#but i think nightmare static is funnier

[isekaicore]

if you had two telepaths trying to read each others minds at the same time i think they'd create a psychic feedback loop basically like turning to the wrong channel on an old tv and being hit with the nightmare static out of nowhere like an INSTANT migraine

[astranite]

Respite (Spun Glass and Golden Light)

Scott and John, or sky and star!

It's another long one at a bit under 5000 words! Tags copied from ao3 as look, I really should be asleep already.Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, theres a fair spectrum of emotions here, Brothers, Thunderbird Five (Thunderbirds), Nightmares, John is also pretty not okay here too as well as Scott but they are both working on it, space metaphors thrown in for good measure, Cuddling & Snuggling, because everyone needs a hug of course, another fic where John and Scott drink hot chocolate!, they are both also learning they can let each other in and Scott is realising this.

Many thanks to the fab @idontknowreallywhy for all the cheering on and wonderfulness!

---

“Do you want to come up to Five?” John asked.

Scott answered far too fast. “Yeah.” His voice broke in the middle.

John thought it would take more convincing, it always did to get Scott to accept anything approaching help. But this time…

He caught one last flash of blue eyes made bluer, meeting his and piercingly desperate, before the hologram shut off from Scott’s end and John was blinking away the after images in the suddenly dark comm hub.

Scott, in rumpled day clothes at 2:47am Tracy Island time, hair falling across his forehead in uneven waves of curls. Scott, whose dark circles under his eyes had startled John into thinking they were bruises, his sharpened features thrown in harsh relief by the dim lamp by dad’s desk. The hologram was fuzzy at the edges, all noisy static between him and his brother, but John couldn’t miss the way Scott looked over his shoulder like he expected something to be there. Or someone. 

Ghosts of his past, John thought, then shook himself.

Scott had nightmares, they all knew it. But he always pretended he wasn't shaken by what he saw. Tried to carry on like they didn't happen, like nothing ever happened, and Scott was as invincible as the legend he’d built around dad was.

John saw, more often than the others. There was a reason he monitored the villa feed for movement outside of usual hours when the rescue alarms hadn't gone off. 

He’d caught a few funnier moments for blackmail, namely Alan and Gordon attempting to steal storebought baked goods from the fridge and getting them mixed up with Grandma’s latest creations in the dark. Repeatedly, because they’d never figured out how Scott and Virgil conspired together to swap the containers.

But there were worse ones for all of their family. Nights Alan slept on the couch because being in his room, alone inside close walls was too much. Gordon making his subdued way through the halls, cheerful facade gone with gasps of pain unable to be stifled, going to get painkillers from the infirmary for his back. Kayo, prowling on silent feet, checking, triple checking security feeds for any slightest threat, not able to believe in the safety of their island anymore. Jagged notes of piano, near silent from keys barely pressed, while Virgil had tears on his face. 

And Scott, of course Scott who had it the worst of all of them, who was the bravest of them but couldn't see it. Late nights, ending slumped ragdoll-like over endless paperwork from endless responsibilities put on his shoulders. Agitated pacing, wearing only socks so he wouldn't wake anyone, ragged breaths louder than his footsteps. The times when Scott was a trembling ball of tears, curled under dad’s desk where he barely fit anymore, hands over his head blocking everything out. 

Sometimes John talked to them, offered company and comfort, other times he let the moments pass silently. He was used to witnessing things he could never speak of again; his own moments of pain rarely had anyone but he made sure his siblings’ did, just in case they needed someone reaching out for them.

Watching over Scott in particular to make sure no harm came to him was an unsaid duty John took as his own. Virgil was there in the day, with him on the ground during rescues, but John amongst his stars kept the nights within his reach. 

He’d already sent the space elevator down and now he waited, marking careful timings as Eos quietly spoke them. Scott was suiting up. Scott was finishing pre-launch checks. Scott had reached the Kármán line, the beginning of space.

John drifted through a gravity-less Five, switching to lights that gave off a soft, golden glow. They filled the Thunderbird up like she was one of those ancient incandescent bulbs, long since obsolete. Like she was delicate spun glass as well as cahelium strength, two opposites the same, together complete where glass could break and cahelium bend. She was different from her sister ships, a different purpose and way of approach, but in the end she was the same. Rescue. Salvation. Pulling them all back from the void. 

He couldn't take the nightmares away, the fear and pain scarred deep in his brother’s bones, but he could offer respite. Warmth and light and safety, with some distance from it all. A set of arms to hold Scott close and a shoulder to cry on when it was needed. It was something, it was everything, in the rare times Scott could reach out and take it. 

And John needed it too. He could watch over Scott from afar, he always would, he couldn't not. But he also needed his big brother close enough that he could feel his heartbeat, how his chest rose and fell with each breath, not just as numbers on a screen, but here and real and close. Maybe he wasn't the touchiest person generally, but his brothers wrapped up in a hug or sides pressed together where they sat, their soft voices in the bubble of quiet, that meant safety. With only arm’s reach to check if they were okay, especially for looking out for Scott. There was a reason that otherwise he had to have all of the data. But right now he needed Scott.

