#director fugue

[hold-your-applause]

I never was the type to fall for Slytherin boys

And yet...

Warning: Spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy

Vulnerable

Many things had changed in the few short months Ominis had been back at Hogwarts, and while he had initially found them to be overwhelming, enough time had passed to allow him to grow accustomed to them.

Somehow, you were not one of them.

That wasn't entirely true. When you had first appeared in his life, it had all felt rushed, what with his dear friend Sebastian spilling one secret after the next to you in his attempt to rope you into his search for a cure for Anne. At first Ominis had felt almost betrayed when he discovered you coming out of the Undercroft, despite your attempts to defend Sebastian by lying and saying you had found it all on your own.

He had responded harshly to you, and it was something he would quickly come to regret.

He wasn't one to partake in frivolous gossip, but his lack of sight either blessed or cursed him with excellent hearing, depending on how one chose to look at it. It didn't take long for news to spread of you helping anyone who so much as sighed within earshot of you. You had become hard to locate most days; if you weren't attending classes, you were off running errands in Hogsmeade or rushing around the Highlands doing... whatever it was you got up to in the little spare time you seemed to have.

He shouldn't have been surprised when you approached him to speak about the Scriptorium on Sebastian's behalf, and in truth, part of him wasn't. What did surprise him was how easily you quelled his anxiety over entering such a place.

It was even more shocking how you had gotten him to speak Parseltongue after so many years.

After the three of you had ended up trapped just as poor Noctua had, he could no longer pretend he could not understand why people got so attached to you so quickly. You had taken in the hand you were dealt, and you considered every angle before making the decision to allow Sebastian to cast the Cruciatus Curse on you. You took it in stride despite their concerns, and it wasn't much later that you would admit to him that you had partially made your choice because you thought it would easier for him to listen to your cries over Sebastian's.

If anyone were to ask him now, he would say that you had been wrong.

He could feel himself losing Sebastian with each day that passed. The boy wasn't as sly as he believed he was, and Ominis caught the two of you with an item that would only spell trouble.

If he hadn't been so furious, he would have been touched to hear your attempts at getting Sebastian to include him.

But he was distraught; the idea of losing the only good thing he had away from home, the only person he trusted with his darkest secrets and his scars and his baggage was becoming a reality, and there was nothing he could think of to stop it.

And yet, with nothing to gain for yourself that he could tell, you had offered a solution. A means to protect what was left of his relationship with Sebastian with the hopes of being able to salvage it once the dust had settled.

And he let you.

He tried to convince himself it was because he was desperate at the time, but he could not ignore the obvious truth once he had found his way back to the castle: you always knew what people needed to hear.

But it wasn't just that. You were so painfully genuine with your eagerness to help, to support, to fix, that you made it impossible to not trust you. Your intentions weren't just worn on your sleeves; it was imbued in every word, every touch, every move that came from you.

If he didn't already witness it for himself, he would have thought you were incapable of lying.

But you didn't need to. Somehow, your brazen honesty didn't work as a detriment to you. Instead, it was its own armor that protected you from the worst of the world, allowing not just you to be open and trusting, but the people around you as well.

He was no different.

There was still much he didn't know about you. You never spoke about your life before Hogwarts, and while he couldn't be sure, he didn't get the sense that your life had been anywhere as miserable as his. He wondered if maybe that was what allowed you to do as you pleased, so unafraid of what harm may come to you. While he was so guarded and afraid to engage with most people, you were the complete opposite; something that would normally irritate him.

Yet here he was, sitting with you in the safety of the Undercroft, attempting to study while he did his best to ignore the warmth of your head resting on his shoulder, your steady breathing telling him you were fast asleep.

This was a brand new development. One he was not prepared for.

He had told you of his sins, of the crimes he had committed in his past that he planned to spend the rest of his time atoning for. The pain he inflicted on people undeserving of it was something he knew he could never take back, but he also found himself unable to forgive himself for it. While it wasn't your place to forgive him, you hadn't so much as flinched at the confession, instead trying to assure him that the fault wasn't his.

Sebastian had said the same thing countless times, but he was surprised to find how desperately he wanted to believe it when you had spoken it instead.

Damn you for making it seem so easy.

The year had been full of surprises for him so far, things that normally would have left him reeling, distressed. Things that would make him feel exposed.

Perhaps the biggest surprise was just how okay you made him feel about it.

[scionshtola]

i pray you won't stop looking at me like that

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul summary: When the celebration at the Crystarium becomes too much for Corisande, they seek time alone at the rookery. Y'shtola finds them there, and has a better suggestion for how they might spend their time. word count: 3071 | rating: Explicit | read on ao3 notes: spoilers for ShB. also PLEASE note the rating!!

The stars are still shining bright against the dark night sky when Corisande slips away from the celebration. It is not an easy thing to get away—a few people call out to them as they pass, and though guilt tugs heavily at their conscience, imploring them to turn around, they feign ignorance and continue on their way. The past few hours have been a decidedly loud blur, music and shouting and people coming up to them to shake their hand and thank them effusively. More than one person burst into tears at their feet, and one couple declared they would name their first born child after them.

They only need a moment to themself. A moment for their blossoming headache to subside, to restore their worn down nerves, and then perhaps they can return to the festivities. A party full of people who simply want to thank Corisande for restoring to them the very night sky they celebrate under.

She sighs. The danger, the sleepless nights thinking only of the nigh impossible problems before her, the near deaths experienced by both herself and those closest to her, are far easier to grapple with than the acclaim that follows. She is not likely to ever be comfortable with the recognition that comes with being the Warrior of Light—or Darkness, as it were—particularly when it comes in the form of hours and hours of conversation with strangers.

The rookery is quiet though, and blessedly devoid of other people, just as they hoped. The chocobos and amaros are still roaming their pen, their Zun caretakers likely caught up in the celebration before stabling them for the night, but they do not seem to mind. Corisande forgoes the gate and seats herself on top of the fence, her legs dangling inside the pen. Most of the animals are asleep, though a few still mingle about, plucking at the piles of hay or dipping their beaks into the trough for a drink. A chocobo ambles toward them, poking its beak into the back of her hand.

“My apologies, but I did not come bearing treats,” Corisande says, lifting their hand and stroking the bird’s head. “You will simply have to make do with hay like everyone else.”

But he seems content enough with attention, and the stress of the past few hours begins to ebb away as she pets him. She is just beginning to wonder if she ought to check the stables for a grooming kit when the chocobo’s kweh alerts her to quietly approaching footsteps. Corisande straightens, steeling themself, plastering on their best smile and readying their excuses—I was just on my way back, the Crystarium is so large, I got lost searching for a bathroom, I thought I saw something but it was only an amaro.

“I thought I might find you here,” Y’shtola teases, coming up behind them. Corisande sighs in relief at the sound of her voice, letting their shoulders sag. They glance over their shoulder as she leans against the pen and tilts her head back to meet their eyes, her gaze warm.

The tender feeling between them is as familiar to Corisande as she and Y’shtola are to each other, a feeling shared between them almost as long as their friendship has existed. But it has only been a day since the first kiss they shared in the aftermath of the battle against Hades, and there is a new undercurrent of excitement with every familiar look and touch. One that makes their cheeks warm at the soft affection written in her expression and their heart beat faster as her lips curve into a smile.

“What gave me away?” Corisande jokes, already feeling better for having Y’shtola at their side. The chocobo, likely feeling ignored, butts his head against their arm.

Y’shtola shrugs. “After several hours of celebration, I had grown quite tired of the crowd. I desired more particular company, and suspected you might feel the same. I sought you out but once I realized you had already departed, the rookery was the next logical stop. If there is some kind of stable around, ‘tis usually where I can find you.”

“There were a lot of people,” Corisande murmurs, with considerably less irritation than she might have only moments ago. They turn back to the chocobo, hiding the smile that came with the rush of affection at being so well known, and scratch its chin, the motion soothing for both her and the bird. “And a lot more crying than I was prepared for.”

“Urianger mentioned as much when I came upon him during my search. I am sorry, Corisande. It sounds…overwhelming.” Y’shtola’s soft voice is a balm to the frayed edges of their nerves, as is the gentle touch of her hand to their elbow. She glances at the chocobo they are still petting. “I can leave you with your thoughts, if you prefer. You seem to have found more than acceptable company.”

“You know your presence is always welcome,” Corisande says with a smile. Indeed, perhaps the only thing more perfect than the solitude she sought was sharing that solitude with Y’shtola. She shifts, twisting her body until she faces her. “Please, stay.”

Y’shtola smiles and tips her head back, staring up at the stars that she cannot see, and Corisande’s gaze is drawn down the line of her neck. Across the latticework of laces over her chest, down to the swell of her breasts just above the furred neckline of her dress.

“’Tis a rather pleasant night, is it not?” Y’shtola says. Their gaze snaps to her, only to find her already watching them, the quirk of her lips telling her she knows exactly where their eyes lingered. She reaches for their hand, tangling their fingers together, tugging them back to the ground and reeling them into her space.

A tiny thrill courses through her at the realization that this is the first time they have been truly alone together since their kiss—the first time she can do anything about the pull she feels toward Y’shtola, the desire that has simmered so long beneath her skin. She puts a hand on her waist, thumb gliding over the black fabric that clings to her full curves, pulse racing at her proximity.

