#this is a whole lot of me ranting on about nothing

[queenburd]

it's not going to let me rest until i write about it, so tonight I want to talk about the TSP2 Expo in Ultra Deluxe, and why it's a thing at all, and what it means about the Narrator, and how deeply self-conscious he is.

The Expo is, and I say this without exaggeration, the Narrator's deep, desperate need to respond to the audience and the reviews from the Skip button ending. They say he's not funny; he makes "a whole lot of gags". He's still reactionary, he makes all of this in response to (and in my mind, in the downtime during) the Skip button, and it's the first thing you can find right after the game resets from the Skip button.

He's not over it.

TSPUD in general is in a big way about the relationship between an artist and their audience. (i swear on my life i've written those words before...) it's about how a creator can and does create for themself but does, on a real level, yearn for an audience to understand and appreciate, while also being scared that people wont get it, and also being scared about "needing" a reaction to begin with.

Create for oneself, sure, but you still want people to like the thing you made. You want them to experience it, this thing you put so much time into. You want them to laugh at the jokes, that's why the jokes are there, and you hope they hit right.

Elements of that have always been in TSP but they're at the forefront of TSPUD and especially all the Expo stuff. Even while the Narrator, in Skip button rants, berates the audience for wanting jokes and gags and bits to distract them, he immediately wants to please. He's yearning to be understood, and he thinks if he can just give the people what they want, then surely they'll find the meaning in his work.

And then there's that darn Bucket. And while the Bucket feels like, at times, a stand-in for the Narrator or a way for him to project, it's easier for me to see him trying to frame Stanley's bond to the Bucket as a parallel to his bond to Stanley, instead of the other way around.

Stanley is the thing that is here in this world and story to comfort the Narrator. But Stanley is also the thing that can crush the Narrator's spirit.

In the Press Conference Ending, Stanley's bold new approach to story-telling gets him lauded, gets him praise. In the Bucket version, he tries to make the Bucket understand him through other people understanding him, and it fails. It scans as the Narrator desperately trying to reach out to Stanley, even as he tries to get adoration from an audience. Stanley only has eyes for the Bucket in the Apartment ending; in the end, the Narrator only has Stanley for company, and he on some level wants Stanley to appreciate him. He asks for feedback in the Games ending. And while nothing will ever really make him happy, there, he still asks.

In the end, Stanley's the only audience that really matters. He wants Stanley to like the things he makes.

"Why did I create Stanley? Was I lonely?"

He was. And the audience he's looking for isn't one he can interact with.

TSPUD is about a creator's relationship with an audience, hoping they will play the game, and like the game, and understand the game, so that they'll keep playing. And the game "ends" when the creator says "okay. I think I'm ready to try something new. for real this time!"

And then he gets pulled right back, because the audience response is just so uproarious. How can you move on from a thing that did, on some level, garner you success? Shouldn't you just stick with the thing that made you successful? But how do you make it better, when it felt like a complete work?

When do you get to move on? When do you make that choice? Will the audience understand? Will they follow you? Or do they just want more of the same?

The answer isn't simple.

[rabvan]

spymaster, becoming the doctor, and gardening – a little character study

anyone else obsessed with the master and margarita short story?? no?? just me?? oh well you’re getting a character analysis anyway, long rant about spymasters obsession with the doctor via mushrooms under the cut :3

tw for dissociation and substance induced hallucinations (weird ahh mushrooms as torture)

for those of you who haven’t read the master and margarita (i def recommend its super fun) it’s about what dhawan!master was doing during his 77 years on earth in that time skip during spyfall 2. he’s a mushroom farmer in russia, crazy hijinks and thoschei references ensue. maybe i’m going too deep into it but i really love the idea of him as a gardener and what that implies for everything we see in ttc/potd

i’d like to start with the fact that out of all the masters, dhawans is the one least confident in his identity. classic who masters and saxon held their title with pride with their “he’s the master and you will obey him” shtick. missy, even when she was debating her morality, never saw herself as anything other than missy. her title wasn’t being questioned, it was what she chose to do with it. meanwhile, spymaster just... loses himself after looking into the panopticon. he’s faced with the reality that the doctor is more important than he could ever be, and given that he sees his worth as interwoven with hers (the history between us, constantly refers back to their past/when they were equal), this makes him lose all sense of self. it used to be theta and koschei. the doctor and the master. now it’s just the timeless child and….. that’s it. there’s no significant place for him in her life. what’s he supposed to do now, when he’s based his whole history around her?

easy! fracture himself into different personalities, hide behind disguises (i mean, THREE disguises in one episode? calm down dude) in an attempt to hide his unimportance. while the timeless child is the story of child abuse and colonialism, a hurt the doctor will have to live with even if she can’t remember it, the master sees it as a triumph. he is lesser. she is the timeless child and she has existed forever and he is some dumb timelord who fell in love and meant nothing to her in the long-run. he feels like he’s not deserving of being in his own skin anymore so he hides behind whatever name and personality he can find.

but the thing about all his disguises is that they are so human. agent o, a shy little analyst at MI6 with the wide eyed stare and wits to be the doctor’s companion. rasputin, famous bachelor and a piece of history the doctor would notice. he says he despises humans but he dresses up as them because well, do you know who does love them? the doctor :(

which is why his name and intentions in the master and margarita are soooo so interesting to me. first off, his human alias is mikhail (“son of god”, writer of the og master and margarita) afanasyevich (“immortal”, also the og writer of master and margarita) gospodinov (roughly translated to “lord” and “master”). he steals a name, just like rasputin in potd, with a lot of weight on who he is right now. an emphasis on “immortal” “time lord” when hes dealing with the pressure of ttc. hes basically copying the doctor and making a title for himself like the ‘timeless child’ to feel equal again. it’s not the only time he copies the doctor either, hes basically working for “evil russian unit” in this short story. 