John waited for the familiar clunk of the space elevator docking, for Eos to give the all clear for her checks for the airlock being correctly pressurised, before the doors opened. 

They silhouetted Scott in their frame, stuck halfway between the warm lights of Five and the cooler, harsher ones in the space elevator. 

Scott hesitated, like he always did here, a hand blue-gloved in space issue suit gripping the edge of the airlock. 

John opened his arms, because Scott needed this as much as he did. They were the same this way.

He was met by a brother tumbling towards him, clumsy out of their element, in a crashing hug. For a moment, John almost expected it to be Alan, eager and young, those blue eyes— But Alan was nearly as graceful up here as John these days. And his eyes didn't hold the same nightmare bright intensity and John hoped they never would.

Scott hit him in a collision of bodies and John had to stop their combined momentum, a foot finding a wall to slow them until his shoulder slammed into a bulkhead cabinet anyway. Automatically, he wrapped himself around Scott. 

“Just a bit of a bump, nothing that hasn’t happened before. You gotta have a lighter touch when you kick off in micrograv,” John said cheerily. Scott was still mumbling repeated apologies under his breath. 

John took the moment, in spite of his words, to just cling to Scott, like Scott was clinging to him, burying his face at his brother’s neck. A moment, a minute, a respite. 

Finding handholds on Five’s inner surfaces was as easy as it was familiar. John could find every one of them blind, oxygen-deprived, with no Earthly directions as a frame of reference. He had, before. 

He shifted to get his fingers around Scott’s wrist, a quick tap on his hand to warn Scott first, then Scott’s locking around his own in a rescue grip, to pull them through a quietened Five as one. 

To the galley. Hot chocolate wasn't quite the same when it came in a foil pouch with a straw as opposed to Earth’s ceramic mugs, but it was chocolate and you could still warm your hands around it.

John made up two, passing one off to Scott where he hung about against what was nominally the wall, though the orientation didn't matter without gravity’s bounds. 

“Thanks.” Scott tried for a smile. He was still gripping the hand hold with the white-knuckles-beneath-gloves grip of someone unused to being without gravity and scared to drift away. 

John settled on the ceiling in arms reach, with just his toes tucked under a bar. 

Quiet lulled between them. John’s favourite type of quiet, with just the soothing hum of the life support systems, the ever-present undercurrent of Five, and their own breathing. 

Technically, it wasn't hot chocolate, but nutritionally-complete chocolate-flavoured drink didn't have the same ring. It wasn't the same as a proper meal but a stressed Scott barely ate, John wasn't exactly sure how many hours had passed but it’d be too many if he counted, and right now Scott needed something sweet and calorie-dense and easy to get into him. 

It was fine until Scott shifted, his hand slipping momentarily with a sharp intake of breath and that all too familiar flash of panic swiftly hidden. Except up here that split second where he flailed before freezing up and stopping himself sent him into a spin. 

John caught Scott’s outstretched arm to steady him. He moved next to Scott with a graceful twist to be against the same wall so Scott could hold onto him. Taking the hot chocolate from him, John gently guided Scott’s hands, one to the grab bar, the other to his baldric. 

“You can’t fall up here, not really. Even if it feels like it sometimes,” John said. Reassured. Because this was his sleep-deprived big brother he was talking to, not the perfectly put together Commander.

Scott’s eyes searched his face, latching on to John’s with the same unbreakable trust that let John lead on missions where he could see more from above and Scott actually listened. 

“Okay,” Scott said, like it was that simple, like anything in their lives was simple. Because he believed John.

They were close enough that John could see how the strands of Scott’s hair were matted together by old gel not yet washed out. More grey was flecked around his temples, his hair surrounding his head in a floating halo from the lack of gravity and the way it caught the light. 

Scott flinched at the soft click-rush-clunk of ventilation systems cycling as they should be, a sound unusual for Scott but not enough to normally be a threat. Scott’s fingers tightened on John’s baldric. 

Both of them breathed slowly and carefully, to a steady rhythm of calm until the moment passed.

With how Scott was obviously still struggling with the lack of gravity, John quietly decided to make it easier for him when he wouldn't ask.

“Eos? Gravity back on please,” John murmured aloud to ensure Scott had some warning. 

The lights around her camera blinked, flashing to a sunset tone in acknowlegement. 

“Will do, John,” Eos said.

The gravity ring mechanisms whirred as they accelerated to the appropriate velocity, providing a force at what would soon be slightly less than Earth standard gravity.

“Hello, Scott Tracy,” she added in greeting. John had noticed they’d been getting on better recently, he was glad of it.