“If I may make a suggestion, however?” she continues, touching Corisande’s cheek and guiding them closer, until her words ghost across their lips. “Mayhap our time would be more pleasurably spent in my quarters at the Pendants.”

“I was going to return to the party,” they murmur, surprised they can even muster a thought for the celebration with Y’shtola’s hand on the back of their neck, with the perfect view they have of the hunger in her gaze, with the heat of her body pressed against theirs.

Y’shtola hums. Only a whisper of space between them. Her eyes drop to their lips as she says, “I prefer my idea.”

Corisande closes the gap, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and Y’shtola rises on her toes, pressing herself closer, closer, her fingers twisted in the lace of their lapel. When they part, chests rising and falling rapidly, lips swollen, Corisande says, “I like your idea, too.”

Y’shtola’s soft laugh is sweet to their ears, a familiar sound they never grow tired of hearing. She kisses the back of their hand, and tugs them toward the Pendants. The chocobo kwehs after them and Corisande turns around to wave goodbye to their friend before hurrying after her.

They are hardly through the door of Y’shtola’s quarters before their lips find each other again. They kiss as they tug off boots and socks, pull at laces and buttons, hands slipping under hems and breastbands. In the silver light of the moon pouring through the open balcony doors, Y’shtola’s dress pools at her feet and Corisande pauses, gaze drawn by the expanse of bare skin, the last parts of Y’shtola she has neither seen nor touched before. An excited tremble rolls down her spine—after tonight, there will be no part of each other they do not know.

Y’shtola catches her hand, kisses her knuckles, and leads her to the bed. Corisande follows, pressing parted lips against any bit of Y’shtola’s skin they can reach. The back of her hand, the round of her shoulder, the top of her spine. They do not stop when Y’shtola pushes them firmly onto the bed and climbs into their lap, kissing a line down the side of her neck, across her chest. They wrap their arms around her waist and shift her higher, pressing their lips to the skin between her breasts.

Y’shtola tugs gently at the end of the ribbon holding back their hair, pulling it free and sliding her fingers into the newly loose strands. She tips Corisande’s head back and kisses her, mouth open, warm, inviting. Both of their hands roam, cupping, caressing, pulling each other closer. Each kiss, each touch, each soft gasp elicited only feeds the flame of their long-simmering desire, until it boils over into a desperate need for Y’shtola.

She is not alone in her desperation. Y’shtola pushes at her shoulders, guiding her onto her back, and her breath catches in the brief moment that she hovers above her. Limned in silver moonlight and gold from the low light of the bedside lamp—switched on for Corisande’s benefit, and full glad she is for that—she is so impossibly beautiful that for a moment she thinks she must be dreaming.

They are brought back to reality by Y’shtola lying between their parted legs and pressing searing kisses over their chest that set their skin aflame. Her hand glides over the inside of their thigh, presses against their center in a way that makes their hips jump, desperate for more. They slide a hand into Y’shtola’s hair and try to tug her mouth back to theirs but she resists, devoting her attention to their breasts instead.

They would laugh, were they not otherwise preoccupied. They know this side of Y’shtola well, devoted to the task at hand, unable to be swayed from her purpose until she found what she sought, and curious above all else. They give in to Y’shtola’s questing fingers, the testing touches and kisses as she seeks the spots that make their back arch, their hips chase, their fists curl in the sheets and her name escape their lips in a moan, until their whole body quivers with pleasure.

She trails kisses across Corisande’s belly, over the curve of her hip. She pauses between their thighs, her breath ghosting over them as she holds them apart. They push themself onto their elbow and glance down, thinking Y’shtola seeks permission they are only too happy to give. But the moment their gazes meet, she dips her chin, eyes never leaving theirs.

The firm swirl of her tongue over their clit elicits a low moan, the heat of her mouth almost too much on their already heated skin. Her hands, her tongue, her lips—Corisande cannot keep track of which touch causes which pleasure, her body taut and aching with need. It is not long until Y’shtola pushes her past the precipice, kissing her through the throes of her climax.

Like any competent academic, Y’shtola seeks to replicate her results, mouth still moving over them even as they still. But Corisande guides her away with a gentle hand in her hair, and this time she lets them. With a hand around her waist, they shift them both onto their sides, close enough that their warm breaths mingle.

Y’shtola’s fringe is matted to her forehead, her lips shiny, cheeks rosy and warm under their hand as they brush her hair away from her face. There is a fondness in her gaze—not new, exactly, but different, her feelings laid bare in a way Corisande has not been privy to before.

“I hoped for this for so long,” Y’shtola says between kisses, so softly Corisande is unsure if she is meant to hear. She tucks herself into them, her next words barely more than a whisper against their skin. “I ached for this—for you.”

“How long?” Corisande asks, without really meaning to ask, still caught up in the bliss of the night, of Y’shtola in her arms. They trail the tips of their fingers over her back, enchanted by the way she melts into their embrace.

Y’shtola hums against their neck, silent for so long they think she will not answer, but eventually she says, “Years.”

Her teeth graze their collar bone, and she follows the slight sting of the bite with a gentle kiss. Corisande’s hand stills, their heart skipping a beat. Just how long had they spent ignorant of Y’shtola’s affections?

She cups Y’shtola’s cheek in the palm of her hand, and Y’shtola covers her fingers with her own, soft and warm and gentle. “I am sorry for making you wait,” she whispers. How much longer could they have had, if only Corisande noticed?

“There is no need for apologies, love. There is no blame to be laid at anyone’s feet, except perhaps Fate’s, for it’s continuously horrible timing.” Y’shtola’s smile is gentle, almost wistful. She squeezes their fingers. “We are here now, no matter the arduous course we walked to arrive.”

Corisande kisses her, slow and deep, fingertips pressing into her skin to hold her close. They trail one hand over her chest, her side, cupping her rear and sliding their hand along the underside of her thigh, hitching her leg over their waist. “Are you certain you want no apologies?” she asks, her hand finding its way between Y’shtola’s legs, fingers stroking the small, pale patch of hair before dipping lower.

Her eyelids flutter closed when they brush their fingers featherlight across her sex, a soft gasp escaping her that they catch with a kiss. Her fingers scrabble at their shoulders, her tail flicks frantically over their calves, and her kisses grow desperate, sloppy and wanting, as their hand moves against her, inside her. She moans against their lips, and the new sound delights them equally as much as it quickens their own desire. She wants to hear it again, over and over, the same as her laugh.

Y’shtola breaks the kiss, dropping her forehead against their shoulder, her rapid breaths hot and tickling across their collarbone. Corisande kisses her hair and holds her flush against her, feeling her chest, her soft belly, move against her with the slow roll of her hips seeking their hand, nothing left to separate them but a thin sheen of sweat.

Y’shtola has wanted this for years, but how long has Corisande wanted this? Does she even really know? Can she pinpoint a moment in time when her feelings for Y’shtola had grown into a desperate yearning to know her in all ways, beyond the pale of dedicated friendship? It was not the first time that she had been blind to her own romantic feelings for another and with Y’shtola the lines between platonic and romantic had blurred so quickly, so early in their friendship, it was difficult to say exactly when the feelings had grown.

And how had she gone so long without it? Without Y’shtola’s lips on their skin, without her hands stoking the flames of their desire, without every inch of her body pressed to theirs atop silky sheets? Without knowing the taste of Y’shtola on her lips, without hearing her whimpers and curses as they touched her, without knowing the soft feel of her bare hips beneath their hands? The idea was inconceivable to her now. She wanted to know all of it, every spot that made her toes curl, every twist of her fingers that drew a moan from her lips, where she could kiss and touch that made her tremble and gasp.

They feel her climax roll through her, pressed together as they are, her hips jerking, her fingers digging into their waist. When she comes down, she slides her hand into Corisande’s hair and kisses her sloppily, so unlike the focused way she had drawn out their pleasure. She smiles into the kiss, pleased at the way Y’shtola has come undone under her touch.

“Apology accepted,” Y’shtola mutters against her lips, and Corisande laughs.

They move, straddling Y’shtola’s waist. She looks as gorgeous stretched beneath them as she did leaning over them: skin golden in the low lamplight; wet, parted lips; skin marked where their hands and mouth have touched her; silvered eyes watching them. She pushes herself up when they lean over her, meeting them with a kiss until they guide her gently back onto the bed with a firm but gentle push on her shoulders.

She trails her hands down her body, delighted by the shiver that runs through her at the whisper of a touch, and follows the path with her lips. Y’shtola tries to watch but her eyes fall closed when their tongue flicks across her nipple, their hand cupping and kneading her other breast. They press their smile into her skin as they kiss over her soft stomach, lower, lower.

“I am not quite done apologizing,” Corisande says, and seeks her forgiveness between her thighs.

The stars are fading, the dark night sky giving way to the purple beginnings of dawn, when they collapse into each other’s arms. Corisande folds herself into Y’shtola’s embrace, resting their head on her chest, their long ears laying comfortably flat as she trails her hand gently through their hair.

She has not known this kind of contentment in years, and she basks in the warmth of it, exhausted but satisfied. She tilts her head, resting her chin on Y’shtola’s chest so she can look into her eyes.

“Was it worth the wait?” she teases.

