#but for that to work the audience would need some sort of reality check

[tea-cat-arts]

I started this on a plane ride on no sleep and finished a couple days later instead of sleeping. Anyways, here’s some thumbnails/storyboard for my rewrite of that last scene in EE

[snickerdoodlles]

one of my most formative fandom experiences was a comment i had gotten on a fic i wrote for a halloween themed fandom event.

this was for a manga/anime, so the fic was a general ghost story obviously set in Japan. the beginning of it involved a pizza delivery and while writing it, i had spent like 30 minutes just double checking tipping customs and the types of pizza they serve and even fell down a wikipedia rabbit hole looking up the history of pizza in Japan.

now, i just like the research part of writing, i do stuff like this because i have fun doing it. and while i was writing this particular fic, i had laughed at myself for my 30 minutes of googling that amounted to 2.5 offhand lines in a 3500 word fic. i didn't think anyone would care about or even notice those particular details except for me, especially since none of them were relevant to the ghost part of this ghost story.

except, when i had sent this fic to a Japanese friend, the first thing she said to me about it was "OH MY GOD YOU GOT THE PIZZA RIGHT"

and that was the moment when it had really clicked for me. what had just been 30 minutes of effort on my part had become a moment of relief for her. my friend was far more used to reading ethnocentric fic that ranged from unintentional ignorance to outright superiority against part of her culture (the original story's culture no less). and even with the "innocent" ignorance (heavy quotes on that) far outstripping any outright maliciousness, that's still so many people saying her culture was not worth learning about. the pizza in my story was a small detail, but i had cared enough to put in some effort to check it. and for her, coming from a fic experience where her norm was bracing for hundreds of inaccuracies born of ignorance, especially at that time after a flood of stories centered around "Halloween as a cultural holiday in the US" premises instead of the "Halloween is a commercial gimmick in Japan" reality, seeing someone put in some effort even for minor story details meant something to her.

this also throws me back to the discourse that arose in a french show fandom a few years ago because there were a lot of fic authors that wrote 'dollars' instead of 'euros'-- but when people brought this up as a prevalent issue across the fandom but an easy one to fic/watch out for, many of these writers instead pushed back to complain that they were posting stories for free and it wasn't that big of a deal. which really upset a lot of people, but then this upset was met with a new wave of indignation that people needed to 'get over it' because they're writing fic ~just as a hobby~. but, even if 'dollars' instead of 'euros' wasn't a big deal, by digging in their heels about the issue, they were saying "your culture isn't worth even five minutes of my time or effort."

I've been thinking about these things lately because the ethnocentrism in Thai drama fandoms is...staggering. just over the turn of the year, there were waves of Christmas fic for Buddhist characters. and just. Christmas in Thailand is a tourist thing at best. sometimes a pop culture gimmick for international audiences or maybe an offhand high school thing to blow off steam between midterms. it's not a cultural thing. and even if a character is a part of the Christian minority, a Christian Thai's holiday customs and culture are going to be vastly different than a Christian's customs in the Americas or Europe. and while the Christmas fic is at least finished for now, I'm already bracing myself for the Easter fic wave that also seems to pop up for Thai dramas. it's so frustrating to see this sort of cultural overwrite all the time, especially since most Thai drama holiday works aren't about Thai holidays.

but the thing that really got me bristling about all of this again was i saw a post the other day where op said that they weren't going to write [thai drama] fic because they don't know much about thailand.

what an absolutely appalling statement to make.

google is right there. wikipedia is free. you don't even have to leave tumblr or AO3 to learn more because there are Thai natives in fandom who write essays to explain common elements of their culture. hell, even just watching these Thai stories and considering the values and messages imparted by the narrative framework and story lens tells you something about that culture. the audacity to look at a culture different from your own and say "this is not worth my effort or time to learn anything more about," are you kidding me?!?

the messages and values of a story tell you about the writer's values, which are going to carry their cultural values, beliefs, and biases. Thai culture is going to be heavily relevant to any Thai story, even the ones that aren't explicitly about Thai culture/customs/etc. (hell, Thai bl/gl as a genre alone-- just the fact that queer Thai writers are making these stories in Thailand's current political climate is highly political, even the "fluffy" ones that don't seem to make outright political statements.) to approach any story like it was made in a vacuum is to remove the writer(s)' culture and values and to overwrite them with your own.

especially because this is fandom. these are the lowest stakes to learn! it sucks to see people say things like "but i'm scared i'll get something wrong" and hold up that fear as a shield to justify their ignorance. no one's expecting anyone to get every detail right, especially not for a culture that isn't theirs, just make an effort to learn something new about it. pick out something that caught your eye as different to learn more about and see where it leads you.

and for the record--making a mistake trying to broaden your horizons is a far, far better thing to do than to superimpose your culture on everyone else's because you're scared to confront your ignorance.

edit: check out this reblog thanks

[cchickki]

Surprise! ❤️

another request from the lovely @chrissymodi-frost, sorry it took so long again! this one is short, but i'm thinking about writing a little sequel to it!

summary: Today isn't going your way at all. Miguel attempts to make your day better by bringing you your favorite food, but instead of being a surprise treat for you it makes you sick instead. Your turbulent mood swings and nausea can only mean one thing…

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 1.5k

rating: E / general audiences, no specific warnings (other than descriptions of nausea/vomiting), surprise pregnancy trope, domestic fluff, etc.

also available to read on ao3!

Part ii: (x)

The light shining through the curtains of your bedroom stirred you awake. With a groan, you shove the pillow over your eyes, suddenly and irrationally irritated by the sun’s very existence. You tossed and turned, doing your best to avoid the sun’s annoying light. You weren’t able to lull yourself back to sleep no matter how hard you tried. You kicked the covers off of your body, sitting up and tossing your pillow to the side. 

Waking up on the wrong side of the bed was an understatement, you were absolutely on edge today.

You stomped out of the room, making your way in blind-irritence to the kitchen. Your eyes hadn’t even fully adjusted yet, leaving you to stumble around you and Miguel’s shared apartment. You craved caffeine, hoping that making yourself a cup of coffee would offer you some sort of relief. As you made your way to the kitchen, your eyes snagged on a post-it note left on the fridge by Miguel. 

Cielo,

Went out for a bit to run some errands, let me know if you need anything.

I’ll be back soon,

Miguel

“Hmph,” you grunted, bypassing the note and opening the fridge to grope around for the creamer. 

Sometimes you really hated it when Miguel didn’t wake you up to run errands with him. Maybe you wanted to go with him, knowing the errands would lead to a trip to one of your favorite stores, and just maybe you would be able to stop into a coffee shop and order something. But nooo instead you were stuck making your own coffee at home, that no matter what you put into it never tasted as good as when a barista makes it.

The coffee machine took its time, hissing as it heated up the water and poured into the coffee pot. You rubbed your eyes, willing for the damn machine to go faster. You checked the time from the clock on the stove.

11:24am… You think to yourself as you read the time. 

It was your day off, you definitely could’ve used some more sleep since you didn’t get to bed until nearly six in the morning. You knew your mood was off, wondering if sleep would’ve aided in waking up feeling less piqued since the moment you opened your eyes. But with your moodiness running through your mind and working your nerves, you brushed the ‘what ifs’ aside, and poured yourself a cup of coffee, adding what you wanted to it. 

You anticipated that first sip, waiting to savor the warmth that would spread throughout your body. Instead you are met with the overwhelming taste of bitterness, and you nearly burn your tongue because of how hot the coffee is. You quickly place your mug down on the kitchen counter, scrunching up your face as your taste buds beg for mercy. Of course the coffee would taste bad today, of all days the universe wanted to keep testing your patience in the first fifteen minutes of rolling out of bed.

“Oh- that’s foul…” you wheezed, dumping the coffee out into the sink. 

You dropped your mug into the sink, a little harsher than you meant to. The mug clanged against the stainless steel, for a moment you wondered if you broke it. You inspected the mug, lifting it gingerly in your hands, being sure the ceramic wasn’t cracked. It seemed fully intact. Well, at least you were spared that particular frustration.

You plop yourself down on the couch and begin to channel surf. Informercials, soap operas, and talk shows, and trashy reality tv is inescapable no matter how many channels you flip through. You settle on a specific gossip/talk show program, where the host talks about other celebrities and tends to get a very messy reaction from their audience. It’s not really what you’re in the mood for, but it’s amusing. 

Miguel unlocks the apartment door and enters, greeting you as he closes the door behind him. He has plastic bags in his hands, the scent of hot spiced food filled the apartment. You tend to find the smell appetizing, but for some reason it makes your stomach churn in queasiness. He places the food on the counter, expecting you to pad over and immediately start going through what he’s brought home, but you remain on the couch.

“Hey, I brought you home something.” Miguel calls from the kitchen, studying your frame as you keep your eyes forcefully glued to the television. “It’s your favorite.” He adds with emphasis, now going through the kitchen cabinets to grab some plates and blows.

You sigh, swallowing down your nausea. You make your way to the kitchen, giving your lover a wry smile. To be honest your moodiness is still at an all time high, still stung that Miguel left you to run errands. He circles the kitchen table, planting a kiss on your forehead and you feel yourself melt into it instantly. He had a way of bringing peace and relaxing you, no matter how volatile you were feeling. 

“You okay?” He questioned, cocking an eyebrow as he took in your disheveled appearance and slightly waned expression. 

“Why didn’t you invite me along?” You mutter, staring up at him. 

He smiled down at you, reaching out and stroking your cheek with his thumb. You soften again, the muscles in your face relaxing.

“You seemed like you needed the sleep, cielo.” He replied.

You crossed your arms, displaying your physical frustration, but it was mostly feigned at this point. You jut out your lip in a pout, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Well, I still wanted to come…” 

Miguel puts his hands up in playful defense.

“Okay, next time I’ll be sure to wake you from your peaceful slumber and drag you along.” 

You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm, but couldn’t help but crack a smile. He always had a way of disarming you. You finally decided to go through the plastic bags full of take out boxes on the kitchen table. You picked one up, noting how hot the bottom of the Styrofoam box was (your poor fingers). You place it on the kitchen table, and open it up. You’re greeted with your favorite meal and a huge waft of steam erupts from the box, making your eyes squint. Spicy curry chicken with basmati rice, something that you’re almost always in the mood for and usually makes your mouth water. For some reason the sight of it doesn’t appear as appetizing to you, and the smell is absolutely assaulting your senses.

“I know it’s kind of early for spicy food, but these past few days you seemed like you needed the boost.” Miguel interjected, vaguely watching you stare down at the food as he empties the rest of the bags.

The pit of your stomach churns uncomfortably, you can feel the sickeningly horrible anticipation of bile raising in your throat. You slap your hand over your mouth, unable to contain the nausea any longer. You dash to the bathroom, Miguel calls after you, confused as he follows you. You throw up into the toilet.

“Whoa, are you okay?!” Miguel exclaims, rushing over to you so he can pull your hair back from your face. 

You groan in response. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, standing up wobbly as Miguel helps you. You hobble over to the bathroom sink, rinsing your mouth out as he rubs your back, waiting for an answer.

“Was there something wrong with the food?” He asks, concerned.

You shake your head, trying to catch your breath and slow down your labored breathing. 

Between the whip-lash and drastic differences of your mood swings and strange appetite this past week, a sinking and sudden epiphany comes to you. Your cravings have also been somewhat off lately. Just yesterday you asked Miguel to make you a bowl of SpaghettiOs with a side of cut dill pickles. He didn’t question you outwardly, but you could see the quiet judgment as he watched you consume the meal with such vigor it was like you hadn’t eaten in days. 

You stare up at Miguel, clearly worried as he peers down at you, still waiting on you to speak. 

“I think… I think I’m pregnant…” you finally manage to say.

Miguel’s eyes widen, his gaze averting from yours as his eyes dart around the bathroom. He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks glowing scarlet as the realization of your words processes. He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him.

“I don’t think it’s that shocking, Miggy.” You deadpan, trying to make light of the situation. You give him a lopsided smile, unsure how to properly react.

Your answer grounds him, bringing him back to reality. He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you into a tight hug. He holds you, stroking your back, a breathless chuckle exiting his lips. The sound of his laughter calms you, making the anxiousness you felt a minute before ease. He pulls you away, grasping your shoulders as he stares down at you, a wide smile stretching across his face. You return his smile, unable to deny how his giddiness is contagious. 

“We’re going to be parents…” he states, his voice trailing off.

You laugh, “I need to take a pregnancy test first to confirm it.”

“Well, let’s go get you one.”

[levok]

I mean, idk how easy it would be to buy the basis of latam food in a non-capital city in Sweden? A colleague from Columbia told me the food there is very similar to where I live, in the south of Brazil, and here we eat a lot of red meat, rice, beans, and the fruit must be different or super expensive. I would understand Linda having to adapt the food.

And I guess I see in them a first generation family in a completely different country. But like, their heritage hasn’t really been made a ✨plot point✨ - it’s just sort of there. I would need to see more of Linda’s dynamic with parents that aren’t so far out of her reality (filthy rich) to be able to vibe-check. Although I gotta say that she wouldn’t let any guests out of her house without having eaten something. She WOULD make Wilhelm sit down and eat dinner in s1 😂😂 Unless she’s been tipped off about the cultural differences and adapted. But my mamma WILL offer you at least three options of food and drinks as soon as you step foot inside, and you will have to accept something or she’ll be sad.

Also, maybe it’s because of how their family dynamic developed with the Micke situation and Simon’s parentification, and obviously there’s a huge variety of latam families, but Linda is *very* lenient for a latam matriarch. I don’t care how much she works and maybe isn’t there. It’s hard for all the shit her children pull to fly that smoothly here. Her son spent the night out without warning? Omg he would be in so much trouble for that. There were some times I’d frown at the screen and wait for her to go feral, and then she just… didn’t.

Idk, it turned into a ramble, but in summary: I can see how she would have adapted to some of the culture by living in Sweden for so long, and trauma might play into it, but Linda isn’t the stereotypical latam mum. It’s fine! It’s okay to stray from the stereotype, especially if you’re not gonna make it part of the plot and explore it, but there are some huh??? moments that make it clear she wasn’t written by someone with a lot of latam knowledge. It’s really fine, I’m not watching a Swedish show for my representation. Nothing was offensive either. I got my telenovelas and my Brazilian series 😂😂

Thanks for chiming in with your long read 😅 I’m also not the one to speak on how much and how little these things matters for the audience.

I just think you as a white creator have a responsibility, when you choose to make poc characters. It’s so easy to just white wash them all, but claim you have representation bc they have another skin color.

[jechristine]

Have loved that Marty quote ever since I read it and it's really applicable to the latest 'drama'. I'd prefer a world where there was no cumulative 'score' or aggregate so that maybe people would legitimately read these reviews instead of just looking at a number and taking away conclusions and judgements that might not be close to reality.

Film criticism has always been interesting to me, and growing up analyzing literature critically was always a good time and made me a better thinker. Film criticism by some is moving into film roasting for clicks and attempting to write the best snappy, scathing one liners that'll make the headline enough to tell a reader what to think. I really love reviewers who take their time in explaining what didn't work for them and what did.

Also I'm in my early 30's so I vaguely remember what it was like to grow up without cell phones and while there's a lot of benefits to them, I think having these social media sites right at our fingertips does so so much to discourage having analytical and critical thought. And it's very depressing sometimes, and the issue goes way beyond fandom things and into the way we take in our news and current events.