(remind you of anything?? yes im talking about the doctor-master. super cool foreshadowing on how hes been trying to become/be one with the doctor before potd)

and it’s literally in the text. the whole reason he spends months cultivating mushrooms for russia is to change history a bit so that jo grant’s marriage will be ruined. such a Doctor thing to do, kind of parallels clara and danny. to love a human is to be overly dramatic over them. the master, again, uses humans for his own benefit but has never been overly fond of them, with the exception of the doctors little companions. hes copying her again.

but the thing is, he keeps cultivating them. he gains a love for caring for them. mushrooms are just mushrooms until they arent. in a time where he thinks he’s the doctors opposite, he begins farming mushrooms bc of jo grant, a detail the doctor would remember just bc he misses her. he couldve spent his time escaping and getting back to his regular timeline to defeat the doctor, but he stayed. because of a human attachment. very doctor-y.

and if that bit of nostalgia wasn’t enough, he even hallucinates the third doctor in this. Which. okay. give me a non-thoschei explanation for this.

i just really like what that short story has to offer as far as the masters obsession with other people and his disguises go. and what it means for him to spend months of his live caring for something, like the doctor would, when all hes done before is kill. what does it mean for the champion of death to cultivate life :(

nyways, if you made it this far, i really hope you enjoyed !! i just love talking about spymaster can you tell lmfaooo and if you liked any of this id recommend reading the gardener by ritheh on ao3 which expands on his whole “killer heals for once” thing its soooo good <33 ok bye see u guys next time

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Error's Wacky Wild Plan)

Hi guys. So. Crazy Story. The crisis that stopped me from working on my banner art actually catapulted me into writing this drabble finally! (Also the wonderful @ancha-aus was also a life-saver and helped me hammer out a few plot points for this installment <3)

Currently my only context for this drabble is that Error is tiny, and ran away from home because Geno moved to Reaper's kingdom to make money to send back home, and Fresh spent too long away on his trip. Error was expelled from his magic academy and came home to an empty house, so he left! Now he's been on the road for about a month? Nightmare has been ruling for about 6-ish years now, almost 7.

(Hello @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hi guys!!!)

     The town was bustling. 

   Error had been through a lot of towns since he’d left. Big ones, small ones, ones he was convinced weren’t even towns at all, just a few barns in a general closeness to one another who decided they needed to call themselves something besides the outskirts. Those people had been particularly hostile to his passing through.

   And, lately, they’d been really weird. People staring at him when he’d walk on the streets, or pass by shops. When they saw he had money from a different kingdom (he didn’t even realize he’d left his own, but he figured it meant he was on the right path) they’d squeeze their faces like they bit a lemon and hastily take his coin. Like it was cursed, or something. They were lucky it wasn’t cursed, honestly. He could probably figure out how to do that.

    This town, though, was filled so full with people that he imagined they couldn’t look at him weird if they wanted to. 

   People were riding horses, chatting in the streets, all sorts of stalls and merchants were peddling goods, and he was almost positive he could hear music lifting down the street over the general drone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run into a place so busy. He’d always been told to stick to the side, out of the way, out of danger. 

   He didn’t have to listen to that anymore. Though, he did skirt the crowds. The mass of people seemed all too willing to bump shoulders or elbows with each other in the early morning sun, and the last thing he wanted was to have his magic act up in a crowd. He’d done well so far. 

   Every booth, every merchant, every passerby seemed jubilant, ebbing and flowing. It was like some sort of party. 

   That was, until, Error spotted it.

   A big building, something that Error recognized only vaguely. 

   It was an amphitheatre. 

   Geno had taken him to see one once. Or, at least, the ruin of one. It hadn’t been too far from their home, and it was pretty abandoned and lonely. Plants had crawled up its walls, stones had fallen off in chunks, animals seemed to have deemed its high windows a perfect spot to build nests. It had been breathtaking, and ancient. 

   This one? Seemed perfectly in-use. 

   The walls were all in-tact, stones, an easy to look at grey, smooth and covered in little intricate carvings. Spells, he had to imagine, in some language he didn’t know. Curtains hung over the huge arched entrances, and heavy gates seemed to be lifted, the spikes at the base loomed over the heads of every passerby. 

   He couldn’t help but marvel. Was this a restoration, or maybe it was new. Some sort of imitation. Regardless, he found that his feet carried him to one of the entrances, which stood largely empty aside from some folks who looked strikingly like guards.

   Two of them stood, long spears in-hand. They both stood stock still as Error approached, and didn’t move a muscle as he passed them. They were strange, definitely different. Not at all the town guard he was familiar with. 

   The inside of the theatre was even more impressive. Rows and rows of stands seemed to line up either side. Huge tapestry hung from the high arches past those seats, and down the runways of the bleachers, all a bright teal and dark navy blue. They seemed fancy, and much newer than the curtains which had hung in the entrance. 

   Beyond the walkway where he stood, was a set of stairs which led down a level or so, before it leveled out into an open space. Sandy, and very flat. It seemed like there were people there, too. A much smaller crowd, but still a crowd nonetheless. 

   Error was almost amazed he’d not been stopped by someone yet. Whatever was going on seemed important, and so far in his experience, people did not like him sticking his nose into important business. 

   With that in mind, he decided he’d stick to the entryway for now. He leaned his bag up against the wall and watched from a position where the sun still shadowed his form. He was often grateful for his miscolored bones. It made hiding in the dark a whole lot easier. 

   It took a bit for him to really process what he was watching in the morning light. 

   There were four people sat on a sort of raised box toward the front of a stage. A huge stage, raised up off the sand with wood slats. They had a long-table before them, and quills and ink jars in-hand. Well, three were sitting. One was standing. But the point is, they were all watching the stage very attentively. 

   On-stage there was… basically nothing. Only a simple backdrop Error had to imagine was there at all times, because it looked like it was coated in sand, even from the distance where he stood.

   A person would enter the stage, the people sat on the box would speak to them, and then there was a flare of magic. Another. Another. And then they were dismissed. 

   It wasn’t until he really bothered to think about what magic was being cast that he realized those were extremely simple spells being used. Levitate, Create Water, Mimicry. Or Flame, Gust, Light. All just three easy spells, and then they were off-stage. That was taught magic. It gave him memories of his entrance exam to his school. He’d been way overqualified to get in, Geno taught him after all…

   But, no, this didn’t feel the same. There were plenty of people who seemed to stumble at spells they didn’t recognize, or who couldn’t muster a simple breeze. Then others who were very old and obviously skilled. Obviously they found the three spells to be child’s play. Like Error would. This was no entrance exam, so what-

   “Hey, pipsqueak, what are you doing there in the dark?” A voice startled him, and it took all of his willpower to avoid jumping away from its origin. 

   Error twisted rapidly, just in time to avoid the thrust of an elbow in his direction. 

   There was a monster there. Three, actually. Two lizards, both bright green and tropical, and one who looked more like a dragon. The green one closer to him must have spoken, because he laughed at Error’s flinch. 

   “Why are you bothering me?” Error shot back haughtily. 

   The lizard seemed to grin at the response.  

   “Oh, so we’ve got a feisty little small fry here? Thinks he’s scoping out the competition?” The dragonish one hissed, voice deep. 

   The other green one tittered a giggle, “So cute! I can’t believe the King really decided to let just anyone try out for Royal Mage.” 

