#I guess we all needed time to process the thing

[multiheadcanons]

A SMALL EPILOGUE

spy’s eyes opened quickly to unfamiliar immediate surroundings.

his first deep breath of his moments awake smelled like dirt and foreign sweat. this immediately clashed with the very real and familiar feeling of his sheets on his body, both laid on the mattress, which he was also intimately familiar with. and neither one of those particularly clashed with the realization that there was more weight than usual on the bed.

there was— a lot of weight on the bed.

who did he have his arm around right now?

he picked his head off the pillow, now fully alert. and his movement caused reactions from the bodies off the bed.

“you up, spook?” an australian voice caused him to choke on his own spit, wrenching his hand back, hitting another body behind him, feeling his hand get shoved back.

“ow, ass.” a low, german grumble came from his unintended target.

“what the fuck?!”

the loud exclamation caused six other people in the room to awake with quiet mumbles. some of shock, some of confusion, some of irritation.

“what are you all doing in my room?! why are you in my bed, why are you in my bed— why is it in my bed?? is everyone in here??”

“hey, pyro was the one who was worried about you, leave them out of this, i think they can sleep at the foot of your bed.” a texan voice mumbled, muffled. spy didn’t have light, but he assumed he was face down on the floor.

“aye, agreed.” another groggy voice called from the floor, accompanied with a yawn. “anyone got the time?”

“you’ve been asleep for weeks, spy.”

“theres a clock on the nightstand.”

“says sometime past two.”

“we just came to check on you, is all. we haven’t seen you around. wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“but you just sleep.”

“it’s not natural. signs of depression, you know. war takes a toll.”

“in the afternoon?”

“tavish, it’s pitch black. take another guess.”

“ah… we’ve been here all day, then.”

“all day??”

this was entirely too much going on in his space at once. there was too much talking going on, too many people in his room, he was boxed in on his own bed. how could he not realize they were all in here? how did he not wake to them getting through the door?

“how did you even get into my room?”

“we picked the lock this time.”

“yeah, we had to replace the door last time. you didn’t even notice!”

“who picked the— last time?” that seemed to be the last thing he needed to hear. “get out. everyone get out! get out, get out, i am awake, i am alive, and i am furious! get out of my room!”

it was a collective grumble of the man’s screech as bodies began to move and shift, and the bed, through an achingly slow process, began to lighten, as he sat, indignant.

a rubber glove gently pushed at his shoulder. and he turned to the gas mask it was attached to.

they didn’t share any words. just stared at each other.

and slowly, pyro flicked a thumb up.

“… why can’t you talk to people? what is this— am i supposed to know what that means?”

and pyro put their thumb down.

they opted for a much more forceful middle finger.

and spy stared at that too. took it in for a moment. digested what he was seeing. and gave a soft snort. to himself, mainly.

“you don’t have to worry about me.”

and pyro took that carefully. chewed over the words, before shaking their head and patting his shoulder, sitting back down on the bed.

“oh, you want to be stubborn now?”

pyro nodded.

“…fine. see if i care. stay then. stay until you’re sick of it. i’m going back to sleep.” he laid back down, pulling the covers over his head.

and pyro laid with him, a hand hesitantly reaching out, continuing to rub his back.

[steamberrystudio]

For a hopeful visual novel and interactive fiction writer, do you have any specific tips on world building? Do you have a process you're willing to share? You always have such in-depth world building, but I'm never sure where to start or what to include.

Hmm. First of all I do want to state that not every story needs heavy or hard world building. It is okay to do soft world building for your stories. I always think Ghibli is such a great example of having worlds that feel deep and fleshed out but also not explaining how they work. The worlds feel lush and amazing but a lot of the lore is left vague.

So world building needs to be as detailed, as rigid, or as soft and vague as you want it to be.

We live in a time where media is hyper analysed - sometimes in bad faith - and where things like metaphor and implication and soft world building are treated like flaws and plot holes instead of valid literary devices. It can create the sense that you must know every detail of your world or you have failed at world building. And that is not true.

I build worlds and lore the way I do because it's fun. And because I know my players like it. But no one has to world build this way if they don't want to.

