#but i have been writing every day

[treescape]

Six Sentence Sunday - The Generals' Secret

This is from a oneshot I've been working on for ages in which Anakin stumbles across a book that's basically published fic of him and Obi-Wan and obviously can't help but read it. Slightly more than six sentences, but:

He knows it’s a bad idea. It would be a bad idea even if he hadn’t been in love with his former Master for years, hadn’t longed for Obi-Wan to look at him the way the man on the cover looks at his lover. For as long as Anakin can remember, Obi-Wan has been telling him that his recklessness will get him into trouble, and somehow, this feels about as reckless as it gets.

Just a peek, he tells himself. He’ll take just a peek, just to satisfy his curiosity, and then he’ll try to sleep.

His mouth inexplicably dry, he opens the file. He figures he’ll just scroll around a little, maybe pick a random page, see if anything catches his eye. He’ll—

Cheeks flushing with a suddenness that leaves him almost lightheaded, Anakin can feel his eyes widening as his eyes catch on the words before them.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[nikoisme]

The constant temptation and promise of everything and nothing in the odyssey. The sirens promise odysseus to know, and the lotus eaters promise him to forget. He could be an immortal, and he could be a beggar. Be known, and be a stranger. He could be alive, and he could be dead. He could be odysseus, and he could be nobody. And the man of many ways tries to be a little bit of everything.

[thresholdbb]

what's the threshold theory

There was a post about how Tom is the only crew member who isn't really affected by the Borg, and there's a theory that he has so much luck because he saw the past and the future when he crossed the transwarp threshold. He saw the past and the future, all of time and space. There's some subconscious part of him that remembers that experience. In fact, Tom refused to play a part in Chakotay indulging Annorax's temporal incursions, probably because a part of him knew nothing good could come of it.

If we extend that same theory to Janeway, some of her wild luck with time travel and other crack plans starts to make sense. She doesn't verbally hate time travel until after the events of Threshold, since it happens in Time and Again without complaint. Janeway has an uncanny knack for time travel, as evidenced every time she deals with it. She hates time travel, but it might be because part of her knows exactly how to manipulate the timeline. She manages to avoid the "inevitable" temporal explosion in Future's End, saving both Voyager and Braxton. She resets the entire timeline in Year of Hell, and no one else followed her reasoning. She pulled it off flawlessly. In Relativity, she senses the incidents are all related, despite it being just one reading that connects them. By the time she's involved, she has a temporal incursion factor of .0036 and a time travel protocol named after her, even if that may just be Braxton's personal grudge. Then there's Endgame, where she intentionally changes the timeline. Up until this point, she has been dragged into time travel, but for the first time, she jumps in on purpose. How does Admiral Janeway know how to get them home sooner in a way that completely avoids the Temporal Integrity Commission? It's because she has seen all of time, and part of her knows exactly what needs to happen so she can get Voyager home and do it in a way that becomes baked into the prime timeline. Maybe she doesn't consciously remember what happened during her transformation, but the experience lives in her mind somewhere, guiding her decisions.

[minhmynchi]

it's now midnight my time so!! happy birthday siffrin!!! here's him and loop relaxing with each other :3 a bonus twohats spoilers pic in the readmore <3

im so normal about them i swear. waaah

[myokk]

🥺

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[deoidesign]

My comic is so pretty...

The hiatus is letting me take a little extra time on these episodes, and I'm definitely putting it to good use!!!

[pa-pa-plasma]

hey i feel like we're really sleeping on that time Danny possessed Vlad & framed him for assaulting a minor

Editing with the clip because people don't believe me. Episode is 41: Eye for an Eye.

[overtake]

9 or 77 for the prompts?

9: a broken cocktail glass

I really have no words to explain what it is that I did here. Just .... prepare for an onslaught of terrible photoshop.

JUNE 1, 2023

Transcript of the important pieces of That Video™️:

[Cutting out all the basic introduction of how an escape room works, but please note that Max is staring the escape room guy down as if he'll disappear if he looks away for a single second.]

DANIEL: You’re allowed as many hints as you’d like, but when you take a photo at the end, we will publicly shame you by writing how many you used on the whiteboard. MAX: Do you come in if we need hints? DANIEL: Normally we tell you over a loudspeaker, but ours is actually broken, so yeah. Just press that button and I’ll come in. MAX: I think we’ll need a lot of hints. LIAM: I think we’re a decently smart group. We can do it without hints.

[Max turned around and kind of glared at Liam??]

MAX: No, I think we’ll need a lot of hints.

[He stared at Daniel VERY intensely. Better men have crumbled beneath that stare. Daniel just laughed and bent over a little and clapped his hands together all giddy? Max met his match fr.]