   Oh…

   The lizard before him seemed to take this silence as a weakness, and reached out quicker than Error could react. A flick to the middle of his forehead. 

   Error winced and pulled away, back and into the arena. He grit his teeth and clutched his skull, where at the same moment the lizard jumped back and shook their hand in the air a bit. His magic had reacted poorly again, and while it was better than it used to be, it still stung like 5 wasps touching down and stinging the same point all at once. 

   “Little freak.” Was all the monster hissed, before he fled. His two friends moving on behind him in confusion. Approaching the line to the stage. 

   Error stood there in the sun for a moment, rubbing at his forehead until the pain was more of a numb static. 

   If anything, he appreciated the little run-in with those wanna-bes. Now he knew exactly what this was, and why it had felt so familiar to him. 

   The Mage Trials. 

   Geno had to go through them, and he’s been very thorough about his every single detail while doing it. Even though he was the best mage Error had ever known, he’d still stressed and wrote page after page of plans and spells and had placed them into a folder that felt thicker than an encyclopedia. Geno had always been the only one of them who bothered studying. Fresh couldn’t go to school anymore, and Error… Well, Error didn’t need to. 

   Thinking about it, Geno had been very quiet about it, but Error had looked into his folder a few times. Just out of curiosity. It’d been split into three rounds, something Geno had said was standardized. The first was a test of someone’s basic magic skills, the second were more complex spells which the mage has practice in, and the third, the one that had given Geno the most grief, was the personal spell round. In the last one, there were no restrictions to what someone could do, so long as they had done the work themselves, and that it mostly used magic. 

   If he was right, and he usually was, then this was the first round. Eliminating those with nothing but a hope and a prayer in their pocket before they got embarrassed before the one looking for the Mage in the first place. In this case, whoever this kingdom’s king even was. 

   In just a few moments, Error had decided. 

   This was how he’d prove himself. 

   The line was already starting to get longer, and he didn’t want to be here until nightfall in a queue. He dusted off his scarf, his shoes, his bag, and set off into the bright sun to secure his place in this contest. No prep. No warning. Just with his raw skill and what he’d learned so far. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 

.

   Finally. 

   Error felt like it had been hours in the warm sun before he was finally up next. 

   He’d been watching, of course. Watching as the people before him were passed or failed. It was just as he’d expected, and he couldn’t help but be a bit giddy as the two green lizard who’d bothered him earlier both failed. Though their dragonish friend had passed, it was still enough of a victory for him.

   Along with that, he noticed that the three people sat were all in robes of nobles. Something the wealthy and lofty would think to wear in a blazing hot arena all day. The one standing, though, was wearing all black. A hood was over his head, but Error thought he might be some sort of cat-monster. Very stone faced, very still. The only time Error had seen him move was seemingly to veto whatever choice the other three were making. He thought it was interesting. 

   That didn’t matter, though. 

   Based on what he’d seen, these people wouldn’t have any qualms with his magic. He was much better than half the people who’d already been passed, and knew he could keep him calm up on the stage. It’d be just like his entrance exam. 

   He watched as the monster who’d gone before him, a skeleton who was twice his height and twice as animal-ish, bowed gratefully to the people on the boxes, the evaluators, and exited. She’d passed fairly easily, Error thought. Though, her focus seemed elsewhere based on how shaky the hold on her last flame had been. 

   “Next!” 

   The call was shrill, and Error had heard it over a hundred times already today, but this time it bounced in his ears as he lifted himself up the steps and strode onstage. 

   If he’d thought about it, he would’ve tried to find a place to stache his bag, but it was too late for that, and frankly he didn’t trust it not to get stolen once it was out of his sight. Not with how busy the city seemed. 

   When he was stood in the center of the stage, he looked out across the way to the evaluators. They seemed closer up here than they did when he was on the ground. Interesting. 

   “First spell,” The person on the far left called, though Error could tell now that it was a voice projection spell. So they didn’t strain their vocal chords, “ Levitate.”

   That was simple. One of the first spells he’d been taught as a kid. 

   His eyes skimmed briefly, there had been a few props on stage that he only noticed once he was closer that were meant to be used with this sort of spell, but Error wasn’t for that. Instead, he muttered the words under his breath, outstretched a hand, and felt his magic reach out around him. Beyond the stage. 

   There… There was a barrier of some sorts, pushing back against his magic, between himself and the evaluators. He furrowed his brow and urged his magic forward. He didn’t have to break through it. He just. Had to- His magic felt like it was looping and wriggling like a worm through the dirt, but when it broke through on the other end, it felt so much more clear. He could feel a potent magic there, something raw and wet, like the air before a storm. 

   That didn’t matter, though. None of it did, because he was on a mission. His magic finally found its target, the stacks of ink bottles which the middle evaluator had just before their parchment. The magic latched on, and Error finally allowed himself a grin as he tugged his hand upwards. They floated calmly into the air, three of them, and did a quick spinning motion, before settling back down just where he’d found them.

   He didn’t catch the looks on the threes faces, but he had to imagine they were priceless. He was more focused on letting the spell dissipate and preparing for the next. 

   It took a moment, before, “Second Spell,” They said, “Create Water.” 

   Another easy one. 

   Error held his hand out again, though this time his palm faced the sky rather than the ground. At the mutter of his words, he could feel the water manifesting. Tiny droplets leaking from his fingers and into the air above his open palm, where he let it gather into a nice, easy sphere. 

   It hovered, and for this one he could see the nods from the three evaluators. The fourth, the cat monster, didn’t move an inch. A good sign. 

   Error, after a breath, moved the orb of water and simply set it on the stage floor. If he had to release it, he didn’t exactly want to get his clothes wet. That orb tended to shoot outwards when he released it, and the water would go everywhere. 

   “Third spell,” They must’ve been contented with his simply setting down the water, for they continued, “Flame.”

   Ah, one of his favorites. He was never very good at it, of course, but it was certainly very fun. If nothing else it’d be a taste of his raw power.

   He rolled up his hanging sleeves, quickly using strands of string to wrap them in place, before he picked back up the water orb in one hand. With the other, he faced his palm toward the side of it, and spoke the words for the flame spell. 

   The heat gathered in his wrist, and all at once shot out of his palm, like a cannon blast. The heat was intense, and Error laughed quietly to himself in pure elation as the fire did exactly what he was hoping. All at once, his glasses fogged, and a burst of steam blew past his face, off to the exiting side of the stage. He’d evaporated his orb, no longer needing to risk someone seeing him fumble with it and soak himself. 