Gently, he guided himself and Scott until their feet touched the floor. Until they could sit next to each other on the ground, cross-legged with their knees bumping, to finish their hot chocolates.

When Scott slumped with relief, letting out a long, shaky exhale, John knew he’d made the right call. 

They stared out at the stars now ‘below,’ stretching out into infinity. Always captivating. 

Scott hadn't looked out there, eyes carefully averted until he’d shuffled even closer to John, and John had tucked an arm around him to hold on. Because while Five and her warm glow, her connection to everything meant safety like any Thunderbird did, for Scott the gaping void of space held only danger and the need for rescues. Only with John it became their sky again, like they were stargazing on the roof of the farm house on Earth, far beneath them and years ago.

“You want to talk about it?” John asked softly, an opening so that Scott knew he could share and he’d listen.

“Uh. I don’t know. Maybe?” Scott’s usually well hidden uncertaintly bubbled to the surface.

“I’m here for you. Either way it’s okay,” John reminded gently, because Scott needed to hear him say it aloud even though it was always there implicitly. 

“Nightmares. It was the snow again.” It was a sign of how far Scott had come that he would talk about what was on his mind, instead of burying it deep inside in a misplaced attempt to protect them. John found Scott’s hand and gently squeezed it.

Scott shuddered, continuing, “Probably from the rescue the other day, the entire mountainside came down. But it was with all of you guys instead and it looked more like the skii slope from the avalanche and mum, but I was too late and I couldn't save you, there was nothing I could do, you were all gone and I was alone—”  Scott’s voice rose, distressed. 

John could feel him shivering against his side, had only to glance to see the tears building in the corners of Scott’s eyes, the way he had his teeth sunk into his trembling lower lip, the same as he always did when he was trying not to cry. John’s heart broke at that, it always did. He gripped Scott’s hand, tightened the arm around him in a wordless effort to make sure Scott knew he wasn't alone, John was here and he wasn't going anywhere.

Scott took a deep breath and went on. “I know it wasn't real, but it felt like it.” 

John made a quiet, empathetic noise. In the moment, in the haze where the lines blurred between sleep and wakefulness, nightmares did feel real. And in the sick feeling after when you just couldn't shake it. He’d been there too.

John could imagine the warmth of Scott’s hand through their space rated gloves as Scott squeezed his. “No matter what happens I’ll always fight for you all and I know you’ll all do everything you can to make it back home to me. And we have systems and procedures in place, and better equipment designed for bad conditions, and everything to make sure that never happens. But it still scares me,” Scott admitted.

“It scares me too.” Usually he didn't say that part aloud though with the work they did and the consequences they saw it never hadn't been in mind. “But we hold onto hope and each other and never let go.” John’s voice came with a fierceness he hadn't quite realised was still buried inside him. They had to believe in it. Or they were already broken.

“We’re Tracies. We’re not going to stop trying to make it home.” Scott returned with a fire John had missed before he dropped quieter but no less determined. “All of us. Even— even me.”

John hung onto him because he knew how long it had taken, how much it still took for Scott to say those words. To mean them. 

He pressed his forehead against Scott’s temple. The fear of losing Scott to his own sacrificial, heroic recklessness bit at John even now, along with the need to somehow protect him from the world. 

But they both were alive, here and now, in spite of the odds so far. 

Scott leaned into John.

The feelings, the fears were there, but together up here amongst the stars they lost enough of their power that they could sit with them and they would soften, the raw edged terror of nightmares washing away.

Five was a bubble of light surrounding them, sheltering them from both the void of space and all that was outside. He and Scott were wrapped up in their own little world, as tiredness itched at John’s eyes and Scott lay his head on his shoulder. John pulled his big brother closer, not that there was really any space between them anyway. They were safe as much as was possible in this big, vast world. More importantly, they were here together. 

John waited, not wanting to break the moment for as long as possible, wanting in a childish way to stay here with Scott forever, until his legs were numb and achy from sitting on them, until his eyes were threatening to slide shut, until Scott’s weight against his shoulder was resting heavily against him. Even then he was loathe to move. 

A gentle poke and repeating his name had blue eyes blinking sleepily up at him from how Scott was slumped. 

“Bedtime, big brother.” John trailed a hand through Scott’s hair, brushing back the stray strands fallen over his forehead.

“Mmmph,” Scott grumbled, tucking his face further into John’s neck.

Scott’s characteristic instant alertness come online a couple of seconds later and he pulled away. All for that he hadn't been properly asleep, merely content and dozy, a rare sight John treasured.

They walked, pressed shoulder to shoulder, to John’s tiny bedroom, tucked away on the nearer side of Five’s gravity ring. Reduced gravity made their footsteps lighter but the company did that too.

Scott hesitated at the door of the second cabin, mostly used on the occasions when Alan was up for training, put there because Five wasn't initially designed to be manned alone which John purposely didn't think about.

