#it's a very different story idea and i like playing with it

[yuurei20]

Hi! Thank you so much for all your hard work compiling these posts for us! I would like to ask, is there a compilation of information regarding the MC/ Yuu? I'm referring to stuff like where they get their money from or any random details mentioned about themselves/ their home (Eg in the new White rabbit fest we find out that they can play the bugle of all things??) We know things like how their home is modelled off of earth with halloween and football but is there more information about themselves/ their personality? Just curious

Hello hello!! Thank you for this question!

Concerning the bugle: the prefect's ability to play instruments varies by dialogue option ^^

The same situation arises in Harveston!

Depending upon which option you go with the prefect can be either an accomplished bugle-player and/or flautist or just as poor at instruments as everybody else, and neither option seems to have any impact on the story ^^

The game-prefect is possibly being kept an empty slate on purpose!

This might actually be easier for EN, where things like personal pronouns (watashi/ore/boku/etc) are all "I" and anata/kimi/omae/etc are all "you," while which you opt to use in Japanese can portray a lot of information about yourself and your relationship to the person with whom you are speaking.

(It is very interesting that you mention football! In the second novel Yuuya asks Crewel if Spelldrive is similar to soccer or football and, while he is familiar with soccer, Crewel says that he has never heard of football before.)

Here is a small compilation of current information that I have!

・"Is it ever shown how the MC refers to other people?" (twitter link)

・Ace and the Prefect (pt1)

・Ace and the Prefect (pt2)

・Has the Perfect ever given gifts?

・Could it be that Idia actually considers the prefect to be a friend?

・Do Leona consider mc/yuu as friend or just a normal classmate?

・Grim and the Prefect

・Crowley and the Prefect

・Is the Prefect really like a counselor for the overblotters?

・How many people know about Yuu is actually from the other world

・I was wondering what yuuya does during the OB battles?

・is there anything in the novels where Yuuya going into a club is brought up?

・Does Crowley give the MC any allowance?

・Does blot not harm Yuya?

・Does novel Leona treat Yuuya differently compared to the game?

・Compilation of Ace/Yuuya (novel) interactions

・when Yuuya arrived in Twisted Wonderland, did he instantly understand the language there?

・With regards to the difference between the game and light novel is Yuuya more prominent in the novel than Yuu in the games

・Reactions to the prefect

・do you have any idea as to why the novel Yuu has severe social anxiety as opposed to the other Yuus?

・...what do you think of the idea that the game's MC is a Will'O the wisps Fae...disguised as a human... (twitter link)

#twstask #twisted wonderland

[zarvasace]

Next is Depth! He is dark Sky. (He gets his own special dramatic portrait—the perspective mostly works? Idk I need to practice and find some good refs for this sort of thing.) So much rambling about him and his design under the cut.

Masterpost

The most striking thing about Depth is how normal he looks. Disregarding a few odd features, he looks like Just Some Guy, at least until he opens his mouth. He occasionally feigns being mute around others so he can keep the charade of being human up for longer, since his voice sounds truly awful. Depth is paler than Sky with much darker hair and orange-red eyes, but is otherwise identical. He doesn't mind that, and chooses to play it up a bit with very similar clothes, too. His tunic is rust-colored, opposite Sky’s spring green, and his chainmail is pointed and jagged on the ends instead of smooth. He wears a purple sash with more angular designs and lines, which matches the purple charm that keeps his cape on. 

Depth’s sailcloth is both a source of pride and a sore spot. He made it to contrast Sky’s, dark and tattered, but one of his very secret desires is to get one as beautiful as Sky’s, made by Sun, maybe dark, but functional and lovely and a reminder of her. 

See, Depth doesn't understand Sun—he doesn't actually know her, though he has memories from Sky. He wants her to be a damsel in distress that he can rescue, he dreams of her choosing him over his Light, but he doesn't realize that she won't. He loves his idea of her. While Depth follows [insert LU bad guy here]’s directives, he makes his own plans and he has his own agendas, and many of those plans aid him, in some way, to win Sun’s affection. 

However, as Depth has been growing into the leader role, he's starting to become attached to the other Darks. He's annoyed by them, but his plans have started to expand to benefit them in a way that doesn't necessarily benefit him, too. He might have a little altruism in him, after all. 

Despite that, unfortunately, Depth remains someone who would not save the world, but someone who intends to damn it over and over again. He doesn't flinch at the thought of Demise’s curse, in fact, he would welcome it. He likes the idea of having a purpose and a destiny. He wants to coddle the few people he cares about and would set everything on fire to do it. He says he loves Sun more than Sky ever could, but he would lock her away to keep her "safe."

Depth is the de facto leader of the group, since he's driven and has ambition. He has a very strict idea of what the other Darks should be doing and gets upset when they don't do it. He hates being touched and is ruthlessly practical. Once, when Nothing was being particularly annoying and tried to steal Depth’s sailcloth, Depth broke at least one of Nothing's fingers. He hasn't gotten close to injuring someone like that again, due to equal parts nobody bothering him like that again and him trying to be a little gentler. He doesn't hesitate to threaten injury to keep order, though. 

Depth knows about Ghirahim as a sword, and wants to wield it, but is under the impression that he needs to prove himself worthy first. (Whether or not [LU bad guy] actually intends to let him use it is a different story.) Depth is one of the more skilled sword fighters among the Darks, remembering formal training, but his sword isn't anything special. In a fight with Sky, they would be evenly matched if it weren't for Sky’s ability to use a Skyward Strike, and Depth's inability to block that much light. 

Depth’s special ability is his voice. In a mundane way, the others try to not make him use it, because it's almost painful to hear. In a magical way, Depth’s voice carries over long distances. When he sings, he can summon creatures like bats, crows, rats, and snakes, and they'll listen to him for a time. When he screams, his voice is a magical, short-range wave of destruction. Yes, he's an evil Disney Princess. Depth doesn't feel any strong affinity for the animals he attracts, but he doesn't let Dire or anyone else hurt them, and he doesn't send them to their deaths. He mostly uses them as spies and distractions. 

Depth is one of the more dangerous members of the Dark Chain—not because he’s physically imposing or particularly powerful, but because he can see beyond the next mission and is determined to ruin the Lights once and for all. He's one of those who would happily kill his Light—but only after Depth shows him how he has lost everything dear to him. 

