#a lot of this interaction was vague and like

[bigmoon-is-bigwife]

There is a notable difference in how Clown interacts with Ros compared to other members of The Realm. With others he acts very aloof and distant. He's friendly and polite but he tends to speak very vaguely and seems to take any chance to say something intentionally violent and off-putting. He seems content to keep people nervous and questioning whether or not he is threatening them. He has a reputation for being dangerous and he allows it to fester even if he doesn't have intentions of actually doing anything. He actively encourages people to be wary of him and often takes opportunities to show off what he is capable of to remind them that he is a threat. I'd say he enjoys making people scared of him. And then you compare that to any conversation he has with Ros and there is a stark difference. You can literally hear it in Clown's tone of voice. He tends to speak quieter and more softly when speaking to Ros because Ros is jumpy and easily startled. Whenever he does spook her, he apologizes and reassures her. He doesn't seem to want Ros to be afraid of him. Even with Sneeg, who I'd argue is his second closest relationship on the server, he'll make jokes about killing Sneeg but he avoids those jokes with Ros. He'll still make comments about violence and killing with Ros but they're never directed at Ros. It seems important to him that Ros never doubts that he wouldn't harm her. And for as jumpy as Ros is, she never does. She has never questioned if Clown would intentionally harm her. She even said when they were training that she wouldn't blame Clown if he accidentally took her last life. Clown seemed uncomfortable with how okay she was with the prospect of him causing her death and later said it would be sad if he ever did kill her.

It's just interesting for a guy who leans so heavily on his reputation for being scary, he goes out of his way to be as nonthreatening to Ros as possible. And it works, Ros has never felt threatened by Clown. She spent 8 hours training with Clown and allowing herself to be attacked by him over and over again and never once worried that he would go too far and kill her. She had complete and utter faith in him. Clown is open about his bloodlust and love of killing but I don't think the thought has ever occurred to Ros that it would ever be turned against her. I think that's very intentional on Clown's part. It would be very easy for him to do fake-outs where he pretends like he's going to kill Ros like he does with others (he frequently chased his own faction member, Tango, around just to watch him panic) but he doesn't. During that training Ros only got low on health by forgetting to eat and never Clown's actions. The absence of that behavior shown with Tango and others feels intentional. He simply doesn't seem to want Ros to be afraid of him like he encourages with others.

[copper-16]

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow

Alexia had lost her childhood love at the last moment. Or did she?

{a/n: Hello everyone! Fair warning: I make a lot of changes about the “world” in the fics I write. Alexia grew up in Madrid in this and started out at Atlético Madrid (don’t worry she’s still the world’s biggest culer, trust), and the timing, clubs, etc are often somewhat fudged because I am lazy. If you come on here and start correcting me I’m just going to block you because this is a STORY, it’s not supposed to be accurate to real life because it isn’t real life. This starts in March of 2021, but there are a series of flashbacks. Reader is a few months younger than Alexia in this.

This story can either be: just the 1 part with an ambiguous ending if everyone is satisfied with that, 3 parts with a more solid ending, or 10 parts with a longer story structure (and I like the ending better personally but to each their own). Curious as to everyone’s thoughts are, and it’ll probably dictate how much I end up writing! I hope y’all enjoy the read! Title is from Drops of Jupiter and Spotify link can be found here!}

Dahlias. 

Resilient. 

Warm-hearted. 

Protective. 

Optimistic. 

Mysterious. 

Grounded. 

Alexia thought of the intricate flowers often. She even went so far as to plant some in a garden box on the balcony of her apartment, just so that in the warmer months she could go out and trace the petals gently under her fingertips. A reminder of everything wonderful she had been fortunate enough to have in her life, held in her grasp for just a little bit longer out in the warm air. 

She admitted it was a long time ago, but even if she tried to move on she simply couldn’t. 

—

Alexia is grateful she opted to wear pants for the event, if for no other reason than the fact that she has somewhere to put her hands. The event was on the smaller side, not quite intimate but still not overwhelming either. It’s March now in Barcelona, with warmer weather and sunshine, even if the event for this evening is held indoors. 

It was for Spotify, bringing together ambassadors of the brand from around Spain to interact and connect with the team. Naturally, Barcelona has sent Alexia and Robert along with a few of the staff members to represent Barcelona. The midfielder has spent the better part of the event making small talk, trying to be polite and sociable. These events are inherently exhausting for her, but she still understands the importance of them, even if there isn’t quite enough football talk for her liking. 

As grateful as the blonde is for the visibility of the team and women’s football, there are still moments when she has to force herself to remain appreciative. She sometimes misses the days of kicking the football around in the dirt, where the heaviness of expectations never plagued her. She misses cozy nights on the couch laughing until her stomach hurts or having someone pull her from her work, insisting that she take a break. 

The footballer struggles to remember the last time she took a break. Her life is full steam ahead, all of the time. It was rewarding and exhausting all at the same time. Even when she has a day off or a moment of peace, it never quite felt like hers. 

Everyone expects something of her. 

Everyone wants a part of her. 

But nobody wants her in her entirety. Nobody has in a long time. 

When the midfielder finally breaks away from the delegate of Barcelona members under the guise of going to the bathroom, she takes the time to just explore. The event space is lovely and spacious, with high ceilings and a gorgeous conference room 

She is aiming to head toward the restroom, but she wanders aimlessly. The brunette ends up in a hallway with a gorgeous light fixture, and she finds herself looking up at it in vague awe. She catches movement in her peripheral vision, and when she glances down, her breath catches in her throat. 

It can’t be? 

Could it be? 

After all of this time? 

Your head is turned up toward the light fixture as well, your face partially obscured by the angle of your neck tilting upward to admire the beauty of it. The dress you’re wearing is a deep emerald green, a crushed velvet material with a high cut neckline. There are draped sleeves that barely hit your mid bicep, and the cut of the gown is long enough that it hides that you’re wearing loafers over more socially appropriate heels. 

You’ve always claimed that a woman who spent her life stuffing her feet into uncomfortable shoes simply wasn’t doing life right. 

The ceilings are tall, and the hallway is nearly empty, but Alexia is pretty sure that there is a lack of oxygen in the air. 

And then you turn your head down from the lights above you, making direct eye contact with you.

Her heart stops for just a moment, unable to comprehend the reality of the moment. 

But the footballer realizes at that exact moment that it’s really you. 

—

When Alexia is six, her immediate family moves from the Mollet del Valles to Salamanca for her fathers job. Besides her Mami, Papi, and Alba, the rest of her family stays behind in Barcelona, a fact that Alexia both hates and struggles to understand. 

Concepts of a job and moving are a little far out of her realm, but she tries her best to calm Alba when she cries quietly out of homesickness. Alexia is strong and refuses to cause trouble, so she takes the move with a silent despair as she is abruptly pulled from everything she has grown to know and placed in a new environment. 

Her Mami explains to the two girls that they will return to Barcelona in the summer for a few weeks to visit family, and that they can still go to Barcelona games here in Madrid. The little brunette girl struggles to contain the disgust her face twitches with at the thought of Real Madrid, and Eli forces herself to hold in a gentle laugh. 

In Alexia’s second week of living in Madrid, she meets you. 

Your family lives in an apartment down the street, with your Mama and Papi alongside your two younger brothers. There’s an area between your house and Alexia’s for children which could technically be classified as a park because of the pathetic patch of grass inside a ring of concrete. It doesn’t matter for Alexia, who brings a basketball outside to play in the space after growing bored one afternoon. 

