puddles as you turned down a quieter street, a detour you didn’t usually take. It was quieter here. Dimmer. And you liked that. You didn’t usually come to the Federal District unless work demanded it, but today you thought it might be worth reacquainting yourself. Another annual event loomed in the horizon - a grand affair hosted by the Galactic Senate involving a coalition of organisations, including your own. Something about health and youth in conflict zones - worthy on paper, meaningless in execution. You’d written enough press releases to know these things rarely scratched the surface, let alone solved anything. You marvelled at how different the neighbourhood is compared to the other topside districts - always well-guarded and clean.

You spotted the venue where the event will be held and watched from under your umbrella. You could already picture it: the Senate representatives filing in, the Chancellor delivering the opening remarks, followed by yet another speech from your organisation’s representative. Then more speeches, probably a ribbon-cutting ceremony, some small side events for civilians to engage with the cause. Booths would line the promenade, showcasing what the organisations and the Senate claimed they were accomplishing. And, of course, the obligatory doorstop interviews.

“Excuse me,”

A sudden jolt rushed into you. You knew that tone. You’d forgotten where you were for a moment, and now, the realisation hit you. Loitering is probably prohibited here.

“Sorry... I—I was just looking at...” You trailed off, flailing your hand vaguely at the outdoor venue in front of the Senate Building ahead. “I’m from ICAF. You know, the Interstellar Children’s Aid Fund? There’s an event there in two weeks, and I was just—”

“It’s okay,” the man bowed his head and shook it with a quiet chuckle. “Calm down. I don’t have jurisdiction here.”

His tone was disarming, almost amused, and it let you take in his appearance for the first time. He was a clone trooper - you knew that armour anywhere. It wasn’t the same as the ones stationed locally, though. His was a combination of white and blue, looked worn with several tally marks on its vambrace. He also had blonde hair that was buzzed very short. Definitely not a rookie.

“But,” he jerked his head towards a nearby window, “it might be better if you didn’t loiter too long. My brother over there already thought you were a threat.”

He pointed with his palm towards another trooper, this one in red armour. The man stood near a small group, some in full armour, others in those familiar grey uniforms. They were gathered inside a modest diner, chatting over caf and food that steamed faintly against the glass. You could tell by their body language it was their usual haunt.

“Oh,” you managed, darting your eyes between the trooper in front of you and the group by the window. “A threat? Me?”

“I believe you. But Commander Fox over there sometimes thinks a kid standing too long in front of the Senate Building is trying to hack into the Republic’s server. Let alone an adult like you.” You blinked, unsure if he was joking. Either way, you let out a professional laugh - the kind you’d perfected after years of working alongside the bureaucracy of the government. Polite, restrained, and noncommittal.

“Sounds like a… cautious guy,” you said. The trooper’s lips curved into a wry smile, flicking his gaze briefly towards the diner where the red-armoured clone - Commander Fox, apparently - stood with his brothers. “Cautious is one word for it.” It struck you how out of place they looked here, despite the Federal District’s veneer of order. Soldiers in a city that didn’t feel like theirs, in a galaxy that seemed to stretch farther and farther from anything resembling peace.

“Must be exhausting,” you murmured, the thought slipping out before you could stop it. “Always having to look over your shoulder.” The rain filled the silence that followed, soft patters against the pavement and your umbrella. You waited for a reply, but the man beside you stayed quiet. That was it, you thought - you’d done it again. Crossed a line without realising it. You shifted uncomfortably, ready to apologise or maybe just walk away, when he broke the silence.

“It is,” he said at last. “But it’s not just him. It’s everyone, these days.”

You caught his profile as he gazed out into the street. His tired eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. “I guess we all do, in our own way,” you tried to meet him halfway. “Different reasons. Different things we’re afraid of.”

“You don’t look like someone who’s afraid of much.”

“You’d be surprised.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

Another lingering silence followed as though the conversation had reached an unspoken understanding. You didn’t press him for more, and he didn’t offer it.