If you want to world build this way, keep reading. But if it's not your thing, understand that I'm not saying this is THE WAY to world build or THE BEST WAY to world build. And if it's something you feel trapped into doing but you get stuck and/or struggle with it, then again…you don't have to do it. Write in the way that genuinely works best for you.

So when it comes to how I do it…

I guess I kind of world build in phases, though this is more practical and incidental than deliberate. It's just kind of the strategy I fell into. And it really boils down to 'world build and research as needed' if I had to explain it in one sentence.

Stage One: Building a world I can make characters and a plot for.

My initial process is "write what I need and no more" - I think the trap with heavy world building is getting stuck in it. You can spend two years world building and never write a word for your story. Especially because world building is easy and fun, and it feels like progress even when you haven't written any of your story.

I don't want to get caught in that trap.

So when I am first starting with building the world for the story, I create what I know I need and what I know will come up in the story, and what is just…in my head already. And nothing more.

If I have vague 'maybe' concepts that I think are interesting, I'll jot them down but not spend a lot of time expanding them yet unless they seem connected to everything else and/or necessary.

The first step of creating a story/game for me is always to build the world but I do my best to not focus on trivial details or things I don't think have primary relevance to the story. I don't personally value world building for the sake of world building.

Generally if I write it down it's because…

- it seemed important or relevant

- I definitely thought it would come up

- it was something that sprang to mind so I wrote it down in order to not forget it.

Generally I have a sense of the world when I'm starting out. And I just begin recording what I know.

During this process, there's a lot of spontaneous world building. I create one thing which causes me to think about other things.

I genuinely do not have much of a process other than writing what comes to mind or what I think is necessary to fully grasp a concept so I can write about it.

And then I stop.

I stop when I run out of things to write and I do not worry about world building trivial things - like money or government, or things that I don't need to know at this stage. I write down what I think I need to start working on characters and a plot.

Stage Two: World building through character creation

During this stage, I'm focusing on creating character profiles for the story. Generally I have a vague idea of these when I'm starting out. I know roughly who the characters are but have to start hammering out details.

I think it's inevitable that as you start detailing the important people in your story, you're going to add more world building. For instance,in my next project, Thornewood, there are some characters who are nobility. So as I was working on them, I came up with a loose peerage system for the kingdom the story takes place in.

While the peerage itself isn't important, setting out the ranks for myself just means I can be consistent when I create new characters and that I have a general sense of where people fall rank-wise.

I didn't come up with the peerage system prior to character creation because I didn't need it. It didn't come up until I decide I wanted Ivailo to be nobility.

So while character creating, I will often come up with more a lot more of the world building. This world building is *very* centred around what is needed. It's all stuff that I need to know for the characters or want to know for them.

Again, I don't write down useless or trivial things about them most of the time. I don't personally find it useful to know things like everyone's favourite fruit. A lot of people come up with that stuff because they find it helpful but I find myself getting bogged down coming up with that stuff. So, again, I focus on what's needed for the characters.

Sometimes I create things for practical reasons.

During this stage I do a lot of editing to my original notes as well. Rather than forcing the characters to fit into whatever I came up with during Stage One, I'll just change it if it's being a problem at this point. I add whatever details or needed or change up stuff that is proving to be a problem. And I'll remove things that I realise are going to be a problem for the characters.

Stage Three World building for the plot

Typically at this point is when I start working on my outlines. I have a whole process I use for the outlines. As I work through them, I just, add to, edit, and cut bits of the lore based on what I realise is needed for the plot.

My world building always tends to get a little fuzzier the further away from the characters you are. Sometimes I come up with things I don't think will be used in the story but that are nice to know and have for characterisation or other reasons. If I need it, it's there.

Sometimes I come up with things because it gives me a clearer mental image of what I'm writing about. In GS I sat down one day and decided on the rough population estimate of the cities being referred to because I was using a lot of vague terms like "big city" or "small city" or "less populated" and I was annoyed at how vague it all felt to me. By deciding the population I had a much clearer idea of what Morgan meant when she said something felt small compared to her hometown. Those weren't necessary for the story but helped me write with more clarity and confidence.

I think things like this come across as "Wow! She put so much thought into that!" but it genuinely was just a matter of it being something I felt I needed to know for my own clarity.