   He let the fire die after a few second, and quickly grabbed the hem of his scarf to wipe down his glasses from the fog left behind on their surface. 

   The moment the red rims were back on the bridge of his nose, the voice spoke up again. 

   “Name?”

   Error cleared his throat, before calling back his name in response. Just the first one, the last one didn’t matter anymore. 

   There was another few breaths of quiet, before, 

   “Age?”

   Error hadn’t heard them ask anyone else for their age, but he figured they’d noticed. How strong and talented he was at such a young age. 

  He puffed up his chest when he announced, “Twelve!” to the arena. 

   There were a few muffled murmurs from the line, but Error was too busy grinning across the way at the evaluators as they seemed to talk amongst themselves. 

   He was ready to hear the word that would mark him to continue. The next part was tomorrow, after this round was concluded and the king arrived. He’d heard about it in the line while he was waiting. 

   One of the evaluators lifted their gaze back to him. Opened their mouth.

   “Disqualified.”

   That.

   Huh?

   Error must’ve visibly glitched at the response, because one of the evaluators seemed to flinch. Ever so slightly. 

   “How come?!” Error called back, reservations immediately fleeing his mind.

   How could they disqualify him? He hadn’t heard them do that to literally anyone else so far today. 

   The evaluator on the far right spoke up, “Too young. Now please move off the-”

   Error might’ve let his mouth speak before his mind, if he hadn’t seen the way the mysterious cat monster seemed to slink forward. A simple tap to the evaluator’s side and they stopped mid-sentence, attention drawing to the person. 

   He waited with balled fists. Hoping, against it all, that this person was using his mighty veto powers to get him his passing review. 

   “The Knight wishes to speak to you further.” They said, when the person, the Knight, took a step back. “Exit the stage.” 

   Mm. 

   This was his chance. This was his moment. He was being allowed to move on, he was sure of it. It had to be. 

   He practically scrambled off the stage and down the steps, and found that the Knight had closed the distance very quickly. He gestured silently for Error to follow him off to the side of the arena, seemingly outside of the voice spell’s range, as the noise of magic and calling for the next viewer seemed all muffled and contained. 

   Something Error noticed about the guy, now that he was right beside him walking along, was also that he wasn’t a cat monster. No, he had some sort of mask shaped like a cat. Black spots painted on black fur, with piercing white eyelights hidden in the darkness cast by his black hood. A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, so Error would’ve had no idea what kind of monster he was, if he hadn’t left his hands uncovered. They were grey and grimy, but they were most certainly bones. 

   The other thing he noticed, was the magic. That damp, airy magic was no-doubt from this guy. It practically enveloped the both of them until they were stood in the shade of the wall separating bleachers from arena floor. 

   “You said you’re twelve?” He finally asked, shifting on his feet to look at Error. 

   The last thing he noticed, which only happened once he was able to look past the aura, was that. Well. He was a bit taller than this guy. Not by much, but there was certainly something stark about having to look a bit downwards to meet his eyelights. 

   “Yes, I am.” He claimed proudly, still convinced this was to be his ride to the top.

   The knight seemed to skim him with his eyes. Surely taking in Error’s clothes, his bag, his glasses, the weird bones. Though, it didn’t feel pervasive. 

   “Impressively strong for a kid,” He praised loosely, “And probably talented in spells if the nerds were any indication.” 

   His voice was quiet and raspy, but Error had no problem listening to it. This strong and very cool guy who was called a ‘knight’ was praising him. This was much better than getting yelled at by his professors. Much. 

   “Does that mean I passed?” He asked impatiently. 

   He needed this. He needed this. 

   The guy’s eyelights lingered on his face a bit, and it was then that Error finally noticed how virtually unreadable this guy was. Impossibly quiet, posture unmoving, all facial features shrouded in shadow and covered by masks?

   “I’m not sure what kingdom you’re from, but you’ve got to understand that the folks up there didn’t say no because you’re bad. They said no because the king made a new decree. “No soul under the age of 16 shall be put to work under the crown.” They’ve gotta take it seriously, just like everyone else has to follow the new rules about their own shops and businesses.” He said evenly, eyelights never leaving Error’s face. “You’re a couple years too early is all.” 

   It felt like he’d been shoved into a ditch, and he could already feel his right hand starting to tremble with the beginnings of a glitch. He was furious! How could they possibly say no to him because of some stupid rule about his age? 

   “No!” He exclaimed, trying to bite back the distortion on his voice, “I’m not going to just walk away. If I could just move on to the next round, they’d see I’m different! I’m not some weak little baby!” 

   He clenched his fists, driving his jittering one forcefully into his pocket. 

   The knight didn’t even flinch at his declaration. 

   “They’ve already seen that.” He said easily. “Listen to me. Error, right?” 

   Error hesitantly nodded. 

   “Error, ‘m sure that if my Lord saw you in action, he too would agree that you are very strong and resourceful.” The knight said, and Error hated that it sounded earnest. “But, he set that law into place for very good reason. If by any means those folks back there were to let you through, to pass you, and you made it before the king next round? They’d have committed treason, and I’d have their souls on the end of my bone in three seconds flat.” 

   His voice was hard and serious, and Error held strong as a loud crack echoed out beside the knight. A bone raised from the ground, sharp and jagged on the end, absolutely radiating magic. 

   “Do you really want their blood on your conscience, just so that you get sent away by the King anyways?” The knight offered. 

   Error hunched his shoulders a bit, and he felt his static worsen as he let his eyes linger on the bone. Yes. He muttered inside his head. He wanted to scream it at the man before him. Tell him that this was his one golden chance to prove himself. 

   But to who? He would ask, and Error wouldn’t be able to say it. It’d be a wasted sentiment and wasted time and wasted lives just for his temper tantrum. 

   “...No.” He bit out meekly. 

   He stood there, feeling a familiar shame creep up his spine. The knight made no move to leave, though he did let his bone disappear. The ground looked untouched from where it had split out of. Just more sand. Sand that was getting into Error’s bones. That he’d have to clean out later. Swinging in his hammock, lonely and moping. 

   “Heh,” The chuckle was almost inaudible, and Error was almost ready to let his distress turn back into rage, but, “Better kid than I was.” The Knight mused into the open air.

   He seemed to shift his stance again, and Error took a half step back. 

   “You’ve got your life ahead of you, kid. Don’t let this keep you down. Take the road less traveled by or whatever.” He said then, waving a hand loosely before him. 

   Error stared at him, trying to even his breath, before he had an idea. 

   “The other two rounds will be here, right?” He asked, voice still harshly stuttering and screeching. The Knight seemed unbothered.