When Scott shrank a millimeter closer to John, John pretended not to notice the display of what Scott would call weakness in himself but never in anyone else, and nudged him with a casual, “C’mon. Puppy pile?”

“Does it still count without everyone?” Scott replied, following him though.

“Mmm,” John thought, “Yeah.” He knew he missed out on plenty on Earth too.

A hug pile of just them might be just what they needed. Both of them at this point. Memories of the whole family in a tangled, happy heap were some of John’s fondest and he knew that went for Scott too. But it was a lot and right now Scott needed calm and quiet to rest and not to feel as if he had to put on a brave face in front of everyone.

John pulled pyjamas out of his cupboard for them both, tossing an obligatory space pun t-shirt and pair of comfy sweat pants at Scott. Sharing clothes with Scott was easy given they had the most similar builds of their siblings, tall and slim, with Scott being slightly broader across the shoulders and John running more awkwardly lanky. IR space suits were comfortable but not the most for sleeping in, despite how often John ended up doing so.

They changed into pyjamas in silence, except for when John yawned midway through peeling his suit off, then Scott did too, causing them both to giggle in the way of the well past tired. 

John smiled to himself while he put on a pair of socks, watching Scott poking about his room, trailing fingers over the spines of his paper books, then inspecting the stickers on his window and the handful of glow-in-the-dark stars John had up here because they reminded him of home even with the real ones right outside. His big brother’s curiosity even over these tiny details of his life, a facet he didn't often see with John up in orbit so much, made him warm inside. Especially with the way Scott was so relaxed up here in what was John’s space, a stark contrast to earlier and the staticky comm feed. The dark circles beneath his eyes remained though.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, John tipped backwards to lie on his bed. He wriggled his galaxy patterned duvet out from from beneath him where he’d landed on top of it, unattaching it from the side of his bed where it fastened to formed more of a sleeping bag to prevent him from drifting away when he left the gravity off. Which he probably did too often when the days blurred together, rescues and downtime without separation.

Stars, he was tired. Too many rescue calls, not enough sleep for— he no longer kept track of how long, but that was another day’s problem. Right now, he was here and Scott was here, so John could believe everything was going to be okay. Provided they both got some shut eye sometime soon. 

Shuffling over to the wall made more room for Scott, even if John usually curled up right in the middle. The bunks on Five were larger and far more comfortable than the narrow and too short for anyone who wasn’t like, Gordon height, ones he remembered not so fondly from his NASA days. Still, not exactly sized for two people both over the six foot mark but they could make do. 

“Promise I won’t push you off,” John joked. 

Piling all of their siblings, because if one person was getting cuddles everyone suddenly wanted them, onto beds and couches definitely not designed for so many had led to the occasional person falling off the side, usually facilitated by shoving from the victim of a grievous crime such as ate the last sweet.

Scott rolled his eyes and repeated John’s motion of flopping down onto the bed, long limbs all everywhere, complete with tossing an arm over John’s chest and a foot over his ankles. He let out a dramatic sigh, looking to John out of the edge of his vision for his reaction.

John couldn't even pretend to be annoyed. This was Scott messing around playfully and John had missed this even as he still didn't take breaks from monitor duty and all his emotions were bubbling up in his chest until he was laughing, until there were tears in the corners of his eyes.

And Scott was laughing too, John could feel him shaking with it. Nothing was even that funny but here they were, giggling like a couple of careless, carefree kids, the sound echoing off of the walls. Five filled up with their laughter, contained it in a cocoon of light and air and protective walls between the vacuum outside where no noise could travel. 

They were both left grinning exhaustedly at each other as the world came back to the reality that it was well past 3am, they needed to actually sleep especially with Scott having come down from the adrenaline crash of a nightmare and rushing up here. John rubbed at his gritty, tired eyes.

A word to Eos in addition to a goodnight had the lights switching off, the room only illuminated by the stars outside the window. Shutters would automatically close when Five’s rotation would put them facing the sun, but for now John could look out and marvel that he was here as he used to do every night, reaching up to touch one of his glow in the dark stars, a familiar green on the wall. 

Scott watched him and John gave a half-shrug before shuffling closer. And he wasn't alone.

John shook his head to clear it before rolling onto his side, holding out his arms to Scott. 

Big brother immediately went in for the hug, burying his face at John’s shoulder, clinging to him with maybe a little left over fear or maybe just because John was near. He wrapped his arms around Scott tightly. Took a moment, another moment just to be.

Wondering how long it had been since he’d been part of a cuddle pile with any his siblings, instead of an outside observer in holographic format was not something he wanted to waste time on right now. Or how it still took a horrific nightmare for Scott to seek respite from all the pressures of the world that seemed gathered around dad’s desk. Or for John to get respite from falling on the wrong side of the distinct divide between solitary and alone. Not that he could ask for it, he and Scott were too similar in that way. Instead, John let himself sink into the hug. 