You were already out there, sitting in the small grass patch and playing with the flowers, gentle in the way only a young child could be. That precarious edge where you could crush the petals at any moment, but for whatever reason don’t. 

The brunette perks up, her steps quickening at the sight of you. She has yet to make a single friend here considering that school has not yet started, and now would be the perfect time. 

“Hola,” she introduces herself apprehensively, soft spoken but not exactly shy. You look up at her, surprise melting into a small smile that seems to spread through the rest of your body. 

“Hola,” you repeat, and Alexia sets the basketball down before sitting beside you. 

“I’m Alexia, I live over there. I just moved here,” she explains as she points toward her own apartment complex. You nod in recognition, turning to the opposite side of the street to point out your own home. 

“Nice to meet you Alexia,” you state resolutely, but your focus is still on the flowers underneath your hands, the  caléndulas. 

“Are you a big fan of la flores?” She questions, and you nod, tucking some hair behind one ear as you look over at Alexia. 

“Flori loves la flores,” the brunette declares, giving you a nickname that will stay with you as she pulls you up to go play basketball with her. 

—

When Alexia is seven she joins the Atlético Madrid academy, playing alongside boys her age. She also learns that you hate football with a burning passion. 

After that day in the street, the two of you have become fast friends. One could not be found without the other, wandering around the streets playing imaginary games or dancing together. You could even be coaxed into a game of basketball or handball sometimes if you were in a good mood, but never football. 

It’s strange to Alexia, because football comes so naturally to her. It is a part of her family, but it is not a part of your family. While you are light on your feet, graceful in dancing, other sports are not your cup of tea. 

You’re smaller than Alexia is, smaller than the average girl your age, and it shows when you’re trying to play games with everyone. You never complain about it, weathering the storm of fouls and near fatal injuries from competitors twice your size without so much as a spot of negativity. 

But Alexia knows that it is not your favorite, and she only asks you to play sometime. 

“Come on Flori, please? I need to practice before tomorrow?” Alexia begs, and though you threw her some sass, you quickly agreed when you saw the look in her eye. 

The desperate look on her face was enough to convince you that she really did need help. 

While you weren’t terribly skilled at football, you weren’t horrible at it either. You agreed to help Alexia because she is your absolute best friend in the whole entire world, and when she looks at you with that face, you know she really means it. 

It is all worth it when she comes home the next day, dropping her bag at home and sprinting over to your apartment. She barges past your Mama at the door to run to your room, jumping on your bed and telling you every detail of the day with excruciating detail. 

You want to listen to every single minute, filled with warmth from the clear excitement on her face. You’re happy that she is happy, and you know that football brings her peace in the same way dancing does for you.  

Which is why when Eli asks Alexia to stop playing football at school as a result of her joining a team outside of school, you are the one who covers for her. You easily vouch that she was pushed on the playground rather than scraping her knees playing football. 

The look her Mami gives you lets you know she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide regardless, much to your relief. 

—

When Alexia is eight, she learns of how fiercely protective you are. 

It had only been a small thing, a disagreement on the football pitch behind the school you all attended. She was playing with some of the other girls, the few ones her age who still wanted to play football. The ones who didn’t mind getting their knees muddied and running until their lungs gave out. 

Not that it mattered how much they tried, because Alexia always beat them anyways. 

You had chosen not to participate, electing to teach Alba how to weave daisy chains and making sure that your little brothers weren’t getting into trouble while they played together. You had just moved Alba’s hand gently to show her how to twist the stem of the plant correctly when you heard the ruckus. 

You lift your head, taking in the scene in front of you with a renewed urgency when you notice that Alexia was on the ground. One of the other girls is practically standing on top of her, she was so close to the brunette. The girl, Isabella, is practically pink in the face with her anger, yelling about some foul or dirty move on Alexia’s part. 

You didn’t care though, standing up in a flash and stomping your way across the football pitch to the two girls. 

Alexia is by no means a shy person, but she usually leaned toward being more reserved. She has a deep sense of justice though, and has always pressed for everything to be fair, even when it was not to her advantage. 

When she played games with Alba, the brunette would hold her dominant hand behind her back or close her eyes to even the playing field. And while she never let Alba win without reason, she was never overly cruel in her celebrations either. Especially not as one would expect a bigger sister to be. 

She did not have a chance to get a word in edgewise today, not when you stuff your body between the two girls and press your finger into Isabella’s chest, all but shoving her back. 

You tilted your head up in defiance, a positively ferocious look on your face. 

“Hey! There is no need to yell,” you argue ardently, your face twisted in complete and utter vexation at Isabella’s tone toward your best friend. 

Isabella just stares down at you for a moment, probably more shocked to see you there than bothered by the words you just said to her. You were smaller than her and Alexia, and it is rare to see you get angry or irate like this. 

“Right…sorry Alexia,” Isabella says after a moment, offering a sheepish smile before she turns away, walking off of the field over to a few of her other friends. 

You let out a small sigh as your body language settles into something more relaxed and calm. When you look back at Alexia behind you, you find her looking up at you with a tilted head and a look of confusion on her face. 

“What?” You question carefully, back to the serene best friend that the Catalan had come to know over the last two years. There is concern pooling in your eyes as she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. 

“Nothing I…” she pauses for a moment before she shakes her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she lets out a chuckle. “Thank you Flori.” 

You smile up at her broadly before you turn and make your way back to your younger siblings, sitting down and going right back to teaching Alba how to make a daisy chain as though nothing ever happened. 

—

When Alexia is nine, the two of you dance together. 

You are both signed up for folk dance classes by your respective mothers, who have become powerless in trying to keep the two of you apart. The pair of you might as well be attached to one another, as if you need the other in your orbit to continue on with life. 

It’s not that you both don’t have other friends, because you do. But the connection between the two of you is strong, not understood by anyone else. 

Dancing with Alexia is different. She makes you laugh in ways you cannot quite understand, and despite being only nine years old, there is a gracefulness to her movements that the other girls do not possess. There’s an ease to your steps when you are partnered with her, almost as though you two can anticipate the movements of the other without speaking about it. 

Perhaps football has helped her dance abilities, you wonder silently, but even that might be a stretch. 

You aren’t sure it matters though, not when she looks at you with that wide smile that she only ever seems to give you. 

—

When Alexia is ten, she finds you on her walk home from football practice. Her Mami had just started letting her walk home alone, alongside another boy from her team who lived in the area. It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it gave the brunette a feeling of huge independence that only a ten year old could possess. 

She has just turned the corner to head down her street when she hears loud, loathsome voices. 

“Flori, really? That’s a stupid nickname, just like you are a stupid friend. She only hangs out with you because it is an easy option, not because she likes you.” 

Alexia doesn’t even have time to consciously think before she sees red and surges forward, finding you cowering just slightly under the intense gaze of two older boys. They are in the year above you and Alexia in school, but they always hated the brunette because she was better at football than they were. 

It seemed that their response to this embarrassment was to take out their anger on you. 

Alexia could tell you were trying to show minimal fear, but you were a good head smaller than the boys who towered over you. Luckily for you Alexia wasn’t about to let them get away with it, and she came around the corner yelling in anger. 

The boys weren’t expecting her, and they certainly weren’t expecting the vehemently angry words that flew out of her mouth. 