____

[Literally TWO MINUTES into the escape room, Checo found a key that obviously unlocked a chest. Max took the key from him, claimed the key didn’t fit - the camera zoom shows he didn’t even try btw - and put the key in his pocket.]

MAX: I think we need to call Daniel in for help.

[He hit the button before anyone could disagree.]

DANIEL: What’s the problem? MAX: We can’t open the chest.

[Daniel looked REALLY amused. He pointed at Max’s skinny jeans.]

DANIEL: Did you try the key? MAX: What key?

[He covered the pocket of his pants, but not before the camera clearly showed the outline of a key in those skin-tight jeans he always wears. His beloved skinny jeans …. they betrayed him …]

DANIEL: The key in your pocket. MAX: It didn’t work. DANIEL: It usually works better when you actually put the key in the hole. MAX: Put it in the hole. I’ll try that, thank you.

[Daniel rolled his eyes when he left the room, but NOT in a ‘harangued underpaid employee being sexually harassed at work’ way. He was very clearly trying not to smile.]

____

[It’s five minutes into this escape room. May I remind you that they have a full hour to complete this thing? Max looked at a broken cocktail glass, which is clearly intentionally broken. It’s only in two pieces. It’s glued down. The edges are completely dull. He still hit the button].

YUKI: Oh my god, Max. MAX: That could be dangerous!

[Daniel entered the room and walked straight over to Max.]

DANIEL: Yes, Max? MAX: There’s broken glass. DANIEL: It’s decor and entirely made of plastic. MAX: I had to be sure. Safety first.

[Daniel started to walk back out of the room.]

DANIEL: I’m counting this in your hint count, by the way. YUKI: Fuck you, Max.

[The swear words are obviously all censored, but we can all tell what the word is when they’re swearing at Max, which happens quite a lot in this video. Max just shrugged at him. Unbothered king.]

____

[I cannot make this up - he calls Daniel in one minute later.]

CHECO: There’s numbers circled on this poster. LIAM: There’s five numbers and this lock over here needs five. We just have to figure out the order. YUKI: Max, don’t hit the fucking button.

[Max has already hit the fucking button.]

MAX: What order do these go in?

[Daniel rubbed a hand over his beard while he searched for a way to explain to Max that he can’t just give him the answers.]

DANIEL: Do those numbers maybe relate to something else in the room? For example, those books over there? MAX: I don’t know. We could go look together. LIAM: Sorry, do you two just want the room to yourselves? MAX: Yes.

[Daniel just laughed again. He is absolutely immune to Max’s intense flirtatious weirdness. It’s incredible to watch.]

DANIEL: How about you all take a look and see how you go?

[If you’re wondering, the others do figure it out after eight minutes. You put the books in alphabetical order, and the colour of their cover relates to the colour of the number. This was something actually worthy of a hint, but Yuki physically guarded the button so Max couldn’t hit it].

____

[Twenty minutes in. Max is trying and failing to figure out a riddle.]

MAX: I think this must only make sense if you speak English. This game isn’t designed for us. LIAM: Do you want me to look?

[Liam didn’t even finish his sentence before Max hit the button, by the way.]

DANIEL: Having some riddle trouble? MAX: Your game is biased.

[Max started wagging his finger, and Yuki looked like he was contemplating snapping it off. Checo was staring blankly at the corner and seemed to be wishing he were anywhere else.]

DANIEL: Mate, I’m pretty sure you speak better English than me. YUKI: We don’t want the hint. MAX: We want the hint. DANIEL: How about I whisper a hint to Max, and he only gives it to you guys if the rest of you can’t figure it out?

[Max looks absolutely delighted with this turn of events. Daniel cups his hands around his mouth and whispers it into Max’s ear.]

MAX: Sorry, say that again?

[He got away with that two more times, by the way. I actually can’t believe Red Bull left this footage in. Max looked smug as hell.]

____

[After four minutes of the group trying and failing to figure out the riddle, they finally give up and ask Max for the hint. I don’t know why they wasted their time. Max hit that fucking button.]

MAX: I forgot the hint. Sorry. DANIEL: I mean, you only heard it three times. How could you remember?

____

[When Max hits the button again, 27 minutes in, there are audible sighs from even the cameramen in the room.]

DANIEL: Max, would you just like to sit in the observation room with me give out hints? YUKI: Please! LIAM: Yes, he would.

[There are no words in any language to succinctly or accurately describe the pleased expression on Max’s face. The best comparison I have is a cat rolling in a field of catnip.]

NOTE: There’s no footage of what went down in the room. Red Bull included a little pop-up explaining that the cameraman couldn’t fit in the room with them. I think that room could have been the size of the entire paddock and Max would’ve found an excuse to have just himself and Daniel in there.

