#as a person who doesn't weigh much i get a lot of air

[thelampisaflashlight]

I think Dew being a stoic is often misinterpreted as him being unfeeling or unapologetically cold/dickish, when a stoic person is usually someone with a firmer grasp on their emotions in the sense that they're able to endure pain and hardship without letting it show and/or noticeably letting it weigh them down.

A stoic person still has emotions and can express them at times, it's just that you're less likely to see them display their more negative thoughts or feelings openly/obviously.

Although, personality wise, this might display as someone being notably calm and perhaps a bit disinterested or unreactive.

I feel like Dew is the sort of person who goes through like appearing largely unbothered, but definitely plays up his emotions in a performative/joking manner since his usually attitude towards things is quite neutral.

He could be having an absolutely awful day, but will the other ghouls know that?

Nope!

He's just going about his routine like nothing's the matter and none one is any the wiser.

It's fun to play with the idea of him snapping and getting pissed off, but with how he handles his emotions, to me at least, it would be more poignant to see him cry.

Just years of frustrations and perhaps even physical pain finally becoming too much for him to handle by himself.

And you just know he wouldn't talk to anyone about it, because who can he go to?

If he never opens up about what's wrong, who can he trust?

He isn't sure, and he worries about the idea of someone judging him for his feelings, or for hiding them.

So he sits there with himself, has a cry about it that doesn't quite solve the problem but makes him feel less like he's going to explode, and then he just... gets back to it.

On top of this, I think Dew finds comfort in hearing other people complain/air their grievances, because it makes it easier for him to comment on them himself -not his own, never his own- without having to open up about anything.

He's easy to talk to in that regard; He listens and doesn't outright judge someone for what they've done, unless it's something absolutely unforgiveable, but I feel like that's a given.

Just... Dew who is seen as cold and aloof because of his lack of emotions...

But is secretly feeling a lot of things all the time, good and bad, but having trained himself not to react or show any indication of whether he's actually happy or even upset about something.

Also, Dew who gets yelled at and berated for having a non-reaction to something devastating happening, because he's just... frozen.

The one time he's actually reacting to something, but no one can tell because he's not showing it, and suddenly he's being shouted at for "not feeling anything".

Dew who cries in the most unflattering, snot from the nose, red in the face kind of way when the dam finally breaks in front of other people, who can't stop his lips from trembling and hiccups between sobs, because he can't stop and it's hard to breathe.

Anyway, I have to go to bed soon.

[thetomorrowshow]

when to hold 'em

ur honor i love the flower husbands

~

The crown of antlers is in his hands.

He holds it, turns it, examines every angle.

Then places it on his head.

Scott looks up, across the silent plateau, to the darkness that gathers on the other side.

Sìín kuvi ndakuatura nu Ndíoxī.

-

"You've got this!" a little boy shouts, pumping one fist in the air.

Scott rolls his eyes over to Jimmy. "I thought you said this would be private?" he comments archly.

Jimmy shrugs, looking a little sheepish. "Word gets out. Especially to kids."

"Right. And since you and I were the only ones who knew about this, the children found out through. . . ?"

"I have no idea."

There are six or seven children sitting or standing in the long grass of the field, some tens of meters away. Jimmy waves to them. All but one wave back.

Scott pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't want anyone getting hurt, Jimmy," he bites out.

"You won't hurt anyone," Jimmy insists. "They're far enough away that they aren't even an issue. They just want to see some magic!"

That's the problem.

Scott's curse isn't a party trick. It isn't something to be gawked at and applauded by children. It's a curse, barely controlled, and a very dangerous one at that.

And it isn't just that he doesn't want them getting hurt. That's most of it, of course, but. . . . 

Scott really doesn't want an audience. He doesn't want people to see him fail.

(Last time he failed, he was surrounded—by elves and enemies alike.)

Something of his thoughts must show on his face, because Jimmy just makes a sound kind of like a sigh and squeezes his hand.

"You're all right," he says quietly. "I'm not leaving. You can control it when I'm here, right?"

"Control is a strong word," mutters Scott. It implies that he can do a lot more than keep an imaginary door shut.

Not to mention, he hasn't been able to let go of Jimmy. They've learned over the past couple of days that when they separate, Scott loses whatever hold he has. It had been unpleasant that first morning, when Scott woke late to find that Jimmy had already gotten back to work, leaving him coated in frost and ice weighing down the tent.

He really has no control if the magic is untamed without the tamer's touch. In all fairness, Jimmy has more control over the magic than Scott does.

But Jimmy just smiles (so brightly that Scott can't help but reluctantly smile back) and points to a patch of wildflowers a good fifty feet away from them.

"Shoot ice at that," he instructs, and Scott, with another glance at the children and more than a bit of trepidation, raises his hand toward the flowers.

He pushes, releasing a little bit of his hold on the magic, letting it conduct out through his arm, pulsing and freezing and—

Frost and ice shoot from his fingertips in a barrage (and the force has him stumbling back a step), about half of it hitting the flowers and the other half falling around them, with some icicles stabbing into the ground a good several feet away.

Scott quickly reasserts his hold on the magic and pulls his arm close to himself, pressing his side into Jimmy.

It's terrifying, using this magic. This magic that, just a few days past, had been using him.

There's no way of knowing just how much damage he's capable of. Based on what he did at the town, Scott thinks he could practically level a village.

It isn't nice, having that much power.

"Whoa!" a young boy screams, and all the other children join in the excitement, chattering about the magic.

"Nice one!" Jimmy says, dragging Scott over to look, sword bouncing on his back.

The flowers are shredded, heads torn from stems and petals torn from heads. A bit of grass is pulled up in a streak, dirt stark against the yellow stalks of grass. Frost coats the area, shards of ice stabbing into the ground.

Scott feels a little sick, looking at it.

That could have hit a person.

If he hadn't figured out that touching Jimmy gave him a measure of control, he could have killed anyone in the camp.

Jimmy's already tugging him back, probably wanting to practice again. He wants Scott to get good at his aim, and Scott isn't sure if it's so he feels more safe with himself, or so he can be more useful in attacks.

"I'm just a weapon," he says offhandedly. Bit of a fall from king of the elves.

"Come on, now," Jimmy says consolingly. "You're a beautiful weapon."

Scott snorts. "Try that one again."

"My favorite weapon?"

"If I could let go of your hand, I would."

Jimmy grins. "What I'm hearing is I can be as obnoxious as I want, and you can't do anything."

"Oh, you—"

Their flirting is cut off as a child crosses the invisible boundary, skipping up toward them.

"Stay back there," Jimmy commands, voice ringing with sudden authority, stepping forward with an arm out.

Scott glances at him, more to make sure that it's still his Jimmy there than anything else. He forgets, sometimes, that Jimmy actually has power. Not just the power of a ruler, either—some sort of unknown, hidden power had to have played a part in his survival, and his ability to heal others. Scott's seen him heal so many of the survivors that they just rescued, just by pressing a hand to their wounds. Jimmy, somehow, is a living, walking, healing miracle.

As much as they're teasing each other today, Scott can't help but feel a little hollow inside. It's still so hard to be here, to hold the hand of his once-dead betrothed.

Not that he has any other option.

Not that he doesn't want to.

The child halts immediately, waits for Jimmy and Scott to come toward her.

She's a little older than the other children, and one that Scott recognizes—from when, he doesn't know—, her scales like freckles spattered across her cheeks and nose.

"Codfather!" she says, standing at attention. "We've found something."

-

"I'm honestly just surprised it made it all the way down here," Scott muses, turning the satchel over in his hands. Below it, on the table in Jimmy's planning tent, lies the crown of antlers and a thin grey book, instantly recognizable as the one he had forgotten to give Lizzie.

"That would be the enchantments," Jimmy says, leaning on Scott's shoulder. When Scott turns his head to raise an eyebrow at him, he elaborates.

"Well, look, see the way the stag kind of shimmers? That's a protection kind of enchantment, to keep the bag from tearing. And the cod is a homebound enchantment—wherever you are, it'll find you."

Scott blinks.

How on earth would he be able to tell that just by looking at it?

"Are you making things up?" he asks dubiously.

Jimmy frowns. "What? No. My people showed me every step of the process when they were making this. We had a promising young Cod—Everarda—she was going to Gem's Academy, and she enchanted the thread. And Theo attached the strap—I think Jesse did part of the bag itself, and—"

"And the crown," Scott murmurs, picking it up with more reverence than he's shown it in some time.

It still shines, despite traveling down river for weeks and ending up buried in the mud. Its glow, perhaps, is more due to its divinity than any amount of polish.

How had it found him here?

Aeor, no doubt.

Scott's been kind of ignoring his god, as of late. Sure, he's said a couple of prayers here and there—some of them sobbing, silent prayers in his frozen world, others rote repetition and dull words—but he hasn't exactly been the most faithful of chosen ones.

It isn't that he doesn't respect Aeor. He still worships his god. It's just . . . easier, he supposes, to pretend as if this is all there is. His story ends here, and he dwindles away.

Yet every night, he tosses and turns, struck by recurring dreams. Dreams that have an oddly golden quality, dreams in which he has the crown of antlers and is alone against Xornoth.

Dreams in which he thinks in a tongue that is unrecognizable to him.

He's been ignoring the dreams, hoping them to be nothing—and in so doing, he's been ignoring hints from his god.

The fact that the crown is here again, one of the artifacts necessary to defeat Xornoth—and he doesn't think he really needs the boots anymore—feels like a bit more than a hint.

His stomach swoops unpleasantly. If Aeor's sending him messages of this magnitude, he clearly wants Scott to get going.

It's not like Scott can take on Xornoth with nothing changing. Xornoth almost killed him last time. He still has no idea what he's doing. Not to mention, Xornoth is surely even more powerful by this point, surrounded by soldiers and Rivendell's magic and who knows what else. There's no chance of survival.

Yet Aeor is pushing him. Aeor is telling him to go up against his brother another time and fail. Aeor is sending him to his doom.

And Scott's going to do it.

He doesn't want to. He wants to stay here, with Jimmy, in this little temporary civilization forever. He wants to forget about the world outside, forget that everything will likely collapse in a matter of months.

He doesn't want to die.

He doesn't want to fail again.

But he has been feeling like he's living on borrowed time.

And he can rub his thumb along the light scars on Jimmy's knuckles and wonder if he feels the same.

"What's this?" Jimmy asks, drawing Scott from his morbid spiraling by picking up the grey book.

"I—I don't know," Scott says, still reeling from his moment of revelation. "Something Oceanic, I think. I meant to give it to Lizzie."

He's going to die. He's being sent to his death like a lamb to the slaughter.

The long hours spent in Gem's secret library seem like a lifetime ago—a time when devastation was fresh, when Jimmy was dead yet the world seemed more hopeful than it does now. He barely recalls how they found the book in the first place.

"And it stayed in your bag the whole time," Jimmy muses, turning it this way and that. "What's it about?"

"I don't know, I couldn't read it."

"Hm." Jimmy flips the book open to the first page, while Scott gently sets the crown back down and turns to the young teen who had found the items.

"And there was nothing else there?" he questions.

She shakes her head. "Nothing that I saw, Lord Smajor. I can show you the place, if you like."

It's unlikely that the boots would have made it there. It's not like they had some sort of tracking spell, after all. It's more likely Lizzie found them, washed up on one of her islands.

"That won't be necessary," he tells the girl. "If anyone finds magical boots that burn to the touch, however, find me."

She nods, takes a few cautious steps back. Scott waits expectantly for Jimmy to dismiss her, but when he doesn't, she just shrugs and bounds off.

Scott looks back to Jimmy, who has stepped uncomfortably far away, the fingers of his right hand just brushing Scott's waist. Scott steps more into reach, peeks over at the book that Jimmy is so intently studying.

It looks much the same as he remembers, if a bit more wet. Strange, faded blue letters, made large with thick strokes. Not much of a conceivable pattern to split up the words (unless it's a character based language?), or even a way to tell if it's written from right to left or not.

But Jimmy is scrutinizing this old little book, mouth moving slightly as his eyes slowly travel across the page.

"Can you read it?" Scott asks incredulously. Jimmy can barely read Common, how on Aeor's great earth is he reading whatever this is?

"I—I think so?" Jimmy says, looking up from the book. "I've never seen this language before. At least, not that I can remember."

Right. Amnesia.

"I think I used to be able to write in this," continues Jimmy, voice hushed as his eyes return to the book. "That's crazy. How old is this?"

"Very," Scott says. Then, still confused, "Can amnesia make it so that you forget an entire language?"

Jimmy doesn't answer. Instead, he points a shaking finger at a point on the page, letting go of Scott (who presses his arm to Jimmy's, maintaining their vital contact) to do so.