Stage Four: World Building Maintenance Mode

The truth is that I world build throughout the writing process. I never really stop. If I am drafting the story and along the way some idea I really like occurs to me…it gets added in (if it works in the story, of course).

I make changes and additions throughout the process even it means having to go back and do continuity edits.

Spontaneous creations are some of the most interesting thing I come up with. And sometimes they're just practical. When I was plotting for Quill's route, I kept questioning why would Quill - a robot in a city made primarily of other robots - have a bathroom. It would be a totally unnecessary feature for them but is kind of needed for Morgan. She showers at several points, and we SEE the bathroom in his flat so why is it there?

I had several options to explain this but ultimately came up with the idea that they are not mere androids but are "bio-synths" that are partially organic. That they do eat and expel waste because they have organic components. And this distinction became part of the lore. Quill talks about his childhood so then I ask - well, how do they reproduce? What does their childhood look like? Those questions came up during writing.

So the world building isn't a thing I do at the start and then I move on. It's an on-going part of the writing process.

It's not that organised a process, though I can roughly break it down into different stages where the process looks slightly different. World building is just a stepping stone for story telling so think about what you need to know vs what is just an interesting fact or a non-important fact. And don't get bogged down in those kinds of details or let them divert too much attention from the more important parts of story crafting.

[cloveroctobers]

STAY FOR AWHILE | CARMY BERZATTO (The Bear) — summer prompts

A/N: oh carmy carmy carmy!!! I can respect him acknowledging that he needs to do better for his own well-being in order to be better to others and that it’s going to be a process. What is that going to look like though? I can also understand him trying to find himself outside of what he thought he was most passionate about. He’s human (even when he became unlikable at times) yet when you look at it all?? It’s like what was that for if you’re just going to leave a mess? The desire for perfectionism is a killer. I would be open to a season five—to see HOW Carmy is going to right his wrongs. I guess all of that inspired this.

S/N: Also this is coming to you earlier than expected, thanks for voting on the poll if you did 💜

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: ¹⁾ a nettle-stung palm + ²⁸⁾ broken fishing rods + 16 ⋆ outdoor shower

WARNINGS: language + established past.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅

“So…tell me exactly how you planned to do this life changing exercise with a broken fishing rod?” You say, sitting on a log, fingers pressed against your forehead as you block out the sun.

You knew you should have brought your bucket hat with you, it was probably laughing at you right now, relaxing in the cool room on the bed you left it on, while you bared the sticky hot air.

Carmy scoffs with his back to you, curls were in tact compared to how unruly they could be, his hands still fumbled around with the rod as if it’ll magically become fixed. “I uh, dunno. Maybe that’s the exercise in the first place by them giving us broken rods? To teach us patience or some shit.”

“Pretty sure the rest of the group didn’t pull the short straw,” you say, nodding toward the others farther down the bank, all of whom seem to be in the meditative trance of waiting for a tug. “Maybe it’s just karma.”

Carmy briefly runs a finger over his lips in thought, “You still believe in that huh?”

“Look what’s happening!” You point, “You’ve been trying to fix the thing for fifteen minutes, forgetting that I am a fisherwoman’s daughter. And while we wait, I’m pretty sure this nettle-stung palm of mine is also triggering my psoriasis so yeah! Karma.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath you don’t catch.

“What? Speak up, Carmen.”

Carmy throws his head back, “I said! I can’t believe you had a kit this entire time. Would’ve been helpful.”

“I tried to offer it to you about five minutes in, and you ignored me.” You argue, resisting the urge to scratch at your irritated skin before throwing in with a softer tone, “Like usual.”

Carmy shakes his head, “I’m not trying to ignore you. I just didn’t hear you. There’s a lot of shit going on up there.”

“Have you had a one-on-one session with the lead here yet? Since you’re not vibing with the open discussions.”

Carmy exhales, letting a silence flow afterwards that’s rough to listen to. The guy’s got to lay off the cigarettes, like you told him back then, which was ironic since once upon a time, you both lived in Paris, full of pretty night lights that kept you both awake, a causal comfort the both of you brought (at times) after class, with Carmy healing the pressure with cigarette buds and you with espresso cups.

Years have passed, but something in the rhythm remains.

It moves like the lake behind him—small ripples that vanish if you blink too fast.