Back to this from yesterday—

Thanks, Anon! I agree with you. I like to read a good review—one that’s nuanced but also one that places the film/series in context of media history.

I do think Rotten Tomatoes is a response to a “crisis in authority,” whereby the tastes and opinions of a few elite gatekeepers were supplanted over the last ~25 years by millions of voices with access to a global public square of sorts. Instead of reading one or two reviews in publications that we’ve subscribed to and that get delivered to our doors, and maybe chatting with some friends, we have access to dozens of virtual publications and hundreds (thousands?) of non published opinions online.

The simplest read is that there are just so many things to watch and so many reviews to read, and just a few hours in the day, so we need someone/thing to help us navigate it all. One way is when a critic has made herself stand out by getting the most traction on, like, Twitter (ie the snappy one-liners that you’re talking about). Some of us always check our favorite critics or just know what we like, but many of us rely on aggregate reviews.

But I tend to see anything that’s judging cultural value, like a review aggregator, to be more complex than that. How to make sense of all the product that’s out there? Despite endless calls to “judge for yourself,” I think it’s clear that most people want their tastes and opinions to be explained to them, and I think that’s because “taste” is more about fitting in somewhere—distinguishing your in-group from others—than it’s about individualism.

Anyhow, Rotten Tomatoes is an extremely crude way of telling us what’s liked by “top critics” (ie the old gatekeepers), “all critics,” and “audiences.” In addition to helping us make quick choices, that three-tier ranking system give us tools to say a lot about ourselves depending on where we choose to align or from where we choose to depart.

[gladiolidiaries]

Sidemen are so interesting in comparison to dream team. It just shows a big difference. Dteam blew up really fast from making fun content with their friends and sidemen were all cc’s who were making content for a long time before becoming sidemen and becoming really popular.

I feel like it would’ve really benefited dteam to have became popular slower to make them really feel like content creation was a job and not just woah one stream makes lots of money this is great. I see tiktoks about how sidemen work and while they are genuine friends they very much see eachother as coworkers as well. And they have a really good system for holding eachother accountable, which is why i think they’ve managed to stay consistently popular for so long.

Ksi might be the most popular but he doesn’t put the most work in it’s more evenly spread and then whatever they want to do on their own. Dream probably felt like he was carrying the load of dream team, as he was the creative one and pushed for productivity so he probably didn’t want to make it a ‘thing’ like sidemen where their main content and priority had to be together. Unfortunately for dream the reason they blew up and such was because of dream team. People loved the friendships especially dnf, so now his two best friends who were just coming along for the ride were integral parts of their content.

That’s where i think the big difference is, all of the sidemen made content on their own first and were able to get by like that, some more successfully then others.

I don’t think the sidemen system would necessarily work for dream team because A. dream carries most of the creativity and B. there’s a chance it could damage their friendship. I think their best option is to get a proper third party, who’s not just manager ken, who will properly talk with them for their goals as a GROUP, and work out how to do them and actually make them follow through and have some sort of punishment system otherwise

this is interesting, honestly i never watched sidemen so i can't add much here. but i also wish that they became popular a little slower and i think they all (even dream) need some humbling. and need a reality check that their audiences isn't what it used to be and maybe they should try to understand why so many people are actively leaving

[thomascarterpd]

Conversion Copywriting Tips for SMEs

As someone who is incredibly susceptible to well-written copy, I am sharing some of my top conversion copywriting tips.

I cannot tell you the amount of email lists I have signed up to, free trials I am on, and how many random companies I follow on Instagram. As a copywriter myself, you would think I would know better, but the reality is that conversion copy works really, really well. And frankly if that isn’t a testament to why SMEs need to invest in it then I don’t know what is.

Conversion copy is the mathematics of copywriting, and requires you to stretch your left brain. I like to think of conversion copy like an equation; audience demographic + needs and pain points = call to action. Once again, I’m a copywriter, I literally don’t understand anything about maths — but you get the picture.

What I’m really trying to say is that conversion copywriting is simple, effective, and to the point. It’s also got a great ROI, so it is an excellent thing to invest in as an SME. Once you understand how it works, it isn’t too hard to make it work for yourself. But I’m warning you now; understanding it in no way stops you from being a victim to it.

Tip #1: Work Backwards

Before embarking on your conversion copy customer journey, you need to strongly consider where you want your reader to end up.

It’s about more than just I want heaps of web traffic — how much web traffic, what quality of web traffic, who do you want visiting your site. All of these things are essential to know how you will structure your messaging.

So, for example, say you are running an event and you need to sell tickets. Well, okay, like, that’s obvious. But who do you want at your event, how many tickets do you have, what are you offering these people, what do they want?

Tip #2: Check Your Pain Points

I feel like I say this everytime I write a blog about copywriting tips, but knowing who your audience is and what their pain points are is essential to successful conversion copy.

I find a good way to think about this is like if I were trying to convince different people in my life to go to an event with me. Think about all the things that people in your social circle like and how you would adjust your sales pitch to them. Say if it was for your parents, you might talk about how reputable and sophisticated the event is. But if it was for your friends in their 20’s you might be more inclined to talk about all the fun parties and how great the value is.

But you only get to choose one piece of conversion copy, so you need to pick a specific audience and write to their pain points. If your audience is parents and families, you will need to let them know how your event is family-friendly and great for kids.

Keep your target audience in mind at all times and you’ll be sorted.

Read the full article here:- https://bekonstructivemarketing.com.au/copywriting/conversion-copywriting-tips-for-smes/

#BeKonstructive #Brisbanecopywriting #Brisbanecopywriters

[kateliot4ever]

The Way Home’ EPs on White Witch’s Identity, Kat & Elliot, and More Season 1 Finale Revelations

After that ending, let’s just say this: It’s a good thing The Way Home is coming back for a second season.

The Season 1 finale saw Kat (Chyler Leigh) attend her dad’s funeral then, in the final moments in the present, realize her younger brother Jacob time-traveled via the pond! And just after her mom Del (Andie MacDowell) heard her say she knew what happened to him, the finale took us back to that 1814 scene that opened the series, and we learned it was Kat who’d been running through the woods in white. “I’ll be back, Jacob, I promise,” she said before jumping in the pond.

Executive producers Heather Conkie, Alexandra Clarke, and Marly Reed break down the finale and tease what’s ahead.

I’m assuming the plan was always to bookend the season with that 1814 scene.

Alexandra Clarke: Yes, absolutely.

Did you always know that was going to be Kat? Did you consider anyone else?

Marly Reed: No, it was always Kat.

We know that Kat’s going back to 1814, and we’ll presumably see what leads to that moment in Season 2, but since it’s said that the pond sends people where they need to go, it’s not like she would have to jump around in time, right? Because the pond would send her there.

Clarke: When we first came up with this concept — Marly was the one that brought this incredible idea to the table — and as we were starting to develop out this first season, the first thing we had to do was create these rules for the pond. The minute you don’t have that structure, you don’t have that order, you lose your audience with a show like this because time travel has to have rules in order to even be somewhat believable. And so yes, going into Season 2, we’re leaning heavily into those rules. We’re not going to break them. So the pond does only take you where you need to go.

It’s not necessarily ever the most straightforward of journeys, but the pond has its reasons, is usually the way we sort of explain that. It provides you with a journey. It doesn’t provide you with the answer right away, but if you actually look at the trips that our characters do take, you do realize that each one of those trips informed them in some way about the current status of the present, about the other characters within their world. There was always a reason for taking them to those moments even if in the moment it doesn’t really make sense to the character. Every visit had a reason.

But could there be legs to the journey, like to one time to another time, then back to the present?

Heather Conkie: I think it’s enough to say that we’re not always going to stick with one time and the present.

Clarke: The other massive thing is there’s always going to be that peeling of an onion of a mystery. Nothing is straightforward. We are a show [with] twists and turns and unexpected surprises and shocks. That’s going to remain consistent through Season 2, for sure.

How much of what happened to Jacob and Colton (Jefferson Brown) did you know from the beginning? The entire story or just where you wanted to end up in Season 1?

Conkie: We had to achieve the signposts all the way through of where we knew we had to be to get to where we wanted to end up, and then some of the parts of the story just fell apart. Peeling the onion made us realize at the writing stage that we had to go back and amend certain things in the earlier episodes to make that work really, really well. But for the most part, we really did have our tent poles, and we also had these intermediate goals, especially for the arcs of the characters.

Clarke: We always knew the midpoint carnival episode would be exactly where it was. That’s when things would really turn for the first time for our audience and the mood would shift. Up until then it was a bit of a nostalgic romp, which is fantastic and what we wanted to show. Episode 6 is where that it hits a bit of a reality check and we’re dealing with an eight-year-old going missing, and from then on the past doesn’t look as golden and glory days as it used to. We knew that by the end we would be where we were, as much as maybe the audience hates us for it.

Conkie: What we say in the room is that the show began with time traveling being a gift, and it went all the way through Episode 6 and on to become a curse. Hopefully we reverse that in Season 2.

I kept watching Del all season for signs that she might know what’s going on, must suspect, or recognize Alice, then we got that scene with the two of them at the pond. I’m still on the fence about that. So what can you say?

Clarke: We can say that Del has a lot of secrets of her own. It’s been really fun and great to see all the theories. … That means we’ve done our job because we’re letting people theorize and maybe we’re answering one thing, but that answer very similarly to real life opens up a heck of a lot more questions. That’s the MO of this show.

Reed: With both Del and Colton, there’s a lot more story to tell there. And we do have a plan for future seasons to tell more of both of their stories.

But it does seem like Kat and Alice (Sadie Laflamme-Snow) are going to have to tell Del everything, after that final scene in the present. What can you say about that conversation to come and what the family dynamics will be like? There has to be a shift after everything that’s happened.

Clarke: I think ahead of that moment is an equally important one at the table where Del does have a moment of saying, “You’ve opened up my world, you’ve allowed me to love again.” She did go to the grief support group and has realized maybe that’s not the road she wants to take herself. She’s a very private person, but the fact that she’s opening herself up even to her family is such a massive step by the end of first season. We’ve seen it coming with her relationship with Alice, but now she’s willing to open herself up to a relationship with Kat. I think that scene is key for Del. What is going to launch her into a second season is this allowance of letting people in and acknowledging hurt and acknowledging grief and acknowledging mistakes. And yes, then we have this revelatory statement from Kat that is going to send us into our second season. But no matter what Del gets after that, at the start of next season, what we need to focus on is where she’s at from a personal standpoint, when this information or not comes, if that make sense.

Conkie: Clear as mud.

We have to talk about Kat and Elliot (Evan Williams) because great first kiss. What did you want to do with that relationship throughout the season to lead up to that, then Elliot’s decision in the finale to start a new chapter?

Conkie: Yeah, it was a slow burn for sure.

Reed: We wanted a slow burn, but not such a slow burn that it was like three seasons in before [the kiss].

Clarke: That would just be cruel.

Conkie: One of my favorite moments is when they’re on their walk by the waterfront in episode 7 when he says, “I’ve waited so long to kiss you and when I do…”

Clarke: Takes off the glasses and everything!

Conkie: Evan is so wonderful at those moments that you totally expect something and then he turns it on a dime and plays it perfectly.

Clarke: Honestly, we were all so in awe of that kiss. It turned out even better than we all thought it would. Marly was on set that day and to get the sun setting…

Reed: The most stressful day of my life!

Clarke: Chyler and Evan are such incredible actors and they did really become really good friends during shooting. I think everyone was waiting for that moment and just ready for it, and it was so amazing when it actually went off without a hitch because so few things actually do work out when you’re filming things. That one just felt very destined and kismet-y that it actually did happen and was perfect. It was only, what, two takes, was that right?

Reed: Two takes was all we had time for before we lost the light. I think we always wanted that moment to be Kat initiating it because of the fact that Elliot has loved her for so long. I think it was important that when they finally did get together, it was Kat chasing him, it was Kat that made that step after Elliot loving her his entire life.

Clarke: Also it says a lot about Elliot. [He] is probably, if you actually think about it, one of the more interesting characters in this show because he doesn’t time travel, but he knows about time travel and it has affected him very personally from the year ‘99 through to the year 2023. He is the gatekeeper and he’s also the knower of all secrets.

And speaking to his choice that he makes at the end of Episode 10, he’s been frozen in time a little bit by these very offhanded, off the cuff comments that Alice makes in Episode 2 of, “Well, no, you’re just my science teacher, dude, you’re not my dad.” And then later, “No, my mom and my dad are getting divorced.” He has been told his future in those moments and he’s trapped as a result until it’s done, and that’s where he’s coming from in that moment that’s so heartbreaking.

We initially wanted the audience to see that his journey was a journey to Kat — he’s waited all these years to finally have his chance — but really in the end, if he actually thinks about it, it’s a journey to freedom. It’s a journey to being back in the driver’s seat of his own life, making choices that haven’t been predicted to him at a young age. He has to live beyond that and whether that takes him back to Kat or not is up to him and her. But there’s a freedom there that he hasn’t had since he was 16 years old.

So who is Elliot with that freedom?

Clarke: That’s a good question. We’ll find out. He’s always going to be Elliot and I think he’s a very introspective, thoughtful person. Maybe he thinks [freedom] might be one way and maybe it isn’t, or vice versa. Or maybe he’s going to love it. Obviously we’ll go there in Season 2. But it’s been fun to talk about in the writers’ room what that freedom looks like for Elliot.

Reed: He’s going to try some things and see if they work out for him.

The Way Home, Season 2, TBA, Hallmark Channel

[aminiatureworld]

Spotlight

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,707

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Modern AU in which the reader’s s/o is famous.

Author’s Note: My first crack at a modern AU and I enjoyed it immensely! My personal media of choice definitely came through in this prompt. I would now kill for Albedo to read Shakespeare. Also streamer Kazuha is an inspired idea, thank you anon for that! Not to mention musician Xiao, truly chef’s kiss.

Albedo

Albedo was a stage actor, both by education and by trade. Starting in high school he began in local productions, before entering into the Mondstadt Theateracademie. After appearing as Estragon in a filmed version of Waiting for Godot, he began to be scouted for various television miniseries, eventually becoming a well-respected film actor.

You arrived somewhere in the middle of his career. Working as a costume assistant at the Academie you had quickly fallen for the inquisitive and deceptively intense soul that exuded every color of emotion onstage, from raging anger to soft sorrow, before stepping into the wings and resuming an aura of utter calm. He had captivated you, both as an actor and as a human being; and when you learned that he had also become slightly infatuated with you, well, it was hard not to feel like you had stepped into a wonderful play, or perhaps simply a wonderful play had been brought to life.

The switch from theatre to screen was certainly a jarring one for both of you. When the first film contract was offered Albedo had stared at it for a long time, rereading it over and over again as the coffee in front of him quickly turned cold.

“Is there something wrong with the contract?” You had asked.

“No, it’s not that. It’s only…”

“Only?”

“Only on stage there is a single audience. You can feel their reactions, can measure their response. There is nothing nebulous about the people around you. But on film you cannot do that. You cannot adjust for time of day, or whether it’s a weekend or a Friday performance. You must let your lines out and hope that they land without even being able to calculate it.”

“It’s not a science experiment my darling,” you had teased.

“Maybe not,” Albedo admitted. Still he continued to read and reread, and it was only until the next afternoon that he had told you his answer.