You watched the exchange with a strange sense of detachment. 

Were you a stupid friend for Alexia? She was getting better at football now, getting noticed by people and places much bigger than the little neighborhood you guys lived in. She could be popular, have any friend she wanted. No longer was she beholden to you in any way. 

When Alexia grabs your arm gently, you look up to find that the boys are nowhere to be found anymore. It is just your best friend with you, her eyes scanning over every feature on your face with a furrowed brow. 

You let out a tight breath as you realize that you two were alone, sinking down to sit on the curb. Alexia joins you, taking your hand and holding it tightly in her own. 

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, and you don’t answer her for a long moment. 

“Do you think that I am a stupid friend? Do you wish you had more popular friends?” You counter, not really answering her question. You don’t want to burden your friend with your own emotions, sticking to the facts of the case rather than the maelstrom of unease swirling in your stomach. The brunette all but flinches at the question, shaking her head fiercely. You turned to inspect her face gently, to see that there were no signs of lying in the set of her jaw or the twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Why would you think that?” She prods softly, her voice only loud enough for you to just hear it. Alexia can tell that this is about more than just what the boys said. The crinkle in your brow gave away the depth of your worries, especially to the footballer. 

“I am not like you Alexia. I don’t like sports, or getting dirty, or playing with the boys. I am not talented like you, I will never be the star people think you will be. I hear them whispering about you, certain that you will be great,” you insist, reticent to a fate that you have seemingly already aligned for yourself. 

But then Alexia moves, crouching down in front of you instead of remaining beside you. 

“I don’t care about any of that if you aren’t my best friend,” she confesses with a sharp intonation, and she means every word of it wholeheartedly. 

She never thinks of herself as doing anything with football, because there is no path for a woman like her to play professionally like the men do. Even if there was, she has no clue if it is something she would want for her future. 

She loves football dearly. 

But she also loves you, and she tells you as much. 

“I will always need you in my life, no matter what. Now that you are here, you are stuck with me and I refuse to give that up. You are my best friend, and I don’t care what I do in life or who I become, you will always be my best friend Flori.” 

And despite everything that told you that you probably shouldn’t, you believe her with everything in you. 

—

When Alexia is eleven, she moves in with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona for the year to train at La Masia. 

You miss her terribly, even though life moves on. Your schedule every week is filled with friends and dance and time spent outside, but it’s never quite the same with Alexia. When you receive a little flip phone, your heart leaps at the thought of being able to talk to her even when she is far away. 

The two of you call every day, and patiently you listen to her describe every bit of frustration and excitement about football. It’s a huge opportunity to play in La Masia but there remain huge obstacles, and the program for the girls is unorganized and frustrating at best. 

You listen patiently, and Alexia is reminded all over again of how her life wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Gratitude and a strange swirling feeling twist in her belly, but it fills her with a warmth all over regardless. 

—

When Alexia is twelve, she returns to Madrid. The La Masia program for the girls has fallen apart, and she comes back to Atlético Madrid. 

She comes back home to you. 

You are unsure of when her smile started to make your stomach flutter, or when the brush of her hand against yours made your heart jump. And honestly, you don’t care. It is the most natural thing in the world to you. 

When she holds your hand for the first time and glances over at you shyly, you simply knew that your heart belonged to her, and somehow hers belonged to you too. 

—

When Alexia is thirteen, you ask her to be your girlfriend. 

Perhaps it's silly and juvenile and you two are the only ones who believe in the seriousness of it. 

She is caught by surprise at you asking, and suddenly the footballer finds herself throwing out her elaborate plan she had come up with to ask you in the following weeks. 

Alexia says yes to you, unequivocally and with a soundness she has never felt before. 

The first brush of your lips against hers lasts for a few seconds, but it’s exhilarating in an entirely new way.  

It’s perfect, as is the way her arms wrap securely around you.

—

When Alexia is fourteen, the two of you begin to experiment a little more for the first time. 

It’s awkward and bumbling sometimes, but there's a layer of comfort and ease above it all. Her lips on yours and the feel of her body next to you keeping you grounded and comfortable, ready to stop at any moment. 

When she pulls away, you find yourself giggling at the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against your skin. You bury your head into her chest, holding tightly to her as you feel a laugh rumble in her chest. . 

Even as she gets better at football and you grow into your own intelligence, it’s still the two of you together, taking life at your own pace. 

—

When Alexia is fifteen, she begins to struggle in school. 

You are the first person she talks to because she knows that you will meet her without judgement. You have always been a good student, and don’t mind spending the time patiently tutoring her. Topics that she should probably understand but do not are broken down into easily digestible ways, and for the first time in weeks her arithmetic work begins to make sense. 

She is able to continue playing without any problems, and her marks improve rapidly with her focus and your dedication. 

“Thank you Flori,” she sings as she walks out of the first session, and you can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. 

The footballer beams at you when you declare that your payment is a kiss for every correct answer. 

She pays her pension and then some without an ounce of complaint. 

—

When Alexia is sixteen, she makes her first team debut for Atlético Madrid. It’s a proud day for the whole family, and you sit squished between her father and Alba as you watch her race onto the pitch. 

There’s a sharp determination on her face, and though she only plays ten minutes you can tell she is going to be good. You can’t say you’re surprised, and when she turns toward her family and you and beams as the game ends, you know that you wouldn’t be anywhere else other than here. 

—

When Alexia is seventeen, she reminds you of what you mean to her. 

Atlético games are never terribly well attended with how little importance is placed on women’s football. But there is still a steady crowd, and it is beginning to grow more and more. 

Alongside that growth come some…interesting characters. 

You’re a regular in the stands, alternating between reading your book, watching the game, and doing homework. It’s rare for you to miss a match, though you have missed a goal or two when your nose is shoved in a book. Luckily, Eli, Jaume, or Alba will nudge you if Alexia is doing something important. If they aren’t there, then one of the other players' family members will, a fact that you’re extremely grateful for. 

Your commitment is unwavering, but your interest in any sort of PDA or anything is limited. Alexia is much the same, a characteristic you’ve always been grateful for. 

But then a group of girls from your school start to show up at games. There’s four of them, always sitting in the front row of the stands, no matter what. They cheer Alexia on as though she is their best friend, despite the fact that she told you herself she doesn’t really know them. When the footballer comes toward the stands after games, they rush to greet her. They fawn over her easily, throwing their arms around her for hugs and pressing chaste kisses to her cheek. 

You always find yourself standing awkwardly in the background, wishing to talk to your girlfriend but unable to stop staring at the scene in front of you. 

At first, it’s more funny than anything. You and Alexia’s family joke about her fan club and delight in the way her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. 

But they never stopped coming to games. And by the time you figure out that they aren’t going to stop, you realize that perhaps you need to take a step back. Those girls are popular, sweet, they love football and seem to understand everything. You are intelligent and well liked, but nowhere near as popular or well versed in the game Alexia lives and breathes by. Trying to follow along to each whistle or hand signal is impossible for you, and your interest in learning comes and goes like an ocean tide. 

“I don’t think I can come on Saturday, I have a calculus project I need to work on,” is what you tell Alexia one weekend. But the brunette didn’t buy it for a single second, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“You always just do it at the games – I’ve seen you in the stands with a glue stick before you were so determined to be there,” she points out, calling your bluff easily.