What's so exciting about that part? Jimmy's suddenly gone white as mountain's snow, eyes watering as if he's about to cry. What could possibly bring him to tears so quickly? Is this a book of prophecies? Is Jimmy reading about the doubtless end that awaits them?

But Jimmy, voice weak, doesn't say anything like that. Instead, he says, looking over at Scott, "This . . . this is about me."

-

"It's a journal, of some kind," Jimmy explains, later, sitting on the grass in his tent, a plate (which was really more of a carefully sanded piece of wood) of berries and two bowls of thin soup between them. "I think Lizzie wrote it."

Scott frowns. "Lizzie? Are you sure?"

That just can't be possible. Gem's library had been sealed for likely hundreds of years. Jimmy's only—well, he only showed up ten years ago, and Lizzie—Lizzie's been around for a while, but fish hybrids don't live for longer than the average human lifespan.

Right? Lizzie's been. . . . 

"Lizzie joined the House Blossom Alliance over twenty years ago," Scott says aloud. He was there when she showed up to her first meeting, he remembers that. She'd seemed young, small, hair falling into her face, clearly dressed in her nicest of clothing—which was almost meager compared to the glory of some of the other empires.

Still, she had commanded the respect of all of them, speaking boldly and making firm promises. Scott remembers being begrudgingly impressed, though not quite as much as the boy Mezelean Prince, who repeatedly urged his father (in a voice a bit too loud to be a whisper) to arrange an alliance.

If Lizzie had only inherited her kingdom at that age, then there was no way she had been able to write whatever that book was. Neither she nor Jimmy would even be born for centuries.

"Lizzie joined then . . . and none of us really knew much about the Ocean Kingdom, but we'd seen their buildings begin to rise above the water and she seemed legitimate. . . . And then you showed up about a decade later and started reaching out to empires, didn't you?"

"Why are you reciting history to me?"

Scott snorts. "This is barely history, more of a contemporary review," he tells Jimmy, adjusting so that Jimmy's heel isn't digging into his thigh. They've contorted themselves a bit oddly, perhaps, one of Jimmy's legs reaching around their dinner to keep physical contact with Scott, but there's only so long that they can hold hands in a day.

"I just don't understand how the books came to be in Gem's hidden library."

"Maybe it wasn't all that hidden?" Jimmy suggests. "Maybe Lizzie found it and put these books in."

"Are you sure Lizzie wrote it?"

"Yeah, it's her handwriting."

"That is definitely not her handwriting," Scott says, pointing to the open book beside Jimmy. "That isn't anyone's handwriting. That's an ancient Oceanic script that nobody remembers."

"I remember it," Jimmy says, popping a berry into his mouth.

"Yes, but you don't really, right? You can read it, and write it, but you don't know how you know it or where you learned it. How do you know it even talks about you?"

"Lizzie's writing to me in parts of it."

"How do you know it's you? And not someone else named Jimmy?"

Jimmy frowns. "It's not exactly my name, you know. It's a word that means me. Nobody else would have that."

It does not make sense.

None of this makes any sense.

"Sounds inefficient for a language," Scott murmurs absently, ignoring the pang in his chest as he remembers that Jimmy died and now is back so what does sense even matter?

"Right, it changed to use names as the Ocean Kingdom grew. Barely anybody even knew this form of it by the time. . . ."

Jimmy trails off, eyes unfocusing with a concerning suddenness. His lips move ever so slightly, forming unsaid words.

"Jimmy?" tries Scott, reaching over to tap on his knee. Jimmy blinks, eyes refocusing on Scott.

"Sorry, what was I saying?" he asks, brows furrowed.

And if that isn't strange, Scott doesn't know what is.

"Something about the language developing over time?" Scott prompts.

Jimmy bites his lip, looks askance. "I don't . . . I don't know. I don't remember. I don't. . . ."

He doesn't look like he's going to cry, exactly, but he certainly looks troubled, and his eyes catch on the book.

"None of it makes sense," he says quietly, and Scott could not agree more. "Lizzie wrote that. I know she wrote that. I don't know how. And it's . . . I need to talk to her."

"It's from before you lost your memory, isn't it?" Scott asks after a moment. He isn't sure how far he can push this, but he feels a sense of idle curiosity. What does the book say? Why does it worry Jimmy? How did it get in the Crystal Cliffs secret library, unrecorded and forgotten?

Jimmy nods. "It's gonna eat at me, Scott," he says, already sounding tired. "Lizzie's writing about all sorts of things that I don't remember. They just don't make sense. I need to talk to her, figure out if she remembers any of this."

"You're saying we need to go to the Ocean Kingdom."

Again, Jimmy nods. "Yep. At some point." He looks away, sighs, briefly looking far too old yet much too young to be leading a camp of refugees, let alone a kingdom.

Jimmy's always had moments like that, when his bearing makes it obvious to Scott that Jimmy stumbled into this role ten years ago and gave it his all, despite his lack of experience.

He doesn't deserve this—war, death, pain.

Jimmy doesn't deserve any of this.

But Jimmy doesn't dwell, even if Scott does. Instead, he looks back up to meet Scott's eyes, lips quirked in a smile. "What about you? What's with the crown?"

Right. The crown.

Scott swallows.

He and Jimmy have talked a little. Just enough to air out any pressing concerns, for Scott to realize that his conflicting feelings were not unwarranted but unneeded, and for Jimmy to accept that Scott is struggling and help him feel assured of his love as often as he can.

But they haven't talked much, despite literally never leaving one another's side. They've been so busy keeping the camp running and planning attacks and defenses and experimenting with Scott's curse that they haven't been able to sit down and talk, like they're doing now.

Does Scott tell him what it means?

Does Scott tell him that by sending the crown, Aeor intends for Scott to go up against Xornoth again, just to fail as he already has? Does he tell Jimmy that this little respite was nice, but it can't last forever?

Maybe he can put it off. Maybe he can stay with Jimmy just a little bit longer, in the relative peace of the camp.

It's selfish. Scott ought to at least try to fight Xornoth right now, if only for the elves in captivity.

But Scott's kind of tired of trying to save the world. Let someone else do it, for a change.

He forces a smile, fiddles with a berry between his fingers. "It's just a Rivendell treasure. You needn't worry about it."

He'll stay, Scott decides, as Jimmy gives him a soft, loving smile. He'll stay as long as he can.

-

Which isn't very long.

As it turns out, their little frozen-town trick from the week before didn't go over well with Mythland, and it's only the next morning that a woman comes running to the planning tent, declaring that she'd seen three unfamiliar men searching for the camp while she was on patrol. That means that Mythland knows roundabouts where the first camp is (the newly-formed second is off to the northeast, and as far as they know, hasn't been discovered), and the probability of attack is high.

It's time to move, then. Scott spends all morning running from place to place with Jimmy, helping children and disabled and those unwilling to fight pack up and prepare to move to the second camp, from whence a proper plan will be formed.

It isn't terribly easy to mobilize a camp of hundreds of people in only one day. Many of them, in the short month or so that they've been here, have settled in as if it were their home. Some of the families have collected possessions, strangely enough—Scott watches an elderly man argue with Jimmy for almost ten minutes in some strange Oceanic dialect over not wanting to part with his chair. Jimmy responds patiently, but Scott can feel his body tense more and more as he responds in the dolphin-like clicks and whistles of the dialect.

Finally, Jimmy pats the man on the shoulder and says something in a low voice to him, then moves on.

"What'd you say?" asks Scott, hanging on to Jimmy's arm as they walk away, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of hurried packing.

"I told him he can leave the chair or die in it, I don't care," Jimmy says breezily, and Scott almost laughs.

"One of these days you need to learn diplomacy."

"I said I'd go find his husband, he can be diplomatic."

It takes an hour to find him, however, because at every turn, Jimmy is pulled aside and asked a question, called over for help, or stopped to listen to some sort of plan or explanation. The camp is quickly emptying, guides hurrying back and forth between the camps to lead more people to the safer location.

"I hope we aren't being watched," Scott says offhandedly, watching a group of a dozen or so Cod head out, laden with makeshift packs. "Then they'd find the location of the other camp, too."

Jimmy doesn't reply, just points beyond the treeline, out toward the outskirts of their massive camp. There, past the chaos of destroying shelters and striking tents, Scott sees several people in light armor, each carrying a weapon, making circles around the camp.

"Patrol is doubled," Jimmy says shortly. "All the way down to Camp Two."

"How many people are in Camp Two?"

"We have . . . what, two hundred joining them?" Jimmy guesses, readjusting the sword strapped to his back. "So they'll be up to around five hundred. It'll drop, though, as they send us fighters tomorrow."

They're leaving tomorrow, too. Everyone who is left in the camp tomorrow at noon (the able fighters, that is) will be marching out. The plan is to head out toward the Ocean Kingdom, add their little force of four hundred to Lizzie's armies, and from there plan with Lizzie a way to try and defeat Xornoth.

Scott should feel better about it. He'd felt for so long that Jimmy's small goals were pointless, after all.

But he knows now that it's hopeless to try and sway this war. Scott feels like there's a rain cloud looming over their heads, ready to strike down with lightning and set the camp ablaze. Death surely lurks just beyond their line of sight.

There's no way to defeat Xornoth. His power will only grow, the God of Darkness fed by the fear and torture he brings to the land.

Maybe Aeor wants Scott to take a shot at it just so that he can go to the afterlife with full honor. Elvish history and religious lore is fairly vague on anything other than the separation of the afterlife, but it's always had a sense of peace and happiness. Maybe Aeor knows that Scott is bound to die, and wants to hurry it along so that he can get some peace for once.

For a god that sends him frustrating hints all the time, he's really outdone himself with this one.

He's going to die. Aeor is sending him to his death.

Jimmy notices something's wrong, somehow. Jimmy, who never notices anything, even when he's not busy with mobilizing an entire camp over the space of a day and a half, notices that something is wrong, which means that Scott isn't hiding his thoughts very well.

He used to be so much better at this. Back before he met Jimmy.

But Jimmy frowns at some point during the day, rubs his thumb over Scott's knuckles, and asks how he's doing.

And when Scott asks why Jimmy would even be concerned, Jimmy points out his wings and how stiff they are, and the way his fingers are repeatedly tapping against his side, and the anxious frown on his lips, and asks if he's having sensory overload.

No, he's just thinking about his own imminent death. Nothing to worry about there.

He wants Jimmy to live. He wants Jimmy to gather his little force and leave the land of the Empires, go somewhere without demons and death, somewhere his people can rebuild.

He doesn't want Jimmy to be captured and subjected to torture, or killed, or whatever evil is in mind for him.

He wants Jimmy to be happy.

If it comes to it, Scott decides right then and there, he'll split off from the group. He'll leave a note, telling Jimmy to get out when it all goes wrong, and fly to Rivendell alone, ready to confront his demon brother once and for all.

And then he'll die.

Right.

He's going to die.

-

They set out at noon the next day, Scott's satchel uncomfortably heavy with the weight of both the crown and general travel supplies—some food, first aid, and a bowl and spoon. Jimmy hikes beside him at the front of the pack, the mysterious runes carved into the old leather of the hilt of his sword sparkling in the sun.

If Scott had been in charge of this expedition to the Ocean Kingdom, he would have set out at dusk rather than noon, the hot sun beating down on their backs. He barely gets half an hour into the march before shrugging off his coat and draping it over his head, sweat dripping into his eyes.

Elves aren't made for heat, not noonday, marching-through-tall-prairie-grass, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky kind of heat. It's hot, but worse than that it's humid, so Scott has to deal with not only the burning sun but also the thick air that threatens to choke him. He stops frequently to take a sip from the waterskin bumping against his hip, to wipe the sweat from his brow, to pray for clouds, and he can only hope that his skin isn't burning beyond recognition.

At least last time he trekked through the plains, he was covered in ice. Now he's overheating, out of breath, and just generally exhausted.

And they haven't even been walking for a full day.

His wings itch to take flight, glide through the air and feel the wind on his face, make it to the Ocean Kingdom in under an hour instead of the several day journey that the force has embarked on.

They're walking the whole way, despite the fact that the nearby river would be a much faster way to travel for Cod. Jimmy says that the river is being watched intently, and that four hundred rebels is a little conspicuous. They'll be expected to take the river route, not go around.

And Scott also suspects that Jimmy doesn't want to leave anyone behind. Not all of the rebels are native Cod, and not all are capable of breathing underwater—like him, for example.

Not that Jimmy would change the plans and safety of his entire camp for just Scott.

They walk all afternoon in even warmer weather (and it can't really be that warm, because all of the Cod are doing fine, but Scott is really just not suited for this), and they're about to press onward after a blessed break for supper when one of the scouts sent on ahead comes running back, a little dot on the rolling yellow-green plains ahead that gradually becomes larger.