“…which is also okay if you’re not there yet.” You add, “I’ve been in this bitch—sorry that’s one of the words I said I was learning to kill. Twice now. Whatever the weight is…it was always easier for me to write it out opposed to verbally saying it. You’ll get there.”

Carmy swallows, jaw tight, “What if I don’t?” Just as the rod creaks in his grip, then finally snaps in half with an exhausted crack. He stares at it.

You’re on your feet now, standing beside him as you take the completely broken rod from his grasp to analyze before tossing it to the side.

A lost cause.

“Then you’ll be back at this circus, or some other retreat with possible psychos—until it finally works,” you tease, earning a crooked smile from the blue eyed man, “We all end up learning something along the way, regardless.”

Carmy dips his head, “Like you having a strong stance on karma?”

“I’ve got my evil eye’s all around me, tatted on my chest, and crystals that’ll give me nothing but good energy in a pouch back in my room.” You inform, “As for you, you definitely need another sesh in the steam room.”

Carmy crosses his arms, his tatted arms began to buldge underneath his stance and you make sure your eyes stay only on his face, “Well shit, I didn’t know you were employed here too?”

So you thump his collarbone, smiling when he flinched a little.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

You both silently agree that fishing wasn’t for you, with you grabbing your plaid shirt to tie back around your waist, and Carmy shoving his baseball hat back over his head.

“I’ve got a uh—shit relationship with fishing anyway.” Carmy tells you as you both fall into step together, climbing up the incline of a sandy hill.

“Really?” You give faux surprise, “Could’ve sworn it was a healthy one with the way you almost thought about lunging the broken rod into the lake.”

Carmy snickers, bumping his elbow with yours.

One of the retreat leaders, who was lurking off to the side with a pretty good view of everyone else, almost makes you latch onto Carmy’s arm in fear as they chirp, “Now there’s a duo! Wrapping it up a little early today I see! Good effort out there.”

They give an exaggerated thumbs up before scribbling against their clipboard again.

Once distance was put between the two of you and one of the workers, you send Carmy a crossed eyed look. “Think we’ll get a sticker for participation?”

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy feeds into your sarcasm, shoving his hands into his pockets.

And then the smell of algae rides the air and the sun seems to shine a spotlight on you two, like you’re meant to be center stage.

Holding up your bumpy hand, you announce, “I’m gonna head to med before I end up like a blow fish. Wish I could send a pic to my mom to scare the shit out of her though.”

Carmy actually smiles, a honest but quiet one, “I could keep you company if—if you need it? You could even use my hand as a stress ball.”

You pause at the mention, “You remember those?”

He shrugs, “Yeah I do. You used to carry the uh, scented ones. A citrusy one? Smelled like lemongrass and orange. And you had a death-grip on them before and after class.”

“Should’ve stuck with it, then maybe I wouldn’t be on pills for high-blood pressure,” you wink, “But I think I’ll be alright, Carm. Thanks though. I’ll catch you at dinner?”

Carmy dips his head in acknowledgment, trailing slowly after you before you split paths, with you heading the longer path down to med, and his carrying him back to the cabins. You don’t look back, focused on what’s in front of you, humming to yourself, whereas if you had, you might’ve caught Carmy watching your frame disappear between the trees.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

At dinner, you’re the last to show up—no shock there—as you squeeze Carmy’s shoulder on your way by, catching him off guard as he seemed to be deep in thought, doodling in a journal at the table, mind elsewhere, instead of engaging with others.

Classic Carmy.

The evening is structured with the founder of the retreat and head leader giving vague feedback on the fishing exercise, mostly keeping his evaluation for a later date, before informing that tonight they would all be served a Moroccan fish stew (substitution for anyone allergic, dietary restrictions, etc) as a peace offering for the night.

“This taste like anything you’ve ever made, Chef?” One of the other attendees, Lui, a former linebacker with a booming voice and the appetite to match, asks with his mouth half-full, devouring the dish like it’s an appetizer.

Carmy blinks, coming back to the present while he savors the dish, spoon moving through the meal.

It’s been about a month since he left Chicago, where homemade meals started to feel…foreign.

You’re on the other end of the table but he feels your gaze on the side of his face.

To anyone else, Carmy appeared to be dissociating but he hears it all and he pinpoints what he can taste and see.