“Anyway, you should pro–”

“Yes,” you finished for him. You followed him back across the street. The rain still fell steadily, painting the streets in muted reflections of street lamps and shopfront signs. Ahead of you, a row of businesses lined up - tapcafes with warm, inviting light spilling from their windows, a newsagent with a glowing sign advertising the latest headlines, and a pharmacy with shelves barely visible through the foggy window. Among them was the small diner he’d pointed to earlier. Through the window, you could still see the men inside in various states of relaxation, probably sharing war stories - or so you concluded in your head.

“Not exactly your standard war zone,” you murmured as you took in the scene.

He chuckled softly. “No. But sometimes you have to make peace where you can.”

You studied the way their armour contrasted the casualness of the place. “Do you get many moments like this?”

“Not often,” he admitted. “But when they come, you hold onto them. You take what you can get.”

One of the troopers inside had noticed the two of you and nudged another, who turned to look. You wondered what they thought of this. Of their brother standing in the rain, talking to a stranger who clearly didn’t belong in their world any more than they did in yours.

“Do you ever get tired?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Of always having to take what you can get? Of never having more?”

“All the time,” he let out a deep sigh. “But tired doesn’t mean done.” There was something grounding in the way he said it. No resignation, no, but a quiet resilience you didn’t think you had in yourself. Of having to keep moving through this wheel of life. “We slow down,” he added with a smile, “Better cool it off before we burn it out, yeah?”

“Coruscant by Bili J’ole?” you chuckled.

“Love that track,” he mirrored your laugh, warmth creeping to his tone. “But I guess it was written for non-clones like you. Slow down, don’t be too ambitious, take your comlink off the hook, and all.” He raised both hands as if to say he wasn’t part of that world.

“Well,” you said softly, cocking your chin towards the diner. “I guess this is where you head back to… not being done and not disappearing.”

He looked at you for a moment, and you thought he might say something more. But then he just smiled. A small, tired smile..

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for the chat.”

“Thanks for the company,” you offered a small smile of your own.

You lingered for a moment longer, watching as he turned and headed back to the diner, one of his brothers in orange and white armour opened the door for him and slung his arm around his shoulders. Then you turned too, just as the rain eased into a soft drizzle. You folded your umbrella, shaking off the droplets, and began mentally listing your unfinished to-do list for the day.

Neither of you asked for a name. Neither of you looked back.

[serenpedac]

Dismiss the invisible by giving it shape

“Some of what keeps us human is to be outside on a dark night, gazing up at stars and galaxies and simply wondering.”* 

This quote made me pause, because of how I feel the same, but also because it made me think about M. M, who sits on the rooftop at night, watching the stars. M, who would choose to be human again if given the option, even though they don’t remember their human life. I feel like M’s human life is not often discussed, which makes sense, as we know next to nothing about it. However, that doesn’t mean it’s meaningless for who they are now, as a vampire.

On an old version of this post, @/agentnatesewellwas wonderful enough to point out that there’s a Patreon special in which M says they feel like they can rely on the stars, because they are a constant, they stay the same. The night sky that they watch those nights at the warehouse is still the same they would have seen when they were human. Maybe M used to look up at the sky as a child, mesmerised by those twinkling stars. Night after night, they would learn to recognise more of the patterns to be found there. And among all those stars, there are the Pleiades, standing out as a bright star cluster.

Six of these stars can be easily seen with the naked eye, but in the myth of the Pleiades, there are seven sisters. The brightness of one of the stars is variable, so models suggest it was brighter many centuries ago, only to then "disappear", giving rise to this legend (side note: see here for an interesting article about how the similar legends re the Pleiades in different cultures may have a shared origin). Although it's not hard to spot several more than 6, some time to adjust your eyes is needed. 

I can imagine that after their turning, overwhelmed by their senses, they go outside to find whatever quiet they can. As they look up at the sky, that once-familiar cluster catches their eye and suddenly, they see that seventh star so very brightly! And not only the seventh, but so many more, their blue-ish light scattered, veiled by an interstellar dust cloud. Their attention captured by the spectacle, they can forget about the loud, fast, itching world for a while. It’s a moment of peace. 