   “Yeah. Planning on sticking around to watch?” The knight questioned, though it felt more like a warning. 

   Error nodded in agreement without hesitation. “If these geezers can get the job, I need to see what kind of tricks they have up their sleeves.” He agreed. 

   That earned another little chuckle, before the knight looked back to the stage. 

   Up in the center was a new mage, a human who seemed to be making a pretty wild wind that was whipping the sand around, bothering the people in line behind him. Error heard the knight make a scoffing noise, before turning back towards the stage.

   “Go hang around somewhere else for a while, why don’t you? I have to go make sure those nerds don’t pass that guy.” 

   Error didn’t even get to say a farewell before the Knight was off. 

   It seemed like every stride he teleported a bit further, building speed until he stopped cleanly up on the pedestal. Just in time for the sandstorm to die down. 

   Error didn’t want to walk away from this, he didn’t, but staying would only waste his time. It only took a few more seconds, to watch the knight nudge the evaluator and hear the muffled call of ‘fail’ ring out across the arena before he was turning tail and moving out of the sandy paradise, back into the bustle of the living city. 

.

.

.

   It was impossible to miss it. The sounds of celebration as the monarch entered the town. 

   Error could see the royal carriage from his perch, an old temple tower that had at some point lost its bell. It seemed untouched, birds nests and cobwebs, so he’d set up a hammock and a little makeshift shelter inside using his strings just before night fell. 

   He’d snatched some food from the town as dusk was setting in, and he’d been comfortably whittling away the dark hours, working hard on his plan. 

   With the King officially in town, that meant the second round would be starting up shortly, taking the numbers of who would be in the third round down by hundreds. He hoped the king was stingy about it. He hoped that dragonish monster would stumble on his spell and turn someone into a frog. 

   The thought humored him, and he cackled quietly to himself from his makeshift room. 

   The sun was high again, and he was only a part of the way through. His spells required a lot of his magic to be woven into them, and while it was much much faster than what he’d heard was the usual, it was still difficult to make. 

   Weaving the blue strings from his sockets, to his fingers, around his fingertips, and into the shapes he needed. It was monotonous, and boring by all accounts, but with every strand there was a new flow of power. A new pump of adrenaline into Error’s soul as he recognized his creation becoming more potent. Intent, intent, intent, every loop and knot was filled to the brim with it. His frustration sat at the core. Much more volatile and destructive than his usual intent, but it would serve him well if he wanted this plan to go well. Around it was his determination. The strings woven in with a sense of stubbornness which refused to let go, like a snake swallowing its prey whole. This would compress the first layer into a proper state. Let it coil and coil and coil until it burst. It’d be big, and loud, and send out that message he so desperately needed to be heard by the king. 

   Skipping the second round would probably hurt him in the long run, but… That knight had said he’d have to kill those people if he showed his face in round two. So, he’d just appear in round three instead, and make up for missing the second one. A final act, of sorts. 

   He’d have to be at this all day to make the time crunch. The orb was hardly as big as his palm, not nearly big enough. Though, he had wasted time making the shelter and finding food. He’d just have to skip a couple meals to make up for it. He didn’t really need to eat that much anyways, he’d known that for years. He just tried to make an effort when he smelled something tasty. 

   He knew he could manage. 

   It was late in the night when Error finally started on the outer layers. Those which would be filled with his patience, so that the potent insides would not be sensed as he moved with it among the many magic users. 

   The town had begun to line the streets with torches and party as the stars arrived. No doubt celebrating those who would be at the third and final round tomorrow. The ones who would be competing to become the new Royal Mage. 

   To Error? Every single moment down there was dedicated to him. They just didn’t know it yet. 

.

.

.

   The morning came, and Error only had a few more layers. 

   By the time the sun was almost in the center of the sky above, he had finished it, and carefully tucked it into his backpack. He unraveled the strings and carefully wrapped them, shaping them, changing them into a thin net with long ends. This was shoved into his jacket sleeve, the ends clutched tight in his hand. 

   It took him hardly any time at all to get to the arena, and he was early. 

   Good.

   He settled himself up in the stands, as close to the stage as he could get. Many people seemed to be staying outside the arena, sticking to the streets, but there was still enough of a crowd in the bleachers that Error had to be careful as he worked his way along the edges. He needed to be closer. Closer…

   There. 

   He stood at the railing behind the stage. 

   From here, he could see the line to the left, and he could see the people who had finished lingering on the other side. None of them spoke to each other, only standing about, icily, waiting for the rest to finish so they’d know which of them was chosen, and who was not. Error had to imagine that these folks were just as lame and boring as the seniors from his old academy. No fun at all. 

   He waited, so, so patiently, for the next few people. The last few. 

   Though he couldn’t see the spells themselves, he could certainly feel the pressure coming off of them. The control that they’d need to balance it. How much it might’ve drained their energy to do it just once. He was attuned to that sort of thing, he had to be. 

   His assessment was that all of these last few folks weren’t bad, but they were no match for Error’s raw talent. 

   Each spell cast seemed to tick away at Error’s patience, until it finally happened. The last mage went on-stage. It seemed there had been 15 of them. 

   He’d have to make 16, then. 

   It felt like a blur as he jumped the rails and let his strings carry him across the open space, much to the shock of the few who had been watching the competitors from around him. The blue lines snatched at the wooden supports of the stage, and he swung right over top, landing a bit messily in the center of the stage.

   He didn’t have time to look at everything. All he knew was the crowd was much larger than last time, that there was a shout of ‘Hey!’’ from somewhere to his left, and that the box across from the stage now held only three people. Monsters. One Error recognized, the knight in shadows who’d spoken to him. The other two he didn’t know, but he had to assume the one in the middle, tall and imposing, and dark, with an eyelight the same colors as the tapestries, was the King he was looking to impress. That was all he needed to know. 

   “M’lord, my name is Error!” He called out across the sand, and in one motion he shrugged the bag off his shoulders and used his strings to tug the orb out of its canvas body. “I want to prove that I’m more capable than any of the adults who just went before me! I could be your mage!” He would be the mage. 

   The orb sat cradled in Error’s hand for only the briefest moment, before it was inside the little net he’d made. He swung it in circles. Again. Again. Again. 

   He had to be fast. He had to do this quick.

   Error spent one last moment, extending his reach through his strings, muttering words and igniting an intangible spark. 

   For a brief moment, he watched as the King seemed to ease forward. A hand now raised, seemingly calling off his knights, who had been almost in motion. 

   He released the orb directly upwards, momentum carrying it up. 

   Up.