#my art #lu z darks au #is this even lu anymore #i mean technically im using the lu interpretations so okay #linked universe

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello this is a question that came about from watching the new Fallout TV show and a character named Maximus. He’s a relatively neutral character and his arc is very wonderful coming from a writer and big book reader but I noticed that the average viewer doesn’t understand his character and actually hates him… my question is as an author is it okay to make your story more digestible to people who lack perception since it’s the general audience for mainstream media and how do you do that without losing your story? Idk this was probably too complex and a stupid question 💔

Not a stupid question! There are no stupid questions.

Going to unpack this a bit though. (I haven't seen the show.) First some general points, but then some advice on balancing complexity in a story.

So. Some things to get out of the way:

You don't know what the average viewer is thinking. Just because their opinion on a character is different to yours, doesn't mean they lack perception. Do we sometimes have an issue with critical thinking in the modern age? Yes. But we also live in an age where people bring a vast array of different insights and experiences into the stories they read/watch. 99% of the time a story doesn't have just one right interpretation, especially if it is a more complex narrative.

You CAN try to write a story that is more digestible to a general audience, but if you do have concerns about the media literacy of the general population, focusing on providing unchallenging stories is not the fix to that. People learn through engaging with interesting work and having discussions about them - e.g. when they are given the opportunity to. Perception, like anything, is a skill trained with practice. No one's born with it. There's no inherent us/them that can't be changed.

Will you be happy and fulfilled as a writer writing stories that you feel are dumbed or watered down? I know I wouldn't end up writing the versions of stories that I want. Similarly, you probably won't then attract the readers/audience that most resonate with your ideas, because you don't give them the chance.

Generally speaking, people hate being talked down to. As a reader/lover of stories, if I thought a writer was talking down to me and thought I was an idiot who couldn't understand the themes/plot, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with their stuff. It's a horrible feeling, isn't it? It's like being written off before you even leave the gate.

Okay, now some advice: Amazing children's books are a great example of stories that are simplified to appeal and meet the audience where they are at, without losing the richness that makes them resonate and engage readers/audience. However, there are adult examples too. They share some qualities.

These often have:

Clear structure (there are a myriad story structures that you can use to make a story hit beats the reader expects and create a sense of satisfaction, while still giving you room to play.)

High concept story idea/plot (so, stories that can be explained/pitched in a line. E.g. children are forced to fight in televised death matches (Hunger Games), a famous author is imprisoned by a dangerous fan who doesn't approve of his new work (Misery), 'it's jaws in outer space!'). These stories have simple premises that often have wide-appeal, but the stories themselves can be complex.

Engaging main character(s) with a clear goal/agenda. They don't have to all be morally pure, but for an easy win, your character should be likeable/easy to root for. In a children's book, e.g. at the simplest level, these are often also high concept. (E.g. a mouse wants to be heard so is convinced it needs a lion's roar to be loved - The Lion Inside by Rachel Bright)

There are, of course, exceptions to every rule. Game of Thrones was phenomenally popular, for example, but I don't think it's an easy to sink into world/simple set of characters.

Watering down an existing story to fit a different target audience is often not going to lead you to write the best story. This is because it's like trying to fit a triangle into a circle, or make a banana bread into a savoury scone. However, there are plenty of stories with mass-appeal that offer readers a variety of different levels to engage with them, so it is very possible to write a brilliant story with mass appeal. But you work from the foundations up, not from the finished product down.

I hope this helps!

#writing advice #writing talk #writing tips #creative writing #fiction writing #writing #on writing

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

Syzygy: Some Closing Thoughts

I'm writing this at 8pm on my backyard porch, under the wavering light of a distant full moon.  Hello, moon! Please don't kidnap me. I just wanted to hang out with you for a while as I collect my final thoughts. It's a pretty cloudy night tonight, so it's not properly visible, which I suppose is the cloud cover shielding me from a terrible lunar fate. It gives a deliciously hazy atmosphere for the absolute essay I'm about to write.

Apparently, the Farmer's Almanac says that tonight's full moon is a 'Pink Moon', which sounds like it'd be a very pleasant viewing experience. I imagine pastel frangipanis spontaneously sprouting all over the moon's surface, covering every inch of its rocks and crags until the soft pink glow is visible from all the way down here on Earth. Unfortunately it's not named 'Pink Moon' because of that; there's some American environmental factors, etc.

I think it's kind of charming that there's a list of names for every possible full moon, as if the moon's putting on different masks or incarnations every time it tilts just enough that we can see its full face. I'm looking at a list of them now instead of writing these final notes like I probably should. The names are so delightful. Strawberry Moon. Sturgeon Moon. Apparently last month's full moon was Worm Moon. WORM MOON. I could go on. I won't. Let's talk about Syzygy instead.

Syzygy is... Man, where do I even start with this? Let's try the beginning. I started writing Syzygy in February of 2021, after ruminating on it for probably a few months before that, as I often do. That's three years ago, so my memories of the reasons why are a bit fuzzy, but I think I did it for two reasons: one, a desire to have a long-form meaty slowburn fic for a beloved rarepair in the tag so other people could enjoy it, and two, a fascination with the idea of fractured identity, what it means to be a Side without a Centre. The whole thing with the alternate-history steampunk swapped-around Earth came about naturally from that.

Except that's actually kind of a lie, because that's not the beginning, this began in 2020, when I wrote a pitch for a local station that was accepting radio play submissions (rejected, of course) featuring a hardboiled noir detective in a starlit city whose latest client was a tiny shiny girl asking him to solve her father's murder. And that's also a lie, because I think it really began when I tried to write an original novel in high school where the protagonist's name was Avery Allen, because I liked the way the name tripped off my lips.

My stories are always built on each other, especially stories I never get to write. They all recycle into each other in a weird blend of concepts and characters. 2021 was when I sat down and told myself I was going to write the Thomceit time loop fic, and I dove into it with aplomb. I can't recall the exact timeline of events, but at some point I underwent some truly gnarly health problems that left me unable to use my hands for extended periods of time, and so the fic that was meant to be for a Big Bang ended up... Just sitting in a folder for a while. But me and my beta managed to pull it the fuck together, and after adding some extra bits and pieces (the cutaways were a LAST MINUTE ADDITION even though I think they're some of my favorite bits in the whole thing) I started putting it all up.