“You alright, John?” Scott’s concern was not unusual, he always found a way to check up on them.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” It could be interpreted in several ways, glad for Scott, glad for himself. That’s all John had, the rest he couldn't possible articulate but it was enough for now. He tucked his nose into Scott’s hair. 

The sun shutters slid over the windows exactly as they were supposed to. They were left with the green glow of his own stars. 

Scott’s chin was digging into his collarbone. Neither of them would likely have slept enough to be safe to fly tomorrow with the hours they were running to.

He shifted, making a quiet noise. Gently rearranging them was easy when Scott willingly followed through with John’s actions, guiding him to lie with his back to John’s chest instead. John wound his arms around Scott, ending up with his hands resting over Scott’s stomach, able to feel the rise and fall of it with each breath. He bumped his forehead against the back of Scott’s neck.

“‘M not the little spoon,” Scott protested even as he snuggled against John.

“Reality would suggest otherwise,” John returned, an observation, with the edges filed off as his deadpan humor had turned accidentally cutting these days.

It was rare that their positions were not reversed no matter the little brother involved. This made sense on a surface level, Scott’s height was greater than anyone else’s, long arms to pull them close, wrapped up safe. He was big brother, the eldest, their leader, he was the one who protected them from the world. 

But John could also be there for him. Usually that meant from afar, a hologram projected from a wrist comm they always kept on them or beside flight controls, a voice in his ear, an extra set of eyes. All the data at his fingertips and a Tracy’s determination to keep their family safe. He didn't know whether anyone realised how many crises he averted before they became problems. He protected Scott, and it was far easier now he would let them in.

Scott was warm and something tightly wound inside John loosened. They were there for each other, it was a balance, this was how the world worked. Now that Scott let them take some of the weight instead of carrying the whole universe on his shoulders, it was easier to lean on him too because they shared things like this. To not follow Scott’s less than stellar example of hiding struggles, but from a big brother who tried to do and be everything instead of the little ones, because John couldn't bear to add anything else to the pile. Scott trusted him, he could trust Scott too.

John was just about to drop off to sleep when Scott suddenly tensed up. 

“I don’t want to go to sleep. I don't want to have more nightmares.” The words came out jagged and scared, whisper quiet.

Scott was exhausted but the fear was stronger, unpredictably resurging just when everything seemed alright. John had seen how Scott would try to escape it before passing out into uneasy unconsciousness. He found Scott’s hands, sought them gently and linked theirs together. 

“I can’t make them stop but I will be right here if you have one,” John said, “I promise.”

“I know.” 

Scott settled again, letting out a deep breath.

John felt Scott fidgeting with his hands, carefully curling and uncurling his fingers, tracing over his knuckles, pressing their palms together, as the fear ebbed again.

The sounds of Five washed over them, humming softly as if breathing with them too. Familiar and home. John’s family was also his home. He needed them too. They needed him. He and Scott were rest and safety for each other as much the Thunderbird was for the world. 

John made sure to give an, “I love you,” to his big brother while he was still awake to hear it because these things were important to be said and to be heard in reply. 

Slowly, ever so slowly the grip of Scott’s hands relaxed, remaining loosely entwined with John’s as sleep finally came. 

John kept holding onto Scott. A Scott who knew he could come to John for anything and had come to him tonight. Scott was here, they were both here together on Thunderbird Five amongst the stars. The rest of John’s thoughts trailed off at sleep’s approach but they were filled with a quiet hope.

[ellewritesathing]

Cross My Heart      II

Summary: No one wants to go to a wedding by themselves, especially when it’s the wedding of someone you haven’t seen in nearly four years. Going with Caliban was definitely a bad decision, but it was still better than going alone.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2

Word-count: 1.5k

A/N: woah consistent uploads? who is she??

Photo by Erol Ahmed on Unsplash

Caliban was late. He was always late, but this time it was particularly annoying. 

Five minutes passed before you killed the engine. Another five as the engine turned to ice. Another as you searched for courage in front of their apartment door. Fresh out of any excuses to leave without him, you ransacked your keys to find their spare and stepped into the apartment. 

Most of the boxes were gone or had been moved to the side, so it was easy to scan the apartment and not find a sign of life other than Adam pouring some Fruit Loops into a bowl. “He’s in his room,” he said, throwing an amused look your way as he reached for the milk. 

“Any reason why he’s in his room and not waiting downstairs for me?”

“Because I thought this would be funnier.” 

After giving Adam a fake laugh and flipping him off, you marched towards Caliban’s room. The familiar stolen Elm Street sign faithfully marked the entrance, and you paused with your hand above the doorknob. You were at a fork in the road: you could either turn around now and go back to Greendale alone, or you could open the door and deal with the nightmare on Elm Street. The doorknob gave off a static shock when you touched it, which should have been your first sign that this was a bad decision. 