   Up.

   Into the blue sky. Practically into the sun. 

   Error watched it rise above him. 

   Only. 

   “Shit.” 

   His calculations must’ve been off. He must’ve added a layer too many, or maybe he released it a swing too soon. But he could tell that it wouldn’t clear the top of the arena. 

   Maybe if he had a few more seconds he could’ve used strings to boost it. He could’ve sent a magic gust to lift it further. 

   Not the case.

   He watched as the orb detonated, just like it was supposed to. 

   The wave moved horizontally through the air, and swept across the air above the arena so quickly that it sucked the sand from the top layer and threw it against the tall walls. Error’s footing slipped, and he stumbled to his knees on the stage as the wind whipped and tugged the heavy curtains into the air current as well. 

   It was an almost invisible force, Error had to imagine anyone without a solid grasp of magic would entirely miss it as it spread out. 

  He winced as it finally reached the edges of the arena, where he had just barely managed to fall short of clearing. 

   As the magic passed over the stone and mortar, he saw as it fell. Not in chunks, but crumbled like dust into fine particles. The upper half of every arch at the top of the grand amphitheatre, turned pitch black, then wasted away. 

   He hadn’t meant for it to come in contact with anything. It wasn’t supposed to do anything but harmlessly wave over everyone’s heads. As a show of his strength. That was all.

   Error could only think back to when this had happened before. When he’d accidentally exploded Geno’s favorite mug while metering the strength of his strings. When he’d broken the wheel of a carriage passing through the woods with a wayward slingshot blast. When he’d broken all ten of the large windows in the lecture hall of the academy when he failed to complete a spell the way it was written. When he’d done it too well.

   As he rose to his feet, he half expected the nagging voice of his older brother to be there, chastising him for not being more careful, before taking him home and making him dinner. 

   It wasn’t that, though. 

   He watched out across the sand. The king had his head tilted only slightly, looking up at Error’s lofty mistake. At the clean cut where stone now met unbothered air. His knight, the one in all black, was leaned ever so slightly towards him. They must’ve been speaking. Or, at least, the knight was. 

   About Error, he had no doubt. 

   He stayed in place, watching, swaying a bit with the residual force of his own spell lingering in his fingertips. Every instinct which told him to run and to hide were smothered and stamped out by the ligering fact that he had nowhere to go. Without his brothers, there was no one to help him. He knew it. 

   Even in front of this crowd. These mages. This King and his knights. He couldn’t bring himself to move offstage. Some part of him, deep down, childishly wanted the King to announce that he was impressed. To parade him offstage and let him experience what Geno had. Let him know why Geno left. 

   The King’s single eyelight swam back over to look at Error in the silence. 

   Error felt like the world had stopped. 

   It hadn’t.

   There was a clattering of armor and rustling of fabric, suddenly loud in his ears, and he had no time to react as everything came rushing in all at once. 

   Hands. Heavy, gloved hands. Two sets, two hands each wrapped one of his upper arms, and immediately lifted him off the ground. Into the air. 

   Pain flooded into his bones from his soul, like twin lightning strikes, trying to singe the bone and the magic in its core. The pressure wasn’t much, his mind knew that, but his body usually didn’t listen to him. He tried desperately to hold it in. The rampant part of his magic that had been hurting him since he could remember. That made it hard to touch anyone. To shake hands. To hug his brothers. 

   “Let go!” He pleaded, though he wasn’t sure if his voice made any sense. Fresh always told him they couldn’t tell what he was saying when his voice got too bad.

   More pain. He kicked his legs at the open air, and tried to muster control over his strings, just for a moment, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus. 

   And all at once it stopped. 

   Error’s feet were on the ground again, though that promptly became his knees again as he swayed and wavered in the sudden aftermath of his active magic dying down. Receding back into his soul. Because it didn’t need to ‘protect’ him anymore.

   He spotted then, as his vision returned to something aside from the gloves or the sky, that the King was no longer in his throne. In fact, there was a heavy, encompassing, magical weight behind him now. Somewhere very, very close-by.

   He took a deep breath, grounding himself. 

   “We are taking a recess.” Announced a booming voice. Very nearby. It was deep, and felt almost the same as the projection spell from two days prior. Then, more quietly, “You will leave the boy to me. Go ensure no one was injured, then manage the crowd. I’ll make my choice tomorrow at sunrise.” 

   The second bit felt quieter, an edge to the tone that Error didn’t quite like. Considering he must be the boy in question. 

   It was a moment, a few muddled ‘Yes, my king’ s, before Error found a pair of boots stepping before him. His head swam as he looked upwards. 

   The King, he figured that had to be him, was dark. Very dark. Like a living, dripping, shadow. Magic seemed to be all he was made of, an aura radiating from him. Dripping off his back into long slimy worms, twitching as they sat near the ground. He wore a fancy cape, too. One with huge gold clasps on his shoulders, one was shaped like the moon. 

   Error looked to his face last. In hindsight, something that could’ve been very, very bad. He was met with a dripping face. Skeletal. The place where his right socket should’ve sat was covered in that dark substance. The other hollow, with that bright cyan orb staring right back at him. 

   “Can you stand?” His voice came easily, and Error braced himself. 

   Could he?

   He had to, he didn’t want to be touched again. 

   Error took another breath, and managed to rise silently to his feet. 

   “Good,” the King said once he was standing, “Follow me.”

   It was an order he didn’t dare refuse. 

.

.

.

   Error found himself in an odd position. 

   He’d been given time to sit and recover from his magic’s outlash, and now he was sat in a room beneath the bleachers of the arena alongside the King and that knight he’d met before. The other one was guarding the door, he thought. 

   It’d been silent for a while, and it was almost expected when the silence was finally broken. 

   “You said your name is Error, correct?” The King asked, and Error gave a nod of yes. He forced himself to meet the King’s gaze.

   “Dust says that you’re only 12, and our people disqualified you in the first round. Is that right?” 

   Error nodded again. 

   “And Dust even explained to you why you were disqualified?” 

   Another nod. It seemed he’d at least made an impression on the knight. Dust. 

   The King tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyelight holding Error’s tightly. 

   “Then, I’ll ask, what brought you to think this was a good choice? To try and become Royal Mage above any cost it might bring?” The king asked, and Error was surprised to find it was a shockingly gentle tone. “Your home, your family, your life. You are so young, why put it all on the line like this?” 

   Oh. 

   It was almost funny. Was this whole thing because the king was some sort of charitycase? So disillusioned by his perfect life that he couldn’t even think of the hardships any random kid could go through? He almost grinned at that, barely keeping his mouth from twitching in a mix of frustration and humor.