Okay, there we go, that's enough of an abridged history of this thing. Let's just say: I never expected as many people to like it as it turned out, I thought that it would be a niche little fic for a rarepair, and I was honestly pretty content with that. So it was delightful to see so many people getting so into it, I have enjoyed the FUCK out of all of your comments and theories and predictions. It's been delightful when people predicted a plot point correctly, and honestly even more delightful when they predicted incorrectly. I've had such a blast.

As for the writing... Suffice to say I have many notebooks full of notes and thoughts, more than one spreadsheet to keep track of time loops and lore, and a semi-complete list of all of Virgil's tarot cards, which one day I'll probably polish and share properly, because I think the concept is neat. But that's kind of how it always goes with my writing.

Naming every inspiration for this would take forever and I'd still miss a few, but I'll just throw out a key few ones, because I gotta:

17776: What Will Football Look Like In The Future, because when I first read it I got the wrong idea and thought that Juice (Jupiter Icy Moons Explorer) was short for Betelgeuse (the star), and that sparked a whole thing about living stars in my brain. Also, just the general way that the worldbuilding and absurdity is handled in that world, it scratches my brain just right.

Welcome To Night Vale. I don't think I need to explain this one.

Madeleine L'Engle's writing, particularly A Wind In The Door, particularly-particularly the bit of it where Proginoskes explains why, precisely, he has to remember and Name every star in the universe. Fucking beautiful book.

A particular Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi fic I read years ago and haven't been able to track down again, which also features two people stuck in a time loop who are initially unaware that they're in it together AND dying at the same time. I believe they also meet on a bus? The details are fuzzy. The worldbuilding and descriptions of that fic were so stunning to me, it had me unable to read anything for a solid few weeks, it is definitely a superior work to mine in every respect. If anyone finds it, let me know, I don't think I finished reading it and want to know how it ends.

An unpublished fic that I had the privilege to read while it was being written, that changed my brain chemistry re: the Sides unknowingly existing without Thomas. The Flowerwall Cafe originally hails from this one, too, graciously borrowed and greatly beloved.

Both Ghibli films in general AND Dianna Wynne Jones books in general, and obviously the intersection between the two, Howl's Moving Castle, which is fascinating in how both mediums handle the setting.

The Doctor Who audio drama Scherzo, which is a wild ride, and there's a major plot point revolving around the two main characters holding hands and fusing gruesomely into each other - and another involving an in-story fairy tale.

There was no huge inspiration for the clockwork city and weird steampunk carriages, apart from (perhaps) Fallen London. Certainly, the idea of a background organization that wants to kill the sun, who also happens to be a sentient being, is cribbed from the Liberation of Night.

Syzygy also happens to be packed full of many obscure references to... like... personal projects of mine, some published and some unpublished, as well as a lot of my friends and co-writers, and some really REALLY niche stuff that only I will ever properly understand. I buried a lot of myself into this story, is what I'm saying. Juice hails from a completely different project (a TTRPG with my friends, of which she is a beloved and cherished NPC), the in-universe author for Avery Allen (and Mallory Wynn too) are named for a fictional TV author I created when the writing discord was making a nonexistent fandom, Logan's dumpling recipe is my favorite recipe of all time.

I have an apartment ghost, too. I talk to it regularly.

Final thank-yous, because I want to post this very very soon, I've been typing for too long and the mosquitoes are starting to get to me. Thank you to:

Everyone on the TSS writing server who listened to me complain while I was writing it the first time round, and has subsequently listened to me complain while editing it these past two years. So many people in there are responsible for little bits and pieces - phrasings, words, nicknames, jokes - and I couldn't begin to name everyone who helped.

Saphira and the rest of the people who are currently working on making a full-cast audio drama out of this fic (???) (???!!!!??) (!!!!). It is SO baffling to me that it's happening, I'm in complete disbelief whenever we talk about it or I see the script or I get asked logistics questions, I'm terrified and thrilled to see how it turns out, what the fuck! The very existence of that project has ended up influencing a few things about this fic's endgame, too.

Everyone who's commented extensively, commented entire academic analyses, commented numbered lists, commented laconically, left a single emoji in the comments, left kudos, bookmarked it, sent me asks on Tumblr, given me thumbs-ups on Discord, or even just silently read the fic without interacting at all. Your witness brings my words to existence. Love you love you love you.

And Len, who lives in my brain and my body and my heart and my throat, and who is honestly singlehandedly responsible for dragging this fic out of the depths of Google Docs and into the arms of AO3. They've already said I don't need to thank them, but come on, I totally do. Len is the best beta, and puts up with all sorts of deranged nonsense from me, because I have an unhinged writing process where I don't think about anything before I put it down on the page, and I use way too many connecting-dashes and not enough semicolons. Kisses kisses kisses. Thanks for doing this with me, and I can't wait to do it again.

Myself. I managed to write this and I managed to finish it. That makes me a pretty cool person, all things considered. I'm glad I did this.

What next? I've got to rest. Well, I need to get some things done... and then rest. I've been juggling a hellish amount of projects for a while now, and now Syzygy's finally cleared from my plate, I'm going to try to let the others get cleared too so I can take some time and be less stressed. The Locked Tomb AU will be ongoing, as I get through final edits of chapters, so keep an eye out for that - if you're interested in a fic that's rather less starry and shiny, but very much Thomceit and death themes, check it out  - and then....... Well, whatever comes next, whenever I have the energy to do it. I adore writing in this fandom. I'll be back with something weird soon enough.

Ad astra, baby! It's been a blast.

- Min (2024)

#Syzygy #author's note

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP, oh my god, the MHJ New Jean's news?? Do you have any thoughts? That's actually insane! What do you think is going to end up happening with New Jean's?

*

Ask 2:

Have you read about what’s happening with Ador and Hybe? What do you think?

*

Ask 3:

The TEA today about Ador Ceo was sad but not surprising. BTS is the story of betrayal by outsiders.

I was surprised when Tae worked with HER for his album. I didn't see that collaboration coming.

I have to wonder if she purposefully misled Tae into a "mid" album. Look, Layover isn't a bad album but its not a masterpiece regardless of what Tae solos believe.

The results are so different between albums like JITB, Astronaut, DDAY, Indigo, Face and Layover its crazy. The depth/personal experience reflected in those albums is undeniable while Tae's was all surface.