Still, you had to admit that he made a fantastic actor. The naturally inward part of your partner’s personality, the part that always seemed to jump out the moment he left the stage, worked well to balance with the camera’s need for subtlety, unlike the projection required for stage plays. It was little surprise then that he should grow so popular. Despite all the worries about measuring audience response, there was no doubting the success of Albedo’s acting career.

Being a naturally withdrawn person Albedo mostly stayed off of social media. He had one private Instagram for friends – he didn’t post anything; one private Facebook for family – the only picture was one of you two in the mountains next to a particularly weird looking rock; and WhatsApp – which could barely be counted. Thus when he started blowing up on Twitter – a platform you had a mostly unused account on – the reaction was mostly one of “why are they talking about me?”

Not that Albedo minded fan enthusiasm, indeed when people started showing up in droves at the stage door for him he was always careful to thank everyone collectively and talk to as many people as possible, it just sort of confused him that so many people should take a vested interest in the actor and not just the character.

“It’s because they want to show you how wonderful they think your performances are,” you’d explained.

“I don’t have Twitter,” Albedo deadpanned.

Despite his protests though you sometimes caught him scrolling on your account, face slightly red at all the positive attention. His habit of internal self-deprecation had never truly gone away. That fact became slightly unfortunate in the face of hate comments. It was hard for Albedo not to take things personally. If someone said his acting was shit then you would catch Albedo reading the same line over and over again, as if to achieve mathematical perfection. It was a difficult urge to fight, and you were always careful to give Albedo plenty of reassurance when these things popped up, as well as surreptitiously blocking the trolls that wandered their way onto your dash.

This habit to take things at face value did not apply when you entered the mix. As far as Albedo was concerned you were his partner and no amount of complaining online would make him second guess that or second guess your worth. Even if you thought that you had a better hold on social media assholerly than he did Albedo would still make sure that for every hate comment that floated your way there were at least three compliments on his part. Mentioning you off-handedly in press interviews, saying that he had to go home to his partner, leaving small sketches on post-it notes scattered throughout your apartment, there were no lengths that Albedo wouldn’t go to assure you. And, if you had to admit, these things truly did make you feel better on the days when the small part of your brain said that this wasn’t mindless social media harassment.

Being an actor Albedo had an incredibly fine-tuned sense of the way that people responded to emotions, as if he were performing some grand sort of scientific experiment to see how many people he could sway with his gift. As of such he was always careful that, regardless of his success, things between you were never upturned. You were with him before he was really famous, and you would be there during and after. Albedo loved you deeply; though he often said that he hated romance plays for how sappy they were in his mind your relationship was the one, glowing exception – regardless of the other happy couples in the world. Though it was slightly idealistic, it was the kind of intensity that comprised Albedo’s personality, was the thing that had garnered him so much success.

Albedo loved you deeply, and no amount of surprise movie contracts would change that.

 Kazuha

You had to admit that when you had met Kazuha you had no idea about his double life as a streamer. He was merely one of the many singers that came and went to the recording studios, all people eager to unleash their talent on the world. But unlike the rest of them, Kazuha could make you laugh.

Perhaps then it was unsurprising that Kazuha should be a popular streamer. Though his often florid talking style might seem on paper like it would be too grating for streaming, in reality his soft cadence combined with a dry sense of humor made him wildly popular. He rarely lost his temper, making him palatable to those who wanted to have a fun time without blowing their ears out, and when he did lose it his hyper-specific, often nonsensical insults were the stuff of memes. No, in retrospect it was not all that surprising that Kazuha was a beloved streamer.

At heart though, Kazuha had told you over coffee, the enthusiastic and earnest internet sensation was a poet.

“When you’ve had a life as dissonant as mine, how can you not be?” He’d joked. And indeed perhaps he was right, for Kazuha was as wonderful a poet as you had ever read. He was born to be a writer, you had told him.

You were also an aspiring singer, as well as a friend of the studio owner where you did your recordings. As such you had made it a habit to help around the studio when you weren’t also working or studying. As you and Kazuha were both students with intense side jobs, the good natured complaining of overworked students also made their way into you rapport, a friendship that grew day-by-day. Eventually it sprouted into love.

Though you knew that Kazuha was a streamer when your relationship started, in reality you hadn’t realized how truly popular he had become. The first time you watched one of his streams you were blown away by his popularity. Watching your first livestream only cemented that. It was hard to believe that your down-to-earth, slightly self-effacing, partner could have garnered such a large fanbase. Not that you didn’t think he deserved it. He absolutely did. However after seeing that you admitted you were a bit awestruck.

“Why? Am I not the same person on screen and off?”

“Of course you are! It’s just, well, my partner’s a celebrity!”

“I would go that far,” Kazuha laughed.

“Well you certainly are to me!”

Nevertheless your dynamic didn’t change much afterwards, besides the occasional teasing on both of your parts. Kazuha was after all Kazuha at the end of the day.

At the beginning Kazuha didn’t mention you much on stream, certainly not by name, you had to admit you were a bit intimidated by the idea of being recognizable on the internet, even if it was just by name.

“This is also my partner’s favorite map.” Had been his first mention, during a game of Mario Kart.

Despite this offhanded remark however the chat had almost immediately exploded, followed by the rest of the fanbase. Though there was, of course, some disappointed buzz – isn’t there always – the reaction was immensely positive. Positive, and curious.

After a while Kazuha started mentioning you more often in streams, especially after the two fo you moved in. Sometimes you would hear him as you passed him room – Kazuha liked to keep the door open – other times you would watch it on stream yourself.

“My partner hates this character. Too bad you can’t throw evidence.”

“Nobody tell my partner that I’m afraid of basements. I don’t need them to know that when laundry day rolls around.”

“Hey if you’re watching this dear, I promise that it’s not that much money. You don’t need to look at the bank account. Who am I kidding, this is why we don’t share one.”

“Hey, darling I know you’re watching this. Can you check and make sure I left my keys on the coffee table, they aren’t on my desk. Also can you make tea?”

Despite fans knowing very little about you, you were surprised by the amount of positive comments that flooded the streams. You had to admit that your initial expectations had been “people are going to find me annoying”. Instead funny comics of your voice drifting in from the other room popped up, along with a lot of waving and “tell your partner not to trust you with the keys” after Kazuha fell off a cliff one too many times. It was an odd experience, to be so happy about the comments of faceless people, people to whom you were also faceless.

Eventually Kazuha’s hardwork in singing paid off and his first single was recorded and given a deal. On the evening of the release livestream Kazuha set up in the living room, angling the camera so that you could sit on the chair just out of frame. You had talked about the release for months now, and a few weeks ago Kazuha had brought up the idea of a pseudo-stream reveal.

“I was wondering if you’d like to say hello to the audience or wave when my song is released. I understand that you’re hesitant about those sort of things, and I would never ask of you something that would make you uncomfortable. This relationship is the most precious thing to me, and I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured or exploited in any ways.”

“Thank you for being so considerate Kazuha. I’ll think about it.”

Now you sat in the chair, fidgeting slightly, waiting as the countdown on his laptop reached one. You excitement certainly seemed matched by that of the fans, who were typing wildly in the chat.

Eventually the screen faded to black and the chatting quieted down. The first few notes of a wooden flute emerged, combined with the strumming of a guitar. As the familiar words began to echo through the laptop speaker you found yourself washed away. Kazuha was always enthralling when he sang. At the end of the song was a dedication, and though Kazuha had already alluded to it, the sincerity still took your breath away.

To my dearest partner. My compass and my guiding star throughout this realization of my dream. You are my sun and my stars, and I’m forever devoted to you. Thank you for sharing in this project, and thank you for giving me such love.

Perhaps it was slightly saccharine. Regardless you felt the sudden, uninhibited urge to cry.

“So, what did everyone think?” Kazuha asked into the mic, face reappearing on screen. He was slightly giddy, and you watched as his hand tugged on the fabric of his linen belt.

Immediately the chat exploded, as waves of “that was amazing”, “I’m crying now”, and “the end was so sweet!” flooded the screen.

“Thank you all for the encouragement!” Kazuha let out a laugh, one that you could tell was one of utter euphoria, and no little relief. “There’s someone else I think who would like to thank you.”

Who knew that a small sentence could cause such a splash?

You barely had time to let out a tentative “Hello,” before an immediate wave of excited screaming covered the bottom left of Kazuha’s stream. “Thank you for supporting Kazuha’s song. And thank you for always being nice to me.” With a tentative wave of the hand you collapsed back on your chair, slightly hysterical laughter rising inside you out of the relief that flooded through you upon seeing the enthused fan reaction.

Afterwards your voice became the occasional guest on Kazuha’s streams, always greeted with enthusiasm. Kazuha continued to grow in popularity, and his music continued to capture a larger and larger audience.

All throughout this you never felt a snag in your relationship. Kazuha may have been a big streaming personality, but he was also a kind and considerate partner, the best that one could ask for in a significant other. Kazuha’s love was never in question. And neither was yours.

 Xiao

Sometimes you were a little self-conscious about the way that you met Xiao.

Though Xiao had definitely grown a following by the time you met – being the main pianist for a popular singer and a classical pseudo-prodigy in both piano and flute his own right certainly had roped him an enthusiastic fanbase – you had simply known him as “the guy who hogs the practice room”.

“I swear to the gods, how long can that bastard take to practice!” You texted angrily at your friend one day. Qixing Conservatory was the premiere music place in Liyue, but what should’ve been an amazing opportunity was being overshadowed by a practice room partner who appeared to not have a life, one who also had the obnoxious habit of playing the same damn thing over, and over, and over again.

“Playing the same piece as before?”

“Yes! Ugh I don’t even know what it’s called but I’ve heard it enough times to last a lifetime, maybe five!”

“Damn I’m sorry, what time does he usually end?”

“I don’t even know. Some time in the early evening. It’s obviously never gotten through to his brain that other people also need to practice. Or that hearing the same notes over and over while waiting makes me want to chuck my binder against a wall.”

“Lol. I kinda want to hear it now. Can you send a video, will the sound pick up?”

“I don’t know how it wouldn’t.”

“…”

“Holy shit! Okay, I need you to watch this video and tell me if you recognize the pianist.”

Safe to say you nearly fell out of your chair upon figuring out Xiao’s identity. Not that you weren’t already about to out of pure exasperation. Still, there was something much more intimidating about shaming a successful musician, and you no longer had the urge to glare at Xiao every time he left the practice room. Honestly, you would have been perfectly happy keeping your head down and never interacting with him at all.

Fate, however, has a sense of humor.

To be fair, some of it was your fault. You knew that Erlkonig was a massively difficult piece. You knew that you should’ve picked something else, knew that even Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata mvt. Three had to be less painful than the non-vocal arrangement you’d placed in front of your eyes. You were never trusting your music taste with your piece choices again. This was a terrible mistake.

“These stupid fucking running notes!” You let out, a groan of exasperation racing through you. Half slamming (you weren’t crazy) the piano cover down you swung the door of the practice room open. You didn’t want to deal with this anymore. Trying to ignore the embarrassment that rose up seeing Xiao waiting on a chair next to the door you went to walk down the hallway.

“You should work on it with a dotted sixteenth note pattern.”

It was the first time that Xiao had ever spoken to you.

Afterwards a rapport slowly grew between the two of you. Often Xiao said nothing as you passed, rarely you made a gesture of recognition when he finally reappeared from the practice room. However soon the occasional word or phrase of advice grew into longer sentences, later these sentences evolved into pieces of conversation. Soon enough you discovered, to your slight horror, that you found yourself yearning for Xiao’s company.

Almost as soon as you’d finally figured out your feelings you were hit with a wave of denial. You weren’t falling for Xiao? How could you fall for someone who got on your nerves so much? Sure he gave you advice, but what about it? You deserved it after having to hear him over and over again while waiting. Certainly Xiao didn’t seem interested in you, he barely talked to you! Yeah he was getting more talkative, but it’s easier to talk to people when you’re giving them advice. There’s no way you were in love with Xiao. And there was no way he was in love with you.

To say that Xiao’s career as a musician, never mind his genuine technical talent at two instruments, was a barrier would be an understatement. The moment you thought you were making some progress, finally admitting to yourself that this crush was, in fact, real, a wave of anxiety would pass over you. Xiao was too good for you, he was too important. Here was a man who had a successful musical career already up in the air while you banged frustratedly on the keys. Why would someone that successful be interested in you? Not to mention the fact that he didn’t seem interested.

Because, you had to admit, you did like Xiao’s music. Not just his classical repertoire, but his pop music as well. It was slightly jazzy, mellow and playful and utterly unlike the scowling musician behind it – something you secretly thought extremely cute and surprisingly charming. To him you were just a practice roommate, and you were sure he’d find the idea of dating someone who was more familiar with his public persona irritating.

So you buried your feelings, or tried to. Unfortunately like sometimes attracts like, and just as Xiao secretly had the emotional understanding of a teaspoon, you weren’t nearly as clever about things as you would like.

“Is there something on my face?” Xiao asked, his voice gruff and slightly reluctant.

“No, why would there be?”

“Because you’re staring at it!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You let your head drop, looking intently at the ivories in front of you. Eventually there was a sigh.

“You don’t have to do that. I… I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! You staring down is weird too. Let’s, let’s just hurry up and do this passage.”

After that you became more aware of your staring habit. You also became more aware of Xiao’s own habit, leaning towards you. Sometimes you swore that you could feel the tips of his hair tickling your neck, light and feathery and stealing all your attention.

“Hey, Xiao, do you need glasses?”

“Why would you asked that!” Xiao flared up, face reddening. By this time you’d become more accustomed to these flareups of grumpiness, and ignoring it you pressed on.

“It’s just, you seem to be leaning forward.”

“I’m not!” Immediately Xiao shifted back, almost stepping away. Without thinking about it you reached to grab his hand.

“I didn’t mean it was a bad thing!” You got out, before becoming aware of your hand grasping Xiao’s. The touch felt electric, and you were suddenly so very aware of everything, yet unable to focus at all.

“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Xiao grumbled.

Slowly the musician leaned closer to you once more. You had already half stood up and now you found yourself stepping closer to Xiao. The world continued to shrink until you were almost pressed together. Xiao was leaning forward, as were you, and the longer tufts of his hair were tickling your cheek, helped by the fan whirring away in the corner. Your hand was still in his, but all your thoughts appeared to have died away.

“Xiao?”

“Is this, too close?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Xiao?”

“What?”

“I like your music. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Why would it?”

“I don’t know. I just, I also like you, not just your music. But I also like your music.”

“I also like yours too.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the most romantic of confessions, but at that point you were far too carried away by the moment, or maybe by the fact that was the most sentences Xiao had strung together that weren’t about triplets. Regardless of the fact, you were suddenly seized by incredible happiness, as all appeared to right itself.

Afterwards initially little changed, Xiao was a gruff as ever, you were still itching to play in the practice room more. Nevertheless when you went to a concert of his for the first time and he let out a small, almost imperceptible, smile your way you knew things had changed. They would keep changing perhaps, or maybe they wouldn’t. After all, this moment was beautiful.

So much that you didn’t even mind the hours spent waiting for the practice room.

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x7 Thoughts

“Headspace” is a very apt name for this episode, in which we learned almost no new information about the characters in Ted Lasso but learned a great deal about the way many characters’ brains work.