“I have always known you were worth waiting for,” Y’shtola answers, sincere, and they do not hide their smile that follows the love and warmth that tides through them. It seems to Corisande the sort of answer that she would normally be embarrassed to give, uncomfortable with emotional displays as she is. But what room is there for embarrassment between them now?

Corisande reaches over and switches off the lamp, and Y’shtola pulls the quilt over their shoulders. They close their eyes, warm and happy, and let the slow rise and fall of Y’shtola’s chest lull them to sleep.

[chicademartinica]

2023 Favorites

Come play favorites with me.

Favorite Korean BL: The Eighth Sense. / Runner up: Our dating Sim

Favorite Thai BL: Never let me go / Runner up: Moonlight Chicken

Favorite Japanese BL: The end of the world with you / Runner up: My Beautiful man eternal (Show +Movie)

Favorite Taiwanese BL: Kiseki Dear to me / Runner up: Stay by my side.

Best director(s): Inu Baek & Werner du Plessis for The Eighth Sense (Korea and Germany) EX AEQUO with Jojo Tichakorn Phukhaothong (Thailand) for FIVE SHOWS (BL or not everything Jojo does is QUEER): Never let me go / Never let me go Our Skyy 2/ The Warp effect / Only Friends / Dirty Laundry. To be noted and congratulated: OG Thai BL director Tee Sintanaparadee with his best work to date: I feel you linger in the air.

Best cinematography: Never let me go by Rat Rungruang (Thailand) / Runner Up: Moonlight Chicken ALSO by Rat Rungruang EX AEQUO Never let me go Our skyy 2 ALSO by Rat Rungruang.

Best use of color theory : The eighth sense GREEN.

Best score /musical moment (instrumental): “Save you from the Death” by Ruiqi Zhao. This song is so good it was used in two shows, airing at the same time, produced by the same man, on the same channel. We first hear it in Never let me go (episode 05) as Palm ravenously kisses Nueng (for a long long long long time) for the first time. AND THEN it’s back in Moonlight Chicken (episode 01) as Uncle Jim and Wen do everything but kiss under the moonlight. Aof and Jojo really said we both using it to be desperate and erotic and what of it. 10/10 no notes.

Runner up: “Refined enlightenment” by Howard Harper-Barnes in I feel you linger in the air (episode 07): The soaring strings that perfectly follows Jom’s arousal as he masturbates to the memory of the most erotic oil massage ever. Refined INDEED. // “Bleeding Signs” by Chris Shards in Never let me go (episode 05): Dark and moody indie rock rumbles as Nueng reels from his brutal outing, homophobia, and Ben’s betrayal before collapsing in Palm’s arms in the yellow of Bangkok polluted twilight.

Best score/ musical moment (with lyrics): “I can’t lose it all” by Ben Goldstein in The Eight Sense (episode 06) The singer belting “I’m losing my mind (…) I can’t lose it all” are the only words we hear for the last minutes of a great, hazy fugue of an episode. (Last spoken line: “To give you trauma” before the lovers start kissing.) Jae Won and Ji Hyun make love and when the song stops, I was left with greys waves, panic, and a burning “JAE WON WERE YOU OR WERE YOU NOT HIGH OUT OF YOUR MIND FOR ALL OF THIS? Was that song a call back to “Where is my mind” of Fight Club fame just to play with our nerves? Good times. //Runner up: “Monsoons” by Johannes Bornlöf and Le June in Never let me go. This song plays for two minutes straight as Palm sways drunkenly in his lover’s arms as he reels from his mother’s violent death. “Monsoon rain and chest pains”, blurry lens and sloppy, tear-soaked kissing. Peak lakorn.

Favorite couple: PalmNueng in Never let me go. // Runner up : KingUea in Bed Friend.

Favorite chemistry: PondPhuwin as Palmnueng, GMMtv true hidden gem. Runner up: Nat Chen and Jiang Dian as Chen Yi and Ai Di in Kiseki Dear to me.

Favorite individual performance: Film Thanapat in Laws of Attraction// Runner up: Mix Sahaphap in Moonlight Chicken.

Most beloved actor this year: Mark Pakin.

Favorite Ensemble: Moonlight Chicken // Runner up: The Warp Effect

Favorite mother figure: Grandma in Laws of Attraction. Amazing actress, well written (Grieving!) character. // Runner up: Ji Hyun’s boss in The eighth sense.

Favorite friendship: Pat and Chot in Step by Step! Pat’s whole friend group! // Runner up: Alex and Army in The Warp Effect.

Favorite siblings: The Gu siblings in Stay by my side. // Jeng and Jaab in Step by Step.

My hatred for you knows no bounds: Uea’s "mother" in Bed Friend. // Runner up: Phupha in The Promise EX AEQUO Tae Hyung in The eighth sense.

Most beloved character: Palm! My sweet boy! // Runner up: King! MY King!

Favorite “I love you”: “I LOVE YOU UNCLE JIM” Li Ming in Moonlight Chicken.

Favorite proposal: Charn being a lawyer and a marriage equality advocate while Tinn is just trying to marry the nutjob in Laws of Attraction.

Favorite wedding: TinnCharn and the baby’s doll on the chair (Tears!). Runner up: Palmnueng marrying by proxy while being guests at a gay wedding.

The category is “Boohoo snot bubble I’m dazed and crying”: The eighth Sense. Runner up: Moonlight Chicken.

The category is “I’ve watched this scene without breathing.”: Ji Hyun’s reaching for Jae Won’s hand in The eighth sense ep 09 // Runner up: Ki Tae confronting Lee Wan in episode 04 of Our dating Sim.

The category is “My cheeks are hurting I’m smiling so much”: Our dating Sim // Runner up: Love tractor.

Punchline: “Have you been well? Without me?”  Ki Tae to Lee Wan Our dating Sim / “I miss you so much. I miss you so much” Fan Ze Rui to Bai Zong Yi Kiseki Dear to me.

Funny punchline: “You only love me when you do me.” Cher to Boss in A boss and a babe. // Runner up: “We can continue as a throuple” Rando in Laws of attraction.

Erotic honorific: “Call me Hia Win. Hia Win.” In Between Us. // “Can you tell Nong Cher what your present is Phi Gun” or “Phi Jeng” for “The kinkification of Phi” in A boss and a Babe and Step by Step.

The category is ‘What is this?!! A 90’s Yaoi Manga ?!!”: Kim Jong Chan’s (Korean actor Kwon Hyuk) Yaoi hands holding his lover’s whole head in his palm as they kiss in The New employee. // Runner up: Cho Jun’s ( Ki Hyun Woo) in a an all-black suit in Jun & Jun.

The category is "Whew why was this so hot ?" : Charn obscenely rubbing Tinn's arm up and down while Tinn is trying to punch him in Laws of Attraction// Runner up : Jae Won manhandling Baby Mouse by the straps of his backpack in The eighth sense.

Best smile: First Kanaphan as Sand in Only Friends // Nat Chen and his dimple as Chen Yi in Kiseki Dear to me.

Unfathomable eyes: Pond Naravit and his under-eye mole in Never let me go EX AEQUO Net Siraphop in Bed Friend.

Favorite dream sequence: Baby Ye Chan’s first erotic dream in Love Tractor.

Favorite kiss (on the lips): Palmnueng last kiss on the beach in episode 12 of NLMG. It’s soft and super erotic, there’s a bit of tongue, a bit of teeth and they are both shivering like crazy. Pondphuwin killed it and the magnificent Thai scenery finished it// Runner up: Bostonnick against the wall at the back of the store. Surprisingly Nick was the aggressor but was still moaning loud as hell. Neomark punched me in the face with their chemistry and hunger. Give them a good show and let them kiss. A lot.

Favorite kiss (not on the lips). Nueng burying his face between Palm’s shoulder blades to kiss his tattoo in the finale of NLMG. // Ze Rui rubbing and kissing Zong Yi’s beauty mark every chance he gets in Kiseki dear to me.

Favorite sniff kiss (special Thailand): Uncle Jim inhaling Wen’s face in Moonlight Chicken. Possibly the most erotic sniff kiss I have ever seen, shout out to Earth. // Runner up: Winteam having a HEAVY ratio of sniff kisses in their make-outs in Between Us.

Favorite neck kiss: Bed Friend’s King is the BL best neck kisser, licker, biter ever. Net being shorter than James made this even more enjoyable. // Ray being obsessed with Sand’s neck in Only Friends.

Favorite make out: JengPat car make out in Step by Step. Whew. // Runner up: WinTeam locker room make out. Whew.

Favorite erotic moment: Win seducing Team and making sure he is sober, single, and horny while fogging up the room in Between Us. // Runner up: I feel you linger in the air oil massage than orgasm to the memories of said oil massage.

Favorite O scene: Songkhram and Ai making love in Destiny Seeker. Who knew 69ing could be so cute? // Runner up: Ritsu and Masumi, I quote “going at it like monkeys” in The end of the world with you. Ritsu was a fuckboy from space but also like, a Japanese sex God.

Favorite cuddles: Winteam. In bed. Every single scene in Between Us // King clinging to Uea, dead asleep in the crook of his neck in Bed Friend.

Favorite hug: Li Ming hugging a sobbing Heart in Moonlight Chicken.