A firm white fish—sea bass. Colorful bell peppers, fresh garlic and tomatoes, onions and ginger to build flavor, chickpeas for texture, a hint of salt from the olives, cumin and something with heat?

“Harissa.” Carmy swears he heard you whisper but it’s not said towards him.

Mediterranean mixed with a French technique.

Your specialty.

You knew he’d hear you.

Carmy finally manages to answer for what may have felt like some time, his eyes settling on the athletic man’s across from him. “Pretty close.”

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

He left dinner before you, retreating early while you stayed behind with the other night owls, mingling with the ones still clinging to conversation and horrible cleansing drinks.

Carmy earned some points for sticking around as long as he did, even if he barely said a word. The both of you didn’t get a chance to talk much more. Which was fine and didn’t bother you. He wasn’t the social type anyway, preferring to fade into the background, especially here, where people might poke at the idea of him being that chef.

Carmen Berzatto was trying to find himself outside of cooking. But there was no way he could fully escape it.

He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to.

Maybe he just needed to see the other side.

He wondered why you didn’t bring it up since you got reacquainted.

Blow up his spot.

And why weren’t you on stage for your own culinary experience?

Perhaps it had to do with you already being here more than once but each person that attended this retreat definitely didn’t stay here for forever? Right? They eventually got cured or found some new approach to combat their issues on a daily and went on with their life?

Would this place become some sort of routine for Carmy too?

Sure it’s been years and Carmy didn’t have much of an idea of what you’ve been up to, even when you spoke at the discussions, you’ve always been a daydreamer, a writer, and at the time, you had dreams of having your own cook book line, so this was all still unreal to Carmy.

When he first spotted you at orientation, his stomach was fucked again. Part of him hoped you wouldn’t notice him. He could still bail if he wanted to.

Despite the fact that he was one of three that caught a shuttle here.

Of course you noticed him. You just didn’t approach. Maybe it was pettiness, maybe restraint. But he watched you anyway. Those opaque blues followed every move you made.

It wasn’t until you both realized you would be bunking neighbors, with your cabins side by side, that you spoke first.

Now you find Carmy some time later, journal tucked underneath his arm, strolling around the property full of greenery instead of completely tucking himself away for the night.

“Stargazing, are you?” You call out from behind.

He pauses.

“Thinking, actually.”

Your smile is faint, “Pinch of salt for your thoughts? Or are we officially blacklisted from talking about food?”

Carmy sighs, dropping his head from the navy sky that filled with fireflies more than stars, then he turns in the looped pathway to face you.

Your eyes trail over his face. There’s still a faint knick of a scar on his cheek and his curls are back to wild with the newfound summer breeze. Those eyes still resemble something between tropical waters and wildfires.

His voice wavers but he has to ask, “What happened to you? Us. Rather?”

A frown appears on your face, “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, Carmen.”

“Why are you here?”

Sharply exhaling you reply, “Have you been listening to the group discussions or—everyone’s fucked up enough to be here.” You state, “That’s kinda the whole point.”

Carmy nods, blinking rapidly, “I just…didn’t expect for you to be here.”

“But we are.”

“…Do you ever think about Paris?” He questions.

Humming, you get a sense of where this is turning. “I did, for a while, yeah. Then you went to Copenhagen. I went to Egypt. Met my ex-husband there. Then we tried to live a life in North Dakota—total isolation. Eventually I ended up back living with my mom in New Hampshire. Paris became this…lost recipe, I guess.”

“Okay but…what does that mean?” His fingertips fidget at his side, the other tightening around his journal.

Your eyes tighten, “What do you want it to mean? The days don’t just stop.”

“For some it does…” Carmy mutters.

You’d overheard him once, telling Sharon, the sweet older woman who reminded every one of a grandmother, about Mikey. About the way grief ate at Carmy’s ability to talk about anything else for a long time. To feel anything else. She’d nodded gently, placing a wrinkled hand over his. She said her godson had been a fan of Carmy’s dishes at The French Laundry.

She’d meant it as comfort.

Sharon was probably a fan herself.

“And I’m sorry about that, truly.” You say with your hand on your chest, “Which I’m sure you’re tired of hearing. Someday…you’re gonna be more than sure of what you really want out of this life.”