Most of the episodes this season have been so full of new information (if you wanna know something about how my brain works, the critique that early s2 episodes lack conflict does not compute), so full of dramatic irony (Sam and Rebecca don’t realize they’re messaging each other on Bantr! Rebecca’s voicemail to Ted doesn’t actually indicate that she spent a significant portion of time panicking and looking for him!), and misunderstandings that it was really nice to spend a bit over thirty minutes on an episode with very easily mappable plotlines.

Ted and Sharon and Therapy

Ordinarily in my little recaps I talk about the characters as real people making their own decisions, because every character on this show feels very real. But I have to take a minute to just, like, celebrate the acting in these scenes. Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis brought the perfect energy to each of their three scenes in Dr. Sharon’s office.

The drinking bird toy! The way he switches from nodding along with it to shaking his head no while the bird continues to shake its head yes, just like Ted shook his head no while saying yes, they should hire a sports psychologist! The way he finally stills the bird in the final therapy scene in the episode...but performatively throws the tissue box.

(Someone is going to need those tissues, Ted. It might be you.)

I also LOVE that this is the first time we see Sharon in an extended scene that takes place in a session. We’ve seen her rapport with the players, we’ve seen the results, and we’ve seen the things she does to make someone feel comfortable at the start of a session, and that’s all the information WE need to know to feel confident in her excellence as a psychologist. But because Ted hasn’t been able to fully appreciate those things, it’s so fitting that his sessions are a time for us to learn more about Sharon’s approach along with him.

It’s just...such good acting. The way she tells him he doesn’t need to worry. The kind of charming (but not performatively charming, just...charming) smile on his face when he claims he knows he doesn’t need to worry. And the way his voice changes a little as the conversations progress—deeper, less controlled, with some very genuine Midwestern “ma’am”s.

Sam and Rebecca and Awkwardness

Sam and Rebecca were so awkward when talking to each other in the hallway! If I had been in that hallway I would have been physically unable to stop myself from doing something even more awkward and diverting to make it stop. (I say this as someone who is neither disgusted by or delighted by the direction of the Bantr storyline. This is a good story about two good people who are in very different places in their lives existing in both a manufactured connection and the real, and very different, connection they have when they aren’t glued to their phones. This story is supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable.)

I did like the parallels of their friends sort of urging them on/coaching them through the inherent panic of the three dots that appear and disappear—a source of panic whether you’re the one creating the dots on the other screen or watching them and feeling at their mercy.

I like that in this episode both Ted and Rebecca are loudly broadcasting “I AM NOT IN THE RIGHT HEADSPACE FOR A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP”—Ted with his rueful awareness that Michelle would be upset if she heard him still referring to her as his wife, Rebecca with her insistence that relationships are doomed and awful even though she’s talking to two people (Keeley and Higgins) in committed relationships.

Roy and Keeley and Space

This plot was a really wonderful...counterpoint? complement? to the places both Ted and Rebecca are in as Ted starts to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to deal with his past and the losses he’s suffered (including the loss of his marriage) and as Rebecca questions whether she’s really going to embark on the next phase of a relationship with someone whose identity she does not know.

Because Ted and Rebecca are stuck apart, it was great to see Keeley struggle with needing space from Roy without worrying for a second about whether or not this challenge was a threat to their relationship. (Keeley and Roy aren’t used to long haul relationships, so they both see it as a threat, but the audience doesn’t have to.)

There was so much going on in that boot room. I love the coexisting realities there—Rebecca and Keeley and Higgins treating the boot room as their personal room for secret smoking, but as the crowd grows all these other unspoken dynamics emerge (it’s been two days since the panic attack and this is the first time we see Ted and Rebecca in the same room and there’s no evidence that they’ve talked about what happened with the panic attack or Rebecca’s parents or any of the big stuff).

Everything about Keeley’s plotline this episode reminded me of how Ted and Keeley are so similar (and, to a lesser extent, Rebecca and Roy are so similar). Rebecca and Roy both tend to write things off (Rebecca is so certain any relationship she has will be doomed, but it’s just because of how hurt she already is; Roy wanted to convince himself he was happier as a pundit than as a coach, but it’s just because he was scared of how much he wanted to be back on on the pitch), only able to deal with things when a safe person like Ted or Keeley sort of startles growth out of them. (We talk a lot about how Rebecca should be in therapy, but Roy should too.) And Ted and Keeley! Everything’s great, everything’s sunny, but look at how Keeley stands on her couch and screams in sadness and anger when she blows up at Roy and he leaves.

This time, things work out between Roy and Keeley because he figures out what Keeley was trying to communicate and respects what she needs, but in the future she’s going to have to figure out how to articulate herself more clearly. (And so will Ted...not only in therapy with Sharon, but as everything with the other coaches and the team and Will and basically everyone in his life come to light.)

Nate and Beard and Twitter-Insecurity-Rage

Ahhhhhhhhh.

This plotline made me feel almost as nervous for Ted (the things he doesn’t know) and Beard (the things he knows) as it did for Nate and Colin and Will and everyone.

At first I was really bothered by the repetition of Nate checking Twitter. We know! He’s on Twitter a lot now that he’s semi-famous! He’s obsessed! But then it occurred to me that it’s extremely perfect that Nate checking Twitter becomes this silent refrain building him up or tearing him down based on the latest 280-character compliment or take-down. Because this is how the internet works! You get obsessed with something on it and then check it a million times per day until you feel sick. It could be a dating app, or a trending story, or almost anything. If you check it often enough, the internet won’t even have anything truly new for you...it just feels like it does. So the repetition of Nate scrolling Twitter wasn’t meant to deliver us new information, but rather to mimic the old information coming through again and again.

I feel so deeply for Nate, who’s brilliant about football but unfit to coach because the power dynamics of coaching are a totally foreign concept to someone like him, who relies entirely on external inputs to take his actions. Ted and Beard and Roy all go and learn things and bring them back to the pitch, but none of them have had the capacity to teach Nate how to do this. Even Nate’s private thoughts, which he wrote down during s1, only come to light when Ted prompts him. And when your external inputs are coming from social media and an unappreciative father and a hyper-awareness of insult after years spent on the receiving end of bullying...it’s very dangerous. Maybe even literally physically dangerous.

I also feel so deeply for everyone who interacts with Nate right now, particularly Will.

Some Bonus but Never Extraneous Trent Crimm

Trent in the pub made me NERVOUS. Seeing him in this new place where Ted goes to wind down, almost coaching Ted through lying to him about having had food poisoning?! When they both clearly know that isn’t what happened?!?

It felt very fitting that this uncomfortable yet kind-of-mercifully-executed lie takes place towards the end of an episode full of such positive and negative growth for the characters. Such movement. It felt all wrong (in a good way), like covering something new and smooth and precious with spackle because maybe you actually wanna paint something else after all even though it won’t serve you in the long run to do it. To paraphrase Dr. Sharon, the truth will set you free but first it will piss you off, and Ted’s conversation with Trent is a reminder of all the layers there are to cut through on the way to the truth.

If Apple TV could simply release 2x8 - 2x12 this week, I would bargain with something crazy and miserable like giving up caffeine until October 8, the air date for the season finale. I continue to love this season and to feel the serenity of watching excellent actors execute on excellent scripts...but we’re getting to the point where the momentum’s built up and is heading to ever-scarier places, and I neeeeeeeeeed to knoooooooow.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, hand job, loss of virginity

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Sorry it took so long to get this out. Hopefully I can work on part 5 now that I have this posted.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 4:  With its gallery gods and its garbage-bag trees

💀💀💀

Sam left you in the same daze that fogged the entire day. The night was restless as you tossed and turned, replaying the scene over and over. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the lens staring back at you, imagined yourself on a screen, your hand moving between your legs, your pathetic mewls as you came for this man and who knew how many others. 

Well, he did say it was up to you how big the audience was.

You woke early and only checked in with your nan to fill a mug with coffee and start your day ahead of time. You needed to keep yourself busy after a night bombarded by your own thoughts and yet, you couldn’t focus enough to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.

You put on a Twitch stream to keep your mind from wandering too far but it did little to help your focus. You fidgeted, still without your phone, and again thought of the previous day and what you’d done. You’d never done that in front of anyone. You only ever joked about it online, that persona was everything you weren’t irl.

All your stupid online jokes and exaggerations got you into this. You fucked up because the line between virtual and reality was too blurred in your head. You got carried away and now you just had to deal. Well, you guessed it was a lesson no one learned the easy way.

You didn’t realise how much time passed until your stomach growled loudly and squeezed. You felt like throwing up but only had the slice of toast you scarfed down that morning to coat your stomach. You rubbed your eyes and headed downstairs to sneak some of your nan’s sugarless jelly cookies. She hated your snacking but she rarely finished a box on her own.

As you entered through the kitchen, you came to a sudden halt. You tilted your head and frowned as you heard your nan’s voice and the one that answered had you knocking your hip against a chair as you rushed into the living room.

“Just over there,” she directed as the leg of the couch scraped on the floor, “slide it against the wall.”

Sam stood straight dusted off his hands on his jeans. He stepped back and looked over the old floral sofa. 

“Definitely looks better over here,” he remarked.

“What the hell?” you blurted out.

“There you are!” your grandmother tutted, “I called up to you but you do what you always do and tune me out.”

“I didn’t-- I was working, I--” you cleared your throat and looked at Sam, “what are you doing here?”

“He’s being very helpful,” your nan praised, “how many times did I ask you to help me with this thing?”

“Sorry, I…” you swallowed and glanced between them.

“And smell that,” your nan inhaled deeply, “he’s making us dinner.”

“And I brought sugar-free dessert,” he added, “anything else I can do?”

“You’re so sweet,” she squeezed his thick arm.

“So are you… once you get past the frying pan,” he chuckled.

“I see a man in leather, I’m swinging,” she scowled, “you’re lucky you came bearing gifts.”

“Hey, look, we’re not all bad,” he smiled as she sat and he handed her the book from the small table that held the lamp and her ashtray, “I’m not like those guys who threatened your granddaughter.”

“And more honest than her,” she shook her head, “you didn’t tell me you were down at that bar. I warned you-- you really are lucky he was there.”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you squinted at them, “didn’t you just tell me the other day I should grab any biker by--”

“I’m old, I say things,” she laughed but her eyes had a glimmer of ‘be quiet’.

“Would you like some more tea, Millie?” he asked as he took her empty mug and neared you, stopping in the broad archway that opened up into the living room.

“One more, if you don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly. She never smiled.

You hid a scowl and turned to follow Sam into the kitchen. He moved the kettle onto a burner and turned the knob. He stopped and opened the door of the stove and peeked inside as a blaze of savoury hot air blasted out at him. You felt it just before he let it snap shut and turned to lean on the counter, crossing one foot over the other.

“What are you doing?” you uttered.

“I told you I’d be back,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d--” you lowered your voice and glanced at the doorway, “what have you been telling her?”

“Everything she wants to hear,” he ran his fingertips along the precise line of hair of his goatee, “and nothing she shouldn’t… but that can change.”

“I did what you wanted. End of punishment,” you put your hands on your hips.

“End? Hmmm, I don’t think I said that,” his forehead wrinkled, “we’re far from finished… and come on, we both know you had as much fun as me.”

Your nostrils flared and you sucked in your cheeks. He was entirely too hard to figure out. He was that sort of man you hated and feared all at once. You just couldn’t predict him.

“I don’t… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t hurt her,” you said quietly.

“Hurt her? Now why would I do that?” he taunted, “I mean, right now I have no reason to do anything like that.”

You squirmed and let out a breath, “please, alright?”

“Settle down, honey, you’ve been good… so far,” he said, “you just gotta keep it up.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled as the kettle began to shake and he turned his back to you, “any chance I can have my phone back?”

He chuckled as he searched the cupboard for the tea and plucked out a bag, “you’re funny… I like that but you gotta stop acting like everything’s a joke. It doesn’t hold up.”

💀

You found it hard not to wear a look of unamused confusion as Sam served dinner at the table and your grandmother sang his praises as he poured her wine she could actually drink. Just one glass but it was enough to loosen her up. You hadn’t eaten in the dining room since you were a kid, more used to eating at the counter, sitting on the wobbly stools or in front of the television.

Sam offered for you to clean up and do the dishes. Your nan was overjoyed at that, almost mocking. When you finished, you found them in the living room, some old Robert DeNiro movie on the television. You sat on the couch, as far from Sam as you as your grandmother yawned into her hand.

“Well,” she stubbed out her cigarette, “I should really be getting to bed. That wine is kicking in.”

“It’s early…” you argued weakly.

“You kids don’t get into too much trouble,” she warned as she stood with a groan and gripped her hip, “these ears still work.”

“Trouble? Me?” Sam kidded, “you don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time.”

She smiled and nodded but for a moment she hesitated. She looked at you and pushed her tongue to her denture.

“Good night, girlie,” she said.

“Night, nan,” you forced out as normally as you could. 

You knew if she sensed your fear, she’d act out. She was always too brave for her own good and while you admired that, you didn’t need to get hurt because you were dumb as a brick.

She left slowly and you heard her television begin to crackle and the voices of the Law and Order actors were muffled behind her door. You hunched your shoulders and rubbed your hands together as you stared at Deniro’s wrinkled forehead and that characteristic squint. 

The lamp went out as Sam pulled the cord and the screen glowed in the dark. You felt the cushion dip as he shifted closer without subtlety. He slung his arm over your shoulder and you smelled his earthy cologne as he turned the TV up a few ticks. He pulled you to him as his hand came up to cradle your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we go… somewhere else?”

“She won’t hear us honey,” he cooed, “you just gotta be good. Be quiet.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Please,” you grabbed his hand as you pleaded.

“You keep arguing and I’ll make sure to wake her up,” he warned, “now,” he twisted so that he had your wrist in his grasp and forced it down to his lap, “put your hand down my pants.”

You gulped loudly and your hand trembled. You read enough fanfic to know what to do but your lack of actual experience had you nervous. Much like many things in your life. All talk, no skill.

You turned awkwardly on the cushion, your body uncomfortably contorted as his legs stayed pressed to yours. You struggled to unhook the button of his fly and the zipper was slow to descend. You felt the bulge as your hands moved against the denim and you hesitated as your fingers pressed to the elastic of his briefs.

“Mmm,” he purred as he hugged you closer, “that’s it, honey.”

Your eyes widened and you were happy the room was dark enough to hide your face. You pulled the elastic back with two fingers and shoved your other hand blindly beneath the fabric. You brushed against his hard dick and angled your hand so that you could grip him, his smooth length felt peculiar against your palm. Was he big? He felt big but didn’t have anyone to compare him to.

“Tighter,” he groaned at the friction as you moved your hand.

You squeezed and his hot breath grazed over your hair and he pushed his head back over the couch. He twitched as you kept a steady motion, trapped in the limbo of mortification and cluelessness. Were you doing it right? What were you even doing?

“Ah, honey, you’re so good,” he said as he rubbed the back of your neck, “goddamn.”

You said nothing as you focused on your hand. He snaked his arm under yours suddenly and pulled you over as he lifted his ass. Your hand was caught in his under as he laid you down beneath him. He reached down and fixed your grip on him as he held hovered atop you, his knees pressed into the cushion between your legs.

His arm crossed under yours as he poked along your jeans and shoved his hand beneath the denim and cotton. His palm was flush to your pelvis as he slid two fingers along your folds, held snug to you by the fabric. He swirled his fingertips over your bud and you gasped as your other hand gripped his arm in surprise.