[The others ask for a hint at the 48 minute mark. Suddenly, magically, the loudspeaker works. No one has to enter. It’s just Max’s bossy voice telling them what to do, in detail, to solve the room, and Daniel giggling and protesting in the background, saying he can’t tell them that. It sounds like there’s a scuffle for the mic after Max drops approximately six instructions, and then it cuts off.]

____

[During the photo of everyone holding the sign at the end, Daniel tries to write a 9 in the “clues used” section. Max keeps erasing it and writing 0 with his own marker, produced from seemingly nowhere. Eventually, everyone takes a photo without the sign and they let Max and Daniel continue their little play fight in the corner.]

____

[Post-escape interviews. They all seem to be in a van on the way back from this adventure. Max is giddy and giggling.]

MAX: That was a lot of fun. I think it went well. I was very good at giving clues. I think I found my job for after retirement. YUKI: It was good when Max left. LIAM: To be fair, mate, we would have lost if Max didn’t give us all the answers at the end. YUKI: I was figuring it out!

[The camera captures Checo for only a second. He’s staring longingly out the window... probably contemplating jumping out of the moving vehicle.]

TLDR: Max is definitely fucking this escape room guy and if Red Bull never does a repeat of this video, I’m joining Max’s agenda against marketing activities.

AUG 5, 2024

[inkskinned]

this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.

it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?

it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.

as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.

on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.

and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.

and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.

as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.

[pastafossa]

I love you guys. I hope you know that.

Like.

Ok so I posted the new TRT chapter the other day. Obviously. And I had to force myself to do it, to click that final, 'post' button because at that last moment, this big wave of imposter syndrome hit (that had already hit on and off as I'd started working on the chapter again). And it was just this cycle of, 'It's been like 6 months since you posted a chapter or anything other than a couple one-shots and you're out of practice, I bet it's bad, it's probably terrible, I bet everyone's left and no one cares about this thing you love so why do you? What if no one likes it, you're gonna drop this and everyone's gonna god 'wtf is this, pasta? what happened?'' And so I forced myself to post it, took my meds to ensure I slept, and then kinda just bunkered down and slept/hid because I was halfway convinced that all the trauma in the previous six months had just bopped any ability I had to write.

Instead I got this outpouring, of just like, 'WELCOME BACK' and people telling me they're happy that mom is ok (which made me cry but in a good way) and they're sorry Cato passed away (more tears, but comforted tears), but also delightful jokes about the funny lines I put in or screaming over that romantic line or about missing Jane and the dynamics and comments about being eager for the next chapter, and how now I can be one of those AO3 authors with those notes of 'yeah my life blew up so I was delayed, but hey I'm back!' which... yeah. And much like when I first started TRT, I didn't... really expect that at all, and it's made me really emotional.

So if you've dropped into my ask box or the comments or the replies, seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, because the excitement and love and just you all being the best little fam and continuing on this journey of TRT with me - a journey that has now included both Matt and Jane's journey, and a real life journey through a pandemic, a huge move, a passing of two of my pets, my mom's hospitalization and recovery, some heart issues, the cancellation and resurrection of the show, me meeting Charlie Cox and getting him to hold a red thread, my first wood carving event, etc - and I know I say this a lot, but you all really, really help me keep going when things get hard. I'd write TRT for nothing, I would, because I love this story and I intend to see it through, but ya'll just... I love you all tons. I'm hoping to get through the asks and fic comments and replies in the next few days, but I just wanted you guys to know that.

[inkovert]

I don't make the rules but - if you don't get excited at the thought of going back and re-reading the story you wrote then you're writing the wrong story.

You are your first and most important reader.

[campbyler]

no worries if not! but perchance would we be able to get a wip wednesday?

#enjoy #🔪

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Not to be a total asshole here but if I get one more "I need more! give me more!" comment on my Platonic Sugar Baby Buddie AU, it's going away. It has literally been two weeks since my last update, during which time I've been working on another fanfic, finishing up my second part-time job, working a full-time job, and being an adult with a full life.

I have never experienced this amount of whining in my entire time in this fandom and I can only presume that it's new people to the fandom who have an appalling lack of etiquette.

It's literally people just saying "give me more! I want more! hurry up!" And while none of you are at all entitled to my personal business, it sure doesn't help the depressive episode I'm in that y'all are doing this.

I love sharing my fics with you guys, and I love the enthusiasm and joy that you have for my writing. But the sudden influx of demands for sequels, for specific scenes in fics, unprompted fic, smut, and chapter suggestions, and now just outright demanding like a toddler for an update is disheartening, annoying, and the opposite of encouraging.

Please stop. Please. Please stop.

[cuubism]

well it's taken 2000+ pages but brandon sanderson finally gave me exactly what i didn't know i wanted all along: a toxic codependent friend group that took over the world