Favorite tears: WinTeam devastating sobs after Win saves his boo from drowning.

Favorite lift off: Ai Di spending one third of the show being carried by Chen Yi. // Runner up: Joke carrying Zo like he is not also 6ft1 in Hidden Agenda.

Favorite food : Love Mate's orgasmic post sex burgers and fries in episode 04.

That's my too long list of 2023 favorites. Hope you enjoy. @absolutebl and all of you booes are welcome to use the categories you like, please tag me in your lists. To a very bisexual (AND VAMPIRIC) 2024 together.

Chica.

[january-summers]

Just thinking about some AUs.

Like: Wash having served on a similar ship to the MoI pre-Freelancer. Similar, but ever so slightly different in lay out so he keeps trying to auto-pilot navigate and getting lost, and Alpha's watching on the camera feeds and at some point just hits "this is too pathetic, i gotta step in" like any back seat gamer watching a let's play, except he actually can... if he can figure out how to get away with it.

So he comms Wash, either through a direct link in his helmet or through a regularly intervaled wall radio. "Uh yeah, I'm... uh... you can just call me... Church? I work in the... uh... yeah don't worry about it but I can see you on the camera feeds, again, and man i gotta tell you for a bad ass space marine this is pretty sad. Tragic really, anyway, turn around, 200 meters and take a left-"

And it keeps happening, and sometimes they just hang out, Wash hiding in a storage closet eating contraband foods (the good chocolate) while Alpha drops some funny stories from the command deck.

And Wash casually mentions him in talk with the other Freelancers, but they never get to talk to Church, and Wash can't introduce him properly, so everyone refers to Church as Wash's imaginary friend.

(... and then no one can figure out why all the AI are low-key obsessed with Wash, like they need him to like them even though he's not their human operator.)

or like (possibly the same AU): There is no Epsilon, Alpha has a moment of clarity about what's happening to him, what's being done to him, and fakes a fragment in order to port himself out and get put wholesale (what remains of him) into Wash's head. It's still pretty traumatic for both of them.

And then they skedaddle, go into hiding somewhere no one would ever think to look for them. Disguised as a sim trooper in a box canyon in the middle of nowhere.

... also thinking about Price deliberately pushing Wash's buttons and trying to provoke his PTSD so he has an excuse to put him on meds, except the meds are (on purpose) meds that Wash knows messes with his head and leads to psychotic episodes and he wouldn't take them, damn the orders, if he knew what they were.

but he doesn't, and he gets into a fight in one of the communal kitchens without his armour on and the first thing the other Freelancers know about it is when they get called for back up to the kitchen to help subdue a man that just killed three other Freelancers (bottom of the pack no-name annoying assholes no one liked or would miss anyway).

'cept the other Freelancers don't clock that it's Wash, because he's out of his armour and Wash is almost never seen without his helmet, unlike the others, so they aren't used to his face, and when they think of wash they think of bright yellow and steady charcoal greys, not "holy fuck that's a lot of blood did he fucking roll in it!?!?" reds.

But by the time they get there, psychotic episode is over, and Wash is in a semi fugue state, kinda clock's Carolina's blue and that he might have done something really bad, so he just drops the knife away from himself and half collapses to his knees like a puppet with cut strings, manages to lock his fingers behind his head before they try to tackle him to the ground.

Wash gets away with a slap on the wrist, and like a months probation. (Director was in on the 'experiment' to begin with, and now they're already down three Freelancers, no need to make it four. ... also Director won a bet about whether Wash could take on/out more than two opponents at a time.)

[swaps55]

I was asked for the “director’s cut” dissertation I have on this snippet, and I am easily enabled. So here we go. This is wildly self-indulgent writing thinky thoughts, so putting most of it under a cut. Spoilers for ME3-era Opus thoughts, but if you read the snippet you’ve already got some spoilers, and given I haven’t even started posting Mezzo yet, I challenge anyone to remember any of this by the time I get to it anyway. XD

Tagging @fyeahmshepkaidan @scribblesandknots and @flightofthefaeriedragon , who specifically asked for this and are about to have Regrets, sorry (not sorry).

Fugue completely rewired my way of thinking about Sam and Kaidan’s reconciliation in ME3. The game, by necessity, makes resuming the romance Shepard’s call – Kaidan says he is willing, and Shepard can choose whether or not to accept.

But grief changes people. And Sam and Kaidan have a long history and soulmate level connection to each other at the time of Alchera. Can you even imagine going through losing someone like that, clawing your way back to your life for two years, transforming yourself into something new against your will because grief didn’t give you a choice, only to have the person you’ve been grieving walk back into your life with open arms, because for him, none of it happened?

At first you might think the gut reaction is, “oh thank god.” They’re back! Everything can be okay again! But I don’t think so. You spent all that time fighting a war that…in the end didn’t need to be fought. You are bruised and bloody, bent into a new shape for better or for worse, and it turns out you didn’t have to do any of it.

You did it all for nothing. For nothing.

Where do you put that frustration? That anger? It wasn’t Sam’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. But that anger has to go somewhere. Walking back into that relationship with open arms isn’t possible. You’ve changed too much. To make it more complicated, nothing has changed about who Sam is or what he does. The stakes are even higher now, and the odds of him getting out of it alive are so slim.  

Going back to him means setting yourself up to lose him again, only now you know what that feels like.

All this to say because Kaidan hurt so much for so long, when he finally gets there and gives in to the inevitable, he needs a moment of catharsis. A big one. He’s earned it.

But this is a surprisingly difficult thing to achieve, because ME3 is all about the weight on Shepard’s shoulders. The fate of the galaxy rests on him. There is no room to be the strong one, to be the comfort Kaidan needs, because he needs the same thing.

One of the really difficult parts of a relationship is handling the times when you are both on the downswing. It’s one thing when one person is hurting and the other is comforting, but when you’re both down the hole, there is no one to throw the rope and help you out. You now have to work together to do it, when neither of you are in a place to be the person your partner needs. That’s hard. It’s hard in real life, and complex to navigate in fiction.

This made it really difficult to come up with a way for the two of them to reconcile that respected their emotional needs. Fugue biased me so much towards Kaidan that I kept envisioning that reconciliation being centered on Sam comforting Kaidan in ways that weren’t addressing how broken and fragile Sam is in those moments.

But whatever the solution was, that catharsis for Kaidan was non-negotiable. He needed it, and I needed it for writing Fugue in the first place, lol.

One of the repeating narrative threads throughout Fugue was Kaidan dreaming about Sam being alive, only to wake up to the absence of him in the form of a still gravity well and a neatly made bed, two things that are impossible to have when sharing a bed with that man. So I have always, always, envisioned that moment where Kaidan wakes up for the first time and the dream…doesn’t end. Sam is there. The bedding is a mess. The gravity well is doing somersaults again. And then he rolls over, trying to figure out if he’s going insane or not, and gets hit with the first “Hey, you,” since Sam died.

But in all my daydreaming, that’s where the scene ended. ‘Hey, you,’ was such a significant moment in Sonata, that I was really enamored with the notion that ending on the ‘hey, you,’ would be a full-circle mic drop on the reader, and the narrative signal that everything was going to be okay. The problem with this is that it leaves Kaidan’s reaction to it up to the reader, and that’s ultimately unfair to Kaidan. He needs his moment of catharsis, and it needs to be in present action.

So in this snippet, I let the scene continue, because once I had the nature of their reconciliation figured out, this became the right moment for Kaidan to get that catharsis. The reconciliation will be driven by Sam’s vulnerability because it more or less has to be, and it forces Kaidan to play the part of the strong one when he isn’t. So when Kaidan gets that reality check – waking up and realizing the dream didn’t end – he gets to be the one who falls apart, and Sam, who got the emotional strength he needed the night before, is in a position to give Kaidan what he needs. It’s closure to the events of Fugue. The emotional breakdown calls back to the panic attack in Sonata when Sam was there, and the one in Fugue where he wasn’t. And letting it happen AFTER the reconciliation itself allows Kaidan to get what he needs while still being true to himself: He has always been Shepard’s guardian, the person who protects Shepard so he can protect everyone else, and he still got to do that when Sam needed it most.

Also, Sam gets to call him baby, something that he will deny if you ask him about it, and he will believe himself.

It was the, “Oh, baby. I have you. I’m here,” that drove me to actually write the scene. It popped into my head out of nowhere from someone whose only term of endearment is “Hey, you” and felt like the kind of out-of-character but perfectly in-character thing that only gets to happen once, so it happens when it counts.     

[retrosofa]

Let's conclude our Cutie Honey 50th anniversary trivia with the final episode: “A Poison Flower Scatters in Hell.”

Screenwriter: Masaki Tsuji

Art Director: Urata Mataharu

Animation Director: Satoshi Jingu

Director: Osamu Kasai

With the exception of Junpei’s girlfriend Mami and the nameless Panther Claw subordinates, all of the (living) characters in the series appear for the final episode.

The suspenseful drumming that plays before Eagle Panther attacks the truck was lifted from Go Misawa’s soundtrack for Devilman.

Honey has always lovingly addressed her father as “papa”, but in this episode she refers to him as the more formal otousama or “father.” This was probably done to demonstrate to the audience how much she has grown from her battle with Panther Claw.