When they arrive, huffing and puffing, green in the face, they salute Jimmy and bow a little to Scott, accepting a drink of water.

"There's a small Mythland camp up ahead," they manage after a moment to catch their breath, sweeping their sweaty brown bangs out of their eyes. "An expedition or scouting group, probably. Fifty soldiers at most."

"We stop here to rest," Jimmy decides immediately, without waiting to consult the two Cod that he's chosen to be his seconds-in-command. "We'll continue in a couple of hours. Can you lead me to the camp?"

The young Cod nods, and before Scott knows it, they're guiding him and Jimmy away, a group of five of the stealthiest Cod accompanying them.

Scott doesn't really think it's a good idea to go spying—not when both he and Jimmy are rather high-profile, and letting go of Jimmy could have disastrous consequences making it impossible to split up—but who is he to make the rules around here?

And maybe he just doesn't want to go because his legs and back ache from the journey thus far, and his excessive clothing is all stuck to him with his own sweat.

Or maybe he doesn't want to go because he's going to die in a matter of days and he wants to spend as much time talking to Jimmy as possible instead of silent surveillance.

But as dusk falls and the world darkens, Scott finds himself lying on his belly at the peak of a small, ridge-like hill, peering down at a small camp of Mythland soldiers.

There's probably fifty men or so, most of whom are preparing or eating an evening meal between the six rows of tents. None of them are in armor, milling around the two campfires on either end of the camp, over each of which is a pot of something cooking (probably a stew).

"Fire is good," Jimmy murmurs. "It'll throw off their vision. We can probably get pretty close."

He points to a tent on the edge of the second row away from them, a bit bigger than the others, which two men are currently exiting. “I bet the man in charge is there. I want to know what his plans are.”

"Can we risk it?" Scott whispers back, tearing his eyes away from the camp to focus on Jimmy's shadowed face, two bright streaks across his vision from the light of the fires. "If we get caught, the whole operation is done for."

Jimmy clicks his tongue, reaffirms his grip on Scott's hand. "If we get caught, you fly us out of there, okay?"

"What? Jimmy, I haven't flown in weeks—my wings were broken, I don't even know if they'll support my weight, let alone—"

"Then we won't get caught," Jimmy says simply.

Right. Because that's the way that works.

Still, Scott only sighs and nods, and after a few long moments of silent communication with the other five rebels, Jimmy and Scott crawl back down the hill, sliding back on hands and knees until they're far enough back that they can stand fully.

They wait there, silent, until dark has fully fallen and the air cools, various nighttime critters hopping out of their hiding places to make their voices heard. Scott leaps back in surprise when a field mouse crawls across his foot, briefly losing contact with Jimmy and sending an icicle straight through the mouse, skewering it to the ground.

Jimmy sucks his breath in between his teeth. Scott cringes, gripping Jimmy's bicep and feeling his control acclimate again.

He hates this. He hates not being in control. He hates being cursed.

"Just . . . try not to do that again?" Jimmy says after a moment.

Scott nods wordlessly.

They don't say anything after that, and soon enough they can't really see anything beyond a foot ahead of them, and Jimmy begins to lead the way around the curve of the hill.

It isn't too difficult to move through the tall grass quietly, crouched over to hide in it, but Scott finds himself gritting his teeth every time Jimmy stumbles over a stalk or tramples some grass. Can't he just be silent? Scott has massive wings behind him and he isn't getting caught on anything, it can't be that hard.

He has to remind himself every couple of steps that different people have different skills. Elves have light feet and are better at sneaking than most, after all. It isn't Jimmy's fault that he's a flat-footed Cod.

"Left," Jimmy breathes in his ear, and Scott freezes. "There's someone on watch."

Scott looks around, trying to get his eyes to acclimate to the darkness. The firelight is throwing off his heightened vision (just as Jimmy had predicted it would for the enemy) , but he can maybe see a figure standing out in the grass to their right.

Now that he knows the man is there, if he pays attention he can hear him. He can hear the slight wheeze that accompanies each breath, the almost-silent rustle of clothing.

They shift left, Scott keeping an eye on the shadowy figure, making sure he doesn't head this way.

But as they move, Scott's still-alert ears pick up another sound, distant and almost indistinct.

Ba-thump. . . . Ba-thump. . . . Ba-thump. . . .

It might be his imagination, but it seems to be growing louder.

"Do you hear something?" Scott ventures to whisper, glancing around to make sure the guard doesn't hear him. Jimmy shrugs.

"No. What is it?"

He doesn't see anything. But he can still hear the rhythmic thudding, ever so slightly louder. Maybe it's his heartbeat?

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Jimmy continues moving, bent over almost double, masked by the tall grass. Scott follows, their fingers linked and connecting them, swallowing back his bad feeling.

It sounds like a drum. A beating drum coming closer and closer.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump—

"Are you—" Scott starts, before something clicks in his memory and he knows exactly what the sound is.

Uh-oh.

Ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump—

Scott drags Jimmy back by his tunic, pulling him down on his back in the grass, the sword in its scabbard jostling against Scott's arm (flattened under Jimmy as they both lie supine on the ground). Scott presses his free hand to Jimmy's mouth, silencing the question about to burst from his lips.

Just in time, as a horse and rider come barreling through, barely two meters away from them, hooves thudding against the grass and saddlebags clanking. The horse gallops across the field to the camp, which is still far enough away that they can't hear anything more than the general bustle of a camp getting ready for bed.

Scott carefully sits back up once he's sure the danger has passed (and Jimmy does too, with considerably more noise), watches as the rider dismounts, tying the horse's reins to the post that's been set up at the edge of camp, next to the pack ponies that are lazily munching on the grass.

"He looks important," Jimmy whispers.

He does. The rider is wearing the official white surcoat of Mythland, a polished leather satchel strapped across his chest. He doesn't even unsaddle his horse, just continues on into the camp, stride slightly bowlegged.

Neither of them even have to say anything. Both Jimmy and Scott just move forward in sync, zigzagging from left to right, slower and slower the closer they get to the camp as the grass grows shorter, until they find themselves right behind the tent that the rider entered, the larger one that is luckily off to the side rather than in the center.

It's dangerous. There's a tent behind them a little ways, and others in their line of sight—made especially risky by the firelight emanating from one of the campfires, only a row away from them.

Still, nobody seems to be wandering about over here, and Scott trusts that either he'll hear them coming or Aeor will protect them.

Now, though, he needs to focus.

"Can you hear anything?" whispers Jimmy. Scott shushes him near silently, presses his ear up against the canvas. Jimmy does the same, his bad ear out toward the camp.

A couple of indistinguishable murmurings—pleasantries, if Scott had to guess—then the most obnoxious slurping Scott has ever heard—

"I don't believe I understand," a man's voice says, gruff and low, muffled through the tent wall. "The king wants us to abandon our course?"

"For the time being," a younger voice—the rider, Scott guesses—says.

"But we just sent our report. We've found the rebel camp. We need to attack before they move. I was expecting two thousand soldiers, not a messenger telling me to head to the coast."

"Everyone is being sent to the coast," the rider responds. "The rebel camp will still be here later."

"Or they'll all go hide in their little badger-holes. We could lose the Codlands if they get bold."

A chuckle. "It wouldn't take much to re-conquer them, I assure you. Especially without their ruler."

Scott squeezes Jimmy's hand. Jimmy squeezes back.

"I don't know," the first man says. "Something strange is going on with those rebels. Did you hear about Medokrill?"

"I don't bother myself with the names of their primitive villages."

"Froze. Overnight. Three men got frostbite."

"The weather of this place does not—"

"And in the morning, most of the Cod had vanished." The squeaking of a chair, another horrid slurp. "Now, I don't like that sort of coincidence. The town freezes—in August, mind—and that same night, the rebels strike and sneak everyone out of there. And only Medokrill froze. Even the prairie around it was untouched."

"What do you want me to do about it?" the rider asks after a moment. The other man chuckles.

"Keep it quiet, ideally. I don't know who or what has that kind of power, but I'm thinking the blame lies with those fairies. They might not be so neutral, after all.”

“I'm sure His Majesty would find that quite informative.”

“Remember that we don't want to scare our men, or give the Cod hope. Keep it quiet. But otherwise, you could get me my men so I can quash this rebellion."

The rider clicks his tongue. "The command is coming straight from His Majesty. Everyone is going to the coast for an attack."

"What could be so important—"

"The Ocean Queen is gone," the rider says.

Jimmy stiffens beside Scott. 

"She'll be arriving in Rivendell early tomorrow morning. The King intends to . . . delay her return, if you take my meaning. We attack while she's gone. By the time the day ends, we should have the upper hand and the fish will surrender within the week."

"Hm." The other man goes silent for a long moment. "I don't know how I feel about that. Tomorrow?"

"You're the last group to know, unfortunately. You should make it to the river in under an hour, and from there it will be several days' march to the coast itself. With any luck, the fighting will be done before you even arrive."

A long, drawn-out sigh. "And I don't suppose my little espionage group was small enough to escape the King's attention?"

"Every man, General. This could be the end of the war."

"Right. Well, it'll be morning before I can get my men moving. That wouldn't be too much of an issue, would it?"

"I suppose I might have stopped for the night before reaching your camp. Officially, I arrived tomorrow morning."

"Sure. And none of that stuff about the freeze leaves this tent, all right?"

"And you never heard a thing about the Ocean Queen's permanent little trip."

Another slurp that sets Scott's teeth on edge.

"Agreed. Have you been to the Capital lately?"

"Not in several weeks. Why?"

"Just wondering how the new market law is going."

"Ah. Well, I can tell you. . . ."

Jimmy tugs, lightly, on Scott's sleeve, and after a moment longer of listening to make sure they don't return to the earlier topic, Scott allows himself to be pulled.

They sneak back through the grass, not stopped by the sight of any sentry, off toward their vantage hill, around the side of it and to the back, where they find the other five rebels that they'd brought with them sitting cross-legged, conversing in whispers and pulling apart stalks of grass.

"Back to camp," Jimmy says shortly when they look up, and walks straight past them, pulling Scott with him.

Without a word, they follow him, stealing off in the direction of their resting soldiers, several hills away.

"What are we—" Scott whispers, but Jimmy shakes his head.

"Later."

Later.

How much later?

This is kind of important news, in Scott's opinion!

If Sausage is concentrating all his forces on the Ocean Kingdom because Lizzie's going to be in Rivendell for some reason, their whole mission is for nothing. They won't be able to strengthen her armies if they can't reach the ocean, but they can't go back—soon they'll be closed in, Mythland having conquered the Ocean Kingdom, so maybe they can flee to the Overgrown—but the general already suspects that the Overgrown is aiding them, and joining their ranks would only lead to an invasion—

"Who's there?" a guard calls, peering out into the darkness.

"It's us, Lanale," Jimmy says, and Scott stops to survey their rebel force.

It's too small. It's absolutely tiny. There's approximately four hundred of them, some as young as fourteen, ready to fight to try and free their country.

And that captain had just casually ordered two thousand soldiers to entirely wipe out their little force.

There's nothing they can do to help Lizzie against all of Mythland's armies. They won't even make a difference. They surely can't join the Overgrown, as it would lead to an attack. They can't stay here, not with Mythlanders combing the prairies for them.

He has no idea what Jimmy intends to do. He can't see any way out.

Yet Jimmy moves with purpose, and Scotr walks with him, picking through sleeping rebels, until Jimmy finds the woman he wants and shakes her awake.

She stretches, stands slowly, pushes her hair back. "Codfather," she yawns, clearly not-quite awake. "What do you need?"

"You're a good leader, Millie," Jimmy says, skipping pleasantries. "I need you to be in charge while I'm gone."

Millie blinks. "Gone? Gone where? What's happening?"

"I'm putting you and Emilio in charge," Jimmy explains, rather impatiently. "There's been a change in plans. You need to split up. You take most of the fighters over the river to the Overgrown, all right? Volunteer to join Katherine's army. Emilio needs to take fifty men and go back to Camp Two. Emilio will gather everyone who is able, and lead them to the Overgrown. Got it? Everyone is going to House Blossom."

"I—what?"

"Jimmy—" Scott starts—what is he talking about? That will only make things worse, and where will Jimmy be?—but Jimmy doesn't stop.

"Scott and I are leaving right now to Rivendell," he says firmly. "Can I trust you to lead these people to the Overgrown?"

Rivendell?

How?

Millie nods, all traces of sleepiness gone. "Of course, Codfather. And Emilio as well. They're a good fish."

Jimmy claps her on the shoulder once before turning away, pulling Scott back in the direction they came from.