Caliban was sprawled out under the covers, hair forming a jumbled halo around his head. You’d never seen him more at peace than when he was asleep; it was the only time he didn’t have something to prove. The only time he looked happy.

His happiness dissolved the second you ripped open the curtains and sunshine washed over the room. Caliban groaned and rolled over to his side, burying his head in his pillow to block out the light. His voice was muffled between the tiredness and the pillow, and you strolled over to pull away the blankets as he cursed your infernal need to leave so early. 

Lifting a hand to screen the sun from his eyes, he asked, “If we’re stuck there for two weeks, do we really have to be there before the bloody wedding party?”

“You said you’d be ready by nine.” 

“You said I’d be ready by nine.” 

Taking a deep, trying breath, you looked up at the ceiling. The glow in the dark constellation of Corvus and the accompanying antennae galaxies were a hazy pale green. Slowly, you walked closer to the top of his bed and crouched down. You combed some of Caliban���s hair back before holding his face in both of your hands. “If you don’t get out of this bed,” you said quietly, counting the golden flecks in his eyes, “I will set it on fire with you in it.”

Caliban’s mouth turned up in a smile, and your heart stopped. It was the same smile from the morning after the Green Day debacle; easy, unaffected, and worst of all, vulnerable. It was a real smile.

“Well, when you put it like that…” He didn’t finish the rest of his sentence, but he gave you another easy smile as you pulled away and took a few steps to look out the window. The window was safer. A second passed before Caliban pulled himself out of bed and lumbered towards the bathroom to get ready, pausing to stretch in the doorway. 

You called his name, and he pretended not to listen, so you threw a pillow at his back. “Hey, Discount Heath Ledger, where’s your bag?” 

Caliban shrugged and threw another smile your way - still easy, but now fully ready to induce catastrophe. “Haven’t packed one yet.” Turning back to the hallway, he added, “They’re in the closet - feel free.”

---

After possibly the longest shower in recorded history, Caliban pulled on some clothes and met you in the kitchen. You threw a packed bag at him, handed him a travel mug of coffee, and dragged him out the door while yelling goodbye to Adam. In all these years, Caliban had never seen you so well and truly flustered. It was amusing. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, coming to a stop on the pavement. Before Caliban had the chance to answer, you stomped closer and pushed him away from your car. Over the sounds of his arguing, you said, “There is no way you’re driving my car.”

Caliban tilted his head to the side and adjusted his bag. “I thought you wanted to get there by lunchtime.” 

“I want to get there alive.” You unlocked the door and pointed your keys at him. “You drive like a bat out of hell.” 

“And you-” Caliban opened the backseat door and tossed his bag inside “-drive like a fifteen-year-old with nothing more to their name than a learner’s license.” 

Slamming the door without a word, you left Caliban standing in the street with a ridiculous grin on his face. He strolled over to the passenger’s side and collapsed into a seat. Your music blared through the speakers as Caliban reached out for his travel mug. 

Caliban spat out the sad excuse for a coffee almost as soon as it touched his tongue. “Mother Mary, how much sugar is in this?”

“Seven,” you answered, throwing a grin at him over your shoulder. “That’s for making us late.”

Other than the truly blasphemous cup of coffee, the drive went fairly well for the first hour or two. Similar tastes in music drowned out any attempts at conversations that would ultimately have landed Caliban stranded on the interstate, the battle for temperature control had been settled early on, and Adam stopped sending texts to check-in after it was clear that no one had been murdered. 

But everything went to shit after the four-car pile-up. 

As it turned out, ‘making us late’ had been the understatement of the year; the two of you would be lucky if you made it there before sun-up. The highway was backed up for miles. Arguments were increasing as Caliban kept playing underground music and you wanted to listen to more derivative crap, as the temperature climbed to blood boiling levels, and as hunger and nicotine cravings clawed at his stomach. Instead of arguing for another half an hour in nearly stand-still traffic, Caliban turned the music down, pointed out a rest-stop ahead, and told you to pull over. 

He didn’t think you’d listen (you had a particularly frustrating habit of digging your heels in no matter what he suggested, even if you secretly agreed with him), but soon enough you were in the turning lane and taking the exit. Bedraggled families were picnicking in the shade when you pulled over and told Caliban to get something to eat from the gas station.

“So-” Caliban’s lighter sparked and he lifted it to his cigarette. “Tell me about the in-laws.” 

You rolled your eyes and had another bite of your snowcone. “First of all, they’re not your in-laws.” Over his snippy comment, you added, “I haven’t really kept in touch with anyone since leaving, so I don’t really know what to tell you.” 

Caliban nodded and took a drag. Flicking the ash with his thumb, he asked, “Why don’t we start with the - what did Adam call them - ‘podunk ex’ of yours?”