“Well…this is important Ale. It’s our final year of school, I need the marks to get into university,” you defend weakly, but it’s a lost cause. Your grades are extremely good, and you’ll have your pick of schools. One calculus project will not make or break that opportunity by a long shot. 

“Is this about those girls from school?” Alexia questions softly, her voice careful. You glance over at her and sigh after a moment, knowing that there's really no use in lying. The brunette could read you like the back of her hand. 

You don’t even need to voice your concern for Alexia to know exactly what you’re thinking, and she moves to sit down next to you on the edge of her bed. 

“I promise you with everything in me that I do not care about those girls. I don’t care if you are certain that they are nicer or popular or more pretty than you are. You are perfect to me, and I don’t care about them at all. I only care about you, and I only want you. You are my peace and my life, not them,” the footballer insists, and you look over at her with a quiet resignation. 

“Even if they understand football better than me?” You ask, your voice impossibly small. Alexia smiles sadly, reaching out to gently cradle your face in her hands. 

“When I look at the stands, it’s you I search for. It’s you who makes my heart skip a beat when I realize that you’re there. It’s you who fills my stomach with butterflies and sets the wind into my sail. How could I even notice them when I have you, Flori?” 

At the next game, Alexia politely smiles at the girls but moves straight past them to charge up the stands, still in her kit and boots. She gently lifts your calculus project off your lap so that she can press a resounding kiss to your lips, smiling into it when you gasp into her mouth with surprise. 

—

When Alexia is eighteen, two things happen. 

Everything somehow falls together, and falls apart all at the same time. 

The first is that her father dies. 

It's not unexpected, though the reality is still jarring. It feels like she is free falling, unable to find a moment of stability or rest. 

She finds herself in her old bedroom in her Uncle’s house in Barcelona, avoiding the mass of people downstairs paying their respects. While the sympathy of others is heartfelt and sincere, it’s heavy. 

She already feels heavy. Any more of it and she might break into a million pieces, that she is sure of. So she escapes up stairs for a moment, leaving Alba with a cousin and her Mami with an old friend. 

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks over to see that you have poked your head into the room. 

“Ale?” You inquire gently, the question unspoken between the two of you. Four years of dating and endless years of friendship have left you with an innate ability to know when the brunette needs space, and that doesn’t feel like where she is right now. 

You’re nothing if not respectful though, aware that as much as you sympathize, you really might not have the answer here. Nothing this big had ever happened in your relationship before, or in either of your lives before. There was no book or manual to prepare on how to deal with a grief so complete and overwhelming as this.  

Alexia loved her father deeply, and no amount of time to anticipate or process her thoughts of his illness actually prepared her from the shock of him being gone. 

You had loved Jaume too, how he passed out love like it was free to give, how he laughed without inhibition, how he welcomed you into the Putellas family with ease. But it wasn’t the same, and you were aware. You knew that you felt only a slice of what your girlfriend did, and even just this amount of grief was unbearable. 

You didn’t know how the footballer was even standing. 

Alexia’s eye’s silently pleaded with you to come in, so you did. You moved across the room before laying down on the bed next to her until the two of you were laying parallel, staring up at the ceiling together. You’re exhausted as well with all the stress and worry, but your first thought is always her. 

It always has been. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you for a long stretch of time. 

What is there to say? 

Your heart aches for her, and for her loss, for her family. Alexia screws her eyes shut, trying to regulate her own breathing. Everything about her feels erratic and out of control.

The footballer turns to her side, tucking herself into your body. She clutches to your arm tightly, forcing herself to copy your steady, dependable breathing. 

As much as she needs her Mami and Alba in this time, she has to work to be strong for them. She was the person they looked to, the decision maker, the leader. They need her, and she would kill herself before she neglected that need. 

But you are her strength, you always have been. You are the one who protects her, whose only thought is her. You have always been constant and steadfast for her through anything, a pillar of strength. She relies on you, and it scares the hell out of her. 

And yet you’re right there, and you seem to take it with a practiced ease that makes Alexia want to sob with gratitude. 

Loss engulfs her and brings her back, your steady hand in hers the entire time. There is rarely a moment when she needs you and you are not there for her, always attuned to her moods and thoughts. 

But then a huge curveball is thrown in Alexia’s way. 

Two weeks after her father passes away, Barcelona calls her. They are creating a women’s team, and though it is not professionalized, it is a team. 

Alexia accepts the request on the spot, not even stopping to consider the consequences. 

It doesn’t matter, the answer would still be yes. Her Mami and Alba are thrilled, quickly deciding that they all should move back to Barcelona together. It was time, and as much as they had built a community here in Madrid, Barcelona would always be home for them. 

Alexia goes to you that night and asks you to move with her. She explains her plan vividly, how you can go to school, she will play football, and you both can get part time jobs. You’ll get a little apartment together, actually start the beginning of your lives together. 

There was never a world in which you were not together, not with how happy you both were together. It was a no-brainer, an easy solution to a problem that had never existed. Life for her didn’t exist without you in it. 

Alexia would move first, and you would follow her in two months once you had received your university acceptance letter. It was a fool proof plan in the Catalans mind. 

At least, it had been a fool proof plan. 

The night before Alexia was scheduled to leave, you arrived at her door. The surprise and excitement on her face quickly gave way to intense concern when she saw the trepidation on your face. 

“Can I come in?” You asked gingerly, stepping inside as the Catalan made way for you to come into her house. 

“Yes, of course you can,” she replied, following you into her kitchen and taking a seat across from you at the table. For several moments there is silence as you seem to work up the courage to finally choke out the words you need to say. 

“I…I can’t come to Madrid with you Alexia,” you finally stated, your hands folded neatly in your lap

“What?” Alexia isn’t sure she heard you correctly, because certainly you couldn’t be saying what she thought you had said. 

“I have to stay here with my Mama, to help her with the boys and the house and everything. I’ll get a job for a year before going to school, I think,” you explained slowly. 

“I…okay. Are you sure Flori?” You nodded with clear reservation, but the brunette continued forward regardless. 

“Well then…we can call. And take the train to one another when possible, and then maybe when the boys are older you can come to – what is it?” Alexia’s voice grinded to a halt when she finally seemed to notice your despondent expression

“I cannot come Alexia, and I don’t know when I will be able to. I will be very busy, and I am sure you will be as well, so perhaps it’s for the best if–” You were cut off, unsurprisingly. 

“If what?” Alexia challenged, her anger flaring. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, and you see right through her. But still you do not yield, your expression entirely unreadable to the midfielder. 

It only makes her more and more mad that she cannot tell what is going on. 

“Are you just going to give all of this up? I don’t even know what life is like without you, and what – now it gets a little hard and you call it quits? Did you ever even care about me? Did you ever even love me, or has this whole time just been a huge li–”  Alexia yelled from across the table, her hands slamming down to splay on the wood in front of her. 

“Enough!” You yelled, standing suddenly. Alexia seemed surprised at your outburst, but there was nothing other than a quiet resignation across your expression. There was no anger or outrage or fury on your face, but rather a strange form of acceptance mixed with defeat. 

When you spoke again, it was with softness and finality as the footballer looked up at you. 

“I love you Alexia. And I am very excited about this new journey you are going on, even if it is not with me.” 

You walked over to her side of the table before bending down to press a kiss to her temple.  You slipped out the door in a flash. Alexia was so completely thrown off that she didn’t have an answer or a response, she didn’t even have time to stop you. 