"Wait!" Millie whisper-shouts, and Jimmy pauses, looks over his shoulder.

Millie gives him a grim nod. "Codspeed."

Jimmy nods back, once, then continues on.

"I'm sorry, what?" demands Scott, once they've retraced their path through the dozing force. "I—what are we—Rivendell, Jimmy? What—"

"We have to warn her," Jimmy says, and that may be true, but they can't just abandon the people here to go on a rescue mission miles and lifetimes away!

"Right, but it's logistically impossible—we ought to be headed to the Ocean Kingdom, warn her military commander, bef—"

"He literally told us where she was gonna be, we have to go out there—"

"He told us Rivendell! We don't know where in Rivendell, and more importantly—we can't get to Rivendell! How are we—"

"It's my sister, Scott," Jimmy says, and Scott falls silent at the desperate look on his face. He thinks he can see, by the moonlight, the sparkle of a tear on his cheek, somehow distinguishable from the shine of scales pushing through the scars on his face.

He got those scars, Scott remembers, when he fell through the Void and the nothing tore away pieces his skin, dissolving everything that was Jimmy.

Scott promised himself then, as his wings beat desperately and tears streamed down his face and he carried the unmoving body of his fiancé in his arms, that he would do anything for Jimmy, as long as he survived.

"It's my sister," Jimmy says again now, and Scott's eyes flick up from his scars to his beautiful, serious, brown eyes. "I'm not gonna leave her. I'm not gonna let Sausage murder her."

Scott glances away.

If they reveal themselves, Scott will have to face Xornoth.

If they save Lizzie, Scott will die.

And maybe that's dramatizing it a little bit, but it's true. If they go out into the public, if everyone knows that they're alive, then Xornoth will come after them.

Instead of, maybe, several more weeks with Jimmy, Scott's timeline has dropped down to a matter of days—hours, even.

He can't leave Jimmy so soon. He just found him again.

But one more look at Jimmy's pleading, teary eyes, and Scott knows that he can't leave Lizzie to die. She doesn't have a chance against the demon.

No one does, but he can at least hold Xornoth off while the others get to safety.

He'll never see Jimmy again.

"All right," he says, even as it breaks his heart. "We'll do it. But how do you intend on getting to Rivendell?"

Jimmy's eyes slowly slide up, up to the half moon, to the stars surrounding it. "Well, remember my escape plan from earlier?"

"Jimmy."

[sugurufic]

What are your thoughts on the reader and teen nanami attending an improv comedy show…

Oh this is so interesting! I am not funny, like at all, so please don't judge my terrible jokes T^T as always, its not proofread

Nanami, Haibara and you had a lot of fun planned for the weekend, but Haibara had to return home to his family. His sister had gotten a bad fever and he was worried sick about her.

So you and Nanami still went about the plans, going to the mall for some shopping and to the city center to eat, and then return to your respective dorms. The two of you hadn't hung out much without Haibara, his absence weighing you down. With Haibara it was easy to ignore how Nanami's presence made you feel, but now it was practically impossible, with him walking beside you in the mall, dressed in normie clothes.

"Hey ma'am, hey sir!" an attendant at the mall greeted you cheerfully. "We have a free of cost improv comedy session going on, would you care to join us?"

You have always loved improv comedy, watching videos on the internet, but you've never seen one in person. Besides, how bad could it get? It's not like you were wasting any money this way.

"Nanami, can we go, please?" you plead, batting your eyelashes at the blond man, who doesn't even argue.

"Thank you for joining us!" the attendant yells behind you.

"I really hope that it doesn't turn out to be a waste of time," Nanami says as you sit beside him. The room still has some empty seats, but it's a great news that there are people to see a new comedian.

"I don't think it will be," you say, scooting a little closer to him as the air conditioning sent a shiver under your skin.

The empty seats fill up quickly, and the lights are dimmed, waiting for the comedian to take the stage. You are unfamiliar with the man who comes on the stage, viewing his audience with a smile on his face. "Hey everyone! Thank you for being here. You really are helping me convince my parents that maybe I can pull this comedy thing off," He starts of with a jolly voice. "You know, after I wasted four years of my life on an engineering degree."

You chuckle, having heard something similar from plenty of comedians. the man looks over his audience, eyes flickering to a stop to someone on the other end of the room. "Oh, I have a young crowd with me. I really hope you don't get influenced by me. it's not my fault if your mum slaps you with a slipper for not wanting to go to college."

"How old even are you?" he asks the same person. "That young! Now I will feel guilty about making the jokes I had planned." The man shakes his head. "Anyways, you know I am not entirely upset that i did college. I now have more things to make jokes about. Anyone who did CS and now everyone is suddenly asking them to fix computers?"

A surprising number of people raise their hands, and you chuckle once again. Nanami fixes his bangs beside you, trying to hide his rolling eyes. But you know him too well to know what he's doing.

"My parents forbade from speaking to the opposite gender all throughout school. And now that I'm an engineer by degree, they want me to get married." He sighs. "You are too young to understand this. How many of you have partners?" a good number of people raised their hands. "And how many of parent's know?" most hands went down.

The comedian's eyes fall on the pair of you and he asks Nanami, "Hey, blond guy! Is that pretty lady your girlfriend?"

Your face heats up and you can barely look at Nanami, who has gone pink. "N-No," he manages to say.

"Your face tells me otherwise," the comedian laughs. "For those of you who cannot see, Mr. Blond Guy has turned red. The lady seems flustered too. You two did come together, right? Or did I just embarrass two strangers sitting next to each other."

"We go to the same school," You manage to say, despite your flustered state. "And we're friends."

"Miss, maybe you should ask blond guy. He seems very shy." the comedian chuckles.

"I don't think I'm her type," Nanami mumbles in a small voice, and you give him the biggest side eye you have ever given to anyone.

"Judging by the lady's reaction, I'd say you are wrong, buddy." the man laughs. "See people, please tell your friends I helped set up a relationship. If any of your friends need a wingman, please join me on my next shows."

When you leave the mall, you walk together in silence, not even getting the courage to look at him. But you bite down your fears and say, "What gave you the impression that you aren't my type?" You still don't look at him, but your hands are in front of you, trying to grasp the air. "Because then I'd have to fix that. You are exactly my type."

Oh no, you think. You may have spoken to much. "Please ignore what I just said if you don't like me back."

"I do," Nanami softy says, and you whip you head towards him, seeing a rare smile on his face. His cheeks are still dusted a light shade of pink and he looks so cute you could kiss him. "I never thought you could like me like that."

"OH you blind man," you sigh, intertwining your fingers when his hand reaches for yours. "Let's just do this again later, okay?"

"Okay," Nanami says, the smile not leaving his face.

[perfectlyfinespacebacon]

everything now netflix

some spoilers!! and apologies for the long post.

i honestly really enjoyed it! it was almost like a skins/euphoria but imbued with like a heartstopper/sex education vibe in the sense that it dealt with serious teenage issues/mental health but light enough that it doesn't weigh down on you. my character thoughts:

mia was so infuriating almost at all times. obviously under the circumstances, it makes sense but there's this level of likeability that was missing for me. maybe it was the writing or the acting who knows but in my mind it's like this: im making an albeit an unfair comparison to effy from skins or even rue from euphoria, but they were battling their demons and making all the wrong choices but there was still this level of “i want to root for them” that's missing with mia personally.

in a similar vein with alison, she is meant to be this popular rich mean girl archetype who surprises you but obviously in the first half of the season she's supposed to be kind of unlikeable but i found her very endearing. as for the relationship, alison and mia DO NOT belong together. like at all. i am not rooting for them. alison in a way forced a relationship with mia and then also mia was like too scared to say anything about it. its clear that alison liked mia waaaaay more than mia liked alison. like carli says in the last ep as well, “to learn to not be a fantasy to each other”, alison needs to take mia off this pedastal she has for her. i'm very interested to learn more about her character outside of mia though if they hopefully continue the show. i have a feeling that we are supposed to think that she and cameron hooked up at the end or something but i'm rlly hoping its a red herring.

carli is also a character i would love to learn more about. she definitely has more chemistry with mia and i love her for standing her ground against mia, as she needs to help herself before she can be in a healthy relationship. but i will say it was pretty shitty stringing cameron along.

speaking of cameron, i didn't quite expect to like his character as much as i did. in a way his arc in the season is battling toxic masculinity as he kinda seems to come off as this laid back, bro kinda guy but he cares and loves so deeply. it wasn't right calling bec a "sket". i'm not british but obviously its like equivalent to slut, and im very glad he owned up to it. i'm also really interested to know more about his family and stuff.

i love bec as well. she deserves all the happiness in the world. im glad she was able to air out her things with mia, albeit in a very treacherous way and i also love how her mom was supportive of the abortion. i'm honestly kinda tired seeing the mom kicking out the daughter for getting pregnant trope so it was nice to see a mom just being supportive. bec is just such a wonderful friend and mia honestly has a lot to make up for. re not telling mia about her and cam, it was honestly frustrating seeing mia be so petty. i understand that its a big secret and she felt like everyone was hiding things from her but its also right to have secrets amongst friends, idk that really stuck out to me.

will for me had the weakest arc as in it wasn't the most interesting to me. don't get me wrong, i love the character but it just wasnt giving a whole lot to me. i recognize him as more than the comic relief but also at the same time he was stirring the pot in a lot of the arguments / blowups the group had, consciously and unconsciously. though i will say will x theo <3 but comedic duo of the century is will x alison. the little song they did for mia's birthday is stuck in my head.

tldr; great characters and great show. it's really hard to find a show about teens as a 25yo living in a 16yo body that i enjoy and don't find annoying. i just love how each character was able to be so nuanced despite being an ensemble cast.

but knowing netflix's track record it's gonna get cancelled because a) it's good b) has wlw content... but i really hope not.

[justsigma-bsd]

Everything Seems Small (From High Up)

Basically what happened after Sigma left the note and before Chuuya showed up.

Also me trying my hand at a different writing style-

TW for survivors guilt (I think), implied/mentioned starvation (it's small but there), a lot of injuries being mentioned and their causes.

@fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency may I perhaps interest you in seeing the aftermath of "lost one son to save another"? (ngl it would've probably happened anyway)

He doesn't remember how he managed to get there. The entire way is a blur. He doesn't remember how he managed to climb down, just that he somehow managed to slide down the gutter without falling.

In hindsight, he's more surprised he managed to hold on. His hand and arm ached from the effort of carrying his own weight, which the whole incident had reduced by quite a bit, but he barely cared. He just prayed that neither stab nor bite opened, and went on his way. 

Sure, both are wrapped tightly in bandages, along with pretty much most of his limbs, leaving pretty much all of the bites and stabs and cuts he'd endured hidden from prying eyes, but it'd be a pain to rewrap them all again... and he doesn't want to bother Chuuya with this. 

It's his own fault anyway, he dug his own grave, and now he may as well lie in it. 

His legs ached all the way, but he barely paid it any mind. He just walked and walked and walked, until he barely even knew where he turned left and where he turned right. He just had his destination in mind.

And his legs still ache, an hour later, when he's finally sitting where he'd wanted to go. 

He stares down, and for a moment he remembers falling from Sky Casino. Remembers the terror of thinking he'd die. Remembers the air whipping past his face, howling in his ears as if he'd been caught in a hurricane.

His legs, aching and stinging from bites that hopefully haven't started bleeding again, dangle down over the edge. He fidgets with his hands, plays around with the bandages wrapped around one of them. The bite underneath hurts as well. 

Everything hurts, if he's honest with himself. 

His legs hurt, courtesy of the dogs who'd dug their fangs into his flesh. 

His hand hurts, from when another dog bit it and dragged him back into his room- back to Mori. 

His face and arm and leg hurt from the cuts and stabs Other Kris had left on him. 

His knee hurts, and he can't remember that one clearly, but he thinks a bullet grazed it. 

His back hurts, from when he'd fallen down the stairs.  

His throat hurts, and he wishes desperately for the bruises to fade so he can stop wearing turtlenecks. 

He lets out a sigh and watches the city. From so high up, everything looks so... small. Insignificant. He knows his friends are down there. His family. His love... yet part of him think that maybe, just maybe, they'd be better off if he stayed here. 

He'd left a note. Granted, a very vague note, but he did... god, who was he kidding? Everyone's a mess right now. Everyone's in various stages of grief and dealing with it better or worse. Everyone's mourning, and what is he doing? Running from his problems. 

He lets out a breath, tears gathering in his eyes. 

It's his fault they're mourning. What was it that Fukuzawa had said? Ah, right. He'd sent Dazai to get him out. He'd weighed his options and lost one son to save another. 

He feels like screaming. Like crying. Throwing something, breaking something, tearing something apart and crying over that as well. 