“Honey, you’re wet already,” he whispered, “you sure you haven’t been waiting for this?”

You moaned as he pushed back along your entrance and dragged his fingers back, spreading your wetness over your clit. You quivered as you struggled to keep your own hand moving. He inhaled and groaned as played with you and pressed his lips to your cheek. He trailed up to your lips and kissed you, forcing his tongue inside as he shuddered.

He drew away with a sloppy noise and withdrew his hand from your pants. He sat up on his knees and pulled your legs to rest against his torso. He gripped the back of your jeans and yanked them down along with your panties. You smothered your cry as you were shocked by the force of it and the air of the room on your bare ass and legs.

He let your jeans dangle from one ankle as he bent over you again. Your leg fell over the edge of the couch as he held himself over you with a hand just above your head, fingers tight on the cushioned arm. He wiggled as he shimmied his jeans and briefs down with his other hand and you pressed on his chest.

“Wait, wait,” you hissed, “you… please, just… slow down… I never--”

“Shh, honey, you’re making too much noise,” he muttered, “it’s okay.”

“No, no, please, can’t we--” your voice caught as he lined his tips up along your cunt and rubbed it along your clit, “I’ll… I’ll use my mouth.”

“Later,” he whispered as his tip slipped down along your entrance, “honey, I need to feel you.”

“Pl--” your voice evaporated as the head of his dick stretched you.

You whimpered as he brought his arm down and nestled it under your head. He pushed further in and you gritted your teeth as you whined at the pressure of his intrusion. With each inch, the strain grew worse as a deep pain flooded your body. He shushed you as he forced past your resistance.

He covered your mouth as you cried out and barely kept your voice under control. He kept your head on his arm as his other hand cupped your lips and smothered out your agony. He forced himself in as deep as he could and your body tensed as your walls squeezed him. Your eyes rolled back as tears welled and spilled over the corners.

“Honey, it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” he coaxed, “just like that.”

He rocked his hips carefully but it still felt terrible. He pulled back and slid back in, each time it felt like he got even deeper than the last. His breath hitched and your own grew laboured as you huffed through your nostrils. 

He growled and sped up, just a little at a time, your cunt slickening his intrusion as his pelvis brushed against your clit and sent tendrils down your thighs. Even so, the pleasure was not enough to mute the pain.

“That’s it,” he uttered, “that’s it.”

He fucked you faster and the couch shook beneath you. His flesh slapped and the noise seemed to be monstrous, so much sure that you were sure your grandmother would come out and catch you. 

You grasped his wrist as you felt your climax rising. You squeezed and arched your foot as you were overcome and crashed down harshly as the pain tore through the ecstasy once more. He turned his hand and framed your chin as he kissed you again, swallowing your murmurs as he thrust into you over and over.

He lifted his head and dipped his thumb into your mouth as he held in his voice. He quaked and his motion stuttered but kept on. You felt his release, hot and wet, inside of you, a strange sensation that made you both sickened and aroused you.

He eased up and stilled at last. He brushed his nose against yours and chuckled under his breath as he wiggled his hips and you swore at the way it made your walls squeeze him. You blinked as your vision cleared of tears and the darkness. His features were blue with the light of the television, sinister and shadowy.

You went limp under him and breathed out slowly. You shook as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and left a line of spit down your jaw.

“We’ll have to get that on tape next time,” he said, “but I doubt you’ll forget that, honey.”

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 2

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟮 : 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚

Being a friend is never an easy task, especially when the other person is no normal human being. When the realization reaches you it's accompanied by its own conclusions.

☾ Words : 4830.

☾ Warnings : angst, the tiniest bit of swearing (for once)

Masterlist | Previous | Next

The agitation of your eyes has fallen flat by now; Corpse had plenty of time to think -be obsessed- about it as days and night coagulated into nothing but an ultimate and meaningless node. Sleepless were the nights when he thought about you, considered what he could do to get back to you. The lack of sleep combined with the desperation and Corpse is pretty sure he wandered to every possibility he could think of before concluding that this new element wasn’t much progress. Less than 1% of global population have heterochromia, Corpse did the math. Somehow, it still isn’t enough to know where to look for.

He is just helpless. The wish is strong, unshakable and there’s always a point in those circumstances where the yearning turns into a new obsession.

He is just helpless. The wish is strong, unshakable and there’s always a point in those circumstances where the yearning turns into a new obsession.

When Corpse covers his face with a black mask, it’s an act of impulse disguised in a need to spare his own sanity. It doesn’t matter if it only makes sense to him, it’s too late to detach the thought of his brain. So, in one motion, the dark cloak waves in the air until it's secured on his shoulders. He slides the hood on his forehead. There’s really no need for Corpse to make it so ceremonial if not the responsibility he bears to carry on his body a tradition that has been lasting for centuries.

The light coming out of the sky is subdued to the right extent. The rain is delicately trickling on Corpse, turning the part of his fluffy hair that isn’t protected by the hood into damped and defined locks of curls that let droplets run on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t mind, that’s the weather he deems to be the loveliest. It allows him to gather and sort his thoughts out. It’s his bond with the rain; as if it fueled him with enough electricity to keep going.

Corpse makes his way through the meadow. It’s not as bright as in his dreams, dipped into a light morning mist, but the place smells like fresh and humid grass. It’s intoxicating and comforting like an old memory trying to reemerge. His shoes are getting coated in mud, making every step a little tedious but he only realizes it when he comes face to face with his home and his feet are almost stuck to the ground.

By “home”, I mean what’s left of it. In that Corpse is barely able to guess the structure of it.

Fuck. How long has it been since those ruins stopped looking like his home? There’s really nothing left if not a few brick walls covered by nature that struggle to rise from the ground. Corpse wanders around, trying to remember where each room once stood in the remains. He can’t get much except for the two parts he sees when he sleeps; the kitchen made out of wooden walls and the living room he only saw once. There’s still so much left uncovered and the mystery will now keep on forever. His humble house probably witnessed a few wars in its lifetime. Corpse feels bitter just thinking about it; a home built by love and destroyed by hate.

Corpse should’ve known, he should’ve known better that what he saw in his sleep was nothing but the oniric personification of his expectations. Nothing more, maybe less. He was a fool for letting his delusions feel like reality. But there’s the intention to deny the facts when his hand brushes the air and let appear the chimera of what, to him, should’ve still been standing in front of him; the picture of his true home. A pale copy deprived of any warmth, yet still visual enough to bring some sense of easing.

Corpse’s phone vibrates in his pocket and by the time his hand reaches the device, the house is back to its miserable state.

“What do you think you’re doing right now?” Sykkuno asks and Corpse huffs, bitter smirk carved on his lips.

Sykkuno knows. In fact, he figured out that Corpse would be here when he told him about his previous dream. Sykkuno knew that Corpse would feel the need to lock himself inside the memories he couldn't even remember. It hurts, but maybe the pain would be fruitful and he would finally recollect what’s missing, one last attempt to make you seem realer. This is just how his brain works and Sykkuno is a little too aware of that.

Corpse isn’t sure of what he’s doing either anymore. He thought that it would help somehow, he could’ve almost convinced himself completely, but here he is standing in the middle of an overgrown mess he once called home. There’s nothing left in here. He understands it now by the expectation versus reality that stands in front of him.

“The answers you’re looking for aren’t here, stop torturing yourself,” Sykkuno says with a tone that is so sweet and compassionate it fills Corpse’s mouth with a melancholic taste.

But he’s wrong on one point; Corpse isn’t looking for answers, he’s looking for what questions to ask. There’s so many of them and he’s simply not sure what is important and what isn’t anymore.

“I know,” Corpse mutters.

“Go back to your place Corpse,” he murmurs softly. “This isn’t home anymore.”

So what is? Corpse spent a lifetime running away and another one trying to remember what home feels like. Maybe, if you really think about it, it’s no longer about you. Maybe Corpse just doesn’t know how to be anymore. If only it could have been written somewhere; what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to feel … but there’s no guideline for that type of situation. There’s no guideline and there should be.

There’s a minute of pure robotic silence and heavy breathing. The rain is streaming down Corpse’s cloak, the cold getting closer and closer to his core.

“Alright,” he whispers numbly.

Maybe seeing this place one last time is similar enough to what closure is. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he takes one last deep breath before leaving without ever looking back. What’s the point anyway?

“We’re all waiting for you, you know, so just go back to your place," Sykkuno says.

There’s really no reason for why you decided to narrate horror stories on youtube, nor to make of your appearance one of those many mysteries people love to speculate about. You wish there were something more, something meaningful, but it just stops at the fact that you’ve always felt drawn to horror and mysteries. A peculiar passion of some sort. Maybe, it shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise when you became the secret bearer you are now. Could this be your official title? You wish it could. “Y/n the secret bearer” sounds pretty badass.

It was 5:55 when your eyes opened today, just like every day. The first merciless rays of the sun in a beautiful golden and pink hued sky rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. The morning air was raspy, landing on your skin to spread shivers on your bare arms. You could have buried your face in the pillow all you wanted, with a mind wandering wherever it felt like it, there was absolutely no way you’d fall back asleep.

Corpse Husband.

Now, your filled tub spreads steam on the tiles of the bathroom. Your hands scoop the water and pour the liquid on your shoulders to warm you up. It’s a little too warm, making your heart palpitate, but it’s embracing, light and easing your body until you’re completely comfortable. The smell of coffee hits your dozing nostrils with its strong scent. You enjoy the light music that waves through your ears and clear the morning fog out of your mind. The cup meets your lips and the liquid runs on your tongue. Spicy.

Your phone, flashing white light between your palms, is displaying none of the interesting information you’re looking for. Dream hasn’t shown any sign of life in a couple of days now. In fact, he hasn’t since he entrusted you with yet another secret he kept safe inside his pocket. Who knows how many others could be hidden in there. Probably too much for you to trust humankind ever again.

Corpse Husband.

You set the device aside and, on instinct, you close your eyes before immersing your head under water, letting it swallow you whole. You attempt to regulate the flow of thoughts that congests in your head. There’s this trick Dream taught you some time ago, a trick you could use to talk to him when he was gone and you needed him. He said it should remain for emergency purposes but maybe, if the number 5 case wasn’t enough for this audience to be necessary, checking on your missing friend would be. It should be.

The vibrations from reality get filtered, blurry, and you can feel your hair floating around your head. It’s light and heavy, your heart starts beating with more vigor. Your mind recognizes the place but your body can never get used to it; it’s the void, the nothingness, the dark. A mental place that belongs to you.

There’s nothing graphic about it and when you master it with enough precision, there’s no feeling attached to it either. That's why, for someone who is so used to experiencing material life, it took time to adjust. It’s more of a concept than it is a thing.

Dream’s name echoes a few time. Usually that’s when he appears, him and his white smiley mask. Yet, this time, you’re forced to open your eyes again and catch your breath before running out of oxygen.

Where could Dream be? That’s the inquiry that ping pongs inside your brain every once in a while when he disappears as he does, leaving additional questions to live rent-free in a place that is getting more and more cramped.

You bring your knees to your chest. Being friends with someone who isn’t even human, how are you supposed to do that? You sigh; there’s no guideline and there should be. How are you supposed to handle the idea that there’s always a profuse chance that Dream might never come back? A chance, or an important possibility.

The concept of Dream’s existence seems so easy to dismantle, so fragile for someone who’s supposed to live forever. The idea leaves you powerless, a little helpless.

He never dares to explain what happens when he ventures on foreign lands -to which the purpose remains a secret- and never considered answering any of the questions that used to burn your tongue so ardently.

At first, he had that serious tone in his voice, the bad kind of serious when he’d repeat “that’s not something a human should know”. Now he just laughs it off, probably thinking that joking would make the rejection easier. It’s not unusual that you even forget to ask or find yourself afraid Dream might start filling the gaps with answers. If you truly let it, the thought would penetrate inside your body and run through your veins to get you high on fear and worries.

Corpse Husband.

Maybe that’s why being friends with Corpse, knowing who he really is, doesn’t seem like that much of a good idea anymore. Could you really dread another loss? No, obviously, you can't.

At the request of a nervous Sykkuno, the amigops were reunited to play a round of self-indulgent uno before an upcoming livestream. It was like a secret reunion but, honestly, it's more of an excuse to clear some time off of their schedule and spend time together, just the 4 of them.

Corpse really doesn’t get why he accepted to play in the first place, believing that he would neither be a good partner nor of a good company in terms of conversation. But he felt like his friends needed him and how could he ever say no? He was rather wrong when he underestimated the assets of normal human interactions. But it’s good; it means he’s still able to think, it means he survived.

“Did Dream text you back?” Sykkuno wonders, high tone that lets Corpse know he hesitated before asking. When Corpse chooses to remain silent and play a card instead, Sykkuno senses the answer is nothing positive.

“Is this something we should be aware of?” Toast questions while drawing 2 cards.

“Not sure,” Corpse mutters, eyebrows frowning and eyes squinting on Sykkuno’s deck, trying to elaborate a strategy. Him and his teammate are so close to winning Corpse knows for sure they won’t. “Let’s say someone knows something they shouldn’t and it’s bothering me.”

“Can we stop playing riddle for a second?” Rae asks. “This is a little too cryptic for me.”

“Someone knows that Corpse is a sorcerer because Dream snitched,” Sykkuno informs as he readjusts his position on his seat and clears his throat.

Corpse lets a satisfied hum escape his lips, Sykkuno followed the plan accordingly when he played the card he wanted him to. Corpse has visibly no intention to focus on that conversation.

The truth is Corpse felt safe for a moment, knowing that you were aware of whom he truly is but, after processing the information you let him on, he concluded that he didn’t like that idea one bit. The fact that a human has more or less the concept of his existence between their fingers leaves him with a nasty taste of anticipation.

You could absolutely fuck things up for him and, knowing you, Corpse is aware he doesn’t have much time left before you start taunting him with his own nature. Trust is a long journey, especially for someone who has been betrayed for longer than a lifetime.

Maybe he should talk about it, express his fears and let you know how damaging, devastating it could be to his life. He wishes he could, he really does but there’s this sense of sorcerer pride that barely hangs above his head like a sword of Damocles and it feels like exposing his untamed emotions would be the final cut before that sword slices his ego to dust.

“Why would Dream snitch in the first place?” Rae’s voice gets more robust; considering Corpse as one of her protegees has never been an easy task and it shows. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Corpse mumbles. “I thought I knew but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Maybe you should invite them to play with us sometimes. It’s better to keep an eye on them, right?” Toast intervenes.

“Uno!” Rae cheers without a warning, Sykkuno and Corpse exhale in unison. They both knew it would end up this way but it doesn’t revoke the slight frustration of only having 2 cards left in Corpse’s virtual hand.

“You’re talking about them as if they were an enemy but I think they’re rather a friend,” Sykkuno notes as he throws a +4 on the pile.

Funny what an odd timing can do. Corpse’s phone lights up near the candle. It’s showing a curious notification he could’ve never been able to anticipate, especially coming from you; [I’m still thinking about you] and Corpse’s heart hurts just a little while his breath gets caught up in his throat. His eyes flicker for a moment before he realizes what you really mean by that. He clears his throat.

“Acquaintance,” Corpse corrects. He knows his teammate is silently rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disapprobation. He should’ve probably kept his mouth shut, he realizes it now. Here we go again.

“Everyone is acquaintance to you, Corpse” Rae grumbles, getting ahead of Sykkuno’s thoughts with a tone that lets transpire the lightest glimpse of irritation.