In the original manga, Sister Jill’s headquarters was called maboroshi jyou or “Castle of Illusion.” The name was probably changed to avoid confusion with Cutter Claw’s “Castle of Illusion” from episode 10. 

Jill’s headquarters in the manga looks like a traditional European style castle, while the anime version evokes more of a haunted house. 

The dreamlike landscape Honey falls into is modeled after the surrealist works of Salvador Dali, specifically one of his most famous works, The Persistence of Memory, which depicts melting pocket watches. The floating lips could possibly be based on Man Ray’s Observatory Time: The Lovers, a painting featuring a giant pair of lush red lips in the sky.

The second half of the episode features a few references to one of Toei Animation’s earlier films, The Little Prince and the Eight-Headed Dragon.

Released in 1963, the film tells the story of Susanoo, the youngest son of the gods who created the Earth, and his journey in finding his mother. The stylized film featured the talents of animation veterans such as Yasuo Otsuka, Yoichi Kotabe, Isao Takahata, and Kimio Yabuki. 

References to The Little Prince and the Eight-Headed Dragon: 

The human shaped fire that attacks Honey is animated almost exactly like the Fire God that Susanoo faces. 

The phantom serpents are a dead-ringer for the eight-headed dragon. The only difference is the coloring. In the film their colors are similar to Maleficent's dragon form from Walt Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. It’s worth mentioning in the original storyboard the illusions were meant to look like generic snakes.

After the Panther Chateau crumbles, the gloomy skies clear up and Honey finds herself in a flowerbed under a blue sky. This is similar to the end of the film, in which the defeated dragon turns into a field of flowers and the dark skies become bright and sunny.

The bone-chilling organ music that plays during Honey and Jill’s confrontation is Fugue in D Major, BWV 580 by Johann Sebastian Bach. The rendition featured in this episode was performed by French organist Marie-Claire Alain.

While the animation director for the finale is Satoshi Jingu of Anime Room, the key animation for the second half of the episode was handled primarily by Yoshinori Kanada. While he was relatively unknown at the time, he would go on to be a very influential figure in the animation world, working on titles such as Dino Mech Gaiking, Birth, Princess Mononoke and others. 

Kanada’s style is particularly noticeable during the “Honey Special” sequence and Honey's reunion with the Hayami family. It’s very possible Kanada had worked on the other episodes animated by Anime Room (episodes 6, 13, 16, and 24) but he only received credit for this one.

Supposedly, the final episode was originally going to be handled by Shingo Araki and Hiroshi Shitara, but both men were too busy working on Majokko Megu-chan.

Despite getting pretty good ratings, Cutie Honey was canceled due to concerns over salacious content. According to Go Nagai’s autobiographical manga, Gekiman! Cutie Honey Hen, nearly everyone involved was blindsided by the cancellation. Toshio Katsuta in particular was quite surprised, since Honey made better ratings than its predecessor, Microid S. Katsuta was actually quite confident Honey would last three or four seasons.

Because of the series' abrupt cancellation, Katsuta and Nagai both agreed to have Honey defeat Jill at the end of the series, while leaving Panther Zora’s fate being left to the interpretation of the fans.

In an interview printed in the 1981 Cutey Honey Roman Album, Go Nagai talks a little bit about what Honey and Zora were up to after the finale. He says Zora began harvesting animals from the Amazon and transforming them into androids, probably in preparation for a battle against Honey. He also says Honey is destined to only fight Panther Claw, so she'd probably ignore any unrelated criminal activity. I guess we can assume Honey got a little downtime after her victory against Sister Jill?

And that's all our trivia for Cutie Honey! I hope you enjoyed all the interesting tidbits I've collected over the years. Maybe someday I'll do this for the other series...

Special Thanks:

@brickme

Ayumi Shinozaki

Josh M.

Charlie from Skaro Hunting Society

Phix Cabral

Jonathan Castleman

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

The strange life of Larry Bader

 On May 15, 1957 the 30 year old Larry Bader rented a boat at the Rocky River near Cleveland that afternoon, and was warned about an upcoming storm. The deteriorating weather didn’t seem to faze Bader – at 4:30p.m. he shoved off in the rented motor boat.

The storm came up three hours later. The next morning, Bader’s boat was found on the rocks at Perkins Beach. Bader was not in it. The Coast Guard said the lake had been so rough no man could have survived overboard.

Four days later, a fascinating, debonair and well-dressed man entered the Roundtable Bar on the corner of 19th and Harney Streets in Omaha, Nebraska. He gave his name as John “Fritz” Johnson. He became a radio station announcer, sports director of a television station, and one of the best known, best liked and most flamboyant personalities in Omaha. 

He told friends and acquaintances that he took up archery “to strengthen his back muscles after an injury”. With his background of hunting in Ohio, it is no surprise that he won the Nebraska state championship. Bader enthralled his friends with vivid stories of a boyhood in a Boston orphanage and 13 years in the Navy. He kept tropical fish — especially the Siamese fighting variety, the kind that devour each other. He wore an eyepatch after surgery to remove a cancerous tumour from his left eye, which added to his large than life character.

Meanwhile, Larry Bader was declared legally dead in an Akron court in 1960. By this time Mary lou Bader (his wife) had settled down to the business of trying to rear four children alone.

In 1964 a Nebraska archery firm sent Bader to a sports show at Chicago’s McCormick Place to show off its equipment. One of the visitors at the show was from Akron, and he did a double take when he saw the Nebraska archery champion. He had, he was sure, just seen a dead ringer for the missing Larry Bader. The man called Bader’s brothers from Akron. They flew into Chicago, took a look at Fritz and said he was their long lost brother. Johnson’s fingerprints were sent to the FBI, who compared them with the fingerprints Bader gave when he joined the US navy as an 18 year old – they matched. Johnson claimed to have no memory of his life as Lawrence Bader, probably due to the eye surgery.

So what was the real story behind the disappearance of Lawrence Bader and the appearance of John Johnson? Did Bader decide he was trapped in the life he was leading and saw only one way out – fake his own death and set up a new life somewhere else? Or was Bader suffering from dissociative amnesia, a rare condition where a person has no memory of their life owing to trauma or stress. In a dissociative fugue state, they have an urge to travel and may invent a new personality, settling in a new area with no recollection of how they got there.

[bettsfic]

directors cut on dirtbag, im begging

i don't know what i was on when i wrote dirtbag but i'd kill to have it back.

initially i didn't plan to write anything for hellcheer because, yk, 3 minutes of on screen interaction and i don't actually like stranger things. but i got an ask about if i would ever write for them, and that got me Thinking* and then i slipped into some kind of fugue state where i wrote sick part of a sick thing across 8 days.

if you ever want me to write for your ship, send me an ask asking what i WOULD write for them (assuming i know canon), and i may say i dunno or i may write a 50k multichap

sick thing was not satisfying to write on a craft level because i relied heavily on the same cheap moves stranger things employs to create conflict, namely totally flat antagonists that exist only to propel the protagonist into action.

and so after i wrote sick thing, i thought i would try the exact opposite, a fic that takes place over a long time where every character has some degree of nuance.

and that challenge was...challenging. i've never worked harder on a fic, but it was worth it i think for what i learned in the process of writing it. i think it made my characters stronger and my story structures more complicated and interesting. it reframed my perspective of developing tension through context rather than chronology.

i re-read it recently and it made me really sad because i don't think some of the things i admire about it can ever be replicated. i'd love to be able to put that degree of loneliness and longing in an original work, but i've tried and i seem to lose something along the way.

i remember while i was posting it being very happy about the response, because there weren't a whole lot of people reading it, but the people who were reading it really seemed to be engaging with it. it's one thing when people enjoy a story, but it's another when they allow the story to move them. i got a lot of really insightful asks and comments. so it was hard to write and it was a huge struggle, and there's at least one chapter that i re-wrote like 5 times, but overall it was very rewarding.

[hms-no-fun]

i both really wish (and dont wish) cohost had a similar ask system to tumblr because im 300% more comfortable on that website than this one but ive had this particular burning question since i binge read godfeels during a covid ridden fugue

The more general version of this question is: how has optiministDuelist been involved in the writing of godfeels 3.1? (or even the future parts you're working on, if you can do so without spoilers)

The more specific version that makes this a question better suited towards you rather than shooting the question towards optimisticDuelist, and is rather a series of questions extrapolating on the first one is: why did you involve them? are they helping you write dirk or jake? are they providing input/advice? and that goes towards other people you've had help with the project too, if they're comfortable with being spoken about - i was just a fan of od's analyses and was surprised to see his name attached to godfeels! in fact im so curious about the nature/process of collaboration in godfeels it seems reductive to even try to condense it into questions that would be easier/faster to answer, in that i fear that what i put in will be what i get out, and that logically it's silly of me to bank on the fact that you might go more in depth than how these questions may imply on first glance. i fear my words make no sense and rather instill anxiety into the reader. anyway these are more like guidelines for something i was hoping you could talk about

oooooo this is a good one! i've written a fair amount about my collaborations in the past. here's a post where i talk about working with taz on chapter 8.2. here's a post where i talk about working with janet girlpillz on chapter 8.6. and here's a post where i talk about working with julia on the nsfw interlude 'stomach'! and then for bonus points, here's a piece my gf zoe wrote about working with me on the first official godfeels art in chapter 7.