It's his fault, start to finish. 

He'd started all of this with petty revenge that had been entirely pointless, and to what has it led? To Dazai dying. 

Fukuzawa should've made the right call. He should've left him to rot instead of sending help. He wasn't worth another's life. Hell, he isn't even an actual person- just some writing on a page. 

Karma was right. He's useless. He's useless and incompetent and he still doesn't know the reason- but he can see why he'd hate him. He wonders, silently, how many people hate him and are just too polite to say it to his face. 

It should've been him who died. Would've been better for everyone... or no, scratch that. He really just should've stayed in the desert. Less pain and suffering for everyone involved. He should've stayed away after Meursault, at the very least. 

... well, too late to prevent that mistake from happening. 

So he sits, high up above the city, and watches. Watches while everything looks so small and distant insignificant, and he silently wonders why he ever thought he could be a part of that without ruining it. 

[strwberri-milk]

I honestly think I’m requesting t o o much but I just love your writing so so much😭😭

In any case that I’m not being a bother, can I get Kaeya who hurts his FWB’s feelings by really digging into the non-committal nature of their relationship? Reader gets distant which makes Kaeya start to yearn and realizes just how much he actually loves them.

You both knew that the reason why things were working (for the most part) between the two of you was because the friends part of your friends-with-benefits relationship was even up in the air. Kaeya doesn't seem like he cares either way whether or not you're there with him, and you can't help but be hurt by it.

The relationship you have with Kaeya is indeed transactional and you know that but watching him barely look your way unless it's to initiate something was beginning to take a toll on you. You know he's always under a lot of stress and that at any given moment in time, he's got a dozen things weighing on his mind. That's why you offered it to him in the first place.

Eventually, you can't help but get totally fed up with the way he barely glances at you whenever the two of you are in the same room. You decide that if that's all he wants to give to you then that's all you'll give him in return.

He doesn't realise how much he enjoys spending time with you until you stop spending time with him. Now when he's looking for you you're always busy or with other people. You don't seem to try and hang out with him as much as you might have before.

Kaeya can't stop thinking about you now, laying alone in his bed at night and staring at the ceiling. He can't help but imagine how it would feel to be holding you as you slept right now, telling you all about his day and how he feels so much better now that the two of you are here together.

He's trying to figure out what to say to you now, wanting to try and see if he can get you to come back to him. This just results in you distancing yourself even more, trying to avoid him for the most part.

His mind never stops thinking about you, to the point where he's dreaming about you practically every night. He doesn't know what to do and ends up using your agreement as a way to try and work through his feelings.

It ends up not working as well as he wishes it would, constantly mourning what things could have been if he had just given you more attention. When you leave him he hates the silence that follows. It doesn't take him long to realise that the only thing that can fix the way he feels is you, but he knows there's nothing he can do for you. You've made it clear how you feel, and you've already been hurt too much by him.

Your relationship remains purely physical, Kaeya unable to confess how he feels about you and you deciding to ignore your feelings for him. Neither of you talk about how the other person feels, caught in a never-ending loop of secretive feelings.

[femmmie]

ianthony prompt: Anthony competing for attention for an oblivious Ian vs a protective cast over their papa ian hehe

ooh I love it! I've written a fic like this before, it's called 'A little bit of madness' and it's from Shayne's perspective. I'm always happy to write this dynamic because I'm a truther for it lmao!

After the funeral roast, tensions were definitely lowered. The cast and crew treated and saw Anthony more like their peer in stead of some external CEO. He was truly a part of the new Smosh.

New Smosh, or 'new new Smosh' as Anthony liked to call it, was arguably one of the best eras the company had ever known. The quality of the videos was high, the audience loved it and they had a blast filming.

Even so, people had not forgotten the past. Anthony wasn't entirely off the hook. Especially Ian's biggest supporters - Arasha, Chanse and Shayne - were keeping an eye on him.

Everyone saw it, it was so obvious. Ian and Anthony were in love. But the current situation was too good to change. This golden era of Smosh brought everyone so much joy, you didn't want to change a thing about it.

Anthony would look at Ian with big doe eyes, enthusiastically clapping and laughing whenever Ian did anything, and encouraging everyone to join in.

Ian would actually smile and laugh, with such a carefree demeanor, nobody had ever seen him like this. And he'd look at Anthony whenever he wasn't looking (which wasn't very often) and you'd see him breathing in, in wonder, like, 'is this real life?'

"Ian, let's go to our meeting," Anthony said, walking into the room at Smosh hq.

"Let's go!" Ian replied.

They vanished into Ian's office.

"Shouldn't he get his own?" Chanse commented with one eyebrow raised. "They sure are in there a lot."

"I'm happy my estranged dad is back with the milk and all…" Arasha weighed her words. "But I kinda liked mine and Ian's father/son time. It's been cut short by a lot lately."

"It seems like we have no choice but to set in action Plan Goblin Mode," came a voice out of nowhere.

Arasha and Chanse looked around and were startled. Shayne had appeared out of thin air. He stroked an imaginary goatee.

"Plan… Goblin Mode?" Arasha asked with her deadpan face and a serious tone.

"Yes. We have to make Ian realize that he doesn't have to be Anthony's sidekick again. He's the boss and Anthony can either go with the flow or suck it!"

"Yeah!" Chanse and Arasha answered like a little two-person army.

Shayne looked at them and his signature funny face appeared. He whispered: "Let's Do This!"

In the meantime, Ian and Anthony didn't have a clue that a plot was being hatched.

"I'm so happy that we have this level of trust with the cast, it's so refreshing not having to do everything my- ourselves, like, they are handling it!" Anthony was peacocking his swole arms behind his head and stretched his legs comfortably. "And it's all because of you, Ian."

"You know me, a great leader and president," Ian joked. "But forreal, I especially love Shayne and Amanda's podcast, they are handling that 100% and it's one of our best money-makers. If we can scale that…"

"Let's take it slow. There have been enough changes this past year, now it's time to focus on what truly makes you- us happy."

"Yeah," Ian smiled. "I really liked Let's Do This, though. I'd love to see that show restored in some way."

"Absolutely, we are going to make it work! But, Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"What are they doing?"

"Who -oh."

Three heads were pressed to the outside of their office window. Ian gestured for Shayne, Arasha and Chanse to come in.

"Hey, what's up?" Ian looked at them with annoyed fondness.

The trio got in position, and started to dance. Shayne did a beat-box, Arasha vibed along and Chanse began to rap and sing:

"Anthony, you're back, we had a blast at the roast

But you got to know we love Ian the most

You already have Ian in love with you

So now it's time to let us hang out with him too!"

"Put that on your tattoo!" Arasha added.

"Okay that's enough!" Ian said, trying to hide his laughter. "Get outta here!"

They left the office and Ian gestured apologetically at Anthony.

"Kids these days…"

Anthony had that look in his eyes again. "Ian, I know it was a joke, but is there some truth to the love thing?"

"What? Oh, that.. well.." Ian tried really hard to inspect the wall behind Anthony.

"Because it's true for me too.. Ian, please look at me?"

"Anthony-" Ian stammered. "Can we, can we talk about this somewhere else?"

"Yeah, we can. But you know, if Shayne and Courtney can make it work, why not us?"

"You're kinda right…"

The guys looked at each other, and something very heavy pulled them in, like gravity, and they were standing closer and closer to each other. Hands trembling, lips quivering.

"Anthony…"

"Damn, our plan backfired!" Shayne said with a mischievous smile.

"You mean it worked?" Courtney walked into the room.

"Yeah," Shayne replied and kissed Courtney on her cheek.

"This needed to happen," Chanse said. "The sexual tension was distracting everyone."

The only one not cheering was Arasha.

"But our father/son moments…"

[kalcifers-blog]

Angst warning, fic below!

Marvin: sun help here

It had been 18 minutes since Marvin message them for help. Of course the day they went out of town something happened.

Marv doesn't ask for help, keeping things close to his chest. Taking what he needs without telling anyone. Sunday couldn't tell if Marvin did that to protect himself or others. They just knew that Marvin wouldn't do the things he does if not to help someone.

But Marv now called for their help, for once, and there was no way they weren't going to respond.

The door was unlocked when they reached there, the closed sign displaying proudly. Perfect for privacy. Horrible if you need aid. They rushed into the place.

"Marvin I'm here! I would have come sooner if- shit"

The place was a mess, books scattered, furniture in the wrong place, spoons and forks from the kitchen everywhere, and Sunday could feel the discharge of electrical energy magic in the air in the dark place. But what was worse was the silence. They approached the stairs with caution that now seemed a lot steeper. Their hands at the ready if they needed to defend themselves.

"I'm coming up" They announced to no one. Which made them realise they hadn't yet heard the chimes of Higgins' bell. They slowly scaled towards the top.

If they thought downstairs was bad, upstairs was horrific. Books were not only everywhere but torned a shred. Soil proceeded from shattered pots as the house plants decayed. Signs of struggle everywhere they looked. They could hear their heart in their ears, which began to pound as they looked to the far left of the room.

Blood.

It was only a spot, but a spot was too much. Was it some sort of intruder? Who's blood was it? Marvin isn't weak. They started searching everywhere on the floor. Should they inform the Magic Circle? This has to be something worse. They were turning over anything that could cover a human person. Why can't they hear that bell. Why can't they hear Marvin. Where is Marvin-

They could hear breathing. From down a corridor. Shallow breaths. Long shallow breaths. Breaths of someone who just remembered they could control their breathing. Who was it? Did they see them? Sunday clutched the Bear carved figure around their neck, preparing to rip out a more intense spell if they needed to. Should they speak up? But if it was the intruder they would just be alerting their position. They stalked towards the breathing, feet dragging along the wooden floor. The breath continues, identifying it as coming from an ajar door. It seemed like a trap, a temptation. But they need to know if it was Marvin, and if not him, who did this to him. They grabbed the side of the door as their heart seemed to scream.

They didn't know if it was relief or terror they felt. A mix of both? Clawing inside of them at once.

Marvin's chest rose in rhythm, painted in his own blood. His eyes weren't focused, but opened. Bruises were across his fists and face. He was leaning against the wall on the floor, his legs outwards across the wood as weird, though fortunately normal, angles. He looked exhausted. He looked like shit. He looked like he wouldn't be able to get up alone. They could still feel that leftover electrical magic in the air. They crouched down.

"Marvin, damn, here, let me get you-"

Marvin's eyes snapped towards their own when they reached to touch him. Now suddenly alert of what was happening before him. He had an unreadable expression as he stared at Sunday. Sunday felt like they were being analysed. They continued to stare at each other. Tension was weighing down on them. Was Marvin disappointed in them? For not coming sooner? Or could he not tell it was them? Should they say they're Sunday? Or would that be confusing right now? They should say something, anything at all.

"At least you're not dead?"

Why did they say that. That's the best they could come up with? That was stupid.

They heard a muffled laugh.

Maybe not that stupid.

"Yeah, I at least have that" Marvin giggled, but the sound was strained, his throat sounding too sore. From chanting spells? From screaming? Regardless it would be straining the wound.

"Glad to see you can respond." Sunday muttered, smiling. It was nice to know that Marvin was conscious enough to make a quip. That it wasn't too bad, that they weren't too late. They went to reach for Marvin again, only for then to be stared down again. With eyes that seem to say don't.

"I'm fine."

"Like hell you're fine." Sunday barked. "You're covered in blood with an open wound."

"I've had worse... Probably."

"That doesn't make this any less bad Marv."

They stayed in their respective positions in silence for a while. Marvin once again looked Sunday over. They knew Marvin probably wouldn't react well if they reached for him again.

"I'm getting the first aid kit." Sunday decided. They could heal the wounds with spes but they needed to make sure there would be no infections. There was no protest from Marvin. Sunday got up to complete their self-appointed task.

"Where's Higgins?" They called across the floor as they grabbed the kit from it's place in the washing room cabinet. Taking out bandages and creams.

"Probably hiding." Marvin dismissed.

"You don't know?"

"They're fine." Marvin seemed to deadpan as Sunday returned. Which was not the only off-putting thing Marvin had done so far. He was trying to get up, and succeeded, despite the evident pain it was causing to his body. They were surprised the agony didn't seem to register in Marvin's face. Not to mention the action was opening the injury even more. The injury that they now had a much needed better view of.

"How the hell are you still talking?" Sunday query, as he stared at the injury that was the source of all of Marvin's blood. A gash. A large gash, across Marvin's neck, crimson pouring out of it. But Marvin had no reaction to it. They couldn't tell how deep the cut went, only that someone shouldn't be speaking with it.

Instead of replying Marvin shrugged. Humming instead.

He should not be standing.

"Did you try to heal yourself?" Sunday asked.