Adding in @/serially-wayhaven's idea here that it might have been N who tells them later about the myth, because I love that so much. As N tells it, there’s this feeling of remembering that M has, as if they’ve heard the story before. Some subconscious part of them remembers having heard this story when they were a child. Even if they don’t remember it, their past has left an imprint on them.

It's often talked about how looking at the stars is looking into the past, but what isn't talked about is how the universe we see reflects its history. In the very early universe, there were small fluctuations in density, called primordial density fluctuations. These increased in size because of the inflation of the universe, and under the influence of gravity, dark matter accumulated into them. These dark matter "wells" also drew in "regular" (baryonic) matter that condensed into galaxies and stars. The structures we see in the universe on large scales, of galaxies being clustered together and being spread across filaments, are all the result of these initial density perturbations leaving their imprint.

The dark matter that can't be detected directly, but underlies the structure we see in visible matter, creates a neat parallel to how M doesn't remember their past, but it did leave its mark on them. It's still visible in them in some way, whether it's through their Greek accent or the fact they can play the saxophone (among other instruments). Much like we can deduce information about the underlying dark matter distribution in the universe from looking at visible matter, we might be able to piece together more about M's past by gathering those crumbs.

* David J. Eicher in Astronomy Magazine, issue August 2024 The title is from I'll Keep You Safe by Sleeping at Last

Other parts in this series: [ N ] [ A ] [ F ]

[caintooth]

how did u choose character names? I love thinking about names (:

ANOTHER FUN QUESTION YIPPIE

names are something i think soooo much about when writing and always have!! the process for each character is individual to them so here’s a quick rundown of our main couple:

Nikki Sousa and Phoenix Murphy’s names are connected! I wanted them to have a lot of strange coincidences in their lives, so I wanted names with similar sounds and/or possible nicknames. So, Nik- and -nix.

Nikki’s first name needed to be snappy, playful and fast, and androgynous but masc-leaning, short for something feminine, so I was just sort of going through ~non-binary names~ in my head. (Nikki came to me first, then I decided his full legal first name is Nikole.) It doesn’t have much meaning otherwise, tho it is apparently connected to the word “victory” which is great for his character lol, he’s very much an “if we ignore everything that’s gone wrong, I’ve had nothing but wins” guy!

For Nikki’s last name, I wanted something Spanish (he’s mixed, Brazilian and white) so I was researching last names and came across variations of Sousa. I liked the way it sounded with his first name a lot, and then found the performance artist Antonieta Sosa, whose work I feel is relevant to my story’s themes! For example, this quote regarding a piece called Pereza: “Sometimes it’s necessary to make a break in order to be able to continue moving forward. To break with prejudices, to break with habits, to break with the limitations that we impose on ourselves, or that fear imposes on us, to break away from our own limits. When we break, an energy is generated.” So that sealed it in, and Nikki’s last name is a bit of an homage to her now :)

For Phoenix, I wanted something longer, edgy but objectively pretty, and something equally masculine and feminine in sound, even if not traditionally used as such. I literally googled ‘cool goth names’ or something like that LOL because I knew that was going to be his vibe, and when I saw the name Phoenix I knew it was perfect- it fit so well with Nikki as previously mentioned, also has the more feminine nickname Phe available (which Nikki will start to call her as the story goes on), and has all of Phoenix’s character themes of rebirth + freedom + ‘taking flight’ + symbolism of fire wrapped up in it. Exactly what I needed, better than I could’ve imagined! For her last name, Murphy, I wanted something that fit the energy of the full name Nikki Sousa, like, I wanted them to sound like rival race car drivers lol. Murphy doesn’t hold as much intention as Sousa, though it does mean “sea warrior” in Irish apparently which is a cool coincidence, since the ocean / water will play an important symbolic role in the resolution of their story! Plus there seems to be a legendary figure with the name Murchadh (which Murphy comes from) who has some “bird of valor” imagery associated with him, I need to read more on that tho?! And if we reallllly squint: a reference to Murphy Cooper of Interstellar, and Randle Murphy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which are also thematically relevant medias, but those were realized after the fact.

I can also talk about some of my side character / supporting cast names if anyone is interested !!