“Not true,” he fights back. “You guys are my friends.”

Sykkuno makes this aww noise, heart getting a little softened by the confession he only half believes in.

[What are you gonna do about that?] He types.

“Nice catch, buddy,” Toast smirks. Corpse doesn’t know if he is referring to him slightly changing the subject or to him throwing a +2 on another +2 but there’s a beginning of a smile on his lips when he realizes he succeeded with setting a diversion for both of the issues he found himself dipped in.

[I don’t know, thought you were supposed to take care of it,] you reply.

[Don’t you like thinking about me all day long?] He adds with a sly smile.

[I’m not answering that question.]

[Yeah I wouldn’t like it either.]

He debates for a second. An idea bloomed in his mind a few days ago but he isn’t sure if he should let it out just yet. Why not? Corpse doesn’t know himself. Maybe that’s what he is trying to find out but he eventually has to give up. He has to because you won’t.

[There’s this spell you can use. It’s very easy and human friendly, you should try it.]

[You could’ve started with that a week ago,] you answer.

Corpse doesn’t respond, just huffs. He’s waiting, eyes fixed on the bright screen until his vision turns blurry, witnessing the three dots indicating that you’re typing appear and fade away a few times. Say it. He’s waiting and-

“Well, I wanna meet someone whom I’m gonna hear a lot about,” Rae says while drawing the 4 cards without even noticing.

“No one said you’re gonna hear more than that, ‘Raerae’,” Corpse scoffs, chuckling to mask the slight annoyance this conversation provides. “There’s nothing more to say.”

His eyes are back on the phone now. The dots disappeared for good this time. Somehow, Corpse is still waiting, feet wiggling under his chair as his fingers wrap with more confidence on the device in the palm of his hand. Just say it.

“You’re such a bad liar,” Sykkuno sighs.

“You know what? You should invite them to play uno on the next stream. I’ll leave my spot just to watch that.” Toast deviously adds to which Rae silently agrees.

No you wouldn’t. There’s a curious silence when Corpse chooses to let the words fade in his mouth and the conversation dries down. Toast’s pixelated hand gets filled with more and more cards which forces him to sigh heavily in frustration.

“This conversation is getting annoying,” Corpse mumbles under his breath.

[Fine, just tell me what to do,] you finally type and, somehow, it feels like you were knocked out of your own game.

When Dream finally finds his way back home, he lets his body sink into a chair in front of the fireplace, eyes closed and exhausted limbs that can barely move. The moon is taking its reign in a sky that looks like mixed feelings; half still awake, half already asleep.

The silence rings into his empty mind as he exhales. Being home after traveling for so long always brings a special sense of solace, a sense of belonging. He raises a finger and fire starts consuming the logs of wood in the fireplace. The heat, slowly easing the tension in his muscles.

Silence, it’s probably what causes the faint creak of his wooden floor to be so distinct. Dream’s first instinct is panic, they found him, his alerted eyes scan the empty room. There’s nothing but himself, the faint reflection of his shadows and the stone that the walls are made of. He likes the stone, it carries so much energy with it, but right now it sends awful shivers down his spine. Dream debates whether he should get up to investigate or not but fear already forbids it.

He finally meets an habitual energy and his breath cools down his burning lungs.

“What are you doing here, George?” He exhales deeply.

George reveals himself with an unabashed look on his face which, in itself, surprises Dream more than the fact that he’s standing here, in his home, unannounced. Dream pictured a clear sense of guilt on the way George would’ve appeared, eyes that would try to run away. However, George leans tall against the door frame, arm crossed against his chest. He looks almost as worn out as Dream is but there’s something on his face that unveils another type of fatigue. He doesn’t like that one bit. Not for himself, even less for George.

“I’m tired of you leaving for days, weeks, without informing me,” George says and it’s as cold as the expression that freezes the emotions out of his eyes.

Dream tries not to open his mouth before being sure of what the appropriate answer is. The silence is heavy and unsolicited, charged with the things that can’t be put into words. He tries his hardest to keep the confidence he always wears as a protection but it’s so hard when George comes into the equation, especially when the situation is accompanied by regrets.

“So that’s why you came all the way to Florida?” Dream scoffs. Right now, sarcasm is the only thing he can afford. He thought George would be the one trying to run away from the confrontation, but he’s the only one trying to cut down the conversation. He wishes he didn’t have to take that path, it’s nothing George deserves.

“Don’t make it sound like it’s not enough of a reason.” George sighs.

Dream avoids the eye contact by locking his gaze on the flames that are dancing in front of him. The stone is cold, too cold for the fire to provide enough warmth to counter it. The truth is far hidden in a complexity that can never be untangled.

“So where were you this time?” George continues, getting closer to his friend until he seats next to him. It feels like he shouldn’t, Dream wishes he didn’t.

“In Italy.” He tries not to wince by pinching his lips together when he realizes lying would have been a far better tactic to spare his companion.

George's hand reaches his head. It’s almost a desperate attempt to find a reasoning. Dream watches from the corner of his eyes the tortured mind that tries to make everything make sense in a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces.

“In Italy.” George repeats, raising a brow that makes his eyes more rounded. The fire intensifies in the chimney. It lurches dangerously. George’s tone gets more ardent. It’s still calm, as you would expect from George, but it’s loaded with resentments. “So you preferred traveling to my continent instead of asking me?”

George is waiting for an answer, eyes that won’t quiver away from the sorcerer. I just want to protect you are the words stuck on Dream’s tongue. Instead of letting them die in the air, he watches the flames that keep getting stronger and stronger. He wonders if the whole place is about to catch on fire. It would almost be fine, the words are more violent than the flames; too brutally accurate, too much of a revelation.

“I actually can't believe you right now,” George adds while shaking his head. There’s really nothing Dream can do about it. He lets the silence carry the message.

When George speaks again, his voice is back to its normal calmness.

“You’re making me one very useless familiar Clay, are you aware of that?”

He knows how to use Dream’s name as a weapon and it chimes in his brain so loudly it’s close to unbearable. But Dreams is oh too fucking aware of it. His cheeks are flushing with a glimpse of shame. Nothing bad must ever happen to George. That's why George role as a familiar is so complex. How is he even supposed to express that? Words are too far from reality, never precise enough. There’s no guideline for how to act when you want to protect someone so badly. There should be.

“I know,” he simply mutters because there’s nothing more to say. “I’m sorry.”

The fire is back to a more steady state. It crackles, pops lightly and George opens his hands to suck the warmth in his palm before rubbing them together. He doesn’t look that angry under the dull light. His dark hair are sweetly ruffled and his eyes are as soft as they’ve always been.

“Y/n has been looking for you too,” George says. “They’re worried too.”

“I know. It’s for them that I’ve been gone,” Dream explains.

“Yeah?” George hums and Dream follows the song. It seems like it was enough of an explanation for George to put his attention back on him.

“I’ve been looking for this book I talked to you about and it happened to be in Italy.” Dream says, pointing at the book that is laying on the kitchen table.

“Why would it be in Italy,” George asks as his brows furrow and he leans his head on the side.

“I don’t really know but it’s so old it probably visited a lot of places before,” Dream exhales.

“What were the chances for you to actually find it?” George questions.

“Very few, I guess I’ve been very lucky,” Dream answers while detailing the book from afar.

George gets up, his steps aren't as sure as they were a couple of minutes ago, creaking on his way. His fingers wrap carefully around the book and he describes it. It looks practically untouched considering how old it is. Its previous owners must have kept it with great care. The emerald colored cover isn’t displaying any title and when George finally opens it, the golden pages are adorned with rounds and organic letters; it was handwritten.

“You’re never lucky, Dream. It’s never luck with you,” George says as he lightly shakes his head.

“Well, believe me on that one; it was pure luck.”

It’s not something you would have expected to do in your life, yet you take this spell in an almost solemn way. The room is dark, only illuminated by candles you placed in corners of the room. The obscurity is almost reassuring that you’re doing this with enough respect for the sorcerer.

You drew a circle of sea salt and lit up some incent. The smell is strong, not far from heady. You placed two candles inside the circle; a black one in which you carved Corpse’s name and a white one in which you carved your own. Now, all you had to do was tie the two candles together with a string that would represent your bond and light the two candles until the tie would come undone, until this connection would come undone. Consumed by the fire.

That’s what Corpse said. It feels a little bitter for some reason but since nothing seems to be making any sort of sense, maybe it’s time to just let it go.

So, as the string curls around you and Corpse, you set your intention; I wish for my mind to know peace again. I wish for my mind to be spared of Corpse’s name. I wish for our sense deprived bind to stop being. You light up the two candle and patiently wait for the string to burn away.

The flames are captivating your attention. They are strong, almost unnaturally tall but mesmerizing as they melt down the wax and shrink the candle in size.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer," you whisper.

The moment lasts so long you have no idea how long just passed. Yet your gaze misses none of the spectacle. A glimpse of confusion crosses your face when the two flames are close enough to set the string on fire but can’t seem to actually do it. You brush it off until the flames are about to go out and the string is still spared. It won’t burn down. The curiosity gets validated when the remaining wax no longer provides any source of light. It’s done, or at least it should have been. So why is the bond still intact?

☾ A/N : So last chapter I said the next ones wouldn't be angsty but??? guess I kinda lied?? This wasn't the chapter I planned on writing at all (realized that 3k deep into what I was writing lol) but I thought we needed a bit of magic before moving on. Also I feel like I should mention that the spell is a real one and that you shouldn't do it until you understand the consequences of it. 💘DNF💘 now that we got this out of the way,, don't you feel like familiar Gogy and familiar Sykkuno are giving off the same energy?? idk I'm just too invested now but I'm excited to know what you thought of it anyway! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : dm me or ask me to get tagged :

@open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker​ ; @butterfly-skinnylegend​ ; @fanworrior​ ; @stickystrawberrysyrup​ ; @imsuchtrashhelp​ ; @clubfairy​ ; @boiled-onionrings​ ; @thatlonelyalto​ ; @thatsouthernblondewiththeass​ ; @tiaamberxx​ ; @thesecretwriterblog​ ; @takoyakiuchiha​ ; @danielle143​ ;

[its-moopoint]

Moo, shippers have his Father's Day denial sorted out. The thrill continues.

mariaae - The games played don’t bother me at all. He’s relaying his true message another way. Lucky Dad...

dillon7fan: HE LOVES FATHER’S DAY

citrinesun said: I’m gonna need actual proof either way.

rosegoldcameo said: No way can SC admit it if they were hiding their family or relationship

auburncurlslass said: Shove that TBag!

wildfernflower said: (*) I would take every his word with a big grain of salt. I have an impression he’s fighting not to burst into laugh (his face expressions and eyes give him away, he’s so obviously acting and pretending that all to be so serious) and I think this is the first thing he did when the camera was off. As usual, he’s playing with all sides of the fandom.

wildfernflower said: This commercial was purposely made in a humorous, exaggerated manner. Sam is messing around pretending to be an elderly, tired father in his 60s, who sighs with relief while sitting down in his comfy armchair to let his stiff, sore joints relax and have a wee dram. This whole promo is a kind of a joke, Sam’s acting all the time and almost winking at his audience. One can take what he’s saying literally, but having in mind a playful convention of this promo, (*)

jclovely said: @hewhohas4 we and when I say we I mean a lot of us saw Cait and Sam in person with their first and second pregnancies, believe what you want but if you study from Jan 2016 and through seasons 2 to 6 you will see Cait in multiple pregnancies, all is there in public for scrutiny for those that have eyes to see and ears to hear. Both Sam and Cait are married since 2015 with 5 children. I rest my case.

claraisabelcampohermoso said: I won’t buy your whisky either… Punished !!

gabysachs said: Come on Sam implies he loves Father’s Day addding he extends his wish to all those who pretend to be. In short, he’s meaning that he has something to hide. Exactly @odessa eight years in throwing us clues while still acting like a single man to boost his sales. It’s wrong.

findingweeherbs - read between the lines. Daddy Sam is at it agin…gotta love him for these.

hewhohas4 reblogged this from jclovely and added: You forget he’s an actor, marketing his product and we don’t know. I hope he is!

auburncurlslass said: Anon….for pete’s sake, use the fucking spell check key! Publicly not Publicity!! But then again he’s getting PUBLICITY FOR PUBLICLY MARKETING ‘FATHER’S DAY’! When he’s never done it before

jclovely reblogged this from odessa-2 and added: Thank-you Odessa some are more aware then others about the "fake" narrative. ..

odessa-2 said: @zeya-zg oh he’s sneaky alright. These type of stunts are his bread and butter. Eight years in and he’s still toying with the fandom and pretending. C'mon Sam. You’re a 42 year old man ffs. Time to grow up and own your life and your truth.

hanashegum said: He throws out the word “pretend” for good measure. Very postmodern, this people pleaser! (2)

hanashegum said: Of interest to me is that S is acting out a commercial and very deliberately and conspicuously using cinematic props and devices. When he suddenly turns to the camera and says to the viewer “oh wait, I’m not” he’s calling up the “different narratives” he’s said he loves. He’s saying “I see you” to the viewer. As usual, he’s fusing fiction and reality in an inseparable hug. (1)

sheonamarie said: bahahaha to T-man “buy it for yerself…pretend ya  ARE one” lol

odessa-2 - He was gloating in his daddy chair and looked like the cat they ate the canary. He pretty much laid it out that he’s a father. “I love father’s day”……“then I remembered that I’m not one” (publicly). All the while showing us what a lucky Dad he is!!

LOL LOL I hadn't seen such a compilation of pure bullshit in ages!!!

You can see these folks are nuts, twisting stuff into pretzels to make it work with what they want reality to be. Poor unfortunate souls.

One tells you you need to take what he's saying literally while the other claims you need to read between the lines... LMFAO. The only reading you all need is a book called How to improve your reading and listening comprehension.

My favourite is "jclovely" with her lies. I bet she's one of the usual baby train loons using yet another fake account to seem like a different person. That's what they do.