but you want more, so here's more.

to start with, taz and i have been friends for some years now! back in early 2019 i was on the hbomberguy donkey kong 64 stream where i (briefly) tried to defend homestuck, which i guess gained me some form of notoriety/infamy. i can't remember if it was taz or kate who reached out to me first but i know taz liked my stuff (and i liked his!). then kate had me on pgen, i joined the pgen server, we all started gaming together and talking about homestuck in group chats. this period, pretty much through the entirety of 2019, is when i went from feeling like i had zero grasp on homestuck to becoming cohost of an at-the-time popular homestuck theory podcast! it's funny going back to my first appearance on pgen because you can tell i was so in over my head. i couldn't remember the names of the hiveswap trolls and still didn't even really know all the homestuck trolls by name. AND I OPTED OUT OF TALKING ABOUT VRISREZI LMAO. oh how turned the tables did the tables did turn

[[[oh god i just realized the pgen website expired and i'm not sure if the eps are still up anywhere... i should talk to kate about that lmao]]]

anyway, i actually talked to taz a bunch when i was first writing godfeels 1!

shortly after this we all did a stream for the launch of the epilogues with folks from the pgen server as well as hiveswap writer/director aysha u farah. i played gamzee lmao i still have the clown horn app on my phone from that

i guess i don't really know to what extent any of this is common knowledge anymore now that i think about it! this feels sort of superfluous to me but i guess this was FOUR YEARS AGO lmao

early godfeels straight up would not have existed without all these people. i cannot stress enough that literary obsession is a social contagion. i was not born a homestuck, i was made. and i think maybe some of the extremities of gf2 especially feel a little weird or dated these days, because on top of everything else godfeels was responding to it was also responding to the particularly toxic 2019-era vriscourse. so a big part of june's confrontational nature came from me being fucking sick of the baby's-first-conservatism that took root in the wider fandom when us cancelable queers had the audacity to like problematic womens and not apologize for it. i won't say anymore about that because like, whatever, it's all dead and buried now even if the ghost lingers. that ghost will have its day eventually! but not anytime soon.

ANYWAY, so, going back to the beginning even though i wrote godfeels alone, it came about in a context of lengthy conversations with other homestuck theorists. so when gf3 started to blow up in scale and become less about my trauma specifically, it made a lot of sense to broaden my horizons and get some new blood into the mix. the posts i linked at the start will fill in a bunch of gaps for you there, i think. it’s worth noting that a bunch of us already had a history of at least attempting to collaborate. we had a thing building for a while like a visual novel with one choice that was basically, what if we wrote every possible version of “transgender john” and just had them all together as branching paths. this was before some of the broader fandom really dug their heels in on the reactionary transphobia, after which point i at least lost some of my taste for that project. maybe we could come back to it someday, we wrote some cool stuff for that...

as far as my collaborative philosophy goes, idk. i first started writing fiction on the zeldapower forums in the early 2000s and developed a thick skin for critique pretty fast as a result. i wrote and rewrote constantly, shared what i could with friends and talked about plot/story/character ideas with them. when i realized in year two that writing school had nothing to offer me, i transferred to film. but i did so explicitly not wanting to be a director or writer or anyone above the line, really, because i didn't know what i wanted to make or even if i wanted to make something of my own. what i wanted was to help other people realize their own visions and see how they did it. so that's how i ended up working grip/electric in the oklahoma film industry, because it turns out all it really takes to get your foot in the door is to lose the ego and make yourself useful. it helps that i am cursed with constant psychological awareness of absolutely everything in my vicinity at all times, so i gained a reputation for being practically psychic the way i could know exactly what my bosses wanted lighting-wise before they even said anything.

i miss that job tbh. i loved the people, i felt more physically and psychologically fulfilled than at any job i've ever had. oklahoma has a relatively small film scene so it wasn't long before i was on a first name basis with most everyone working on my side of the state. when a crew is all on the same page, man, there's nothing like it. not every set can or should be like this, but some of my favorite experiences were on sets where it felt like everyone was the director. the director had their own vision but they knew how to adapt it to the location, to the ideas of technicians and craftspeople who had their own insights. a good director knows how to let their collaborators take ownership of the work, even when they reject their suggestions! i loved film work and i think about getting back to it sometimes. problem is it's extraordinarily physically demanding work and it leaves no time for anything else. 12 hour days five days a week minimum. i quit because i wanted to focus on video essays, one thing led to another, now we're here and homestuck changed my life lmao

so that's where i come from as writer. i have very strong opinions about my work and what it means and what it needs to do, but i try very hard not to have an ego about it.

the way we work together is pretty simple. when i finish the first draft of a chapter i’ll post it to the work server, and then folks will leave comments. but also, every member of the team has their own little corner of godfeels that they’ve adopted. taz is the dirkjake whisperer, julia is the queen of dana and the upsilons, etc. so when i write these characters i’ll ask for their insight, and invite them to modify or add to the scene as they see fit. sometimes this means prose, sometimes this means dialogue. our understanding is that nothing goes in the final published work without my approval, but that also that nothing is entirely off the table until we’ve had a conversation about it.

i get a lot of my storytelling philosophy from the tv show LOST, where every question was introduced with an explanation in mind but with the caveat that those explanations only remained true until the writers came up with something better. this gets back to something i said yesterday about needing a story to be dynamic and not planning things out too much in advance. for more detailed explanations, here’s a post i wrote about my hooks & hats philosophy, and then here’s another post about my process in general. but basically, i have this massive web of interconnected plotpoints going out very far into the future right? so when someone makes a suggestion i know exactly how possible it is to fit within that framework. i know how much information about any given hook has been introduced, so i know whether one explanation has been seeded too thoroughly to be changed.

but the flipside of that is that now my collaborators are inventing OCs! taz created a fantastic character named xifus that i can’t wait to write more of in 3.2A. we talk about this setting all the time, we talk about what makes sense for it, what would be cool, what mistakes would absolutely RUIN IT, how we can avoid the mistakes of our predecessors, all that fun stuff.

collaboration is all about honesty. godfeels has become what it is because we’re all fans both of homestuck, of anime, of broader culture... and of godfeels. my dirty secret is that i love writing godfeels because i’m its biggest fan. it frequently does not FEEL like i am composing this story, but rather that it is just happening to me. always i am wrangling cats in this petting zoo. i don’t want to be making this thing for the rest of my life but also this story is SO COOL and we are all chomping at the fucking bit to get to the upsilons and so much other shit besides. is that egomaniacal? idk. i think the idea that you’re supposed to be neutral leaning negative on your own work is kinda bullshit. but also, i don’t see the creation of art as bound to suffering or even being a process that requires much expertise. writing isn’t magic, even if it can feel that way sometimes.

i talk a lot about my work and how i write because i want to help demystify the process and try to show that it’s a learnable craft same as anything else. imo the preponderance of mediocre-to-great artists is not proof of Exceptional People but rather that it’s actually dirt simple to become a mediocre-to-great artist. all you need is time and money and access to the right tools! which is why so many mediocre artists are the rich failsons of killfactory millionaires. which is why every artist should be pro student debt relief, pro public transit, pro affordable housing, pro welfare, pro socialized medicine, pro deprivatizing mass media, and pro wide-ranging government arts funding. our nightmare neoliberal media landscape is the result of decades of making the creation of art & culture economically inaccessible to the working class, hence everything being set in rich suburbs with giant houses, hence the inescapability of pro-capitalist pro-nationalist messaging, hence the refusal of all national media to talk to trans people about trans issues, because only the middle and upper classes get to touch the levers of public perception and they have a direct economic incentive to convince the working class that they are middle class.

the notion that this stuff is at all mysterious or naturally the purview of those who can afford expensive degrees is just the narrative they sell to working people to cover up the fact that once you ascend past a certain income bracket, absolutely everything is just nepotism. it’s all just rich guys giving their rich friends and their rich friends’ stupid fucking libertarian manchildren high paying jobs forever. that’s why they never go away, that’s why they always fail up, that’s why trans women and queer people can get bullied off the face of the internet for half-joking that a fictional woman who did a murder was blameless in her crimes while grifters who moonlight at raytheon can weather blow after blow and stir the pot and solicit donations they don’t need and never disappear no matter how hated they are, because they HAVE money and they HAVE security so none of this shit is a real threat to anything besides their shallow fucking egos. which, you know, to be fair, threatening a rich person’s ego is basically the same thing as killing a man in cold blood, so who can say what is wrong or right?

there’s obviously a lot of complicating factors to the anticapitalist yarn i’ve spun here, but that’s how i see it. the rich want to own culture, they commodify it through copyright and box it up and insist that we are trespassers if we try to reflect those “““properties”““ through ourselves. that is, in part, a big reason why i haven’t given up on godfeels or tried to “file the serial numbers off.” i love this story and i am treating it with as much care as i would something original, because i believe this is art that stands up even with its imperfections and it’s insulting to me that “fanwork” is considered naturally lesser than “original” work when literally everything around us that is owned by disney et al was stolen from what was once an open culture. i reject the enclosure of the commons of our imagination, and andrew hussie themself quite famously said that postcanon homestuck belongs to the most conscientious and invested members of the fandom.

and frankly, even as i wish i COULD make a living off of godfeels alone, i like that my art isn’t particularly monetizable. i like that it is considered low art. i like that many people see it as shameful or a waste of time. i do not want to create a commodity. i do not want to run a business. i do not want to be famous. i want to make art that is freely available that maybe, just maybe, can help a handful of queer people deal with the shit going on in their life and have a good time in the process.

in short: we have no choice but to revolutionize the world.