She had never sobbed so hard in her entire life than she did at the dining room table that night. Grief had become her shadow, but this was an entirely new kind of grief. It poured over her, consuming her, and she for once found herself completely lost in it. 

When she arrives in Barcelona, it is with red rimmed eyes and a renewed resolve to make something of herself. 

If it meant losing you, it had to be important. 

—

Alexia left Madrid when she was eighteen. 

Barcelona Femeni wasn’t even a professional team, and she was a nobody who had come into the system with promise and drive but nothing to her name. 

Throughout the past nine years, so much had happened to her both personally and professionally. Barcelona was not the same team at all, having been professionalized a few years after she arrived. They were taken somewhat seriously now, with titles and dominance in the domestic league. Though the Champions League eluded them, Alexia knew it was coming. 

She was in the prime of her career, playing better football than she had ever expected herself. The brunette was achieving everything that she had wanted, and she remained hungry and focused toward the future. It was never enough for her, and she always thought she could be doing better. 

There were times though…when she stopped and wondered. 

Was it worth it? 

She wanted so badly to say yes instantly. Football was her passion, her purpose, it had always been her goal to be the best she could be. It had driven every decision she had made in her entire life, and she wanted so desperately to believe in it wholeheartedly. 

But there had always been a flicker of doubt. She held it closely to her heart, never sharing it with anyone, not even Alba or Eli. She did not want to seem weak or doubtful of her decision.

Her apartment was empty, devoid of practically any women, and that had been her choice. Even after all of these years, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone long term. 

The brunette wanted to be angry at you for staying behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to really mean it. She loved you far too much, and the ache of missing you only seemed to strengthen as the years bled on. She had other women, she really tried, but never did she feel the same connection that she had with you. 

Alexia had admittedly tried to look for you, when her initial hurt had bled away in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But you were a ghost. 

The footballer wasn’t surprised, considering that you had never been a big social media person. She found some of your relatives online but their accounts were mostly private and rarely were you photographed. When she returned to Madrid for games, your family was gone from the home you had been raised in, and she wasn’t shameless enough to start banging on neighbors doors to find out more. 

Your phone number had seemingly changed by the time she worked up the nerve to call you, and eventually it just seemed wrong. You never reached out to her, at least not that Alexia was aware of. 

She had simply been forced to accept the fact that she had lost you, for reasons she still did not comprehend or understand. All it took was one singular month to lose both her father and her…to lose you, and that thought gnawed away at a piece of her soul relentlessly. 

But suddenly here you were. 

Nine years later, and here you stood right in front of her. 

“Hello Alexia,” you stated, your face a veil of carefully constructed neutrality, even if your heart beat was erratic beneath your dress. The sound of your voice seemed to bring Alexia back from wherever in her mind she had been. 

“Hi…hi there,” the brunette stuttered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. She couldn’t quite get herself to believe that you were standing in front of her. . 

“I know it’s been awhile but it’s…it's good to see you. Congratulations on your team's success these last few years,” you commented gently, a true smile on your lips. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. You…you follow the team?” Alexia inquired, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion. You had always been so apathetic to football, she never could have imagined you sitting in front of the television watching games. 

“Ever since you moved to Barcelona,” you confirmed with a nod of the head. Alexia felt her perplexity only ballon in size. 

If you still cared, why did you let her leave in the first place? Why did you give up so easily? 

A silence lapped over the two of you, but it was filled with so many unsaid words, so much tension that had never existed before. 

Alexia and you both looked the same, and yet somehow completely different. You could tell how much the footballer had grown into herself given the ease at which she stood, her hands tucked in her pants pockets loosely. There was an air of elegance and power to her, hazel eyes piercing into you with purpose. 

She looked at you as though she never wanted to look away again, and selfishly, you felt hope in your heart that perhaps…

“Are you with anyone?” You asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the forwardness. It could be interpreted as for the event specifically, but the potential broader implication suffocated you despite the fact that you were the one to ask the question. 

“No, I am not with anyone Flor–” Alexia cut herself off, seemingly realizing her mistake. 

It didn’t feel like much of a mistake to you, and you longed to hear the word come out of her mouth, just once more. If this was the end for the two of you, you would have sold anything you owned to hear her say it just once more. 

You nodded slowly, before replying that you were here alone as well. 

“Perhaps…perhaps we could go on a walk?” Alexia suggested, and you allowed her to set the pace of whatever you guys did together. After all, it had been you that had left in the first place, a fact that you would never forget. 

You nodded in affirmation, explaining that you needed to grab your clutch before you could meet her at the door. 

It was divine timing as well, considering that your boss had just let you off for the evening and you were planning to go home soon anyways. This was a more welcome surprise than whatever you had been planning in your mind. 

—

There was a wave of relief that rushed through Alexia when you appeared in the door frame a few minutes later, almost as though she was positive you were not going to arrive. But there you were, a light jacket thrown over your dress and a small purse in your hand. 

You both walked out of the event space together, silence lapping between the two of you as you continued forward. Alexia was struggling to organize her thoughts in any sort of productive way. She was so caught off guard by everything. 

She thought she would never see you again. 

“How long are you in Barcelona? Just for the weekend?” She questioned, her voice soft. You shook your head, your posture straight and somewhat tense. 

“No actually, I live here now. I moved a few years back,” you replied, voice unwavering. 

Alexia couldn’t help the stab of hurt that ran through her heart at that piece of information. She had always wondered deep down what she had done to cause all of this, why you had let her go. At first the distance was the only thing in Alexia’s mind to explain the break up, but now she knew you had been here for years. She didn’t understand it, even after nine years. Every piece of logical information told her that you had loved her, and yet here you were. 

Was any of this even salvageable? 

Did she want it to be? 

“Oh…I see,” her voice was flat, but in a way that oozed grief rather than true apathy. 

“I come to your games sometimes, once I moved out here,” you admitted, thinking of all the times you had sat up in the stands watching her play. The brunette glanced at you in clear shock, and you shrugged, unable to conjure an appropriate answer to explain yourself further. 

Things were…things had been so complicated. By the time all of it had cleared and the world made sense to you again, she was gone. You knew you had lost your opportunity to be with her, to be a part of her life. 

As much as it haunted you, it was the reality of your life. You never could have changed what happened, but that didn’t mean it cut you just as deep as it did Alexia. 

But perhaps there was hope for the two of you, here and now. Maybe it would be messy and complicated and painful, but it would be real. There was so much left unsaid between the two of you, and whether the two of you could face it headfirst or not would make or break the whole situation. 

“Where did we go wrong? How did all of this fall apart?” 

The question was sudden, a shock but not a surprise. 

You took a deep breath, stopping and looking back at Alexia. The Catalan had stopped walking when she had spoken, as though she was unable to move forward even an inch. Her hands were balled into fists, and everything about her body language communicated her discomfort. 

“Did I do something to make you stop loving me? Where did I mess up?” She questioned, nearly begged. 

Was her career worth losing this, losing you? 

Had she lost you? 

“Alexia, you did nothing wrong. You were perfect, you are perfect,” you promised, summoning every last bit of strength to imbue into your words. You walked back to her, reaching out carefully to place the backs of your fingers to her cheek, just barely touching the warm skin there. She closed her eyes at the feeling as tears burned in your eyes. 