[noitsbecky127]

rebecca watches ds9: the way of the warrior

and we’re on to season 4! time for worf to join the crew!

sisko is bald now, looking good

who are he and kira pursuing

oh it’s prolly a simulation

oh shit there’s a changeling on board???

you found it!

loving this in medias res beginning

WHY IS JULIAN INVOLVED IN THE HUNT HE IS A DOCTOR

i’m starting to think starfleet doesn’t know what a doctor is supposed to do

what if you were BRITISH and NEURODIVERGENT and BISEXUAL and a DOCTOR but you NEVER SEEMED TO PRACTICE ANY MEDICINE

ah ok it was a simulation after all. i was right the first time. never doubting myself again

or well, not a simulation, but a practice round

smart of them to be doing that

kira’s hair got fluffy!

why is quark’s still open? why has he not moved? surely there are better places to run a bar? places that won’t soon turn into the battleground of an interstellar war?

glad to see sisko and kasidy are still going strong!

sisko’s outfit is ATROCIOUS

why is 24th century fashion like this. is that how people dressed in the 90s. my parents are out or I’d ask them

nice hat sisko!

no one can ever have a nice date in star trek. it’s forbidden. the plot will always interrupt it

jadzia’s hair is looking a little different too i think! the station must have gotten a new barber post-s3 or smth

klingon ship is here! will worf be with them? actually he’s in starfleet so prolly not

is this a new intro???

i think it is!

also starring michael dorn as worf!!!

lieutenant-commander dax! good for her!

quark seems pretty unsettled about all the klingons in his bar. cannot blame him. last time he had klingons in the bar the station was nearly destroyed. and the time before that he accidentally became head of a klingon house

i don’t feel like the klingons are planning smth this ep but one can never be sure

SPECIAL GUEST STAR ANDREW ROBINSON AS GARAK LET’S FUCKIN GOOOOO

are blood tests gonna just be a part of every important conversation now

guess it’s the best changeling detection method they’ve got

i don’t think you’re gonna be ready for the jem’hadar

jadzia and kira are on a date in the holosuite. hopefully plot won’t interrupt the date this time

i would also feel silly in the holosuite. guess you get used to it

don’t worry kira it’s never too late to get an imagination

and jadzia will help! god they’re so in love

i know worf is gonna show up this ep and he and jadzia will fall in love and i know kira will eventually get with odo but i do not care. they are in love. you cannot convince me otherwise.

oh god what are the klingons planning. they look like they’re up to something.

odo made fake coffee to hang out with garak. trauma bonding is truly the key to all star trek friendships

glad to see garak hanging with someone other than julian! it’s good to have friends outside of your partner

so the obsidian order is just gone now? guess that’s what happens when the guy in charge of it dies

i think the klingons are about to start a fight

leave morn alone

of course garak speaks klingon. i’m not even surprised. idk if anything about this man could surprise me at this point

ah yes, another typical skill of simple tailors

why are the klingons beefing with him now. is it bc he sassed them

ok well fuck you guys

oh my god THIS IS WHERE THE CUTTING REMARKS QUOTE IS FROM. i fucking love star trek and i love that quote

he and julian never miss an opportunity to flirt

oh shit is kasidy ok

doesn’t sound like it!

hopefully she has enough plot armor by now to save her

ok the klingons probably won’t kill her. they can probably come to an agreement on this

i’ll be damned, a warning shot actually served its purpose!

“everyone is fine” why did kasidy say that so weirdly

is it just me or is she talking weird

making a mental note of that for if it comes back later

nothing can ever be simple with the klingons can it

oh ok so he’s gonna ask for worf

here he is! the man the myth the legend! i don’t really care about klingons but i do like worf

wait wtf happened to the enterprise. i don’t remember anything happening to her in tng. time to pause and google

oh it was destroyed in the movies. i did not watch those. should i watch those? i prolly won’t regardless but i’d still like to know if i should

“i doubt that this assignment will take very long” well apparently it’ll take at least four years!

prune juice!!!