Carmy’s jaw clenched, his free hand going up to massage the muscle, he didn’t want to know how you knew that so, he doesn’t say more but it’s clear his mind is going.

The air is heavy now but not hostile.

Not like it could have been.

Eventually, you both move. One trailing after the other but keeping a distance so familar between you.

A recipe waiting to be rewritten or remembered.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ

Skincare, journaling before bed, and an eye mask pulled over your eyes to block it all out was usually enough to get you to sleep.

Not tonight.

Instead you were sitting up wide awake, chest beginning to tingle with heat, despite you keeping your head propped up by two pillows.

“Carmy.” You mutter to yourself, throwing your covers back as you collected your things to head to the one shower only you knew about.

Or so you thought.

“What the hell? You pervert!” You yell from around the open cedar outdoor shower.

Carmy nearly jumps out of his skin, he’s shirtless, gold chain still on, he’s sitting on the chair that’s tucked in there, staring down at his hands.

“Okay, no, no. I was here first!” He bolts to his feet.

Your fists dig into your hips, “And how exactly did you know about this spot without following me? Weirdo.”

Carmy scoffs, “I go on walks okay! How was I supposed to know you ended up here too? I didn’t and that’s a promise. I’m not some fucking creep.”

Sighing you calmly say, “I know, Car. I’m just messing with you.”

He slowly exhales, shoulders relaxing, hand going to pinch the bridge of his nose, “You’re unbelievable.”

“You almost sound like my ex.” You tease, tossing your towel over the ajar door.

Carmy feels his eye twitch at that, freezing as you step into the shower to turn the knob so the water begins to spray down, “…How long were you married?”

“Four years too long.” You mumble, crossing your arms, “You?”

“Huh?” Carmy nearly choked, “That’s uh—never happened for me. Didn’t have time for that part of life.”

You nod, “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Carmy stares at you and the look you share says it all.

How you worked up the nerve to ask Carmy out on a official date, despite the amount of time spent together outside of class, how you took it on the chin, played it cool, until you met up with the rest of your classmates at some club, finding Carmy locking lips with one of the other chef’s, height of a supermodel, with mean girl tendencies, right by the bar.

If he didn’t want that with you he could have just said that.

But he didn’t.

And you shouldn’t have given him that much credit back then.

That was the past. You remind yourself of that.

Graduation was the last time you saw him in person.

Until now.

Although if anyone took a peek at old journals, back in your twenties, they would realize that you always saw Carmen Berzatto for who he is.

At least—in your eyes.

Your voice if half-lost under the sound of water, “You ever think about what would’ve happened if we’d just…addressed things differently?”

“Back then?” He asked with a rub to his brow.

“Yeah.”

He lets out a breath, not quite a laugh. “Only when the pressure really sinks in.”

You grin faintly. “So…all the time, then?”

Carmy scoffs, looking off to the side. You reach out to test the temperature of the water, letting the water hit where it needs to.

“What’s the pressure look like for you?” He inquired.

Your hands go back to your hips, “Doesn’t involve culinary, that’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah?”

You explain, “Yeah. I mean—I loved it. Still do, maybe. But I don’t think I was ever in love with it. I flip houses now. With my childhood friend out in Cleveland. Less fire, unless we’re hammering down drywall. That’s a big stress reliever.”

He gives a small smile, trying to picture it.

“I’m also still into poetry, if you were wondering and if you need me to get all sentimental on you.” There’s humor in your tone and Carmy takes it because he knows, laughter was rare on his end but an essential, apparently.

Carmy snorts, “Oh like sonnets, elegies, and shit?”

You grin at him, doing a superhero pose that sparks another core memory together, how you stood in the middle of a chaotic kitchen, a bunch of hungover culinary students ready to drop pans, throw them, or crash out in French while you gave a wince of a smile (think Pearl) in this exact same pose.

“Shits getting too real in here,” you would call out to the rest of the students that looked like they were ready to launch a pan at you next, “Gotta keep our shoulders back, head up, chests out, like conquerors.”

Another student, Moira, Carmy thinks her name was lets out a scream that would crown her as a scream queen in a horror film. She used a meat tenderizer to pound into what was supposed to be duck confit before picking it up with her bare hands, and chucking it towards a open flame another chef had started.