Golden is departure and its own thing. JK went for global popstar and achieved/ate!! His choreo reflected his status as part of 3J and his vocals were on display. Gorgeous!!! (Had to add that in because in this house we don't leave out members)

I feel bad for Tae today realizing he worked with a traitor. I will always wonder what he could have released if he had just worked with the Bighit team instead of Ador Ceo.

Maybe you have more insight into all this?

*

Ask 4:

Sooo... what are you thinking about this inter-hybe conflict between belift and ador? I know you're a nj fan but I think I've also heard you say that people are too quick to call things a nj copy, so I'm curious what you think about mhj's claims. I'll be honest that I thought that what I've seen so far seemed kind of unhinged-main-character syndrome to me but I also don't follow these groups and don't know how deep this goes. Certainly, I think mhj has been very deliberate and successful in building nj's brand, but I found this public argument unnecessary and potentially damaging to both groups. What kind of fallout do you expect?

*

Ask 5:

Bpp! Thoughts on the Min Heejin Hybe mess? I thought we were done with the corporate drama but tuns out no!

***

There's really nothing to say... yet.

News leaked that HYBE has leveled some allegations and accusations at ADOR, most likely based on a tip off, and launched an audit to ascertain if these allegations are true - in HYBE's statement confirming the audit, they don't name the people accused, but the news leak makes a point to name Min Heejin specifically, keeping the name of the VP who is accused of committing the acts unknown.

Min Heejin has responded in an exclusive interview and statement by ADOR, that she's innocent of most of the accusations and that this dispute started because HYBE has refused to curb inter-label plagiarism of her ideas with NewJeans. She refers specifically to Be:lift's new girl group Illit, noting how everything from choreography to visuals to styling to sound is based on her ideas, without proper attribution to her from Belift, nor an apology for what she calls blatant theft of concepts she's developing at ADOR. She accuses Bang PD of being complicit and prioritizing short-term profit over long-term viability of the new groups he's pushing out.

There are reports (unconfirmed) that HYBE has called for Min Heejin to resign. If ADOR doesn't call for a shareholder meeting by tomorrow, HYBE has indicated they might sue. The fact the meeting is being called before the audit is concluded, has all the hallmarks of a textbook corporate power play move, and implies to me something else than what I'm seeing most people here allude to. But still...

--

...there's nothing to say because what we're seeing is the middle innings of a power play game. There's simply too little info to make any decisive statements.

I immediately get a headache whenever things like this happen in k-pop because, even for more innocuous subjects, there's nobody more mind rotted than the average k-pop stan. And before long we'll have people whose only experience with executive/corporate power struggles is watching Succession, giving us endless takes in endless discourse. And this particular discourse is going to be more annoying because (1) Min Heejin is a woman who is already widely disliked, (2) There's an overwhelming amount of intersectional motives and interests both within and outside HYBE given the nature of the dispute, which typically leads to people infusing moral language into the discussion. It's going to be the HYBE-Kakao-SM discourse on steroids (and even in the HYBE vs SM drama, we had far more information to go on that what's available in this case).

I mean... Anon 3, you're already convinced this is a story of "betrayal", and claiming she is a "traitor", and you're tying a corporate power struggle to BTS. Not like I'd expect to see anything less from most other people to be honest.

This is really a dispute between Min Heejin and Kim Taeho (Belift's CEO), with increased grievance due to Taeho supposedly enjoying Bang PD and Park Jiwon's support and Heejin, supposedly, not.

The fallout, predictably, is going to be nasty. Given all the above. NewJeans is slated to have a comeback next month, Illit is only just ramping down debut activities while ENHYPEN is just starting the final leg of their FATE+ tour. If HYBE is indeed demanding MHJ resign, it's likely they only mean for her to resign from the CEO role but remain as the Creative Director of NewJeans - because the reality is that if there is no MHJ, there is no NewJeans. And it's that reality that in my view, is the primary leverage MHJ has. And she doesn't strike me as the sort to bluff. The worst case scenario is she leaves HYBE completely and NewJeans is put on hiatus, or the members sue to break their contracts with HYBE to follow her while she courts outside investors, similar to the Fifty Fifty situation.

Inter-label competition and drama is expected in a company like HYBE, it's wonderful because it can yield truly incredible results and unique approaches, but also potentally horrible because it can result in cases like MHJ's vs HYBE. There are ways to properly manage this competition to prevent the latter case, but I can't say I've seen any indication that with Jiwon nor Bang have done so. I said above that MHJ leaving HYBE completely is the worst case scenario for NewJeans, but it looks like the scenario most preferable for certain parties given it's one of the only viable outcomes from having this news broken this way. And so, most likely to happen. Unless Bang PD develops some hitherto unseen business acumen... so yeah I'm not holding my breath.

I have nothing insightful to add. My opinions about the suits at HYBE and Bang PD's business decisions for the last 2 years have skewed mostly negative, and that's not changed in this case. I'd rather not share my full opinions because I feel they run contrary to the dominant talking points here, and partly because they're not fully formed and nobody here is paying me to fully develop a view. I'm really not going to do that work for free.

We're all just going to have to wait and see.

What I will say though and something I find particularly interesting, is that HYBE has been accused of what Min Heejin is alleging, since at least the start of last year. Also, Belift in particular has been accused of plagiarism since the start of the year, twice, on issues unrelated to NewJeans. The first was when 'mobiius_music', an indie music producer on Instagram, accused them of lifting his music almost bar for bar for ENHYPEN's 2023 GDA dance break. The second was when Kelley Sweeney, an American choreographer who shares her routines on Instagram and tiktok, accused Belift of using her choreography for Illit's pre-debut practice without credit. Both times it was for low-level offences as it wasn't related to official music releases or album content, and so in that way Belift is better than bigger and more known agencies, but it still reflects a lax vetting process in the best case and unethical creative practices in the worst.

Anyway, my concern is for the artists involved while the suits try to play god with their careers. I can only hope that whatever happens is only the best possible outcome for all involved.