good for you kira. knock out lancelot all you want. someone get my girl a holosuite program where she doesn’t have to experience comphet

quite a way to meet your future wife

jadzia sees worf and immediately starts the polyamory negotiations with kira

wonder what she said to him

oh lord time for a klingon fight

get their asses worf

aww he has a pic of alexander

so what the hell are gowron’s orders?

what is martok up to

I’m not sure whether to believe him or not

alright time to watch jadzia flirt with worf

i am not interested in this ship. i am open to letting the show change my mind but it’ll take a lot

ah, klingon singing

old klingon man. i cannot remember who he is. i don’t even know if i’m supposed to know. hopefully the narrative will remind me if i need to know

oh god what has worf learned

i’m guessing he’ll choose the federation’s side

cardassia had an offscreen revolution???

good for them! need that energy irl

i feel like the dominion didn’t have anything to do with it. the cardassians seem to have ample reason to overthrow their govt

looks like the klingons are gonna invade cardassia, or at least try to

ah right ig klingons wouldn’t like being at peace for too long

“we need a third option” and it’s just your doctor’s gay situationship

what the hell is going on

if the government has been overthrown then why hasn’t anyone killed dukat yet

was the plan just “indirectly tell garak stuff”

oh christ war with the klingons is the LAST thing you guys need rn

wonder whether gowron will make this better or worse

he’s very happy to see worf so probably better

yeah i think i just don’t care much about klingons

i’d seen the memes of gowron but i didn’t think he actually looked like that all the time. what is wrong with his eyes

worf is Brooding™️

well obviously smth in the next half hour or so is going to convince worf not to resign

quark you are not welcome in this conversation

worf: i’m quitting

sisko: nuh-uh

ah ok so dukat is a slimy motherfucker with no principles. no one is surprised by this

eventually sisko and kasidy will be able to have dinner together. someday.

awww smooch

ok you can stop kissing now

what the romulans don’t know won’t hurt them

well. so much for the civilian government.

should you guys really all be going to war right now? that feels like exactly what the dominion wants!

i would just let dukat die but what do i know

rip to that random yellowshirt

ok yeah ig blood draws are just gonna be standard procedure now

the defiant’s gonna need a fuckton of repairs after this

“i find this whole procedure offensive” “and i find you offensive” julian my beloved

i love how they never miss an opportunity to rag on dukat. they’ll work with him but they’re gonna torment him about it

isn’t kanar blue?

guess it comes in multiple colors

oh I’ve seen gifs of the root beer conversation

my dad saw sisko and didn’t recognize him at first lmao

quark you are CHOOSING to remain in the quasi-warzone

how the hell are they gonna avoid going to war with the klingons now

looks like the medical staff’s prepared for a mass casualty incident

i would like to hear a klingon opera about the slaying of a changeling, so long as that changeling isn’t odo

of course quark had a gun on him working in a kitchen

“i will KILL HIM!” “with what?” i love quark and odo’s banter so much

i love when garak is bitchy

dukat is ITCHING to call him a slur

wonder if they actually have 5k proton torpedos

guess it’s time to find out!

i don’t think diplomacy’s gonna work at this point

i bet someone’s translated everything said in klingon in star trek

that’s a fuckton of klingons boarding the station!

oh shit kira

it’s ok her plot armor will protect her

yes! sisko is saying what i was thinking! infighting is what the dominion wants!

and that seems to have gotten through!

guessing there’ll be plenty more issues with the klingons in the next four seasons though

alright so now sisko’s gonna convince worf to stick around

ok he convinced him to stay in starfleet and worf has decided the ds9 part

welcome to the ds9 cast worf! i don’t know how i feel about this or his incoming romance with jadzia but i will keep an open mind

[somedayillbepeterpan]

My laptop died on me (I guess, it didn’t like how many gifs I was trying to make) but good thing I was already in the process of buying a new one. I’m also currently in the middle of transitioning to a new job, and starting to play more music after work.

But my thoughts over Polin are non-stop. I still think about these dorks all the time

My brainrot has become manageable but S3 has become like those movies that are part of my soul (like Interstellar or Empire strikes back or Bridges to Madison County).