“I lost you,” she whispered, both startled and settled that you still smelled the same, your perfume unchanged after all these years.

“I know, I know. But I’m right here now, I’m right here,” you vowed, still unsure and desperate of what to say. 

“I know that this is fucked up, and complicated, and it’s been years. I might as well be a stranger to you, but I need you to trust me when I say that nothing that happened was your fault. I made the decisions I did because it was what I had to do, but don’t for a minute think it didn’t kill me inside. Don’t you dare think I didn’t spend the last decade of my life missing you,” implored, almost as if trying to force her to understand the depth of your love, even after all this time. You turned your hand to cradle her cheek gently, your thumb stroking across the skin there as you spoke again. Your voice was barely audible, crackling with emotion. 

“Maybe this is crazy for me to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And if I never see you after this, I want you to know how much I loved you. How much I still love you. ”

She reached her hand up to grasp at your wrist, holding your hand in place against her cheek. 

“Please don’t leave,” she murmured, and you nodded insistently. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here Ale.” 

The look of relief on her face at hearing you call her that was palpable. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, lost in one another. It could have been a minute or a year, and you didn’t care. You would have stood there forever, content to ignore the rest of the world if Alexia remained this close to you. 

But eventually the telltale signs of rain began to stir, drops of water falling onto your jacket and in your hair. You pulled back, taking Alexia’s hand and squeezing it before you reached for your clutch. Opening the bag, you pulled out a business card and a pen, writing your personal number on the back of the card. 

“The number on this is my office, but the back is my cell. If you still want to…if you decide you want to talk more, call me,” you insisted lightly, placing the card in her hand. 

“I promise I’ll pick up,” you soothed after a moment, your words gentle. 

Alexia stared down at the card, at your loopy handwriting, for far too long. It reminded her of being fifteen, watching you write equations on the wall for tutoring. It was jarring, and it stirred up emotions she didn’t realize she had buried. 

When she looked up again you were gone, and yet not a single ounce of her felt alone as she stood on the sidewalk. 

She had a new possibility. The chance to return to who she was in her youth and understand the past. Or the option to continue forward in her career, focusing solely on football and her dedication to the sport while leaving the past behind. 

She had no idea what she would do, but at least for once she had the choice to decide.

[spacenmonsters-ynot]

This is one of, if not my favorite, best scenes of the entire series. The whole interaction is both subtle and obvious, and it says a lot about Charles as a character.

You first see Edwin’s jealousy, which is so loud you could almost describe it as thunderous. He’s catty, combative, dismissive, and derisive to Crystal nearly from the get-go. I mean, he acted like a jealous lover from the moment she entered their Office.

“Perhaps it’s your outfit.” Please. That’s a lover scorned if I’ve ever heard one.

Then, for little snatches before the Devlin House, you see behind Charles’ mask.

“I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.” — Both Edwin and Charles reacted to what Niko said, but it was the first time you saw Charles go dead-eyed with a vague smile still on his face. (He had looked upset before, but that expression during that moment? That was pure “don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about”)

During and after the Devlin House, there was a complete breakdown of Charles’ usual facade. He struggled to maintain it, for a long while after they had left the House.

The introduction of Monty had been a huge curveball for him. It started rocky and then stayed rocky. We can blame Monty for the first shots fired, but we can’t lay Charles’ entire reaction on the way he was so rudely dismissed by the crow. The way Charles was staring at him and Edwin the ENTIRE time, mostly blank faced? But it’s when Crystal dragged Niko off to give the pair privacy that Charles’ true feelings are revealed in an elegantly subtle way.

The quick thinning of his lips, the pointed stare AS he turns to go, the sniffing and the jump in his cheek muscles.

Without a single word uttered, we can tell he is PISSED. But he doesn’t say anything. Not one thing, he just leaves silently.

I adore everything about this scene, especially how it sets the tone for the rest of Charles’ actions. He will shove down every single negative emotion until he literally CANNOT any longer.

Long live Charles Rowland, Dead Boy Detective.

"This means you're very protective."

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Today, we’re going to talk about Mercury signs and their texting habits. If we were to rank which Mercury placements are the worst texters by element, I’d say fire Mercuries take the crown. On the other hand, air Mercuries are probably the best texters. But let’s break down how each element communicates through text, starting with none other than fire Mercuries.

Fire Mercury (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius)

Fire Mercuries text in bursts of inspiration. Since their thinking isn’t sequential or linear, their thoughts are all over the place and move fast. Because of this, they don’t do well with consistent texting—it requires too much sustained focus, which they aren’t naturally suited for. Instead, fire Mercuries prefer calling. If they’re texting you back-to-back, it’s likely because they can’t call you at the moment.

Generally, fire Mercuries text when they’re excited about a topic, interested in you (like a crush), or eager to make plans. They also text more when they’re angry, often ranting before suddenly dropping off. Their texting style is inconsistent, much like fire itself—spontaneous and unpredictable.

Earth Mercury (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn)

Earth Mercuries tend to be slow texters, often taking hours to respond. This isn’t because they’re ignoring you—they’re either busy or carefully processing what to say. Some Earth Mercuries are meticulous with their wording, preferring practical and to-the-point messages rather than emotional or overly expressive texts.

Like fire Mercuries, Earth Mercuries often prefer calling over texting, especially when clarity is needed. They like efficiency and may opt for a phone call just to get straight to the point. They’ll typically text when they need to make plans, help you with something, or ask for help themselves. Otherwise, they don’t see much purpose in excessive texting.

Air Mercury (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius)

Air Mercuries are the ultimate texters. While they can be inconsistent like fire Mercuries, they have a lot to say. Their texts might not even be about feelings or personal matters—these are the people who will text you paragraphs about something they learned, an interesting event, or the latest drama.

Air Mercuries love to interact in different ways, so expect memes, GIFs, photos, videos, TikToks, and links flooding your phone. However, don’t be fooled—if an air Mercury has a lot to say, they’ll call you in a heartbeat. At the same time, if they don’t feel like talking, they’ll avoid phone calls altogether and stick to texting.

Water Mercury (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces)

Water Mercuries have a natural flow to their texting style. They’re often consistent texters and are less likely to pick up the phone unless it’s an emergency or they’re in an emotional state where they need comfort.

Their texts can range from straightforward messages to vague or cryptic ones, sometimes just consisting of emojis. They’re the type to check in on you with messages like, “How was your day?” or “How are you feeling?” They excel at checking up on people, but their moods influence their texting habits. When they’re in their feelings, they may leave you on read or not respond at all.

Water Mercuries also crave in-person connection, so they may text you to figure out when you’ll see each other next. Their texting style often has a nurturing quality—almost like a parent checking in to make sure you’re okay.

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[siggiedraws]

Hello! i absolutely adore your art and agree with your sonic opinions, you're overall one of the best sonic blogs out there. May i ask how do you plan out and draw your comics? How do you choose the formatting of panels themselves, the composition, the dialogue and so on? From A to Z, please! I apologize if this ask might be inconvenient, but i'm curious because i love your comics and have attempted to draw a sonic comic myself that failed miserably.

Typically the first step I will take is to just rough it out in a sketchbook, because I find it much faster and when working digitally I feel more pressure to make things look nice. This is where I start thinking about paneling and composition. It doesn't look perfect or cohesive at this stage, but at least now I have a rough idea presented with barely legible scribbles that don't make sense to anyone but me.