[teruthecreator]

okay. thoughts on the grad finale

gonna slap it under a readmore bc i’m Sure i’m gonna ramble. 

uh spoiler warning for the finale of taz graduation, as well as spoilers for the season in general.

also, these are my own thoughts of how the season went, what the themes were, etc! if you don’t agree with me, that’s fine! but i don’t wanna have a convo w you in the replies about it i’ll be honest. if you want to share your opinion so badly, make your own post, alright? that good? we cool?

aight. so. finale thoughts.

to make it short: i think the finale was a satisfying end of a very good arc. 

to expand upon that, let me share what i think the themes of graduation were and why the finale satisfies those themes. 

i made a post about this a while back (here it is if you want) but my honest belief was that the theme of graduation was self-reliance: the concept that you don’t allow yourself to be governed by forces that go against your own beliefs. this concept was coined by essayist ralph waldo emerson to talk about how the american people shouldn’t allow the government to create laws that go against the will of the people. now, understandably, this feels very anti-capitalist which is what i think a lot of fans believed was reflected through the season. 

but, in reality, self-reliance has more to do with being active in your government and making sure you’re being represented the way you want to be by your representatives. that’s sort of the vibe emerson was going for in his essay, and i think. in a sense? that translates to graduation. but i took self-reliance in the more metaphorical about breaking away from those things that are controlling you. which, in graduation, was A Lot Of Things. 

the way i saw it, there were two major groups that inflicted order upon the world and the thundermen--conveniently separated as order and chaos (not the deities though, just the concepts). 

the order half of control existed mostly through the school and the HOG. the HOG created the economic reliance on the heroes and villains system, which removed all literal meaning from those terms and turned them into bureaucratic titles. society existed under these very strict checks and balances; heroes and villains supplied money to the kingdom in terms of entertainment, which then boosted that kingdom’s creditability and allowed them to contribute more to nua’s economy, which then led heroes and villains to have a higher demand, thus perpetuating the cycle. it’s important to note that this term does not represent the sort of morality we expect for heroes and villains--hell, even the term “evil” turned into an arbitrary term used to show those heroes and villains who failed the system. this is the more prominent representation of control that the thundermen break away from in achieving their own self-reliance. they don’t see the value in a system that holds no real moral code (fitzroy Especially, but i’ll get into that in a bit), and can’t help the public when there’s actually a serious situation. as we saw with althea in the beginning, the HOG had no way to help the thundermen when they were dealing with the whole Demon Prince situation (as he had already placed some of his own people in there, proving these kind of systems are easily corruptible). so this wasn’t a system meant to Actually create heroes and villains--it was just a way of boosting the economy. 

the chaos half of control existed primarily through grey and Chaos. grey represented how chaos could be controlled, through various means. he planted that tree for the centaurs to fight over because he knew it would constantly create conflict, which he enjoyed. he kept the school under a watchful eye to prevent anyone from stepping out of line with his grand ideas, and used several manipulation tactics to try and get his way (most notably, his own admittance of grooming fitzroy into joining his side, which didn’t work). grey was the perfect example of how chaos does not automatically mean a lack of control. he was very controlling in how he did things because he had an endgoal: find hieronymous and have a war. but he didn’t even realize he was contributing to a greater idea, that being Chaos’s insistence on causing general disarray. as we realize now, Chaos’s plan was both for them and Order, but i’m leaving Order out for a second because they only really rear their head in towards the end. for the most part, audiences were led to assume that Chaos was the Big Bad(TM); they were the one pulling the strings, allowing things to happen to cause general chaos and disarray. them supplying random mortals with their endless power was a way to plant chaos into the world of nua; but it was a chaos they controlled. fitzroy resisting them was not simply a refusal to bend to Chaos, but it was resisting the control put on him through his magic. 

these systems were constricting the thundermen on both sides. when they thought they’d find help in one side, they were disappointed to find that there was nothing anyone could do. the only people who could fix their problems were...them. so they forged a new path, set new ideas, and became self-reliant. that’s what i think is the most important aspect of graduation; not the anti-capitalist implications of turning over the economic and political systems in place, but the idea that if nothing that is supposed to help you is actually helping that you can just...do your own thing! 

and i think that’s what the finale really shows, at the end of the day. that these forms of control were not doing anything helpful, and were in fact ruining the fabric of space-time! that’s where i think Order comes in because Order is really...the ultimate culmination of control. they are aware that Everything being done will benefit their cause. the HOG? well, they make sure everybody’s so incompetent that they can do their work. grey? well, he’ll contribute to the plan without even realizing it. they even manipulated Chaos and enacted their own form of control over Chaos to make sure that they had no reason to believe that this plan couldn’t go wrong. but Order knew. Order always knew there was a chance for error, and that chance was very great. but they didn’t care! so long as they had control of things, they could try a hundred times to get it right. they had no care for mortals, unlike Chaos. 

the thundermen showing Chaos the truth is the final jenga piece that collapses this tower of control. which is why the finale is so great. 

travis does a phenomenal job of incorporating chaos (general chaos) into the battle mechanics. it may be stupid and slightly arbitrary, but having them change forms randomly and having to adapt to those new circumstances really does exemplify the season!!! the thundermen were constantly forced into new situations (being sidekicks/henches, fitzroy becoming a villain, being let in on the heiro dog situation, the unbroken chain trial, joining forces w grey, etc.), and in all of them they simply found a way to adapt and keep working their way. which made the finale generally interesting and also thematically interesting! 

i think my favorite part of the entire fight scene is right at the end, when argo chucks the shark’s tooth necklace at Order. and time stops. and they’re given a choice. 

the fact that they leave it to a coin toss?? oh my god...how fucking FITTING!! like, that’s disorderly. that’s going your own way. it’s new, it’s terrifying, it has DIRE UNKNOWNS ON EITHER SIDE, but it’s what they do! and...it ends up working out! i think it would’ve worked out either way, but the fact that they left it up to chance really shows how they aren’t allowing anything to control their actions. 

AND THEN WE GET TO THE EPILOGUE. MY GOD I LOVE THE EPILOGUE I’M GONNA GO OFF SO MUCH. 

first off, i loved hearing how Nua adapts to losing this very significant form of government/economic contributor and turns to more people-based work. citizens uniting together, fixing things, making amends, THAT’S SELF-RELIANCE BABEY!!! THAT’S THE WHOLE EMERSON SHIT! HAVING A SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT THAT ACTUALLY HAS THE INTERESTS OF THE PEOPLE AT LARGE!!! YEAHHHHHHHHH THAT’S THE WHOLE SELF-RELIANCE THING!

now, i’ll break it down by characters: 

fitzroy

GOD. LOVE IT. FIRST OFF, absolutely ADORED how his character arc involved him stripping himself of these self-assigned titles because he actually has an identity that is all his own and he doesn’t NEED arbitrary titles to prove his worth because HE HAS IT IN HIMSELF. not to self-plug or anything, but that’s ssoss!fitzroy’s WHOLE SHIT. I’VE ALREADY BEEN ON THIS TRAIN, BITCH, AND TO KNOW I GOT IT SO RIGHT...GOD. FEELS GOOD. 

but also, i just really enjoy how his ending went in general. the fact that he doesn’t really know what he wants to do, so he just...does stuff he likes to do? that’s so good! because, if you remember, fitzroy had a Very set schedule of life events when the campaign started. he was going to get his wiggenstaffs degree, go back knight school, get his knight school degree, and then go to goodcastle. but all of that was based on a very limited understanding of himself. 

fitzroy’s character arc has primarily focused finding himself, specifically in terms of identity. for someone who was bullied for his past, the present formation of himself was Extremely important to fitzroy. he thought that shutting out his past and taking on this grandiose title of knighthood would make him something more than himself. he would no longer be fitzroy; the poor, country kid trying to make it in a big world. he’d be Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt; respected, honored, revered, with a title to prove it. 

he explains to fauxronymous (pre-reveal grey) that the reason he wanted to be a knight was because he wanted to assist in doing good. morally good. fitzroy has Always had a very clear sense of his morality; this comes through when he refuses Chaos on the basis of many people having to die if he agreed. but being a knight also had the added of bonus of a very respectable title that no one would want to look beyond, which fitzroy felt he needed because...i don’t think he Saw anything beyond that. in himself. he wasn’t himself for a very long time, and i don’t know if he ever thought he would be again. he’d wear this new identity, start a new life, and be happier....he hoped. 

then, things changed! and he started to realize that arbitrary titles don’t do shit because plenty of people with Big Important Titles ended up being Awful People! so he started to value himself For Himself; his wit, his humor, his strength, his magical prowess. and, i think, he started to wonder what knighthood was Really about. was it about upholding a moral good? or was it just another bureaucracy filled with people who won’t do shit when things get bad. 

i think this is why him becoming a lawyer is fitting. especially because of the reasoning he gives sylvia nite. now for A LOT OF PEOPLE, i’m sure they hear lawyer and assume some corporate hotshot who doesn’t give a shit about people. but fitzroy is Not applying to be a corporate laywer. he SPECIFICALLY telsl sylvia that he wants to help people who cannot help themselves, and he wants to do good in that way. THAT kind of lawyer is more of the pro-bono, district lawyer. the ones that don’t make crazy amounts of cash, but help those who cannot afford lawyers and represent them when the government is fucking them over. those lawyers don’t rely on title, they rely on principle. 

that’s the perfect representation of fitzroy’s growth. holding his identity within himself, while still trying to do good by those who need it. 

firbolg (aka gary) 

i think the firbolg’s ending is so unique but so...right for him. his character arc has really been focused around finding his family. he had one, in the beginning, in his clan. but that didn’t end up, y’know...working out that much. so he had to go out into the world alone--something that firbolg’s are rarely--and try and navigate these foreign spaces all by himself. 

we see very early on how he latches onto the idea of groups. he likes being considered a part of the thundermen; he very much hoists himself upon the CFO title and wears it proudly. i think, where fitzroy needed to find identity within himself, the firbolg needed to find it within other people. which is completely okay! he’s still an individual, but you can tell he finds comfort in numbers because that’s what he is used to. 

him going back to his clan was, i believe, his finally severance with his identity as “firbolg”. he would never be welcomed back to his clan, and one of the few people in his life who supported him was now dead. but his father was proud of him; his father was happy he seemed to find his own clan, even if it wasn’t with other firbolgs. from that moment on, i think the firbolg begins to try finding himself within the thundermen. within his friends.

so his epilogue is neat! it definitely captures the loneliness he feels on his own, and how he feels lost with himself without others. i think it might seem silly to some that he would become a gary, but i think it’s fitting. the garys were always present in his time at school, and they were always helpful. they didn’t mind how long it took him to talk because the gary’s are stone gargoyles--what the fuck do they care about time? it was a group that the firbolg saw as familiar to him--always willing to help, slow, stony, and attuned to a larger group. 

and i think the way gary takes this idea of unity and family and puts it into financial assistance just...it just ties everything together! we saw how attached he got to the concept of finances, thanks to his very confusing accounting class. so he had all of this new knowledge--this knowledge that represented a separation from firbolgs--and this new clan. and he used it to help other clans and families!! i think the fact that the Garys financial advice works specifically with groups is what makes this so fitting. because gary wants families to feel stable within themselves; he understands how finances can create struggle and divides, and he wants to provide relief. 

giving financial advice to communities so they rely on themselves and not the government (aka inviting them to be controlled once more) is a VERY self-reliant concept. not that i think gary’s goal is to have no social networks to exist, but he wants to give communities the ability to rely on one another and foster that feeling of togetherness. so groups aren’t fighting over things, but are trusting and loving and relying. 

just like gary’s always wanted. and just like what he has with the thundermen.

argo 

argo’s ending is probably the funniest, but also the sweetest. i think that argo’s character arc revolved around finding his place. we see how argo’s early personality and motivations revolved around his past. he very much had a revenge story since the start; he wanted to enact revenge on the commodore for murdering his mother, no matter what it took. which made him very limited!! in terms of the self. he saw himself less for what he was now, and what he was then. and what he couldn’t do then. 

we see how much he finds comfort in being a part of the thundermen, but also how he feels...out of place. i think this is because a part of him is still attached to his past and doesn’t think he can do anything beyond his set plan. the unbroken chain certainly contributes to this, by not only separating him from the trio but also reinforcing his connection to his past through his mother’s involvement in the unbroken chain. 

the commodore also being a part of the unbroken chain is, i think, what causes the shift from past to present within argo. his life’s goal is standing right in front of him--attached to the group his mother once was a part of--with his friends at his side. letting the thundermen in on his history is the start of bridging these two halves of argo. and the fact that the thundermen are so willing to helps makes argo feel more a part of the team and more a part of this reality. 

when he kills the commodore, it isn’t intense. it isn’t overly dramatic (minus the fight prior, which was BADASS), it isn’t crazily staged. it is argo, staring down the commodore who lies prone on the ground. 

he kills himself unceremoniously and completes his life-long mission. 

what becomes of him in the epilogue is the culimination of both past and present. he takes what he knows and loves (the sea, the mariah, sailing) and blends it with what he’s come to love now (his friends, this adventure, and making people happy). there are SO many instances where argo uses performance to his advantage. this man is piloted by clint mcelroy, of COURSE he’s going to have a flair for the dramatic. 

so for him to open up a themed cruiseline, based on the stories of him and his friends? SO FITTING. and it isn’t forcing himself to leave his past behind or to completely ignore his present circumstances. because he’s found a place in the now, in the merging of these two sides. and by merging them, he paints a bright future for himself. a future that is partially known, partially not. partially old, partially new.

but it’s all his. 

after that, i think their final scene is just...sweet. a nice, jovial, joking send-off to a nice season. it proves these people have grown and will continue to grow, even when we no longer see their story. it does exactly what graduation does--shows you a struggle, a triumph, and a glimpse into the future. 

i’ll miss it so much, but there’s nothing more i could’ve asked of this ending. it was exactly what it needed to be; nothing more, nothing less. 

[juiceboxman]

Advice for New DMs

I’ve been lucky enough to have DM’d a weekly game for over a year now and I’ve had conversation with people irl and online about how they think about DMing but aren’t necessarily too confident in their own ability or don’t even know where to start. So here’s some things I would suggest to get started, things to keep in mind and advice about general stuff. Here we go;

1) Familiarise Yourself with the Rules. You can read the DMs Manual or the Player’s Manual for rules. You can find rules explained everywhere online from Roll 20 to DND Beyond. But if you don’t like reading, and I get that cause the thought of reading a 200+ page instruction manual on how to play a game does sound daunting, I would suggest watching or listening to Actual Play Shows. If you watch like a few episodes of Critical Role or Dimension 20, you kind of get the basics of DnD. That’s really all you need to start DMing, just the basics like “what which Dice do”.

2) Know your Players. DnD is a collaborative game and all good collaboration necessitates some base understanding of who you’re collaborating with. You don’t necessarily need to know the people you’re playing with very well, but just enough to get where you can decide whether these people are chill to play with. So say if you’re gonna be playing a horror/scary campaign and you know one of the people in mind for playing isn’t too into horror- maybe don’t have them play cause it will make them uncomfortable. That example is perfectly fine but it delves into extremes when you’re dealing with people who are just difficult. You can look up online and find tons of stories relating to bad dnd experiences with just rude, shitty people. I would like to clarify that by saying that these experiences aren’t a DnD problem- it’s a social group problem. If you hang out wih a shitty person they will inevitably do shitty things, and honestly its better that a shitty outburst occurs at a controlled environment such as a DnD Game than say a house party where all sorts of shit could happen. So know your players. If they’re cool people, they’ll make cool players. If they’re kind of shit heads, they’re going to cause a lot of issues and not the fun kind. Know the difference between “shenanigans” and “open disrespect” because you as the DM put a lot of work into the game, if the players don’t respect that- maybe don’t play with them. No dnd is better than bad dnd 

3) Know Your Game. This rule helps a lot if you are familiar with lots of DnD shows, which gives you a frame of reference for the type of campaign you wanna run. If you wanna go big dramatic epics with a lot of strict survivalist rules, Critical Role is a good place to reference. If you wanna go for balls to the wall humour with a lot of heart and emotional moments, NADDPOD is a good place to reference. You want a proper scary campaign, watch Sophomore Year from Dimension 20- it is primarily a comedy show but when they do drama they do DRAMA. Knowing your players allows you to know the game better. It took me quite a while in my own campaign t realise “Oh I’m not running a CR game, I’m running a NADDPOD game” and ater I realised that I was able to play it better. Know the game, know the genre, know what you and your players like and enjoy and try to maximise that fun.