So, I still hope to put out these analyses:

The butterfly ball analysis— part 5 (the blocking and where Colin was when Pen was revealing herself as LW), Part 6 (the camera shots and which LW line was addressed to), part 7 (the metamorphosis of Colin and Pen— an emotional analysis), and part 8 (Conclusion and where we find everybody after this very powerful ball)

The running creative themes of Polin season

The progression of how Colin fell in love with Penelope

The book quotes complimenting the Polin scenes

And then hopefully also put out fanfics:

It started with a teasing glance (or how the yellow sheets ended up in Colin’s room)

Sunday teas at Bridgerton house

A double date fic inspired by Blake Lively and Ryan Reynold’s love story

And another version of my A Eulogy fanfic about Pen and Colin dying on the same day (from an interview that Nicola mentioned).

See how much these two invade my mind? Getting rid of my 2-year writer’s block meant a deluge of thoughts and I hope I can stop all the negativity I sometimes drown myself in so I can write all of this because it’s really helping me practice my writing and English (which is my 2nd language).

I’m forever here.

[dangerously-human]

I was tagged by @starspray for a first lines thingy.

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Realistically, I probably will blank on trying to tag that many people, alas. Coincidentally, my last ten updated works also happen to cover everything I've posted to AO3 so far in 2025, which I find quite satisfying.

Our Place in the Dirt (Interstellar): Somehow forgotten: you too were left behind.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother (Lockwood & Co): An unsteady pair they made, questing vertiginously from taxi to front hall.

Walk in Two Worlds (Dune): I know you walk in two worlds and are known by many names. / Tell me, what is your report, Dr. Kynes? (Including two because the first is a direct quote from canon.)

A Fractured Symmetry (Dune): Being married to Paul Atreides is somehow at once tedious and precarious.

Parthenogenesis (Lockwood & Co): She's her mother's daughter.

My Heart Walked into the World (Lockwood & Co): Lockwood, in George's opinion, was not nearly as difficult to read as he got credit for.

Shifting Ground (Stargate Atlantis): John’s hair is silky between Elizabeth’s fingers, satisfyingly just as imagined.

Chasing Shadows (Grishaverse): The creature flies silently through the trees.

In My Father's House Are Many Rooms (Lockwood & Co): The attic is cramped and drafty, and the warmest home Lucy Carlyle has ever known.

As Slanting Sun Illuminates (Little Women): These golden afternoons have become a delicious habit: Parisian parks, languid heat, and Amy March.

Tagging: @menina89, @ioannemos, @loubuttons, @synestheticwanderings, @coraclavia

[sgiandubh]

A book

In a sea of #silly and contentiously politicized Hollywood memoirs, Lynda Obst's Sleepless in Hollywood: Tales from the New Abnormal in the Movie Business is a glaring, very useful exception.

The woman knows her trade and she really has nothing to prove, after a very rich career as a cinema and TV producer, that took her from Flashdance to Sleepless in Seattle to Interstellar, one step (and sometimes even one flop) at a time.

Having just started to read it in earnest, I was pleasantly surprised to find perhaps the best explanation for ***'s insistence to promote BOMB as a viable project after OL is over. The roots of the problem are not limited to its particular situation (future merger/acquisition, post-strike context, etc.). They are much older and have everything to do with a business model that has been used since at least the early 2010's, first in the movie business and (more and more) now in TV productions.

You will forgive the long quote. It's worth it:

In other words, expect less and less quality content, in a business landscape looking more and more to milk an already captive audience of their hard-earned buck. And invest less and less in script and talent, precisely because the recipe for success is not unlike those three-ingredient cookies Tick-Tock is apparently so fond of.

The simple fact Disney was one of the main proponents and promoters of this (abysmal) business model is, of course, a coincidence. As is the very insistent use of the term 'tentpole', when directly referencing OL, in ***'s shareholder reports.

This confirms my prior analysis and I take no pride, nor joy in writing it. OL is (still is) ***'s strongest asset and main sale argument. I should only hope Season 8 will not completely bastardize what started as something that could really have reached for the stars. And this has nothing to do with S and C: they went above and beyond what was expected. Because magic is magic, even if you try to dim or mutilate it.