You keep the wince of a smile on your face, witnessing that, as the two chefs started arguing in French, you and carmy’s eyes briefly meet as he walked around you, tempted to tell you to move out of his way, “Or…we could continue being unhinged walking croissants with deadly tools that can be found at the scene of the crime.” 

A trend you started, like a joke that quickly became serious. Carmy wouldn’t replicate but some other chef’s also pulled the same move, either mocking you, or they eventually gave in. Passing it along when they would see another starting to crack.

No matter how kiddish it appeared, it gave some sort of strength to keep on going, if the learner really wanted this bad enough.

Carmy wonders if you’re still doing it intentionally or was this just part of your ritual.

“Some shit.” You repeat, moving your fists from your hips as your eyes begin to have a far away look in them, “As for the pressure? It’s wrapped in a lot of things…but I’ve learned to put a red bow on it instead of letting it sink.”

Carmy lets out a slow exhale, as if he was getting rid of the smoke inside of him that no cigarette provided.

He raises his hands. One tatted fist goes to his hip and the other pressed against his head.

Saluting?

You hold his stare.

A crooked smile appears on his lips,“Chef.”

You say it back.

A mutual respect and for the first time in a long while, there’s no hollow feeling in your chest when you think of Carmen Berzatto. You see in between the tropical waters and wildfire that are his eyes.

He plans to see this through, even if at the start, there was a part of you that didn’t want him here.

It wasn’t about you, never was.

And that’s okay too.

The shower hisses quietly, light steam floating up above your heads.

Somewhere nearby, a wind chime clinks once.

Nothing else needs to be said.

For once, Carmen could be more than just one thing, and see it for himself. He could step out of his designated corner, find new ones, and hold those spaces without saying behind.

ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅ᥫ˖°𓇼 ᨒ ོ ☼༄.°⏅

Continue with my summer anthology prompts here.

[youchangedmedestiel]

Funny how it didn't trend right away after what Jensen said.

It's like the calm before the storm.

[orangedogsquad]

.

[tommy-h-bff]

joining another fandom is remembering how I fumbled the ball in the previous one and I gotta breathe so deeply through my nose like I won't fuck it up this time

[dors-ee]

Hmmm. No. I still don't take it as canon. I mean it actually isn't canon or truly official, but even if it was made canon and truly official by Riot, I still would reject it.

(Quickly :I am genuinely happy for those that liked it and love the fact they kissed btw! I'm happy for you you got something you like! Truly!)

I don't think they kissed. Like i reject the MV making them kiss and for me they didn't kiss. I don't think whether it was 1 or 2 days or a few weeks or a month, that they did anything. Not with the situation, not with their past, etc.

I prefer and think it better, where they don't kiss and where they know there's something, the love is definitely there, but don't act on it, in in a very very... idk. Conventionally romantic explicit way I mean. I'd rather have this realism, like in term of psychology, and this... I don't know. It is terribly romantic* too, whilst realistic. (* wide meaning including artistic/literary movement.).

For me, timebomb is romantic (wide meaning. encompasses the artistic/literary movement) and poetic, and not into stereotypical and conventional romantic gestures. Not yet I mean, for the MU. (one can be romantic/poetic and have conventional romantic gestures yes. Those are not exclusive in general. Depends how it's done and the context.) Because that's how it was made in canon and what fits their story and them for now.

Ofc in the future I wouldn't mind kisses and all. Would more than welcome them actually. It depends how it'll be done, but I would really more than welcome them in the future.

But right now, where they were in s2, it didn't fit. Even with notions of poetry and romanticism and conventional romantic gesture and personal preferences and thoughts aside I mean. It didn't fit. (psychology and characters and relationship developments and story and context etc )

We didn't need a kiss. (I can like kisses, and more, in pre war, in purely fanon exploratory stuff. But purely as a "this is imagination and fun to explore". My mind is open to exploration and fun. It's for what wants to pass as canon that I take issues with.)

If I go further and into more personal territory, it actually bothers me that one was made. I get it, for most people kisses are needed as a show of romantic love. Like I get it.