UHHHH wow that got off the rails at the end there didn’t it? i love giving writing advice hahaha!

[tavoit]

"The written word passeth on the torch of wisdom"

This mural, one of a series, graces the Doheny Memorial Library at USC.  The artist, Samuel J. Armstrong, was Philadelphia-trained, and went on to be a chief animator for Walt Disney. Armstrong apparently was one of the directors of “Fantasia,” particularly the live-action sequences including Stokowski (Leopold!) leading the fabulous Philadelphians in the Toccata and Fugue.

[hold-your-applause]

Hi! I love your work, i was wondering if i could request a childhood friend! reader with akira from persona 5? they're visiting him in the city while he's on probation

Thank you for your patience, my love

Spontaneous

The man at the counter had told you it was alright to head up the stairs at the back of the café, but he didn't mention that there would be a group of people waiting for you when you got to the top of them.

The sudden silence had stopped you in your tracks. You weren't prepared for so many extra eyes to be on you, suddenly feeling like you had walked in on something much more intimate than you could probably imagine.

You had been in Shibuya for only an hour and you had already overstepped somehow.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nobody else showing any intention of breaking the silence.

"Surprise..?"

All eyes were suddenly off you as they shifted to the person you came all this way to see in the first place. He was still staring at you, clearly still in shock at your sudden arrival in his room.

The cat sitting on the table meowed rather loudly, snapping your friend out of his stupor.

You couldn't hide your smile at the sound of your name slipping past his lips.

"Hi, Ren."

None of the other people in the room spoke a word as he rose from his seat, stepping away from it to approach you slowly.

"What are you doing in Shibuya?"

You only smiled wider.

"It's summer break! I thought I'd surprise you by coming in to visit you. I was thinking you might be feeling a bit homesick, so I wanted to check on you." You explained, watching him finally stop moving when he was standing right in front of you.

It had only been a few months, but you could have sworn he had grown taller since the last time you saw him.

The look on his face could only be explained as one of wonder, though you didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

It made you nervous, so you continued on.

"Besides, you haven't missed a single one of my birthdays, and I didn't think you'd want to start now." You said quietly.

You saw recognition cross his face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

You peeked around his frame to eye the group of teenagers watching the two of you. "But it seems like I'm interrupting something important, so I can just go back downstairs until you're finished here." You said, looking back up at him. "Unless you'd like to introduce me to everyone?"

His head whipped around to look at them for only a brief moment before he was looking at you again, suddenly grabbing your shoulders and turning you completely around to face the stairs.

"They're nobody."

"Huh?" You blinked, squeaking when he suddenly started pushing you towards the stairs. "Nobody? But--"

"That's right."

"They're in your room--"

"Lost tourists."

"Wh-- For real?!" You heard one of the boys shout from behind you. "Who's gonna believe--"

"Ren, stop pushing, I'm going to trip down the stairs!" You griped as he kept pushing you forward, doing your best not to slip as you grabbed hold of the railing. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to show you around." He reached for his bag that was on the table by the stairs, quickly leading you downstairs.

You frowned. Why was he being so pushy about getting you away from his friends? Did he not want to see you as much as you wanted to see him? You had been inseparable since before either of you could walk. Why was he suddenly so eager to rush you away like this?

Were you... embarrassing him somehow?

"We're going to be out until closing."

You blinked, not realizing he had moved you halfway across the café floor by now.

"Just don't cause any trouble." The man from before replied, offering you a short wave before you were suddenly out the door, the bustling of the people walking down the street hitting your ears.

You frowned again as you watched him sling his bag over his shoulder. "Are you mad at me?" You asked him.

He shook his head, motioning in the direction he wanted you two to walk, and despite your sunken mood, you walked beside him. "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

That couldn't be a serious question, could it?

"What was all that back there?" You crossed your arms, ignoring the yowling of the cat that had followed you both out of the café. "You had guests, Ren, I'm not stupid. Why didn't you want me to meet them?"

This was never something that had been an issue before.

He seemed less than concerned as you two continued your walk to, you assumed, the station. "It's not that I don't want you to meet them." He said.

"Then why were you in such a hurry to get me out of there?"

He looked at you as if the answer should have been obvious.

"Because you're here."

You shook your head, confused. "So?"

He reached over, draping his arm over your shoulder to pull you in close to his side as you both continued walking, his breath on your ear.

"So nothing else in the world matters."

[deemnfic]

truly asking: how the fuck do y'all do director's commentary on your fics.

do you not go into a fugue state for several hours and then come out of it with a chapter written? you like, have a conscious process??

[skarabrae-stone]

Spoilers for Red, White, & Royal Blue (book and movie) below the cut:

I just finished watching Red, White, & Royal Blue, and I'm honestly really disappointed-- and kind of offended-- by the changes they made from the book.

I always expect that there will be changes when a book is adapted to a movie, but I think the changes that were made here were significant, and not in a good way.

The first, and most egregious, was the "outing" plot where Alex and Henry's emails are leaked online. In the book, Alex and Henry's emails are hacked as part of a plot by the Republican candidate running opposite Alex's mother for the presidency. That is, a white, conservative, bigoted politician hired people to get dirt on Alex in order to throw the election.

In the movie, the person who leaks the emails is a gay Mexican-American journalist, who appears to do it partly as revenge on Alex for turning him down, and partly to advance his own career. He's also the only character who regularly uses Spanish on screen, and the only character Alex speaks Spanish to, and he's the only character with a Mexican accent (despite Alex's father having emigrated from Mexico at the age of 12). This just feels blatantly racist to me, like the writers thought having a Republican presidential candidate be the bad guy was too "political", and decided to fall back on stereotypes instead.

The other changes I take issue with are the removal of female characters/female importance in the movie. Alex's sister is cut out entirely, despite being a huge part of the book. His friend Nora mostly exists to support him-- the other aspects of her character have mostly been cut, and it's not even clear what she does or what her connection with Alex is. Henry's sister is reduced to a couple scenes where she encourages him-- she has no personality, no backstory, and none of the traits that make her interesting in the book.

And finally, Henry's mother is also absent. In the book, during the climactic confrontation with Henry's grandmother the queen (changed to grandfather in the movie), Henry's mother, who has basically been in a depressive fugue ever since her husband died, realizes that she needs to do better for her children. She stands up for Henry against his grandmother, and supports his right to be out and be himself. In the movie, she's mentioned a couple times as being out of the country, and never appears onscreen.

Like I said, there are always bound to be changes when a book is adapted into a movie. But the changes that are chosen tell you something about the priorities of the producers, directors, and writers. In this case, the changes made demonstrate nothing good about those priorities.

[bunnidid-reviews]

Also, have you ever tried watching Kino's Journey or reading the light novels? I recommend both the novels and the old 2003 anime, by the same director as Serial Experiments Lain (which was the only anime I ever felt "looked like dissociation felt"--but I hated watching it, ffff, it felt too much for me). Kino doesn't explicitly have DID but definitely seems inspired by perhaps an older understanding of a fugue state (the motif of flying birds inspiring one to travel repeats throughout, too), takes on the identity of the person who inspired them, and forgets their birthname for some time due to trauma. [I'm using them as a neutral term because Kino's gender is meant to be a secret in the early chapters/episodes.] It is DEFINITELY a violent, sometimes gory show [so it may be triggering--it is also often a very bleak and sad story!], although with a cute, picturebook quality to the earlier art style. Very philosophical and a short watch.

This one seems like a familiar one, like maybe I’ve been recommended it before. It sounds very good too! Since it’s short I might check it out, but if there’s gore it’d definitely be a lot harder for me too > < I’ll have to see! Thanks so much for the warning 💛

I love earlier anime art styles like that too, there’s just something so charming about it, isnt there?

[ainyan]

Back to Work

Three months. It had been three months. Three months, sixteen days, ten hours since Satele Shan and Risha Drayen had come to tell him that Darth Marr’s flagship had been destroyed in the first meeting with the Eternal Empire. Since that day, Arcann’s forces had rained fire and destruction upon both the Republic and the Sith Empire.

At first, Theron had been in shock - unable to do anything even as everything crumbled around them. Finally, however, he’d come out of his fugue and tried to pick up the pieces - not only of his own life, but of the shattered galaxy he found himself in. He had tried to bury himself in his work, but Saresh had pushed back, refusing to rescind his ‘administrative leave’. 

Just today, he’d nearly gotten himself tossed out on his ear - and likely blacklisted - when she’d made a cutting remark that had laid blame on his shoulders for the initial debacle in Wild Space, and only Satele’s quick intervention had spared him. The Jedi Grandmaster spirited him away before he was able to gain control of his tongue long enough to tell the Supreme Chancellor exactly what he thought of her - or to pull the blaster hanging at his side.