   “I wanted to prove myself,” He muttered, “And besides, becoming the Royal Mage would be great.” 

   He waited, waited for the King to inhale, to say something, before, 

   “I’m an orphan.” He spat, finally. “Family abandoned me, house is left behind, expelled from school. I don’t want to keep wandering.” 

   It was basically the truth. This was his big break. His one last chance before he became a hated little vagabond. Maybe even a criminal. Maybe he’d have to go on the run for the rest of his life, live as a nomad. Join a caravan. Those people got stopped a lot though, kingdoms didn’t like them. He’d probably explode some city’s bakery by mistake and get put in jail for-

   “Wait!” Error suddenly exclaimed, breaking free of his thoughts, “Am I in trouble? Am I going to jail??” He asked then. 

   His worries slammed to a grinding halt and he stared wide-eyed at the two before him. Geno had always told him not to go making his big stuff near town, because if the guard caught him he wouldn’t be able to bail him out. He’d end up in jail. Of course, it’d never happened back then because he was always fast enough. Always smart enough to get out of dodge when he broke something or made poor decisions. Here? Here he hadn’t run when he had the chance. 

   The King stared at him, his one eyelight nearly mirroring Error’s in surprise at the question. 

   “I mean,” he started, “You’re young. If I wont let you work for me, I wouldn’t dare put you in prison either.” The King stated, “Though, you did do quite a bit of damage to the theatre.” 

   Error watched him break eye contact finally and look over his shoulder to the Knight stood there. He’d been silently watching Error too. 

   When he had no insight, The king seemed to heave a sigh, and the shadowy extra limbs which draped around him twitched. 

   “You’re sure you have no family? No home?” the King asked him again, and Error nodded.

   The king muttered something under his breath, and shot the Knight another look. The knight shrugged. 

   “I… Will not employ you. Though, I do see talent in you, Error.” the King said carefully, a bit slower in his words than he had been up until now. Almost… unsure. “I will, however, extend to you the title so that you may conduct…” He waved a hand before himself, as though searching for a word, “ You may conduct independent research. If you accept, of course.”

   “You would be free to resend your acceptance at any moment, no strings attached, and may take any work you complete along with you, and any pay you receive would be given to you after your 16th birthday, if you stay that long.” He added, “I’ll have to rewrite the contract, but-”

   “I accept!” 

   Error couldn’t help himself. He was so excited he could puke. The last thing he’d expected was to pull this off. This shitshow of a scheme actually got him the job? He could scream. He could jump up and down for joy. He didn’t, he sat eagerly and tense in his seat instead, but he could’ve. 

   The King seemed to hesitate, for a few breaths, before relaxing. He stood, and offered a hand out slowly to Error. 

   Error stood too, grinning. He could manage this one. He could do it. 

   It was brief, but he grasped the King’s hand and shook it firmly.

   “Dust, will you help Error locate his belongings, and escort him to wherever he is staying tonight? I’ll send Cross to swap with you a bit later. We’ll reconvene in the morning just before sunrise.” 

[leham-n-daavocado]

Just finished the third season of Bridgerton (it was an incredibly frustrating watch)...People have said that Penelope is named as such because of her nickname Pen and her being a writer... but has anyone thought of the reference to the Odyssey and Penelope being the wife of Odysseus? You know, she had to be loyal for 20 years while Odysseus gallivanted across the globe and was distracted/cheating on her Circe? I feel like it goes with the whole Polin narrative too. She's the one who had to wait for him to get a clue. And if you've read the Penguin version of the Odyssey, you know everyone is like omg! Odysseus, so amazing, the sacker of cities etc. Which parallels Colin's "glow up". Totally think it's more of a literary reference since the two of them are writers...

[risingsunresistance]

twitter is entering their "rts > likes" phase now that likes are private after they spent years calling us ungrateful for being demotivated by ratios lmao

[sskk-manifesto]

ಥ‿ಥ

[cuteniarose]

Sometimes I wish I had more people interested in my creations, but then I get hit by thoughts like “Imagine the outrage you’d be faced with if your Avatar Suiren AU was more popular. This is the fandom that still cannot ‘forgive’ Korra for SOMETHING THAT WAS DONE TO HER, calling her the worst Avatar for losing the connection to her past lives (which came about because she HAD RAAVA LITERALLY RIPPED OUR OF HER) and acting like that is somehow a worse offence than, say, inaction leading to genocide. The hate you’d get for intentionally making Suiren the last Avatar would be IMMEASURABLE” and go “… actually, I’m glad that for the most part it’s just @katkastrofa and I–”

(Though then again… would it even be an AU by yours truly if it didn’t contain at least one cancellable offence? 😁)

[mariathechosen1]

Was Anyone But You a good Much Ado About Nothing adaptation? No, not at all, but fuck it was fun!

[scratchyemporium]

when all your pizza rolls are gone

[girlcockholmes]

now that my PI is like hey you should actually be sitting in the lab to write instead of doing it at home im shooting one million lasers at his head in my mind. fuck off

[jemmo]

i can’t tell you how much i usually hate these ignoring, distancing plots in shows and how much i absolutely adore everything about these 2 episodes of the eighth sense. like im not having a good time, and it’s fantastic.

bc the thing is, in all of this, i can’t see the right way to go, i can’t find the person to blame, i can’t find the way to make it better. I can’t single out a single moment or a thing someone did and say “this is why everything went wrong”. it’s just this coming together and rise and swell of things happening and people feeling things that has us ending up here and it feels beautifully and horribly organic bc we can’t find that point where it all went wrong. was it on that rooftop? was it at the beach? was it when they first met? was it when his brother died? was it when he was born into this family? there is no single point. it’s all of them and it’s none of them. there is truly nothing and no one to blame. and there are bad characters in the show, people you can hate, eunji and taehyung, but neither of them are to blame for any of the bad stuff that happens in the show. you’re not waiting for them to be taken down bc that doesn’t solve anything. instead, it’s just two people hurting, and not knowing how to make it better.