For paneling, large panels linger more, and small panels indicate quick succession. This is the most important rule I personally follow when making panels. It affects things like comedic/dramatic timing and how the reader will be guided through your comic.

It's important to vary up the composition when it comes to dialogue scenes where not that much is happening. The shot-reverse-shot format works, but remember that once you have an establishing shot and the reader knows where the characters are, you can get creative. I like to do close-ups where not everything is shown to create a sense of vagueness around what emotion the character is feeling.

Don't do this too excessively unless you're trying to create a claustrophobic feeling - let it breathe with a medium shot or long shot after!

In film-making, there's a rule called the 180-degree rule that basically states that in a two-character interaction, there is an invisible line drawn between them. The camera does not cross this line and stays on one side. This basically keeps the characters on one respective side of the frame at all times to avoid confusing the viewer.

This is by no means something you have to follow for comics, but if you want to create something that is easier to follow, it's a good rule of thumb that I consider when drafting! It can also be broken depending on the effect you're going for.

Once I have a draft, I'll typically go into editing and changing things that don't work quite as well as I'd like. This can be done by yourself or you can get it revised by a friend, like I do!

After the draft is finished, I'll get to lining and colouring. To be honest, it's not something I can teach so easily, but rather something that takes a lot of time and practice to learn. I typically draw the backgrounds with thinner lineart so that the characters stand out. Same deal with colouring - the characters stand out from the background colour-wise. There are multiple ways to do this, but for example, here I made the background have less colour contrast than the characters and stick to an orange-ish tone, while the characters are different colours from the background.

For speech bubbles, generally the words should fit the shape of the bubble to the best of your ability. The line spacing should be as close and compact as possible without touching the lines above or below. This is to save space on the page so that speech bubbles don't take up a majority. The tail of the bubble should point towards the character's mouth.

Avoid tangenting! This is when the very edges of two different things touch each other. It creates a flatter effect so you want to avoid it as much as possible.

That's about all I can think of right now. Hope this helped!

[vi-is-badass]

I really appreciate the response! I think this is really interesting and there is a lot I agree with, but I kind of want to start off by clarifying what I mean in the tags because re-reading them I realize it was a bit muddled.

I disagree with Schnee's argument that the themes aren't clear or at least his argument that they aren't simple. I can easily simplify Jayce and Viktor's arcs and conflict down to a couple sentences and they are all very interesting on their face, but I do have issues with their execution. In some ways, I do agree with Schnee that there are ways in which the conflict that is conveyed can be overly complicated or unclear, especially when it comes to Viktor.

Like you said Viktor's arc is fascinating. The base idea of what his change and conflict is about is tragic, but my core issues are that so much of it is skipped over due to time that a lot of the tragedy of his arc is dulled for me with certain beats feeling incredibly rushed and the show itself doesn't seem to have a clear answer for how much the hexcore was influencing Viktor and how much was of his own free will.

My personal interpretation is that Viktor dies in the bombing and when Jayce brings him back with the hexcore parts of him are altered, primarily his connection to his emotions like his empathy, which allows for Viktor to justify his "improvements" without looking at the deeper consequences of his actions unlike in season 1 where the negative consequences stopped him. This allows for the hexcore to manipulate him more subtly without pushback from Viktor.

When Viktor is shot by Jayce that moment is meant to push him over the edge and lose his faith in humanity. He gives himself over fully to the hexcore. It's only through Ekko breaking through the hexcore's hold on Viktor that his humanity is able to show through again.

And even that interpretation is something I came to after hours of thinking about it and re-watching the season. I haven't seen a single person have a clear understanding of what the balance is and I don't think the show does a good job of conveying that balance in this season. In the first, it's very clear and easy to follow, but the second season loses that clarity to me.

I think there are aspects of a character that should be up to interpretation. That's part of what makes characters interesting and talking to other people about media fascinating, but in this case it doesn't feel like the vagueness was intentional to make you ponder the idea of free will.

My next point is that while I absolutely love the last interaction between Viktor and Jayce-- it's genuinely one of the beats in the finale that works the best for me-- the line "You've always wanted to fix what you viewed as imperfections..." rung hollow for me because that's not what we're shown in the first season.

Initially, Viktor is driven by his ambition and desire to improve lives. He wants to be a part of technological progress, but that technological progress that we're shown before the reveal of his sickness isn't rooted in fixing imperfections. It manifests more in tactile tools for making work easier in the fissures (the gauntlets and the laser) and improving trade between Piltover and the world through the hexgates. Even when he starts working on the hexcore it's not out of desire to remove imperfections.

He eventually moves to self-modification not out of an initial desire to remove "imperfections" but because he's learned he's dying and hasn't left the legacy that he wanted. I think you can argue that the scene where he runs for the first time is the shift in this belief-- and I can definitely get behind that-- but again that's after everything else that's happened. It never felt like it was Viktor's goal from the beginning.

I want to make it clear that my issue with that final scene isn't the intent. I love the message that the final scene between Jayce and Viktor gives about Viktor's disability. That is a beautiful message to have. My problem has to do with its framing.

I could definitely be missing something! If other people have a different interpretation of Viktor's arc or the balance between Viktor's free will and the hexcore absolutely feel free to counter me. I would love to hear it.

Wow... that was really long. You apologized for the essay I am definitely worse. Haha. I do want to address your criticisms before I finish though. (whoops it's getting longer)

I felt the same way you did about the shift away from the conflict between Vi and Jinx. Their story is very emotionally affecting on a personal level for me and this lack of relevancy is an issue for me and the show in a few ways. There are 3 main reasons I think this is ultimately an issue.

1. The show doesn't pivot away from the civil war between Zaun and Piltover (the story Vi and Jinx are intimately tied to) to the conflict with the arcane (The conflict Jayce and Viktor are tied closest to) very well. It isn't until episode 6 that they really shift to the arcane as the main conflict and by that point it's more than halfway through the season and there isn't enough time to explore this the way I felt like it needed to be.

Like you, I also believe the Zaun and Piltover plot doesn't get a satisfying conclusion. They didn't even make it clear that Caitlyn gave her seat to Sevika. You have to just see that she's in the same seat as Cassandra was in the first season and somehow infer that's what happened. This could have been easily remedied with like a 2 second fade from Caitlyn standing at the seat to Sevika if they were really pressed for time.

While I do love episode 7 and I fully understand why people would argue it's the best episode of the show, I wasn't a fan of how much it simplified the conflict between the two cities. It placed so much of the blame on hextech rather than the complex societal and systemic issues that it was really rooted in. (that the first season itself showed us was the root cause!)

2. I do want to be a bit fair and admit that I think part of the struggle people had with the shift away from Vi and Jinx's conflict was a marketing issue. Both trailers emphasize the fact that this is an end to Vi and JInx's story. The first trailer especially focuses on the sisters, their conflict, and the brewing civil war between Zaun and Piltover.

It straight up says in the trailer that this is the end of the sisters' story, which really makes it seem like it will come down to them, but that wasn't the case.

3. this one is something that Schnee does state in his video and that's the fact that the conclusion to the sister's story isn't tied into the conclusion of the main conflict. Vi and Jinx's fight against Warwick doesn't have an effect on the outcome of the battle at all. They could both die in this battle or they could win and it wouldn't change the outcome of the conflict at all.