You groaned and hit your head on the windshield, tilting your head up to the sky. You stayed still, sprawled out on the hood like that, for a few seconds before saying anything. “I dated Nick in high school, okay? But it ended really badly and now he’s dating one of my friends. And they’re both gonna be at the wedding.” 

“Sounds like you had shitty friends, darling.” Caliban’s eye caught on a family of soccer players, but his attention snapped back to you when you moved into a cross-legged position to face him. 

“No, Sabrina wasn’t a bad friend. She was seventeen.” Crushing the cardboard cone in your hand, you sighed. “She didn’t know any better.” 

Caliban shrugged and filled his lungs with another burst of smoke rather than subjecting himself to the intricacies of teenage politics. Once he’d been debriefed about the rest of the wedding party, he flicked the cigarette into the trash and leaned on the hood next to you, arm brushing your leg as he did. 

This was probably the longest you’d gone without arguing since meeting one another. Silence set in as neither one of you wanted to break whatever spell had come over you. Instead, Caliban tilted his head up and the two of you watched the clouds, pointing out your favorites as they grazed the sky. 

With an unexpected sigh, you slid off the hood and tossed the keys at Caliban. “Drive.”

Caliban grinned as he twirled the keys around his index finger. “As you wish.” He laughed as you rolled your eyes and told him not to make you regret it. 

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[fangfreedragon]

Trollhunters (BOOK) Review (with minor spoilers)

Here we go. Just finished both the book and the television series, and there's a lot of little Easter eggs between the two, but the book is WORLDS APART from the series.

This book will give you nightmares. The level of grotesque imagery is impressive. The disgusting situations Jim gets into are equally impressive. This book is disgusting and will leave you feeling dirty.

That being said, I loved it. It's wildly different from the series, in that it is so much darker. I think the intended audience is like 12-18, which is really vast and really weird, but it makes sense when you read it.

Swearing. Nice.

These trolls are not fun, upbeat cave-dwellers who eat socks. These are literal monsters with tentacles that eat humans and anything with four legs.

Trollmarket is the slums. It's gross, not pretty or shiny. Trolls are fat and are literally addicted to TV static like a drug, which I actually caught in the show, too.

Blinky (who's blind) and ARRRGH!!! (who's a girl) are both somewhat different from their television counterparts, but I ended up finding them pretty similar, especially ARRRGH!!!

In the show, Jim's father left. In the book, his mother left, who was unable to deal with his father, who is a paranoid wreck. Unlike the show, Jim really doesn't sympathize with his single-parent, but rather doesn't really like him.

Jim's dad is totally nuts, and his character is written really well.

Claire- Claire is not Claire from the show. She's definitely physically different, based on description, but she's still the same theatre nerd, which is assuring. She's also still a badass, but this time she's Scottish, not Mexican. I prefer her in the book. Her Scottish slang is oddly refreshing.

Toby- Actually, Tubby, or Tub in the book. Lots of similarities (especially physically), but Tubby's sense of humor is a lot darker. He's still Jim's sidekick, but there's a bit of disconnect, since he cannot understand the trolls. Less annoying, much funnier.

Jim- Definitely not the cool, heroic Jim as the series. Also has a dark sense of humor (even made a suicide joke, wow). The book was written from his perspective, so you really feel connected to him. Funnier, darker, and more relatable, Jim starts to feel like a real person, not a character.

No daylight armor. No armor, period. The Amulet is a Medallion, and grants its bearer the ability to understand trolls. Jim does have two swords, which bear hilarious names, Cat #6 and Claireblade.

I think the biggest difference is a character named Jack. I don't wanna give away too much about him, but I'm really happy he wasn't apart of the series. He is really what pushes the whole "dark" tone in the book, which also might explain why the series feels more lighthearted in comparison. Love him or hate him. In my case, I didn't like him very much.

On the other hand, the series is obviously a more developed world. I wish there were more books. Definitely leaves you wanting more.

If you watched the series first (and assuming you all have), you'll be able to pick up influences and little Easter eggs in the series. For instance, I'm 90% sure Eli was based on Jim's father, Lempke and Strickler, etc. I had fun picking out all the little stuff.

Lempke. Right. Literally disgusting. There's a scene with Tubby, Jim, and Lempke in the museum during the construction of Killaheed where Jim goes into his physical description. I actually had to put it down for a moment, it's that nasty. Absolutely terrific.

If the series were closer to the books, it would not be a show for kids. My guess is it'd be at least PG-13. That's not to say that the show sucks, because it's amazing. I really commend Dreamworks for recently adapting chapter books instead of princesses or fairytales.

IN CONCLUSION: My 10 y/o cousin is watching the show. My aunt asked if the book would be good for her to read. The answer is no. The books are definitely, definitely not for kids. Even as a teenager, or an adult, if you're faint of heart or squeamish, the book is not for you. However, this book is really quirky and really captivating, and I really enjoyed it. If I could sum up the book, it's "if Stephen King wrote Percy Jackson".