#newjeans #min heejin #bang pd #park jiwon #kim taeho #belift #hybe #kpop #ador

[apparitionism]

Asleep 2

For the anniversary this year, I have the second “half” of my @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange story for @kla1991 : an involuntary bed-sharing situation that turns not sexy but disastrous. The first part took on Myka’s perspective; this conclusion is written from the other side of the bed. A confession: I find in-universe Helena’s head voice a somewhat difficult register to compose—because while she can’t be fully insane, she needs to teeter or list, sometimes more than a little (but without falling into histrionics). Which is to say that if you don’t entirely buy the turns of thought and/or coping mechanisms I’ve given her here, your skepticism is well-placed. Ultimately I hope it’s the case that a person can be broken but still want in a way that’s... pure? Justified? Sweet? Reciprocatable? Maybe just “vaguely recognizably human”?

Anyway, this is long, first because it extends well beyond the point at which the first part ended, but also because when a Bering and a Wells get to talking (as they at last do!), they need to work things out at their own pace...

Asleep 2

My arm is asleep.

Under normal circumstances, a person would, upon becoming aware of this, shift position so as to restore blood flow.

Under normal circumstances.

But very little is normal about the circumstances under which Helena’s arm is asleep.

She is in a hotel-room bed, in the dark of night, lying on her left side, with her left arm, her now-asleep arm, pinned beneath her. So ends the disturbingly limited “normal” portion of the situation.

Here begins the larger portion: she absolutely must not move.

Irony guts at her with that, a shiv-and-twist remembrance of bronze restriction—but that prohibition had involved a significantly different auxiliary verb: “cannot” rather than “must not.”

Grammatical particulars aside, her immobility now is barely less a torment. This is because her other arm, her alive right, terminates in an even-more alive sensate hand, one that now rests—but is in no way at rest—on Myka’s right hip.

Myka, too, is lying on her left side, a small distance in front of Helena, lying in this hotel-room bed. Such proximity in such a space might, under other circumstances, signify the fulfillment of a long-held dream... but here, now, it seems a nightmare. For Myka is Helena’s colleague and no more; they are in this bed for sleep and no more; and Myka is playing her part correctly while Helena is not, in contravention of what she has sworn to herself she would do no more.

Such drowsy sense the placing of that hand had seemed to make, when she had found herself facing Myka’s back. She had in the past regarded that length covetously, relishing the idea of touch both salacious and tender.

For all her coveting, however, she had in fact only once laid hands on that back, both hands with intention on the clothed blades of Myka’s shoulders: a terrifying embrace, one that was in the most basic physical manner right but overall searingly wrong, screaming bodily truth but surrounded by words that said nothing they should. A perversion of promise, like so much else that had happened in Boone.

Yet Helena had clung to its memory all the same.

She’d thought, here in this unexpected proximity, to supersede that, to touch once again, once again but brief, once again though brief. To erase and replace.

First she touched the right blade, light; yet her hand wanted stillness, more connection than a mere pat against cotton-clad bone. And there was Myka’s hip, a beckoning promontory jut... a place to rest. Rest, however brief.

Once placed, however, her hand had proved reluctant to retreat.

Brief, she reminded it.

No, the hand had responded. I belong here.

Helena knows this is true. She knows also that it cannot be true.

But she is no stranger to holding contradictory thoughts in her head. This has been essential to establishing and maintaining, in these new Warehouse days, a functional equilibrium. Functional. Indeed her goal, in this “reboot,” has been to function, which she has lately defined as something on the order of “to move through time nondestructively.”

This definition had come about due to her realization, pre-reboot, that her difference from others, her inability to fully perform a modern self—her arrogance about that inability, even as she attempted to hide both the inability and the arrogance—chipped at, chipped from, the good (the good nature, the good will, the goodness) of those around her. Over time, such chips accrued as wounds.

Nate. (Adelaide.) Giselle.

She had as a result finally understood that coming back to the Warehouse would mean, at the very least, that those with whom she interacted had already made a bargain, perhaps even a peace, with the inevitable violence of history: with the way the forces of the past could—would—affect, even infect, the present. Helena herself was, at her simplest, merely one more of those forces.

She did consider requesting that she be re-Bronzed, now absent any pretension of traveling through time, but rather as a way of neutralizing a dangerous, and demonstrably unstable, artifact. But then an image had come to her, possibly as an omen, possibly as only a desperate wish: Myka’s devastated face upon hearing such news.

Boone all over again.

Thus the reboot. Because the most significant entry under “function,” with additional emphasis on the “nondestructive” portion of that definition, was her resolution to spare Myka pain. In the past, Helena had been both careless and careful—surgically so—in her infliction of damage on Myka above all others. But she had sworn to herself that those days were done.

Done, but Helena knew she had not paid anything near a sufficient price.

So. To maintain distance, no matter how troublesomely ardent her wish to close it, was—had to be—part of her penance. And to do so decorously was—had to be—the gentlest approach. That was what Helena told herself in her more rational moments.

This moment, in this bed, is not one of those. If it were, she would simply remove her hand. Simply remove it, then roll over.

But her mind races, finding complication: She doesn’t know what sort of sleeper Myka is. Had Helena’s placing of hand awakened her? If she had awakened, has she now fallen asleep again? If she has, would she then be reawakened by the hand’s removal? Or would she, if still awake, draw some negative inference about the entire situation based on removal?

Ideally, Helena would maintain a facsimile of entirely blameless sleep while engaging in that removal, but can she make such a performance believable?

Never in her life has Helena been so concerned about her ability to mislead convincingly as when she has attempted to deceive Myka. That was the case in the past, even at her most nefarious, and now she worries day-to-day that her strictly disciplined disguise of near-constant wishing ache will slip and fail. A simple I am asleep should be... well... simple. But it is not, and Helena is reminded of Claudia’s tendency to observe, in situations both dire and banal, “Here we are.”

Here we are, because Myka is apparently indifferent to the idea of sharing a bed with Helena.

Here we are, because Myka is apparently indifferent to history.

Here we are, and that latter indifference is a surpassing irony, due to the fullness of—

Helena sees that she needs to divert her train of thought, as descending into unjustified anger will help absolutely nothing.

First, she entertains a fantasy of sitting up, turning on a light, and explaining to Myka that this entire situation is untenable, and that if they are going to share a bed, they should share a bed. But it’s true that Myka did not seem even to consider that as a possibility, which seems ludicrous, given the past... no, that’s back to unjustified anger, for who is Helena to resent what Myka wishes not to consider? And indeed, who is she to interpret the past in such a way as to believe she understands what Myka would have considered?