As they passed by the Supreme Commander’s office, a hand shot out and caught Theron’s wrist, dragging him and Satele into the room. The door slid shut behind them as Theron grappled belatedly at his blaster, staring wildly at their assailant. Marcus Trant raised an eyebrow. “Gonna shoot me, Agent Shan?” In the background, Jace Malcom looked mildly surprised at his son’s disheveled appearance.

“Might make me feel better,” Theron replied, unamused, but he dropped his hand away from his blaster and tugged his wrist free of Trant’s grasp. “Should you be talking to me? The Supreme Chancellor has made her position on my position in the SIS abundantly clear.”

The SIS Director gave Theron a patient look. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, but if it makes you feel better, Saresh and I have been arguing about your displacement since Ziost, and we will continue to do so. Grounding one of my top agents at a time like this is tantamount to suicide.” He sighed. “I can’t override her - not exactly, but I can tell you that Zarek Antilles is still working for us. Maybe he’ll be able to help until I can get you back in the system.”

Theron froze, staring at his old boss. “That’s… good to know. At least the SIS is in good hands until Saresh comes to her senses.”

Jace gave Marcus a suspicious look, but the SIS director never even glanced in his direction. His dark eyes rested on his agent, a faint smile hovering about his lips. “I heard you invested in a place on Rishi after you were there chasing traitors,” he remarked. “Maybe you should go there, lay low for a little bit - long enough for Saresh to forget about you. A few more weeks of this,” and he gestured skyward, indicating the Eternal Empire ships in aggressive orbit about the planet, “and she’s sure to understand the value of reinstating you.”

Trant hadn’t meant to reopen old wounds. He certainly hadn’t meant to rip Theron’s heart from his chest, but the spy closed his eyes against the unexpected stab of pain in his belly, pressing his hand to his stomach as he bent over from the shock.

Rishi. 

Theron stared down into Cip'rys’s glowing scarlet eyes, mirroring the wicked smile that danced within them. “Working with you has made all of this madness worthwhile,” he’d murmured.

Her response came not in words, but in the bright grin she flashed him, even as she reached up to lock her arms around his neck, dragging him down for a hard, hungry kiss. Her mouth was warm and firm against his and she tasted of whiskey and spice and the hard candies he knew she kept in one pocket - just to his taste. He’d never felt such a powerful urge to just take before.

It had been she who had pulled back, her breath ragged, her cheeks flushed. “The feeling’s mutual.” He barely resisted pulling her back in. He’d only wanted the kiss. Now he wanted so much more. But the fleet was waiting, and there was no time to spare. Not now. But soon… soon.

Stepping back, he dusted his hands together to keep them from snatching her against him. “Glad we’re on the same page,” he grinned, trying to hide his need behind a joke. From the glint in her eyes, he had a feeling they were more in sync than he’d thought, and he eased back another step. “Come on. Let’s go see what Yavin has in store for us.”

“Theron?” It was Jace, his eyes concerned as he reached out to steady his son. At his side, Satele watched him, her angular blue eyes filled with sympathy - she, at least, understood. She could feel it.

The Director knew too; Theron was unsurprised. No doubt both he and the smuggler had been closely watched, and they hadn’t exactly been discreet these past several months. For once, Theron saw something human in Marcus Trant - a compassion he’d never expected. “I wasn’t thinking. If Rishi won’t do, I’m sure I can lend you an unused safehouse somewhere…”

The spy shook his head, straightening up and patting his father’s arm awkwardly as the giant released him. “No. No, Rishi is fine. I’ve got the house set up with all my creature comforts; it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Better than brooding here on Coruscant.” Where the ghost of his lost lover haunted his apartment. “Give Zarek my best, Director.”

The three watched as he turned and walked out, his gait a little unsteady, his shoulders hunched. “I missed something,” Jace remarked as he watched his son leave with worried eyes.

“Probably,” Trant replied mildly, without censure. “I’m sure the Grandmaster can explain. I need to go make sure everything is in place. Thanks for letting me use your office, Jace.”

The Supreme Commander waved his friend off, his attention already centered on the tall, slim woman he’d once loved enough to conceive a child with. “What have I missed?” he asked the Jedi as he settled down in one of the office chairs, careful not to put too much weight on it.

Satele sighed, rubbing her forehead. “You missed your son sliding down that slippery slope into love, Jace,” she replied, and he gaped at her. “Do you pay any attention to things outside of the military these days? It hasn’t exactly been a secret that Theron Shan had been spending time with the infamous smuggler Cip’rys.”

Malcom blanched. “I hadn’t heard. Not exactly the kind of gossip that reaches my ears these days,” he admitted. “But things have been screwed up since Ziost - since Yavin, really,” he sighed. “She worked with him there, didn’t she?”

“And on Rishi,” Satele murmured, staring at the door through which her son had so recently exited. “I believe this all began there. He’s been a shadow of himself since word came. Arcann broadcasting about executing her hasn’t helped,” she added dourly, “and Saresh hasn’t exactly been kind. She all but accused him of being responsible for all of this.”

Jace closed his eyes. “She’s a menace, Satele,” he growled, his voice lowered to prevent anyone outside the room from hearing. “A bloodthirsty warmonger who is more interested in power than in the survival of the Republic or her people.”

The Grandmaster sighed. “I know. But she’s also the duly elected Supreme Chancellor. There’s nothing we can do until her term comes up. And even then… she’s incredibly popular, Jace. To the average citizen, she gives them exactly what they want - a fight against the tyranny and oppression of the Sith.” She chafed her hands together, turning back to the leader of the Republic’s armed forces. “I have a feeling we won’t be done with her for a while.”

Jace gazed into her face. “Is that a feeling, or a feeling?” he asked, emphasizing the repetition of the word. 

Satele grimaced. “I’d love to say the latter, but right now, I think it’s just my own anxiety over this invasion and how she’s handling it - and how she’s handling Theron,” she admitted in a low voice.

Jace studied his one-time lover and shook his head. “I thought you Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments.” At her sour look, he held up his hands. “Don’t get mad at me. I care for the boy, too. We made a good one, Satele, one that even a Jedi can be proud of.”

Her expression softened as she gazed towards the door. “Yes,” she murmured. “He is definitely a good one. Let us hope that these latest events do nothing to change that.” Turning back to her ex-lover, she frowned at him. “Keep an eye on him, Jace. Don’t let him stray too far into the dark. I have a feeling that this is only the beginning of his trials.”

The big man raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of the impossibility of the request, but spread his hands. “I’ll do my best, Satele,” he rumbled.

“Thank you,” she sighed, before offering him a distracted bow and turning, walking swiftly from his office.

He remained standing behind his desk, frowning thoughtfully after her.

It was dusty, and empty of anything resembling food, but it was livable, and he could make it more so. He’d bought the place on a whim after the operation on Rishi, and hadn’t given it more than an occasional thought since then. He’d intended it to be a hideaway, somewhere off the grid and off the books that he and Ciprys could disappear for weeks on end. Nothing to occupy them but each other…

Recognizing the danger of the impending cloud of grief, he gritted his teeth and palmed on the lights, studying the cloth covered furniture scattered about the room. Months of accumulated grime, damage from the local rodents and insects, some mild mildew… nothing he couldn’t handle. And at least cleaning it would keep him too preoccupied to think.

Think about…

Gritting his teeth, he shoved the past aside and tugged off his jacket and gloves. A quick hunt found his stash of cleaning supplies. He grimaced at them, then at the room, then sighed, slipped on the protective gloves, and got to work.

Little more than an hour later, and the place was fit for habitation. With the dust chased away, the mildew scoured, and the damage from the tiny invaders cleaned and patched, Theron was able to stock the cooler and pantry with the food he’d brought. In the bedroom, he stowed away his gear, then grabbed the compact bag that contained his special kit.

The small office held a secret, one he doubted even Trant was aware of. Oh, the director no doubt had suspicions - but the spy doubted even his boss knew exactly how to access the old smuggling holdout buried beneath the floor. Scans of the room would turn up no anomalies; like many smuggling compartments in freighters, the walls were lined with sheets of metal designed to break up and refract scan pings, showing up as solid spaces rather than holes. Add in the best locking mechanisms he could get his hands on and added cybersecurity built by a master, and no one was getting into his hideaway he didn’t want there.

Clearing his way through the passcodes and biometrics, Theron squeezed through the narrow opening that appeared in his floor and down into the sparsely appointed cavern of computerized delights that awaited him below. He ran his hands across the consoles and monitors he’d installed months prior, checking for any sign of use or abuse of either the sentient or rodentia kind.

Nothing. As clean and as unused as when he’d last been here. Satisfied, he booted up the system and engaged the redirects and misdirects that would send any incoming and outgoing signals bouncing around between galactic buoys before finding their way to him. It would slow things down considerably - but it would also make him all but impossible to find. When the system login for the Republic SIS finally appeared on the monitor, he hesitated a moment, then tapped in his credentials.

Acknowledged. Welcome, Agent Zarek Antilles.

Satisfied, Theron settled down in his chair and cracked his knuckles. It was time to get back to work.

[omkdear]

I imagine that a condition of becoming the director of the institute George would change the synth relay station IMMEDIATELY. If the board of directors disagreed, the least they could do is OMIT THE WAGNER. I imagine her holding her pipboy up to Nate's pod, blaring the classical station in a fugue, like, SEE, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PLAY THE BABY MOZART. She just really hates Wagner.