The wound was too deep, the more Sunday looked, the worse the injury seemed. Marvin was staring at them blankly again, analysing them again. He wasn't replying now.

"Marvin...?"

He wasn't replying. Something was very wrong.

"...Marv?"

They didn't see the knives downstairs. They saw the one coming for his throat.

"Shit!" They conjured a spell

They found the intruder.

GOD THIS IS SO GOOD HOLY SHIT???

Anti if that's you and you do a THING to Sunday it's hands on sight

Actually incredible tho I am EATING this up sm

[superconductivebean]

im here to yap about poppy x imelda (what i was put on this good planet to do) what do you think each of them finds the most attractive about the other? physically, emotionally & personality wise? i have my theories but i would LOOOOOVE to know yours <3

hmmmmmm we may call it then,

imelda x poppy headcanons - 3

Prolly a tw for graphic physical descriptions. Nothing sexual, just: scars, injures, and other things I think was logical for them to have.

To place it somewhere right away: my mc Julia's scar plays well in what Imaboutta share.

Physical:

Poppy looks… innocuous enough to suspect she has a very firm grip, a good amount of stamina, that she is very hard to tire down with long walks or other activities, not to mention Poppy has permanent skin discolourations, scars and other signs of working with beasts and creatures, plants and Herbology miscellanea. For Imelda, Poppy therefore is a reminder and a validation; a girl can look not just how she likes but also wear scars as a part of herself, a honeysuckle history mark left on her skin she shouldn't be afraid of. Imelda's quest for validation originates from the more conventionally or, no, another word: contemporary thinking people. To them, she somehow must look conventionally attractive and have no physical defect to herself. Otherwise, she's less… seen, less heard of, because people can't bear the thought of people being anything more than an embodiment of the whatever thing someone else has declared the beauty standard.

Anyone who deliberately abandons the idea of following the mob has her utmost attention. They're not living in the times when an open wear, however, but Hogwarts doesn't accommodate muggles. In Potions and Herbology students are encouraged to roll the sleeves up and doff robes; in Charms and DADA students get their clothing destroyed all the time; nobody remains in the day clothes at dorms. Yet, Imelda has side-eyes for how her arms look like, for example, and same goes to Poppy.

Imelda, as a Quidditch player, a chaser, has a sturdy build and she has her share of signs for once broken bones and skin torn open.

But she doesn't have quite the muscle mass; it is rather detrimental for Quidditch players to gain lots of it nor specifically train to acquire it, as they have to manoeuvre in the air and part of it lies in how they feel their own centre of mass, besides, the broom has its own not capacity but mind, if you will. Like on a horse, any change in mass of its rider will have it acclimatised for a while, even if it's short, it's still time. Which means, Quidditch players usually aren't deliberately shaping their bodies to a certain physique -- a detail often forgotten by the a-little-too-much aroused Quidditch public.

To Poppy it looks like Quidditch players are seemingly unaffected by the fulsome, if not downright filthy remarks. Poppy seeks this confidence about one's appearance, and Imelda seems a good teacher in how to let these comments slide. They can wear clothes with however much coverage they like but at the end of the day, nasty pieces of work with unsavoury made-up observations never shut up about how does one looks beneath it all -- nor they care for how much it starts to weigh on the mind with all these thoughts of "will she say anything after seeing that ugly mole?" or "how large that awful belly roll will grow, I need to change the diet" or "they're too big, no too small, no they're just atrociously looking pair" or -- you get the idea and it only get worse over time.

Their perception of each other creates a silly contrast of Imelda seeking something she thinks Poppy has while Poppy is all eyes for something Imelda simply must possess, and while they're at it, they don't realise they create these qualities to themselves by just admiring each other in a respectful -- and consensual -- manner.

I'll say, they thought a compliment or a validation like this absolutely couldn't sweep someone like her. THEY WERE VERY WRONG.

Sillies.

Emotionally:

They're both introverted, collected individuals but to each their own, passionate about things and respectful of each other needs in space and privacy. Imelda can be hot-heated, however, and Poppy can act surprisingly cold, it could lead to conflicts but would only last until they learnt why were they acting like that sometimes.

Imelda is open and feels free to tell what she thinks, but she may not necessarily mean anything, well, mean. That's how she was raised and although social interaction with poshhhh Slytherins had sanded her edges crudely, left places of her mind that splinter people on accident, she tries to work on it; which doesn't mean she will abandon being a little bit abrasive or brash.

She aims to be the person who says 'bitch' [affectionate] and if it'll irk people funnily, prompting their curiosity, she'll feel content.

Poppy, reserved and thoughtful, but also quite insightful, gradually helped her on her little quest on how to remain an outspoken girl. Because, well, one of the rare few quirks Poppy adopted from her parents was to be intimidatingly straightforward yet teasingly spleen with words.

Don't underestimate Poppy's sass, she has some wild lines in the game files, look, LONG LIVE THE QUEEN🤧🤧🤧:

There are so many things I'd rather do with my time.

Fight like you mean it or don't fight at all.

I shan't cower to you.

(laughs) Is this the first time you've held a wand?

May I suggest we not be here?

Oh goody. Undesirables.

That was brilliant! Do it again.

The music room is so disruptive with all those bells ringing again.

What are you doing here? Especially during the day.

Imelda has a thing for sassy people. She finds them similar to her and therefore she is sure they're able to tell when she's just herself and when she's actually mean anything other than what she wants to say.

Also, the House dynamics mention: idk who decided badgers are harmless, they quite literally eat snakes. Can not to mention that eagles can be as fierce and just chop off snake's head.

To conclude all this, their personalities are harmonious.

They are conversing, speaking, sharing things, all the time; problems and issues are never hidden and the fangs are never out; they've something -- or an illusion of it -- they crave to have, but it's not there, but instead of sighing and moving on, they grow into who they aspired to be or what they desired to have to themselves.

Their relationship is mutually beneficial I'll say; they're also very, mmmm, not clingy but affectionate people, cuddly, too.

Better together -- it's them.

P.S.

Brainrot: A song!

I've only the weirdest choices for the ship songs, but that one is also a choice for the narrative I sort of want each ship I have to adjust to.

It's a conversation. It's a deep yearning for connection and is only satiated after they start talking only to realise that feeling isn't going anywhere, that its magical fires aren't to be snuffed out; that it is the basis of the relationship, on so many levels, and something I might even call Fantasy for how rare I see of people doing just that -- talk.

To truly conclude the post, at why 'Echoes', David Gilmour's quote:

Echoes is a musical conversation between two people, Rick [Wright] and me. Sadly Rick is dead, and that's a conversation I can no longer have.

[springcatalyst]

5, 8, 16, 17 for that ask game :] i dont know a lot of your ocs yet so surprise me!

hell yesssss lets GO

5: Does your oc have a signature weapon and/or attack? How long did they have to train to master it?

I answered this one for Liliana already! SO I'll give you Brooke!

Brooke's weapon of choice is a hand-and-a-half sword she's had for years and years and years. It was granted to her when she reached the level of skill in her guild that allowed her to go on formal hunts. It being hand-and-a-half means its versatile: it can be used two-handed or one-handed. She values adaptability and flexibility in a fight, and is very bad at both of these things in everywhere else in her life. Being in a familial-based guild, she's honed her skills over, again, years and years and years and years, pretty much since she could physically perform the necessary motions. Even after dividing from it, she keeps the sword, as well as the pendant and armor, because to fully divest herself from the image of the guild feels like lying, like hiding some nasty truth, and she doesn't want to do that anymore. She keeps these things as symbols of what she was, but in doing so prevents herself from being able to be anything but that.

8: What was your ocs most embarrassing moment? Does it still bother them or are they able to shrug it off?

So I don't have a One Right Answer BUT I'll say that Diana is pretty intimately familiar with embarrassment and humiliation on a small scale? The thing about needing to do things Correctly and the emphasis placed on respectability and decency and being polite and doing what you're told and not making a fuss and Form and Function is that well. It gives you a lot of little ways in which you can fail and be punished for it. Typically the punishment is failing in of itself. Diana, by nature of the culture she lived in, was weighed down by reputation in a manner where her own leaks out to her family, meaning people other than her have a stake in it. It's kind of a self-assuring cycle even without that, but. It is also enforced. Did I even answer the question? Peace and love on planet earth.

16: How does your oc make money?

Julian is maybe the only bitch in here who had an actual normal source of income for a significant portion of the plot. Once he fucked off to the sea he hops around ships going wherever and is paid to work them- he gravitated more towards cargo ships because they sailed farther and longer than ferries or other passenger ships. Eventually he joins the Siren's Song- an interislandary that, because it's rougher work out far far longer and requires just a bit more experience and is less appealing to most, paid a bit more. He didn't really join it for the pay, though. It had a certain energy in the air that, at the time, he envied. This turns out to be a bad choice.

17: Does your oc have an enemy?

I also answered this one for Liliana teehee so. This other guy ->

Julian beefs with everybody all the time forever but there's this One Fucking Guy on the Siren's Song that he just. Hates for all he's worth. It IS two-way because Julian also gets on Warren's nerves All The Fucking Time. Sometimes it's on purpose, because seeing how far he can push him without real consequences is fun, but sometimes it's not, because they are two people with very different ideas of how they function in the world. To Julian, Warren is a sort of needless cruelty, nose where it doesn't belong, breaking unspoken rules that exist for a reason type of person. To Warren, Julian is a kind of high horse, careless for the other men in the crew, manipulating his favor with the people in power to get what he wants type of person. Honestly, they're both right. They don't get to just throw hands about it because they are crewmates- you can't fight amongst yourselves at sea, it hinders the function of the ship, the first mate stops anything from starting (the captain... he doesn't care as much. he'll let it happen if it's entertaining enough). So they just sit there boiling hatred at each other until eventually.,.. well the first mate can't always be around.

OC ASK GAME :]

[instantartific]

ও DJ SUBATOMIC SUPERNOVA x Reader Headcanons

This one was a long time coming but it's here!! As with the J one, the more direct stuff is under the cut! I really enjoyed this and had the ideas for a while, just never wrote them down.

Enjoy ও

✧

The only way you're getting close to him is if you somehow become a part of his routine. He likes patterns and is very adverse to unnecessary change, and if you're a part of his comfortable to-and-fro, you have the chance at getting his attention. If you're lucky, you'd see him about once a month. If you're really lucky, once a week.

He's very, very analytic. Analyzing people is the reason he so easily makes the distinctions between who he does and does not consider worth his attention; those first few seconds, a full thirty if he's intrigued, can determine whether or not he'll be willing to strike up harmless conversation. If you're lucky, he'll shrug part of his headphones to the side to better hear you. If you're really lucky, he'll take them off and fully turn towards you.

The first conversation you have with him, he'll spend the majority of it analyzing you more than being involved. He's distracted, yes, but by you—he'll even ask seemingly irrelevant questions for the sheer sake of weighing your answer. The second time around, or if he becomes satisfied during that first meeting, he'll be a lot more expressive or borderline content. Which isn't saying very much.

Most conversation that veers towards himself gets redirected or not answered in full. There's very simple things he'll answer (if he's in a good mood,) yes, but anything marginally personal will result in a non-answer or another question.

An example of this is that you will never know his "real name" in the same sense that you will never know the full extent of his life before this city. Whatever moniker you come up with that appeases him will suffice and all you need to know about his past is that he was raised far enough from this city that he could clearly see the stars at night.

Most of the time his expressed emotions are fairly dulled down. He's pleased, neutral, or furious. That's about it. It's rare that he'll show more than that.

Rare, at least... until "certain things he's quite unused to" consume so much more of his everyday life than he's ever been used to.

Certain things like... kindling bonds that he figured he'd never need to have again. After all, things like these are very, very distracting from his work. It would be difficult to do anything if all that sits on the forefront of your mind is someon—er, something else, no?

Emotions are sorted into categories. Whatever category this is is one he hasn't touched in so long he'd forgotten it was there.

And to some extent, it's one that he's... he's unsure if he even wants it. It's distracting. Admittedly, it is akin to a breath of fresh air, but he doesn't need that! He's perfectly fine with his work, with his purpose. He doesn't need anything to take him from it.

He doesn't need any distractions.

... But by the time he's willing to admit to himself just how far things have gotten, he's already drowning.

And by all the stars above, does he hate it.

He hates it more than anything else. Does that stop it by any means? No. No, it does not. But oh, does he wish it could. That would make his life far, far easier.

Because the way he loves is... it's almost chaotic and, arguably, almost as destructive as his implosions can be, though on a level much more psychological than physical. He loves to the extent of destruction and driving himself mad trying to figure out the "object of his affections" like they're simply a puzzle to be solved.