Focus on the facts, she tells herself. What actually happened in that nefarious past. And do so dispassionately.

Regrettably, the word “dispassionately” brings to mind another word: “passionately.”

Again. For she had thought that word not long after she and Myka had first entered this room, first entered it to find, as Helena’s unrestrained fantasies might have conjured, only one bed. That they were clearly intended to share. Thus her mind’s unruly leap to... an adverbial manner in which they might do so.

But Myka had said not one word about the accommodations, so Helena had held her tongue as well. She nevertheless couldn’t help but feel it an elaborate lack of remark on both their parts, the silence practically baroque in its fullness.

Baroque too had been the courtesy with which they jointly prepared for bed, a you-first-no-you stutter-choreography of politeness that ensured privacy, yes, but also reinforced the barrier between their past and their present.

Which Helena understood was necessary. It did nothing, however, to mitigate the breath-hold of preparing to lie down beside Myka.

Once she had managed that lying down, however (with a relative aplomb for which self-congratulation was not, she felt, unjustified), she hoped her torment might ease. A bit. If she could manage the additional task of pretending the body beside her was no more significant than any other human. Some flesh, recumbent.

But when they were situated thus beside, Myka spoke. “You seem a little upset,” she said.

Helena had barely been able to restrain a snort. Now Myka saw fit to comment? As if allowing this portion of the play to pass without remark would create some undue strain upon collegiality? As if their incongruous bonhomie might buckle under the weight of that silence? Oh, that was rich.

Bottling her pique, Helena questioned: “With?” To make Myka say it. Mere saying wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

“You haven’t been yourself since you put that camera in the static bag. Was it a problem, seeing it again?”

Helena held herself rigid so as to keep her body from betraying neither her disappointment at the question nor, contradictorily, her relief...

It was a reasonable question. A good question. Not one on which Helena particularly wanted to focus (although it indicated a certain attention on Myka’s part, an attention on which Helena suspected she should not dwell), but it did deserve an answer. “It closes a door, doesn’t it,” she told the ceiling, for turning her head to address the other body directly seemed an invitation to peril. “That one I opened so nefariously, long ago.”

“Or—and—maybe it closes a loop,” Myka said.

Unexpected. “A loop?”

“Right after college, I went through a self-help phase,” Myka said. She paused, and Helena found herself on relative tenterhooks regarding the applicability of this (new!) information to the current situation. Which reminded her how much she had missed talking with Myka... because of the very sound of her voice, yes, but also because her conversation could range so unanticipatedly. So rewardingly unanticipatedly. Helena had known few people who could lead her on such unpredictable, yet productive, journeys.

Was Myka’s apparent willingness to begin such a journey now indicative of... anything? A softening, perhaps, of relations between them? Not a rebooting of their once-burgeoning intimacy, for that had to remain taboo, but could it be that some restoration of their previous intellectual engagement might be, at the very least, neutral rather than harmful?

Helena had moved a tentative pawn in that direction during their conversation on the airplane. Perhaps this was Myka’s answering move?

With an exhale that seemed like resignation at what she was about to say—to reveal?—Myka said, “I felt like I needed to be someone different—someone better.”

Another pause. Helena considered that such a feeling seemed very Myka (and she heard that phrase in Claudia’s voice), but also very misguided. Of course she was not at all placed to make such judgments, and even less so to convey them to Myka. Thus she said a simple, “Did you,” to encourage without prejudice.

“So I read a lot of books,” Myka said, to which Helena had responded internally, Of course you did. “One was about how to get things done.”

“All things?” Helena asked.

“Sort of.” That was followed by yet another pause. Yet another puzzle.

All these pauses. Was Myka on the verge of sleep? Helena said, soft, thinking she might go unheard, “Perhaps I should read that book. As a help to myself.”

At that, Myka had laughed, more delay, but also soft. “I don’t think it’s any kind of help you need. The guy who wrote it had a big system, all these rules, and I love rules, but these... I admit I didn’t stick with most of them. Honestly, any. But an idea that did stick was actually a pretty minor part: open loops. Stuff you track subconsciously, all the time, because it’s incomplete. How troubling that is. And what a difference it makes when you close a loop, when you each a resolution. I mean, he was talking about stuff like answering emails.”

“Emails,” Helena echoed. So far from artifacts.

“Which this is so much bigger than,” Myka said, exhibiting, not for the first time, an uncanny ability to scoop from Helena’s thoughts. “But maybe the principle holds. You don’t have to tell me. But I hope you have fewer open loops now than you did. Before.”

“Yes. The number. Fewer,” Helena said, factually.

She of course couldn’t say out loud (but it was equally factual) that Myka herself was the loop most capaciously open. The one that gaped, superseding, never mind the number of lesser.

Indeed, however, that number was now minus-one. Oscar. Oscar and his ballad... that loop closed.

Helena had in fact, while handling the camera, begun to ideate a wish that someone (Steve? Claudia?) might be persuaded to use the camera to capture her image... for it had occurred to her that a spark of art, some production on which to concentrate, might animate this reboot... something to pursue, rather than to be pursued by...

But. Lying abed, still and strangely hopeful—a state she should have known would not endure—a realization had struck her, as an open hand to the face, a realization of why Myka had brought up loops and the closing thereof: she had somehow discerned Helena’s wish, via that scooping of thought, and was discouraging her from pursuing it.

So much for any softening. This was instead a warning: Helena should not open a loop that Myka might be obligated to close. And Helena had no trouble grasping that the warning was in no way limited to the use of a single artifact... no, it doubtless applied to any burdensome loops Helena might be thinking of opening, any new incompletions that might come to trouble Myka.

“I understand,” Helena had said, regretting that pawns could not be moved backwards.

At the same instant, Myka said, “I’m glad.”

That collision had canceled communication entirely; in its wake, Myka had turned out her light and turned away from Helena.

Leaving Helena to her thoughts.

Well, fine, had been the first of those.

Next had come an equally mulish sniff of And I will have no difficulty directing any subsequent away from this shared bed.

Whereupon she had proven herself both wrong and right, thinking about history, about the fact that, whatever Myka’s commentary or lack thereof had or hadn’t signified, the fact of Warehouse agents lodging together, sharing beds completely platonically, was certainly nothing new.