And that concludes my review nobody asked for!

[recentanimenews]

Adapting the Impossible: Translating the Overhaul Arc into Animation

Hello all, and welcome back to Why It Works. Over the past few weeks, My Hero Academia’s initially slow-burning fourth season has exploded into dramatic action, as the assault on the Hassaikai yakuza compound has resulted in episode after episode of brutal, all-encompassing fight scenes. Red Riot’s first two battles, Suneater versus three Hassaikai lieutenants, Lemillion’s desperate attempts to save Emi - My Hero Academia has been firing on all cylinders recently, and beyond the immediate thrill of its recent fights, I’ve also been enjoying seeing the production as a whole navigate the inherent difficulties of translating this particular manga’s fight scenes into animation. Today let’s dig a little more deeply into that process, as we examine the challenges of translating Horikoshi’s thrilling fights into motion!

First off, it should go without saying that different mediums have different strengths, and thus great adaptations tend to embrace a rule that some might consider sacrilege: do not attempt to faithfully translate all of the elements of the source material, but instead capture its spirit in a way that best takes advantage of the strengths of its new medium.

A movie that attempts to contain all the internal monologue of the book it’s based on will likely be a worse movie for it; books are just naturally suited to extended internal monologue, whereas visual mediums are unsurprisingly better at conveying their drama visually. And though manga and anime are a bit closer in terms of their strengths, My Hero Academia’s recent arcs have clearly demonstrated Horikoshi embracing the unique strengths of manga in a way that’s actually made it harder to adapt his work.

So what are those unique strengths? For manga, the relationship between panels is actually crucial to their momentum and tension. Manga normally drives our attention forward quickly through stacking panels, with extended panels tending to prompt a brief mental pause, as we scan across the panel in order to take in the whole. This is how you manage “pacing” in a medium like comics - the relationships between panels dictate the speed at which they are consumed, with many small panels implying frantic movement, and larger ones implying stillness or impact.

Following that logic, manga’s most impressive (or at least attention-drawing) panels tend to be dramatic two-page spreads, the most impactful tool in a mangaka’s toolkit. They force the reader to sit back and take stock of the image as a whole, and are generally framed as the key turning points of any given battle. Two-page spreads embody manga’s potential for outright awe in single, overwhelming images, and My Hero Academia’s recent arcs have been making increasingly prominent use of these shots for its big action setpieces. Unfortunately, while these impressive visual setpieces naturally embody the strengths of manga, their appeal is almost untranslatable into anime.

  There are a variety of reasons for this. As I said, the size and distribution of panels is one of the main ways comics manage pacing - but in anime, no single panel is generally “larger” than any other. All sequences that are adapted tend to consume the same amount of screen real estate, resulting in a “flattening” of dramatic emphasis. Jokes that might have only occupied a tiny side panel are now forced to carry the whole screen, while two-page spreads that would have naturally drawn attention to themselves in comic form can be afforded no more attention than any other image. Often, if you think some sequence felt funnier or cooler or whatnot in the manga than in the anime, this can be a subtle byproduct of this flattening of dramatic intent between panels.

But there are reasons beyond the general difficulty of adaptation that make My Hero Academia such a tricky adaptation. Horikoshi’s big panels tend to be less about conveying a dramatic still moment than about capturing one moment within a larger transformation. As his creativity and ambition when it comes to Quirk designs has increased, so has the complexity of these shots, and so has the inherent difficulty of parsing his battles. For a character like Sun Eater, the number of moving on-screen parts is bountiful and strangely articulated, with characters actively morphing as they fight, and it can be hard to tell what’s going on even when given the guiding hand of panel-by-panel storytelling.

  This issue was clear to see even back in the Hero License arc, when the anime was forced to contend with adapting the introductory fights of characters like Inasa Yoarashi. As impressive as single panels like this are, they present an impossible challenge for adaptation, as all those beautiful still objects represent a nightmare to bring to life. And this challenge has reached new heights in the Overhaul arc, through the absurd difficulty of conveying transformational powers like Sun Eater, as well as the issues presented by the Hassaikai’s own powers.

One of the foundational rules of animation is that adjusting the camera’s own perspective is prohibitively difficult. Animating characters in motion is difficult enough, but when you move the camera, your perspective relative to all other objects shifts, and thus everything in the frame must be redrawn. Well then, how do you animate a sequence when the backgrounds themselves are constantly shifting, like, say, due to a Quirk that manipulates static objects, or one that constantly destroys and rebuilds matter on the fly?

The answers will unfortunately have to wait until next week, as I've already run out of time. Sorry to jerk your chains like that, but I'll be back soon, and I hope you've enjoyed this dive into the details of adaptation!

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Nick Creamer has been writing about cartoons for too many years now, and is always ready to cry about Madoka. You can find more of his work at his blog Wrong Every Time, or follow him on Twitter.

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