Which, to an extent, you are; you are an enigma that he simply cannot understand because, to his logic, the mere concept that you might "love" him does not make sense.

If it isn't somehow "proven" to him to be a kind of absolute fact, and it's something that he wants himself? He'll obsess over trying to prove it beyond hypothetical interactions, because

Even if it is presented as fact to him, it would... take some time for it to fully "click" together in his mind. It still doesn't make sense, but somehow it's... there's reason to believe it is true. Even if he doesn't exactly know what that means, either.

No matter how much he personally wants it to be true, if it doesn't click, he'll chide himself to no end for "misconstructing your intentions." The more he cares about the specifics of your "intentions," the more... erratic he'll grow to be around you over time.

And even then, there's so many different meanings to that one flimsy word, isn't there? Being as literal as possible, you just mean that you care about him to a great degree (which in and of itself is difficult for him to believe, but if it's true, he can't... dispute it, can he?) How is he supposed to know what you're actually referring to? You could mean that you simply greatly value the friendship you have, or that—

... If it isn't clear, you'd have to sit him down and spell it out to him in the most direct and concrete phrasing you can fathom to fully ease his conscience. Which would likely provide more questions that it'd be wise to be prepared to answer, unless you're good on your feet. The first of which being:

"Why?"

Why, because he has to prove you wrong. Because he doesn't want you to be. Because he feels like he'll snap if he can't make sense of this any longer. Because he knows how to answer that for you, but he needs to know how you would answer for him.

Because he needs to know if you mean it.

But... after that, if you can finally manage to get through to him... it would go a lot smoother.

Maybe he'd allow himself to finally enjoy this. Though, it'd take a while longer to figure out what that means.

[coachbeards]

okay now for a tl question: as someone who also dislikes season three, i'm curious to know how you would have liked season 3 to end? i'm pretty sure you've talked abt it before but i'd love to hear your thoughts.

well, i think there are a lot of things that could've happened....but i'm not entirely sure, as i haven't seen the season since it aired. that means i can't give the biggest in depth answer to it regarding every single tl character, so i'll just give my thoughts on what i think should've happened............................................for beard

first of all, he should've broken up with jane after mom city. i've talked a lot about that, and how i believe that beard's forgiveness of nate should've been shown as a forgiveness of himself as well, and by extension beard finally beginning his journey of self-healing. because, no. forgiving nate didn't Heal beard, not by a long shot, but it helped fix a little bit within himself that would've paved the road to his breaking up with jane. realizing he didn't need to be punished anymore.

so, if there was no jane involved in the finale, there would be no wedding or beard choosing jane over ted.

HOWEVER. i think it would've been amazing to see beard choose richmond anyways.........finally making a choice for himself. he came to richmond in the first place because ted asked him to, and he was willing to leave richmond all because ted asked him to. ignoring the jane of it all, beard choosing to stay in richmond because he wants to....he wants to continue coaching the team, he wants to complete their mission of winning the whole fucking thing, he wants to nurture those relationships he made and be .,,,, well. his own independent person, something we never really saw considering he was either following ted or following jane. never on his own.

regarding the other characters,

JAMES DIDN'T DESERVE TO BE FORGIVEN. i am all for james's recovery arc, showcasing him in rehab and actively trying to get better. but just because a character is in recovery doesn't automatically erase all the harm they've done, nor does it mean their victims need to forgive them for anything. i think jamie should've been shown to grapple with what he wanted to do, forgive him or not, and come to the conclusion that he doesn't need to do anything. he doesn't need to care what james thinks of him anymore, he doesn't deserve to have that weighing on him. i think jamie should've been shown to be ... idk not Happy or Supportive, but be okay with james in recovery, but draw boundaries that he doesn't need to do anything past that. he should've had someone tell him it was his choice, rather than being told to forgive him.

roy should've been in therapy earlier on in the season than last second. i'm glad that roy is seeking help, obviously, but i think it would've bettered his arc if we saw more of it starting like,,,, 3x08 onwards. maybe. idk. again, i haven't seen s3 since it aired.

not sure about rebecca, since i didn't really pay attention to her arc that much in s3 (sorry to all) because i disliked the psychic aspect so much. i like her ending up with the dutch man! wish we got more of them between 3x06 and the finale, but i understand the romcom aspect of reuniting with someone you thought you'd never see again. i don't hate her ending !!!!

ted needed to go back to kansas, sorry. it wasn't dottie "forcing" him to go back, even though i will admit she's a pretty shit parent lmao. but it wasn't like that wasn't the plan from the very start. could it have been handled better? absolutely! should've jason played ted with way more emotion in 3x12? YES. but,,, come on. ted is a father first and foremost. before a coach, friend, romantic interest, etc. he's a father. and that's actually been a really big part of his character, so i never understood when people said that it "came out of nowhere" or it was so "out of character" for him.........to....be with his son? DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE HENRY LASSO HATE. i swear some of y'all forget the message of being curious, not judgemental lmao. ted was always supposed to go back to henry. i don't agree with the idea of uprooting a literal child to a whole other country, though i can picture there being a time where they do move back to richmond together! the door is left open, not closed! i could picture him going there as a teenager and going to school there, but again. he's like.....12 lmao. ted's arc always circled around his son...and he needed to go back.

also keeley just deserved better. i'm perfectly okay with her remaining single at the end of the show, as i do think that that could've helped her heal herself and her relationships with other people and her career. no, giving her a romantic ending wouldn't have impacted her career, but i think i like where she ended up. on her own, with her new friend of barbara and their company, her and rebecca, and even her and roy and jamie!!!!!!! i think there's chances for their to be romance, but like. i think considering how much of keeley's arc has revolved around romance, it's nice that she didn't end up with anyone. idk.

[omegalomania]

Hello this is random but that post you made yesterday about the I'm like a lawyer debut has given me so many brain worms. Do you happen to know Why it was such a huge, shocking thing for them to play/watch? I've been trying to figure out why but can't seem to find any information. Thanks in advance! :)

oh my god i wrote a whole thing and then tumblr's piece of shit editor DELETED it. take 2 here we go

one thing i wanna emphasize is that i'm just some guy and by no means the most qualified to discuss this. anyone who has the capacity to weigh in constructively is absolutely encouraged to do so. this is just what i know/remember.

SO the video fall out boy did for "i'm like a lawyer with the way i'm always trying to get you off (me & you)" was done pretty unconventionally for them. it doesn't feature them super heavily and instead focuses on a pair of ugandan teens who fall in love until one night the boy is stolen from his home and conscripted as a child soldier. he manages to escape and reunites with the girl and by the video's end they're standing together and holding hands. the band features very peripherally, just kind of playing in between the larger story beats.

fall out boy went to gulu, uganda for the shoot, and shot the video entirely in 24p cameras so they could donate the money that would have gone to music video costs to a local cause in the area (pete doesn't specify but he says he thinks it's going to a school). they also used the video to highlight a nonprofit organization called invisible children, whose mission statement is to prevent the use of child soldiers by a particular group called the LRA (who were operating in uganda at the time). if you were on the internet in the 2010s you probably remember the "kony 2012" viral video campaign; i certainly do. the movement initially aimed to get the guy in charge of the LRA arrested, but ultimately it also kind of exposed a lot of controversy about the invisible children organization itself, how legit their intentions and methods were, and so on. again, there's a lot going on here and i'm not the best person to unpack it so i do encourage you to read up on this on your own.

the important part is that this video was shot in 2007, aka a full 5 years before kony 2012 became a household name. basically fob's intention was to raise awareness for a really long-running civil war going on in africa, and to basically put their money where their mouth is. regardless of the efficiency and effectiveness of the invisible children organization (which i think is very worth criticizing for my part), pete at least believed in the ethos of it - he took part in pushes to raise awareness in the US prior to embarking on the video shoot. he figured if people were gonna be paying so much attention to fall out boy anyway, maybe they could shine that spotlight on people who could use it.

again, this was filmed on location, so they were actually there - they've all cited this particular trip as pretty life-changing to say the least. pete did some journal entries during this time and uploaded them all in one block after the video debuted in july 2007, in which he talks about being just generally kind of scared but also excited. the one entry that i think stands out to me most in that is this one:

t.i.a.- the acronym for the most applicable phrase ever. when the taxi never comes, or drops you off at the wrong spot, when the electricity goes off every single night, when there is sand in your rice- "this is africa" is simply what is said. at an ngo hotspot resturaunt- the only people that go to africa are christian or have a deathwish- not sure where we fit into that. so many white people it felt like the suburbs. there are over 100 ngos in gulu alone and the people still live in utter despair. at dinner people spoke of danger and missions- of the congo- the way people back home speak of gambling in vegas or frat parties. you win some, you lose some. the air everywhere smells acrid and burnt. ive been told its because people burn their trash here. walked part of the way in the pitch black , kind of as tho we had a mugger fantasy. oh well. ended up on the backs of "boda bodas"- these little 300cc motorbikes shooting off under the stars. and they never looked so goddamned bright anywhere on this planet as they do tonight in gulu. im gone.

so to answer your question: it was an intense (and emotional) video in that it a) was genuinely aimed toward spotlighting a social cause, and b) it was very very unlike any fall out boy video that had been done prior to then. this was 2007 so fob was at the peak of their prehiatus fame, and the whole celebrity culture crush was at an all-time high. i dont want to claim that they were the only artist doing this kind of thing at the time but it did kind of stand out compared to the way fob were being marketed during this stage (as in a focus on appearances and how they were these cute nonthreatening boys).

[ashleywool]

Hello! Saw the show on Sunday and loved every second! I'm also a non-union performer who is neurodivergent (ADHD with anxiety comorbidity though I suspect it could be something more) and I've lately been struggling with navigating the audition process and its characteristics (loud waiting rooms, disruption of routine, long travel days, over stimulation of NYC itself) with my how my brain works.

I also live a bit far from the city so I usually need to weigh pros and cons when deciding what to go out for. And I find I'm constantly weighing the effects on my mental state against the opportunities it could give me. Are their things you or your cast mates do to help accommodate during situations like that? Do you think their are accommodations that the theatre community could put in place in audition spaces to better include neurodiverse talent?

To be clear, the actual audition part of it never bothers me it's always the easiest part. I just find I feel completely fried by the time I get in the room because of what it took mentally to get myself there.

Either way How to Dance in Ohio is such a breath of fresh air and I hope it manages to find life after Broadway either on tour or in schools or maybe a spot off-broadway. It has so much more good to give.

Ooooof. I feel this. All of it. I'm originally from northern Westchester and I spent many exhausting commutes doing exactly this.

I would honestly say the best thing you can do for yourself is to join Equity if you are eligible. It's a better audition experience all around, you can sign up for appointments in advance on the member portal and view projects that accept self-tapes, AND it will get you in the room for better jobs.

If you aren't eligible yet or just don't feel ready to compete on that level yet, I'd recommend focusing more on local projects over the big NYC cattle calls. I don't know exactly where you live or what your regional/community theatre scene is like, but I do know that those theaters are the ones that are struggling the most right now and could use people who are passionate and want to build their resumes. It's a lot easier to get seen and get cast, you'll be able to keep your day job and not tunnel-vision your life around waiting on line for crappy nonunion tours that charge Broadway prices but pay minimum wage, AND you will likely meet a lot of people who will get to know you much better and more personally than a casting director ever could in a 2-minute window.

Keep in mind, also, that when you walk into a professional audition and a casting director looks at your resume, they don't care how much you were paid for a job or what kind of contract you were on. And they don't care how you got your Equity card. The only people who care about that stuff are bitter judgmental actors who need the gatekeeping to feel better about themselves (and no matter what your answer is, they won't like you anyway). The people who actually matter only care that you're on time, prepared, friendly, open to direction, and right for the role they need.

As for actually doing the professional NYC audition grind, here are some pro-tips:

-Opt for appointments and self-tapes over "open calls" whenever possible.

-CONTINUE being selective about the projects you go out for. Trust me, I did many years of the "throw all the spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks" method, and it doesn't work, and it will only burn you out more.

-Don't overthink your audition material. You don't need exact 16-bar cuts of ten different in your book for every style of musical theatre. You can do the "overdone" songs and monologues if they fit who you are and the roles you can conceivably play. It's New York. Everything is overdone. YOU are not overdone.

-Dress comfortably. Sounds obvious, but it took me way too long to realize that no, really, I do not have to wear heels to an audition. Be strategic with layers.

-Get a rolling suitcase over a backpack. Way less strain.

-Noise. Cancelling. Headphones. Also, make playlists of your "comfort" songs and your "motivation" songs and your "wind-down" songs and your "zone-out" songs so you have predictable, appropriate background noise to whatever you're doing--commuting, waiting in the holding room, eating lunch, etc. Preferably songs that are not from musicals and have nothing to do with whatever shows you're auditioning for. Auditioning is a job and you need a work-life balance there too.