This line of thinking had enabled Helena to distract herself by recalling a mission with Steve and Claudia, one in which Steve had announced, after checking in at their hotel, “Bad news. Just a king room left, but they said they’d bring up a cot.”

He had then immediately assigned Claudia to said cot, prompting her to protest, “No way! This situation screams rock-paper-scissors tournament! Loser gets the crappy night’s sleep!”

“No way,” Steve protested back, far more mildly. “The father of science fiction gets first dibs on the lumbar support, and my back’s got a decade on yours, so I call second. If that father agrees.”

Helena had. Sharing with Steve had been fine.

Sharing with Myka should of course have been no different.

Should of course have been...

But now, here in the impossible present, as Helena’s left arm slumbers and her right hand sparks, what should have been? Isn’t isn’t isn’t.

She needs further distraction, so she casts her mind again to Claudia and Steve, to the compensations they have offered her during this strange and estranging reboot: at first Claudia, who had welcomed Helena back so unreservedly and continues to offer wholehearted allyship; and then Steve, who had quickly become an unanticipated boon companion, a partner upon whom Helena has felt increasingly, and increasingly exceptionally, lucky to be able to rely.

And yet these compensations, though Helena hopes she conveys all appropriate gratitude for them, are never sufficient, for Myka—necessary yet unreachable—is always present.

She’d been so, even during that cot-delineated retrieval. Its aftermath had (so much for distraction) involved a significantly Myka-related incident, for Helena had dared, as she, Steve, and Claudia were relaxing in the hotel lounge prior to retiring, to broach Myka as a topic of conversation. As one might do, she’d thought: speaking about a colleague.

“I have an inquiry,” she’d phrased it. To make the ensuing question sound... scientific?

Dispassionate, she jeers at her recalled self.

She jeers also at what she’d said next: a too-bald, “How is Myka?”

She had known, even at the time, that what she had truly wanted was to say that blessed name, to speak about that blessed person. She could not speak to Myka in any meaningful way, and she was starving.

Steve and Claudia had then shared what seemed an extremely charged glance, so Helena hastened to dissemble, making sure to use questions so as to prevent Steve from finding her immediately untruthful: “Given that her liaison with Pete ended? They’ve... recovered, as it were? Both faring well?”

But her tone had struck her own ears as too bright; a desperation rippled behind it, and Helena knew from experience that behind that tiptoed a still deeper threat of rupture, which required work to be kept at bay. As Helena had been instructed by her most successful therapist to do when such awareness overtook her, she began to breathe with attention.

Neither Steve nor Claudia spoke as she did so.

When the danger passed, she smiled, as best she could, to signal to them her appreciation—and to herself, her success.

Steve then said, “You’re not asking about Pete.”

Helena valued—as a personality trait—Steve’s discerning willingness to push. She did not in that moment value how he thus so easily revealed a glaring flaw in her initial approach: she should have asked about Pete; with that as her entrée, the talk might organically have turned to Myka. Foolish of her to think so unstrategically... or was her failure to do so a paradoxically positive sign?

“Give it time,” Steve said, and Helena knew he was making no reference to Myka and Pete’s recovery.

“My relationship to time,” she said, with contempt. Time: she’d taken it. Now she had to give it? A forfeit. Well, that was fair.

Claudia said to Steve, “Speaking of, we’re wasting it. Are we gonna do the thing?”

“Only if H.G.’s on board,” Steve told her. It was an unexpectedly mind-your-manners utterance.

“What is the thing?” Helena asked.

“Claudia’s trying out alcohols,” Steve said. “We can’t do it around Pete, obviously, which means retrievals are our—”

“So many questions to answer, right?” Claudia interrupted, her avidity increasing. “You know, am I über-suave James Bond with the martinis? Or a fights-against-my-general-cool-geek-vibe Carrie Bradshaw with a cosmo?”

Helena had had no idea what she was referring to, but the investigation seemed entirely fit for someone her age. “What have you determined thus far?”

“Turns out cosmos don’t work for me,” she said, “as the prophecy foretold, and Bond-wise, I like a martini all vodka, no gin; sorry, Vesper.”

“Is that all?” Helena asked.

Further avidity: “Oh god no. Vodka drinks aren’t perfect: white Russians are way too sweet. Also in the white family, the wine category pretty much bores me. Also there was this one time Steve ordered a gin drink called a white lady that I couldn’t even think about because it had an egg white in it and one look made me retch.”

“Quite the wide-ranging experiment,” Helena said, hoping to forestall further off-putting description. “Not conducted with inappropriate... ah... intensity, one hopes?”

Steve patted Claudia’s shoulder, at which she rolled her eyes. “I’m supervising,” he said. “No more than a few tries in one sitting, and we’re doing it mindfully.”

Claudia abandoned her attitude and nodded. “Paying attention to what I’m tasting. How to find, you know, notes and stuff. Except for the disgusting egg-white thing, it’s honestly been fun.”

“I’m not opposed to fun,” Helena said, and she was a bit surprised—but pleased, and pleased to be pleased—that Steve didn’t squint in response. “So, Mr. Supervisor, what’s next?”

“I’ve been pushing for the wide and wonderful world of beer, but—”

“Seems too jocktastic,” Claudia said. “You know, ‘Beer me, bro.’”

“I don’t know,” Helena said.

“Anyway that’s really not me,” Claudia continued, as if Helena hadn’t spoken. She did have a tendency to ignore Helena’s ignorance, a tendency that Helena enjoyed and found frustrating in equal measure.

“Her beer perspective is severely limited,” Steve lamented.

“I myself have always found a strong stout ale quite enjoyable,” Helena said: her contribution to Steve’s cause. It was also true, the fact of which he seemed pleased to affirm with a quirk of lip and a quiet “so you have.”

Claudia’s expression remained skeptical, but she shrugged weakly and said, “I guess I could give it a shot?”

“Oh, because H.G. says so,” Steve twitted.

To that, Claudia squared her shoulders. “Yeah. Don’t you know who she is?” she demanded.

“Who I was,” Helena hurried to emphasize, “and given that Steve assigned me the bed on that basis, he—”

“Who you are,” Claudia corrected, throwing the emphasis back.

“And who is that?” Helena asked. What distinction did Claudia imagine was relevant?