And i do acknowledge this is partially personal, why it bothers me that well. we got a more stereotypical conventional show of romantic love. But it bothers me. It feels like a "you all want a conventional show of love in the form of a kiss so here!" whether it truly works or not... It's what's expected so it's what is given.

and it does feel like fan service a little.

I don't like that there's a kiss and I don't want it and... whatever pple believe for themseleves, like be free of course (and again, genuinely happy for those that liked it), but it isn't canon. Like objectively it isn't, but again even if it was made canon by riot I would still reject it personally.

to summarize : I don't think that they kiss fits -where they were with their relationships, where they were individually in their development, the context of the story, psychology, etc.- and was even needed as a show or romantic feelings, like that is outside of personal taste and preferences and feelings I mean.

And ... well inside of personal taste and preferences I also do not like it. I do have a preference for romantic -wide meaning- poetic and not conventional romantic gestures but the love is still there everywhere type of dynamics. (which the mme mv did do and do so well and it has inspired and pushed me so much.)

Also, for me, where they where in s2, it is tentative. For me there is a knowledge and acknowledgement of feelings but no action. Things are still tentative, there's still an open wound, or several, plus the war looming over. They can't show overt big reciprocated gesture of affection yet. It is there but it can't flow freely yet.

I mean again, everyone is free etc etc. But bc everyone is free, i say nope. Not for me.

I am not saying it is a bad MV. I am saying not for me and I think it doesn't fit timebomb in canon to have kissed pre war. And I also as a personal preference prefer them to not have kissed.

(and yes, as a more general parenthesis and tangent: I will be picky about content. It's not bc we don't get a lot that we have to settle for anything. I saw this opinion recently and like no. No no no. We can be picky, we can expect, and demand quality. Actually we should. We can be grateful for what we got without being doormats. we should ask for quality, or we won't get it, if we just settle for anything.

I'm not saying this specific world collide mv is not quality. I am speaking in general. We can be picky. And we can demand better. We should actually, and not just with timebomb or arcane. Bc this sentiment "be grateful don't ask for more" i've seen it with other medias and outside of it and... no? we can and should ask for more and better.)

also : yes. it's not that serious in the end and it's just fiction. Doesn't mean emotions and opinions about it can't exist. But it's just fictional characters and fiction at the end of the day. I am aware.

And it's just a kiss, i'm aware of that too. Would I be sooo upset if it was made canon? no. Would i still reject it for me? yeah. but I wouldn't be upset.

[shanhelsing]

i miss maker sheds so much why cant ppl steal ideas from sos1 specifically im tired of littering my farm with makers

i miss u seed maker </3

[swiftsaltsweet]

Me: I'm going to start writing the 2nd arc of Two Knives. :) I hope I get a lot of this chapter done! Me: *blacks the fuck out* Me: *comes to* Oh god. Oh. What happened? What time is it? Where am I? Oh, right... I was going to write- Oh the google doc is open let's see Me: ...... Me: WHERE DID THESE 10,000 WORDS COME FROM ;A;

[transslyblue]

One of the most cruel things about having pets, is often you'll outlive them

[taeyungie]

😺

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming

[hadourhandstied]

I'm trying soooo hard to learn to communicate but mostly I feel like throwing up.

[time-teller]

vent again, just.. UGHG I'M GOING TO WRING HIS FUCKING NECK WHEN I FIND HIM

[makerofmadness]

being a writer sucks sometimes because you need synonyms to keep yourself from using the same word too many times in succession without strategic purpose but you run into situations where you basically don't have another word. Or your pool is super small and you may need more than one

like you're telling me in the entire history of the English language that it still never bothered to develop more than like three words for love that can have a platonic application that aren't like. Huge stretches for synonyms. Like why is it all romantic words i can't just write about family in peace 😭 like majority of the synonyms are either inherently romantic in meaning or have strong romantic connotations to the point that I'd have to be super strategic in my usage in order to make them NOT sound really fxcking wrong like. And even some of the platonic words just wouldn't really fit right in the thing in writing like.

literally and there's only so many times I can use the word "affection" before that becomes repetitive too-

What am I supposed to do with this

(Btw when you look up stuff like "synonyms for love that are platonic" the results are literally shzt like "love without sex" and "chaste love" so that doesn't work either fudging. Society 😭😭😭 can't write for shxt)

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."