-Do something else in the city unrelated to auditioning or performing. Go to a museum or a park or just a cute coffee shop where you can just EXIST and not perform.

I hope these help <3

[skzhocomments]

Broken hearts can heal - Choi Minho SHINee Fanfic - Chapter IV - Home is a person

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad link

AO3 link

Chapter III / Chapter V

---

Chapter IV - Home is a person

word count: 1.6k words

"Okay, time to get up." Minho said sternly approaching the bed. Despite the harshness in his tone, his eyes were very much gentle, but extremely tired, and still red. "You've laid in bed too much. You have to exercise."

You sighed. You didn't want to get up. You wanted to lay there and die.

Why weren't you in the same car as Kibum?

No, Da-Eun, you can't be selfish like that. You scolded yourself and petted your belly, who was already weighing you down a lot after 7 long months of pregnancy.

"Okay." You got up and made your way towards the bathroom to wash up a bit.

It felt hard to function.

Still, it wasn't just you you were killing, and your baby didn't deserve it.

You love him so much.

Kibum loved him.

"Let's get you dressed and go out for a walk." Minho smiled at you and looked proud of the small achievement you did today: getting out of bed.

Taemin and Jinki were lying on the floor in the living room and watching TV, laughing loudly.

You wished you could laugh like them.

You nodded shortly and went back to the bedroom, finding some comfortable clothes.

You sighed again.

It was so hard to do even the simplest tasks.

Still, Minho was right, and you needed to exercise a bit. You couldn't just lay in bed your whole life. Not when someone else will soon depend on you.

Minho drove you to a nearby park with a big lake. You walked together along the shore and you breathed in fresh air for the first time in 2 weeks. The shy autumn rays felt pleasant on your face.

"Doesn't it feel better?" Minho asked you, smiling.

"Yea. This place is beautiful. It's new."

"Really? How so?"

"Mhm. I haven't been here with Key before. It feels good... to be somewhere where I don't have any memories to remind me that he's gone." You said quietly, but Minho heard you, and he hummed.

"It will feel like that for a while, but... time will pass, and you will stitch the wounds, and you won't always bleed. One day, you'll even be able to look back on the life you had with him and think of all those memories fondly, without pain." He placed his hand on the back of your waist and hugged you as you started crying.

He was crying too.

"You think so?" You asked him.

"Yes."

"Will it keep hurting?"

"Yes. But not as much as it does right now. I promise."

You nodded and hugged him tighter.

~

You started spending more time with the boys, who seemed to be on rotation to stay with you. All of them had work, but Minho seemed to always be there, either doing something around the house, trying to cook, cleaning, or taking you out for daily walks and just staying in your presence.

You also started spending more time outside the bedroom and tried to create a little routine. The first few days, it only consisted of getting out of bed and walking to the living room to watch TV with Taemin for 30 minutes or so. Then, you started talking to Jinki more, and even did small tasks with Minho around the house. Laundry, simple things.

"Uhm, Minho?" You hesitated, but seeing Minho's kind smile made you gather your courage.

"Yes, Da-Eun?"

"Do you... happen to have some time tomorrow at 1?"

"Of course. What do you want to do?"

"I'm around 34 weeks now, so I have a doctor's appointment... just a regular check-up. Do you maybe... uhm, want to come with me?"

"Sure, I'll take you." He smiled.

"No... not just take me. I'm... asking you if you want to come with me."

"Oh."

"It's okay if you don't-"

"I'd love to." He looked at you sincerely. "Thank you so much for asking me. I'd... really love that."

"Okay." You smiled, happy for your little conquest. "I'm seeing a new doctor because my old one has some health issues, and I'm a bit nervous. Thanks."

You needed support for this pregnancy, so you really wanted someone to come with you. While Taemin and Jinki were good friends of yours, you felt the closest to Minho lately, as he's been your rock through everything.

You wondered if he even had time to process his own grief. That worried you.

Still, you needed to be selfish for your baby's sake, so you didn't bring it up. It wasn't the time.

"It will be okay. I'm sure the new doc will be great. It's the same practice, right?"

"Yep."

"There's nothing to worry about. We'll go together, yea?"

You nodded.

"And there's something else... Key and I were in the process of building up the nursery for the baby. Do you think we could also go shopping for a bit afterwards? There's still things to be bought..."

"Yes, let's do that too. Do you have a list of what you need?"

"I'll go make one."

"Great." Minho smiled. "Let me know if you need any help."

~

"The baby is healthy and thriving! Heartbeat is normal. He's already getting into the headfirst position, which is amazing." The doctor nodded his head and smiled.

"That's good to hear." You smiled, holding Minho's hand.

"So, did you have any unusual symptoms, something to worry about? Your complexion looks a bit weak. Any discharge, bleeding or contractions?"

"No, everything's fine."

"What about movement?"

"He's very active. Kicks a lot." You chuckled.

"Maybe you've got the next biggest football player in there." The doctor joked, and Minho smiled.

He held your hand tighter.

"Okay then, since everything seems normal so far, you can go home and just continue as usual. Don't overdo things around the house, though. Since we're approaching your due date, I'd like you to come weekly for check-ups, okay?"

"Okay." You nodded.

"Are there any questions you'd like to ask me?"

"... no, not really." You replied after thinking for a bit.

"No?" He chuckled. "Most couples would ask me if they can still have sex. For the record, the answer is yes, of course, it doesn't hurt the baby in any way, nor does it induce labour. You'd better get at it while you still can, since you'll have to wait at least 6 weeks, if not more, after delivery. Just don't go crazy on positions. You got that, dad?" He playfully slapped Minho's back two times, and both of you grew red in the face.

Of course, your new doctor wouldn't know that Minho and you were not together, and neither of you felt it was necessary to correct him at that moment. The only thing that mattered to you was that, despite him not being the father of the child or your boyfriend, he was there for you, holding your hand.

After the doctor's visit, you went out just as discussed to pick together items for your nursery. You already had most necessities for the baby. All you wanted to get today was a bassinet and a cabinet that acts as a changing table as well, so you can change him, and keep all his diapers and bodysuits in the same place. Minho graciously paid for everything, despite your protests.

On the way home, you got to talk a bit more.

"So, how was your time in Europe?" You smiled, noticing a sparkle in his eyes for the first time ever since Kibum died.

"Key told you about it?" He chuckled.

"He was missing you." You laughed. It was weird to talk about him in past tense. You didn't like that. "Did you shoot a movie, or what was that about?"

"Yea, a new drama. Do you enjoy watching them?" He asked you, taking his eyes off the road every few seconds when you or he would talk.

"Yea. Actually, I think after we're done unboxing and building those," you pointed to the back of the car "I'm going to start a new drama and binge watch it..."

"You can start it as soon as we get home." He chuckled. "I'll build them."

"I'd rather we build them together and then watch the drama..." Your voice trailed off. You didn't want him to misunderstand you in any way, but you felt the need to be in someone else's company. "By the way, are the others still there?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. Jinki needed to go take care of some business, so probably not, and Taemin is, well, Taemin. He's unpredictable." Minho laughed.

"He has two kids to take care of anyway." You joked, referring to his adorable cats.

"That's true."

"By the way... you know you don't have to... stay with me, right?" You smiled. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate your support, and I am extremely grateful that the apartment is not empty, and that I got to see and hear other people when all I wanted was to melt away in my bed, but... you also have a life to live."

"We know that, Da-Eun, don't worry. It's just... we want to be there for you. Of course, when the baby comes, we'll let you have privacy, I'll come visit to bring you food and stuff, but we won't wear out our welcome."

"I just needed you to know that while I appreciate it, I don't want you to feel forced to... spend time with me, you know?"

Minho placed his hand on your arm tenderly and smiled at you nodding, letting you know that you can relax and not overthink about it.

"I can't believe he's going to grow up without a father, Minho..." You looked down at his hand and felt a terrible dread settling down in your stomach.

You just told Minho everyone can keep going with their lives, but you were so scared of doing it alone. You truly appreciated everyone being there for you. They don't know how much it meant to you to not be utterly alone in that depressing house that you couldn't call home anymore.

It's true when they say home is not a place, but a person.

---

Chapter III / Chapter V

[sonoftheshield]

Are they a fast or slow talker? Do they tend to stutter? Are their words clear and crisp when they speak?

Speech Patterns for Colton James Rogers:

1. Normal, Polite Conversations:

Pace: Colton is a slower talker in casual and polite situations, which gives him an air of calm confidence. This also reflects his thoughtful nature—he doesn't rush his words and takes time to consider what he's saying.

Tone: His tone is likely warm, smooth, and charismatic—a bit of that "silver tongue" charm. He inherited some of Steve's natural leadership qualities, but he adds his own modern touch of diplomacy, making him someone who others are drawn to. People might feel like Colton’s carefully chosen words carry a lot of weight.

Word Choice: Colton’s vocabulary is articulate, respectful, and often diplomatic. He avoids slang in formal settings but isn’t afraid to use it in casual moments. His conversations are laced with respect and empathy, much like his father, but he may also be more witty and quick to banter in relaxed environments.

Example: “I appreciate your perspective, and I think there’s a way we can work together to find a solution that benefits everyone. Let’s take it one step at a time.”

2. High-Stress or Combat Situations:

Pace: In moments of extreme stress, particularly in battle or when lives are at stake, Colton’s speech may quicken. His mind races with tactical thoughts, so he might struggle to keep up with what he’s trying to say.

Tone: In high-stress moments, his usually calm and composed voice might become tense or urgent. If the situation becomes overwhelming, his voice may waver slightly, and the calm control he exudes in casual situations could falter.

Stuttering: While normally articulate, Colton could develop a slight stutter when faced with immense pressure, especially when lives are on the line. It could manifest when he’s feeling uncertain or if he’s grappling with tough decisions (such as weighing personal sacrifices or moral dilemmas).

Word Choice: He might become more terse, opting for direct, clipped phrases, especially in combat. However, when giving commands or making difficult calls, his words could come out less polished, reflecting his internal conflict or stress.

Example: “W-we need to move—now! There’s no time. I’ll hold them off, just g-go!”

3. In Conflict or Personal Confrontation:

Pace: In personal confrontations—like arguments with teammates, family, or friends—Colton might begin speaking faster as emotions rise, but he’ll try to hold himself back. His pace might vary, reflecting his internal battle between staying composed and giving in to his emotions.

Tone: His voice would still be clear, but perhaps a little strained when he’s trying to balance maintaining his cool and expressing frustration. When it comes to deep, personal conflicts (like arguments about his father’s legacy), his voice may even become softer, but more pointed.

Word Choice: Colton is careful with his words, even in conflict, but if his emotions get the better of him, he might slip into more raw, unfiltered language. He tends to prioritize being respectful and composed, but close relationships (like with a mentor or teammate) could draw out a more vulnerable, emotionally-charged side of him.

Example: “You don’t understand what it’s like living in his shadow. I know you’re trying to help, but… sometimes it feels like I’m never going to be enough.”

4. Moments of Deep Thought/Introspection:

Pace: When Colton is lost in thought or wrestling with tough moral dilemmas, he would likely slow down even more, speaking carefully and deliberately, as if he’s unsure whether he’s found the right words yet.

Tone: His tone would shift to be more quiet and reflective, less commanding. He may sound almost hesitant as he works through the complexity of the situation in his head.

Word Choice: His language here would be more philosophical, focused on the weight of his choices and the legacy of his father. He’s thoughtful but may sometimes struggle with expressing his doubts or inner conflict fully, leading to moments of quiet pauses or trailing off.

Example: “Sometimes I wonder… if I’m doing this for the right reasons. Am I trying to honor him, or… am I just trying to prove that I’m not a failure?”

5. When Giving a Speech or Rallying Others:

Pace: Colton’s pace in these moments would be steady and measured, reminiscent of his father’s inspiring speeches but with a more modern and relatable touch. He doesn’t rush his words, and he knows how to pause for effect.

Tone: His tone would be full of conviction and passion, especially when addressing a crowd or rallying his teammates. He would speak with strength and confidence, projecting leadership and the belief that people can achieve great things together.

Word Choice: Here, Colton would lean into inspiring, hopeful language. He’s inherited his father’s knack for delivering rousing, patriotic speeches, but his approach may be more grounded and less idealistic, recognizing the complexities of the world. He appeals to the common person, making his words resonate on a personal level.

Example: “We’ve all faced impossible odds before. And yeah, the world’s different now, more divided than ever. But that’s exactly why we’re here. Together, we can show them that hope isn’t lost—no matter what they throw at us. We fight for the future, because that’s what heroes do.”