Jinx is a bit more understandable because they have her arrival with Ekko changes the tide of the battle against Ambessa completely. Caitlyn would have died and Piltover would have lost if she didn't show up when she did. And it's her dodging the beam meant for her that makes it so that Ekko doesn't get controlled by Viktor and can save the day.

But Vi is the one that's a bit more egregious to me because she doesn't do a single thing to effect the outcome of this conflict at all. She's another soldier on the battlefield. One we care about, but not unique in her contributions at all. If she wasn't there the outcome still would have been the same and that's an issue to me.

If the conclusion to the sister's story was more important to the conclusion to the story as a whole I think it would have been easier to accept the way the story shifts to being centered around Viktor and Jayce's conflict.

The last point I want to address that you made is the fact you didn't like "how Jayce immediately chose violence after coming back instead of trying to reach out to Viktor like he did eventually".

I also agree with this point. I will admit that, while I liked Jayce's half of episode 7 and the end of Jayce's interaction with future Viktor, I felt like it made me more confused about why Jayce immediately shot Viktor upon arriving at the commune. His conversation with future Viktor doesn't tell him the only way to stop Viktor is to kill him, it instead has Viktor telling Jayce that he's the only one who can show him the truth of his actions. Which... how did Jayce get "Viktor has to die" from that conversation?

I can understand Jayce feeling like he has to Kill Viktor or the people at the commune if the victims of Viktor's "glorious evolution" had been attacking him the entire time he was there or future Viktor told him that present Viktor would never see the error of his ways until it's too late, but that wasn't the case. Again, I could definitely be missing something.

I do genuinely like what they did with Jayce. The idea that your dream that you fought so hard to make a reality brings about the opposite outcome of what you wanted and you now have to destroy it is incredibly fascinating. I think many people, myself included, can relate to having a dream not turn out the way you wanted or you've had to let it go. It's something that's difficult and genuinely compelling. It just had some noticeable bumps in the execution for me.

I know a lot of this was criticism, but I think a lot of the things I pointed out have a positive side to them as well. Viktor's story, while muddled in a few ways, does present a lot of interesting themes and ideas. The sisters' story does get a lot of fantastic focus in the second act which I absolutely loved. I adored being able to see them as sisters again. I already pointed out what I loved about Jayce's story.

It's just that nagging comparison to the first season that did everything so perfectly that makes the missteps of this season that much more noticeable.

I actually think this video is really interesting. Not because I fully agree with it (there are a lot of points in the video I don't agree with and a lot that I do), but because I appreciate its intent.

I also fall in the same boat where I really liked the second season, but I didn't love it like I did the first and I appreciate that this is a video that wants to start a conversation. He wants to talk about why things didn't necessarily work for him, why it didn't seem to have the same impact as the first, and about how he wants to hear why those things might have worked for others.

So much discourse about this season has framed it as either the best thing ever, above any criticism, or the worst thing ever with no redeeming qualities and it's made it very frustrating and demoralizing to try and talk about it online.

I want to talk about how I loved aspects of this show and that I was also let down by certain aspects of the show as well, but anytime I try and talk about criticism it's rarely met with a genuine conversation.

I would love to hear how people interpreted things differently from me, why they felt that way, how it connected with them, because I feel like that's the purpose of stories. It's never going to resonate with anyone the same way and there may have been things I missed.

I also know I haven't always worded what I've wanted to say and my criticisms the way I want to get across what I mean. It has never been my intent to sound like I wasn't open to discussion, different interpretations, or counterpoints. I would like to actually talk more about this season and hear other people's thoughts as well.

[cinnabeat]

since people mentioned it tho it IS kind of weird how delkiras crest became a sort of deus ex machina or something like that

[the-magpie-archives]

I know Jared Hopworth is supposed to be a terrifying monster with too many limbs and a body that defies any recognisable form one could relate to humanity, but I can never picture him like that. I've never been able to picture this many-limbed monstrosity, but instead something much more subtle.

A man who at a glance could be normal. From a distance. You know how sometimes if you see a large animal your brain tries to make it into a person? Like that. The shape is that of a person, but wait... It's too big, the proportions are... Off.

There's nothing more terrifying than the slow realisation that something unprovable is very, very wrong.

[sunshades]

Ok i let the intervallo simmer here's some thoughts:

- it's true this intervallo is comedic and kind of "not that deep" (bear with me a sec) and negative interactions aren't to be taken That seriously like im seeing a lot of people do

- BUT this can also absolutely be a negative thing and i agree theres a lot of bits where it doesnt feel good to read. Sinclair is getting the scaredy little baby writing, Heathcliff is getting the haha delinquent writing, ishmael has this constant "joke about water/ships/whales/whatever"- we kinda know by now the sinners who had their canto already have a noticeable drop in quality (even yi sang whose writing always gets the most care at times falls into a comic relief role)

- at the same time, wondering why the group isn't being That friendly... especially "the sinners are suddenly so mean to heathcliff and treating him like he's stupid" is just. guys. they never stopped. this was how don quixote -the one he's consistently been the kindest towards- was treating him in TKT, barely a couple weeks after canto 6 in universe LOL

- it just... feels disingenuous to say "but they were such good friends in canto 7" when that whole scene came a bit out of the blue? the sinners have never been close friends all the way to canto 7- let's not forget how in MOTWE it was important to see Faust, meursault and ishmael have a couple moments with the other sinners (faust and ishmael with each other, faust with yi sang and dante, meursault with don and heathcliff) because the whole game they barely had any positive interactions. ishmael for example has shot down gregor's attempts at befriending her a couple times in the past, and never really felt indebted towards heathcliff for worrying about her in canto 5 (or at least that never made her want to be nicer to him)- but those aren't writing mistakes when she herself in LCB checkup even jokes about being kinda awful at making/keeping friends. she's just kinda like that. "im not that nice"

- that being said there are a lot of interactions in the checkup that imply they are actually getting closer. hong lu and sinclair are in good terms, meursault apparently now interacts with the others pretty often, ishmael and yi sang watch over don quixote (pretty significant when u consider one of ish's few interactions with don was calling her delusional in canto 5), ryoshu is interested in don, and i think even ishmael and ryoshu's squabble is interesting considering their last interaction was in canto 4 (where they were getting along even less). the intervallo definitely has some writing pitfalls but i think it's absolutely better if you keep in mind what the text has been telling us in all the chapters that lead up to it, not just counting c7's climax as something so completely defining of everyone's characters.

[djevelbl]

I think this is my favorite little thing I've written for this project btw

[shaykai]

Don’t think I’ll ever clean this up/expand upon it, but here’s a little scribble of Vat and (technically) Bane

[dukeofthomas]

Posting my truth

[evil-mcytblrconfessions]

tumblr kww fandom was formed seperately from most other social media corners of the fandom. and that leads to silly things like the commonly used name "kww collab" and kenfies vs kenifies. and probably more. cedar if theres any more im forgetting that u know of say them pls

(in response to this confession)

[atopvisenyashill]

on reflection the fact that we didn’t see laena claim vhagar, and now didn’t see the moment addam got on seasmoke either? kinda annoying me

[nach0]

You are the Realmleaper. You are an anchor without a ship to pull you back up. You are stuck watching retellings of the same play over and over. This time you are...

>The Party's companion >The Rouge's guide >The Kid's protector >The King's informant >The Script's rewriter >The Original's hope >The Researcher's project >The...

Hmm. You don't know yet.

Time to find out!