4) Preparation. DMs do a lot of preparation whenever they intend to run a game. I would argue that the amount of preparation you want to do should be equal to the amount of time you’re willing to spend. Sad fact of life is that DnD, and other activities with friends, are all dependant on IRL scheduling. A campaign can fizzle and die out at a moments notice, not all stories get finished and if you wanna start any creative process that’s a reality you have to accept. I’m a creative person, I do quite a lot of writing and stuff on the side so when I do prep for DnD I don’t want to spend too much of my creative juice on a project that only six people at a table will know about compared to one that would feature a larger audience. Also if you have a busy schedule you might not have time to worldbuild, so short cuts help. So in those respects I don’t see anything wrong with being lazy. There are plenty of websites online where you can randomly generate maps, towns, characters- you name it. You don’t need to spend hours on end developing streets of a city that no one will walk down or lore behind businesses no one will ask about. You just need to be familiar enough with the history or your world, its vibe and tone in which you can effectively improv the rest. I’ve been DMing a game now for well over a year, I spend less than an hour a week doing prep. I write a few bullet points for stuff to bring up in the session, I make a brief map for encounters, I’ll look up monster stats, maybe draw up some homebrew and heroforge pictures of the NPCs- that’s it

5) Improv. I think 90% of DMing is pure improv. Depending how well you know your players and their characters, you can predict certain behaviours. So if you have an NPC say or do something that you know will gaina certain reaction from a player, that’s something you are certain about. Everything else however can be improv based. Players will surprise you. They’ll do weird dumb shit and they will do really cool game breaking shit. You have an NPC who was supposed to be a big villain? Well the PCs all teamed up and with an effective strategy, that NPC is now dead. It’s the lay of the land. The goal with prep is to have enough prepared that you can effectively pull stuff out of your ass with no issue. Improv isn’t necessarly difficult, all you really need is to listen. When a player responds to something and you feel its worth rolling for, have them roll for it. If tey roll well, tell them they did the thing. If not, tell them they didn’t. If the thing they asked for is impossible, tell them it’s impossible. You can come up with all sorts on the fly

6) DND isn’t like TV/BOOKS/MOVIES. DND is a weird medium of entertainment. Its a collaberative game where you all make a narrative, but a lot of strange stuff happens in between. Like if youre watching a movie or a show or reading a book you might think to yourself “why is this character spending twenty minutes talking to this waiter that genuinely isn’t that interesting?” or something like “why did the main villain die five pages in?” DND doesn’t follow a beat structure or format. Plot armor doesn’t fit here, it’s all decisions and luck- that’s it. Don’t be dissapointed in your work in regards to storytelling. Don’t worry about plot holes or inconsistencies, just focus on player engagement. If the players are having fun, then you’re playing the game right. You as the DM have to make sure that everyone is playing fairly and having fun. Treat your players equally, don’t be a dick, don’t be a pushover. You have to know what your players want, but also know what they don’t want. If your players like a weird NPC, have that NPC show up more cause they enjoy it. If your players discover an ability ot a magic object that left untouched will alter game play (e.g. one of my PCs recently gained an ability in which they gained the breath weapon of an ancient red dragon) that if used effectively could elminate all threat from any boss fight ever- don’t be afraid to NERF that. You need to be considerate about your enjoyment and the players enjoyment, its all in the balance.

That’s the main six points I have so far. If I have anymre I’ll be sure to add them. If anyone has any advice, feel free to add below. Hope this helps! Also; Brennan Lee Mulligan has a good podcast giving DM advice called Adverturing Academy. Has a lot of cool guests. The episode featuring Carlos Luna from Roll 20 is actually good career advice and gets me motivated just thinking about it. Definitely worth checking out!

[milkteamoon]

To Scale the Stars

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Rating: general audience Tags: space au, introspection Relationships: Amane Yugi & Nene Yashiro It gets lonely up in space sometimes. Maybe it's being alone that's making Amane imagine a fish outside his window. Written for Ad Lunam Zine @jshkspacezine

It’s early one morning when he first sees her.

Or late one night. The clock above his bed reads 5:53 am, but time means little when you’re floating through space, stitched between the dawn and twilight, caught up in the milky expanse of the moon’s glow. 

Amane knows he should be better about keeping time. He’s been meaning to since college- work on that whole “getting your life together” concept. But life skips stones at the speed of light, and suddenly he’s twenty-one, twenty-seven, thirty-two. Suddenly he’s picking through his hair to see if that one particular strand is blonde or gray, sifting through the infinite amount of work contacts in his phone just to find his brother’s number, staring out over the tiny lights of the world below wondering if anyone misses him up here. He already knows the answer to that last one- Tsukasa asks him every day when he’s coming home (and every day he tells him “soon.” And every day his twin tells him “not soon enough,” and every day the cycle repeats). And though his middle school teacher would sooner drink pen ink than admit it, Tsuchigomori is all too quick to take him up on the offer to go get a drink sometime.

But seriously, Amane needs to get better about the whole time thing. It’s really ruining his sleep schedule (one he barely had to begin with), but he can’t help that his body simply won’t adjust to zero gravity even after six months of living it.

So it’s 5:53 am when he straps on his helmet, attaches his lure, and makes his way out into the inky void of the universe. It’s a typical space walk, like he’s done a thousand times before. Check the meters, skim the paneling, adjust the satellite dish that came loose after the station drifted through a cloud of space debris.

The usual.

He knows how it goes.

He knows how quiet it is out there, lost in only the vibrations of his own breathing and the soft whir of his suit.

He knows where his head starts wandering when left to his own devices.

And it’s wandering he assumes it’s doing when he spots the tiny nebulous cloud on the horizon.

Something….moving.

Swishing. 

Swimming. 

At least, that’s the best way he can describe it.

It’s enough to make him rub his helmet in place of his eyes, attempting to blink away some sleep-deprived hallucination or trick of the lunar light. Trying to convince himself that it’s just his imagination. That somehow the dream he had the other night about an alien movie he’d seen with his brother had wriggled its way into reality in the most tantalizing concoction of space dust and astral debris.

The reality check fails to dissipate whatever it is, so Amane does the next most rational thing.

Winds his way back around the space station paneling. Slips his way out of the vast expanse of space and into the comfort of his quarters. Takes two aspirin – just for good measure, reminds himself to get new contacts when he returns to terra firma, and does his best to force his mind into a fitful sleep.

He doesn’t drift off until about three hours later, but when he finally does, he dreams he’s at sea.

Floating. Drifting over an infinitely vast stretch of blue. One that he can’t see the bottom of, no matter how much he squints or how hard he imagines.

Which is funny. Kind of. In the ironic non-humor sort of way that elicits more of an exhausted huff than an amused chuckle. Because Amane never really liked the ocean. And he has an inkling that the feeling’s mutual.

~

It’s a fish, he decides. Or at least, something akin to it. Something with fins and gills that twists its way in between the satellite paneling and the tail of Ursa Major. That inches its way closer with every passing sunset, to the point that it chips itself out of his imagination and into the corporeal world just outside his window.

Amane’s first thought is that he’s losing it. 

Naturally. Sure, it’s not the first time he’s been up in space alone, but it’s certainly the longest. Shijima’s team wasn’t set to dock for another three weeks, and the little human interaction he could manage were emails to his brother and the occasional check-in from mission control. 

Which was....fine, he supposed. In all honesty, Amane much preferred silence or his own choice of music to the prattle of other passengers. The lilting hum of the spaceship and the occasional beeps from the dashboard to the snores of coworkers who managed a much better sleep schedule than him.

But Amane’s not stupid. He also knows how silence gets to a person. He’s seen it many times.

But he doesn’t linger on the possibility of a dwindling psyche. He’s much too intrigued by this odd little creature that has taken up residence outside his window.

And there’s something sorta funny about the whole situation, because Amane’s never liked the ocean. Never liked the possibility of millennium-old creatures dwelling in hydrothermal vents, of things waiting to drag him down beneath the waves. Never liked the way his classmates’ stares settled into the back of his head like eyes lurking in the deep. Space isn’t like the ocean. Space is infinitely vast and infinitely empty. Space is made up of numbers and theories and rocket-fuel and rocks.

Space is dead. But he’s okay with that. Amane likes the silence. Amane likes to be alone.

Amane’s always wanted to get away.

And he’s been true to that whole “space is empty” belief until now. Sure, alien life might be statistically probable, but it was biologically impossible. Not real. A fabrication. Nothing but pipe dreams. 

Amane sends a message to Tsuchigomori before he crawls into bed that night. One he doesn’t really expect a reply to, because it’s nearly 3 a.m. in Japan. That is, unless Tsuchigomori’s been up grading again. Amane knows he has a bad habit of doing so.

And it’s nearly four hours later when he rolls over to check his smartphone and finds it blinking with a response that irks him for just how typical it is of his old school teacher, blunt as ever.

Amane: do you think there’s life out there somewhere?

Tsuchigomori-sensei: sure, why not?

~

And that weird little creature melts into his life much in the same way of cream into coffee: sweetly, slowly, and then all at once. To the point that his days feel empty the moments it drifts out of his glass canvas of the universe outside, if days can exist in a world filled with infinite sunsets. Well, about fifteen that is. Something that started awe-inspiring, then grated into a nuisance, and finally dipped their way into becoming the best part of his waking hours. 

Because every sunset the fish would resurface, and Amane took the time to sit. Watch as the sun glimmered off the switchboard at the head of the cabin and twisted its way between the creature’s translucent scales. Breathed in the much too filtered air and breathed out a stillness he hadn’t felt in years. 

It never speaks — not that he thought it would — but he comes to know its language. Its erratic swishes when he comes to peek outside, its bouncing when he tends to the zinnias. Maybe in another life, it’d have been a gardener, or a mermaid, or a novelist. Maybe that’s why it slows to a halt and allows him to bask in every glinting, rainbow scale when he finds the courage to speak.

It’s not the possibility that he’s losing it that eats at him. Of course not. Amane’s always been the weird kid, the hot topic of back-of-the-classroom conversations and breakroom gossip, and he’s used to that. It’s fine. In all honesty, finding out that he’s hallucinating sea creatures would probably be the least of his worries.

But there’s that small sliver of a chance that manages to keep him up at night. That somehow he’s.....not. That maybe, just maybe, the fish really is swimming through the stars outside the space station, and that maybe, just maybe, it’s nothing more than that.

Just a fish.

Impossibly normal.

Not some eldritch monster from one of Tsukasa’s horror manga, nor some anomalous amalgamation of undiscovered extraterrestrial life. Not some figment of a loose air tank that was slowly spinning his brain to mush.

But a fish. Just a fish. One with gills and fins and eyes glazed in nictitating nothingness. Just a fish as simple as that moon rock he had as a child, or the sun being nothing more than a ball of burning gas.

Perfectly........ordinary. 

And that frightens him, but he’s not sure why.

Amane presses his face to the glass one evening and finds it cold as ice. And as he does, the fish follows suit, bopping its nose into the window and wiggling its horns (fins? He’s not quite sure) in a sympathetic gesture.

And Amane whispers into the space between.

“Are you real?”

Even though it can’t hear him.

And the fish stares glassy-eyed and keeps its mouth shut.

Always does.

Always silent.

Why should he expect anything different?

~

It’s a Wednesday that the fish fails to show at the day’s first sunset.

Amane sits alone.

Goes about his day as one would without a fish.

Once, he thinks he catches it skirting around the edges of the paneling. Clipping the last rays of sun before dipping back into the faint luster of starlight. Swimming just as brisk as if it were navigating the inky black waves that he used to fear as a child. 

And then it’s gone. Just a blip. Just his imagination.

It’s gone again on Thursday. And Friday.

Amane sits at the window. Waiting. Watching for something that might have been a fish, or might have been just his imagination.

And when the final sunset dies on the horizon, he crawls into bed. Forces himself into a fitful sleep – or at least, he tries to. Because the whirs of the station are much louder now, much heavier and dripping into the static silence like mercury. Much more rhythmic, in a sense, that it almost reminds him of ocean waves.

Crashing. Clawing. 

And then still.

~

Amane dreams of his old middle school.

Dreams that it’s still drenched in that awful teal paint and that the old wing still sits abandoned and unrenovated. 

Amane dreams of himself. That he never grew past five-foot, squished down by some old school cap he remembers wearing on orientation day of first year. Amane dreams of a weird sticker on his face, ironically scrawled with the word “seal,” that he’s certain would itch like peeling face paint if his hands were just a bit more solid and his feet could touch the ground.

Amane dreams of a girl, one with droopy eyes and messy hair. One with a voice loud as thunder with ankles to match, and one that calls him some weird nickname he can’t remember when he wakes up. She yells a lot, and he laughs, and then she follows suit. As they should. As if they always should.

Amane dreams of the moon, stretched across the sky in luminescent majesty.

That the celestial body still holds the same wonder as it did in the tiny rock he had as a child. That rabbits still dance on its surface and that an old youthful wish still crawls beneath his skin. 

Amane knows that he’s not going to the moon in his dream, but that’s okay. It’s okay when that funny girl drags him along, adjusts his cap, and calls him things he might be embarrassed by as an adult. It’s okay when the umbrella kid comes to eat donuts (plain, no less!) with them, and they laugh about a joke he doesn’t quite get.

It’s okay that he’s not going to the moon.

Amane’s not going anywhere in his dream, but he’s not so lonely this time around.

And it’s okay. Somehow, it’s still okay.

~

It’s 5:53 am when Amane is awoken by one, two, three knocks at his window. It’s just enough to pull him from the warm haze of his mind into the chill of the cabin, just enough to do a quick sweep of the monitors and valves. And logically he knows no one should be knocking on his window some 250 miles above the earth. That realistically it’s space junk, or rogue rocks, or even more likely his imagination. But it’s still 5:53 am, and it’s much too early to go back to bed. 

So Amane does the next most rational thing. Straps on his helmet. Attaches his lure. Makes his way out into the inky void of the universe glazed in the red hue of another sunset. 

Just another day in the booming silence of non-gravity.

Until it isn’t.

Until he makes it to the rim of the plexiglass paneling and spots what he’s been searching for for the past 2 weeks.

Something moving.

Swishing. 

Swimming. 

He doesn’t even need to stretch his tether to full length, because the tiny nebulous cloud comes to meet him. 

“You’re still here huh?” he asks, not expecting a response. Because the fish never speaks, never gives him more than a shake of its star-dusted tail and a blink of those black, nebulous eyes. 

And maybe a week ago he’d have been saddened by this. Upset. Angered. Lonely, like the ocean itself far below his feet.

But it’s okay.

It’s okay when it doesn’t respond as he whispers about going to the moon like he did as a child. About his dream to get away from those bandages that tied him down, and the infinite space to do so. About the silence, conversation just through pixelated text, a sky that pulls his loneliness from his chest and knits it across the stars for all to see.

And he watches the sunset until it slips beyond the horizon yet again. Until his suit beeps at half oxygen, and until he realizes he’s alone once more in the rungs of the night’s shadow.

Amane then does three things.

Makes his way back inside and peels off his chilled suit. Catch the faintest of glimmers on the horizon, of starlight and scales and gills that breathe space dust, just before it slips off into the twinkle between Alcor and Mizar. Heads to his desk, opens his messages, and sends a quick note to his brother promising to be home soon. Even though it’s only 6 am there, and Tsukasa won’t – shouldn’t be awake for another three hours.

The response is almost immediate.

Not soon enough.

And Amane laughs, just a bit, into the silence of the cabin before typing his response.

You can’t wait a week?

But he already knows the answer.

And for once, it’s something the both of them can agree on.