bc you take jaewon, and after what he says at the end of ep 8, you want to hate him, you want to be so angry at him for what he says, for how he acts, how dismissive and hurtful he is, and yet you’ve been made to understand 100% why, and not just in a “i get it but that wasn’t the right thing to do” way, in a “that was horrible and yet i know he doesn’t see any other way to handle this” way. like you don’t see this as a misstep, or a step to far, bc you know for him, in his state of mind, it is completely justified, it’s necessary. bc it not only punishes the person he blames for all of this, himself, but he sees it as a way to protect jihyun. and not even in a cliche “bad things happen when people around me, the people I love always get hurt” kinda way, but more so in that he sees that he is a scared, messy, struggling person that doesn’t know how to handle himself, and doesn’t want to inflict that on anyone, let alone the person he cares about. so what’s worse, a quick, swift blow that hurts but cuts everything off cleanly, or this prolonged relationship where he inevitably continues to weigh jihyun down with the weight of his trauma, and take it out on him. what’s the point of having a place of refuge when you ruin it more and more every time you depend on it, until it eventually can’t offer you comfort. it’s a lesser of two evils, jaewon’s choice is obvious to him.

but then you take jihyun. and we talk about masks and fronts but we never once question whether jihyun wears a mask bc he appears so sweet and innocent and naive, what can this boy possibly be putting up a front for. but i see it, this almost fake it till you make it confidence front that yes is becoming more natural. but my god just think about what he’s gone through for a second. think about it. left home for the first time in his life, moved to an unfamiliar and intimidating city with only one other person he knows, started a new job, started university, tried to build relationships, met a man that intrigues him, and perused him only to be kissed and then ignored, then maybe establish something tentative, only to then see him spiral, go on a trip where he shared his trauma, you have an intimate night together only to almost die, and then be not only ignored, but plain and simple rejected and pushed away. like… you can say all you want about jihyun growing as a person and having more courage, but no amount of growth for however many months this has been going on for can prepare you for that. for the mixed messages on steroids. for the back and forth, not knowing. to give yourself to someone like that and go through something traumatic and then be abandoned by that person. we get it, bc we see all of jaewon’s story. but apart from what jaewon shared at the beach, jihyun doesn’t know any more than that. he doesn’t know about therapy, about how his father acts towards him, about the extent of his trauma and how it manifests and affects his mental health, and how he is struggling every single day. and you can’t expect him to know the depths of that no matter how empathetic and connected he is, how much he cares about jaewon, he can’t be superhuman. and so you get why he pushes and fights for jaewon. like… he is in love. it’s clear. he’s fallen in love with him. he is this wide-eyed, open kid that fell in love with a senior. and jaewon has just messed with his head, he’s never been clear, and you can’t expect jihyun to just get past that bc he knows something is up with jaewon. he can’t know the full story, but even if he did, that can’t be a reason or a justification to be treated the way jaewon treats him. bc we’re all about jaewon putting himself first and doing what he wants and respecting himself like that, but jihyun deserves that too. and it’s such a fine line to tread when you know someone is going through something, bc again you understand why, but you’re still the one being treated that way. like we talk about jaewon’s trauma, but here jihyun was part of it, he went through that traumatic experience. he’s the one that nearly lost his life. and yes, he appears to handle it well, and no matter to what extent that’s true or not, you can’t not look at jaewon struggling and understand it and then not look at jihyun with that same understanding. it’s not about comparing trauma and pain and deciding who is suffering more, it’s seeing that there are two people in this, and they’ve both been affected, so we should give them the same level of understanding.

and that’s something jaewon has to see. that his self-preservation is selfish. that his destructive behavior doesn’t just affect jihyun, instead it feels pointed and directed, bc every way jaewon hurts himself hurts jihyun. and it comes bc jihyun was so much of what was good about jaewon’s life for a second, so attacking that is his only form of self-sabotage. he can’t mess up his relationship with his friends or parents bc they were broken in the first place, and he can’t sabotage his future bc it’s already been ruined the moment he didn’t pursue his photography major. him nearly getting kicked out of school affected him so little not just bc he wanted that punishment, but bc even that punishment meant so little to him. all these things are established and they already contribute to his suffering. removing jihyun from his life is the only active thing he can do to make himself feel worse, and he can veil it in an act of protection, and even feel like he’s doing the right thing, but that deceives them both into believing this is done from a good place, when no good can actually come of it. in trying to protect jihyun, you hurt him more. in trying to hurt yourself, you hurt him too. and when someone is in a headspace like jaewon is, you look for that thing that’ll break through. bc he is so distant, he’s trying to remove himself from reality, and jihyun needs to act as this person that can anchor him to it. when you’re trying to isolate and separate yourself, sometimes seeing that you still affect things, that there’s a persons that exists that is affected and hurt by your actions, and no matter how you try to cut yourself off, you cannot stop that, separating yourself still hurts them, maybe that’s a thing that can get through. but that’s something that depends on jaewon. ultimately, he’s the only one that can get himself out of this place, and that’s what makes it so hard, that no matter how much jihyun cares and how much he fights for him, nothing can come of that effort is jaewon doesn’t meet him there. and it’d be so easy for jihyun to give in, to take the hurt, but over the course of this show we’ve seen the strength jihyun has developed, which has only seemed to increase more so after the accident, call it a renewed vigor for life or something. he has the strength that jaewon doesn’t, to not let his pain consume him. and in a beautiful full-circle moment, it’s because of jaewon, bc when they first spoke he sparked in jihyun a want to be stronger, to be more than the country mouse, and he’s done it. and it’s that courage that means he can fight for jaewon, even in the face of rejection. he trusts himself and that he knows jaewon, the real jaewon, to see past words that are intended to hurt them both, and go after the person that’s still inside jaewon somewhere. no, he can’t do it for him, and no them being together is not some magical cure for jaewon, but it’s what can put him on a path of caring for himself again, and sometimes that has to start with caring about someone else (and suddenly I’m reminded of my beautiful man 2 and how kiyoi tries to break hira out of his worthless mindset by making him care about him, and how ultimately that can’t be enough, and that hira has to take those first steps of seeing his self worth by himself). what jihyun can do by fighting is again act as that tether to reality and try to be this representation of the good jaewon can be and do. bc look at jihyun, look at how confident and strong he has become, and look at how he got there, bc you saw that country mouse and gave him the time of day and helped him grow and gave him new experiences. you jaewon, you. and that shift in mindset, from jihyun representing hurt and the accident and the trauma of his brother and everything he can’t do, to being that light and refuge and everything he can do is again something that might breaks through. and the fact it has such narrative strength and satisfaction makes me hopeful that that’s what we might actually get.

[seenthisepisode]

~~~

[merriclo]

went to see the barbie movie a few days ago and hm. weird

[louiswilliamtomlinsons]

.

[thebicanary]

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[fightingdragonswithwho]

hate to be a hater on the main … but this season of ted lasso excels (once again) at team dynamic and the found family elements and i think the finale absolutely nailed that, i cried, i laughed, it was perfect on that. now as for the individual stories and relationships… yeah, let’s leave it at that