“The person who told me my destiny was glorious. You’re still that guy, right?”

Relevant indeed. Helena was taken aback, indeed taken back to that extremity, back in a novel way. She had been so mired in the Myka of it all in the intervening time, that she had lost her view of the bright salience of Claudia’s presence. Wrongly. “I am,” she said. She hoped Claudia believed her.

“Okay,” Claudia said. “So I’ve got this big-as-Pete’s-biceps incentive to hope the stuff you say is true. And by the way, one of you has to casually drop in front of him how I said that, because I want the points.”

Steve snickered and said, “I know my job. But in the meantime, I think I’d like to toast to all these sentiments, and to the agents offering them. With a strong stout ale.”

They tasted the three strongest the hotel bar had on offer, and Claudia pronounced that her favorite, one purporting to convey roasted notes of coffee, chocolate, and other darkness, was “way too complicated for your average broseph.” Which Steve seemed pleased by, as a judgment, so the overall experience scored a success.

There was no further talk of Myka, however, the avoidance of which topic seemed quite deliberate... as if Steve and Claudia had determined that Helena would not benefit from it.

Or that she did not deserve it.

For the best, Helena had concluded. Either way.

Now, in a similar “for the best either way” sense, she makes to raise her hand, with that intended overlay of feigned sleep, so as to shift away and at last regain equilibrium, restoring feeling to her sleeping arm and calming that oversensitive hand. But instead—in what she can interpret only as a stupidly id-driven attempt to bank some never-to-be-repeated sensation, to the memory of which that desperate id might cling in a touch-deprived future—she moves her hand, not away from Myka, but further down her leg.

And her worst fears are instantly realized: Myka’s body reacts violently, as if in revulsion at the very idea of Helena touching her.

It was only a hand at rest, Helena begs, with no conception of why or to whom she is rendering that supplication. That was all.

Alas, that was—is—not all, for in the next split second Myka is falling from the bed and crying out in pain.

Helena, at a loss, attempts a faux-innocent inquiry, which Myka answers unintelligibly. In trepidation, Helena ventures to the mattress-edge, then lowers herself to the floor next to Myka—and she is appalled, for the situation that confronts her is all debility, even more so than the absurd “my arm is asleep” with which this farce began: Myka’s shoulder is dislocated.

Further, Myka is now unconscious.

Spare Myka pain. How utterly unsurprising Helena finds her inability to obey such a dictum in even this most basic physical sense.

Unsurprising... worse, dispiriting, and it brings her low, such that again the incipient rupture asserts its subterranean power, urging Helena to give up, to run away and leave this broken Myka to someone else to bind up and save.

You’ve done it before.

That resounds in her head as both accusation and affirmation, and the voice pronouncing it might be Myka’s, or some deity’s, or that of any of the other personages who jockey audibly for primacy in that space, including Helena’s own.

She initiates breathing with care, even as an eddying undertow tempts her to entertain the notion that escape, too, might be rebooted, tempts her to entertain and revel in its ostentation as a response to Myka’s indifference, her rejection of history, even her revulsion.

Here is my answer to all that, a departure would declare.

Helena labors to breathe herself away from such perfidy, but the scenario creeps along, with an undertone of sinful relish, as she imagines leaving Myka to awaken alone and in pain.

But then—because her labor leads her there—she further imagines the various permutations of “someone else” who might be called upon to save the day in her absence. Whereupon the thought strikes her that moving through time nondestructively requires her to think seriously of, and to think seriously out, such knock-ons... how, for example, would Steve and Claudia respond to having to clean up this mess, knowing that Helena had made it?

Moving through time nondestructively. Interesting, here, the overlap with moving through time selfishly: selfishly, she does not want to destroy Claudia’s image of her as someone whose opinion matters. She does not want to destroy Steve’s image of her either, for it seems to have at least some positive components. Further, she does not want to destroy the fellowship they three are building.

If for no other reasons than those, she concludes that having caused this quite specific damage, she must fix it.

Because she can.

The fact of the matter is, Helena cannot fix most things. She has tried mightily to maintain the pretense that she can... but she has been forced over and over to confront the absurdity of that bravado. This very specific fix-it, however, she can perform. And while that performance—inconveniently, in the present circumstance—requires touch, here it can be functional. Perhaps in success she might in some way efface her earlier invasiveness...

Yet she can do nothing without two functional arms. She thumps her still-insensate left against the bed, hard—too hard, for Myka’s eyes open. She mumbles out something Helena decodes as “whatareyoudoing.”

“Preparing to remedy a situation,” Helena says.

“Okay.” Myka murmurs. She seems oddly comforted by the answer, to such an extent that she relaxes, losing consciousness again.

That’s fortunate, given the required manipulation.

Helena prepares herself to do it quickly, efficiently, as she has done in the past... rather dramatically on one occasion, as she recalls, for an agonized Wolcott... but she should not think of Wolcott. For the regret.

She sets that aside, preoccupying herself instead with the necessary activity. Her manipulation, determined and strong, is rewarded: what begins as a sluggish resistance resolves into a slip-pop of relocation, one that shudders a familiar path through her own bones. She then cushions Myka’s arm with a fresh towel and uses a pillowcase to fashion around it a tight sling.

Levering Myka up onto the bed would most likely cause further injury, so Helena sits beside her on the floor, ensuring periodically that she continues to breathe. The wait is calming, cleansing, its peace a renewal of a soothing activity of which Helena has been long deprived: observing Myka closely, at actual leisure. At no point since her return—so at no point in, literally, years—has she had such an opportunity.

She’s reminded, in that observation, of the true fundament: this precious person. Who could never be merely some flesh.

After a lengthy time, during which Helena is pressed to consider, to remember, to value Myka’s singularity, that precious person’s eyes flutter open.

That person tests her bound arm, a tentative physical investigation that approaches elegance in its delicacy.

But Myka’s delicacy and elegance, too, Helena should not think of. For the regret.

“I’m not in the hospital,” Myka burrs.

Reasonable, practical. This is what Helena should think of. “Not yet,” she says. “But we’ll go if necessary. If you’re in pain.”

Myka’s face contorts. “Not if. I am. Some. More than some. I’m sorry.”

“For being in pain?”

“That. But also, for changing this whole thing.”

Helena leaves the latter alone, for she cannot begin to interpret it. Focusing on functionality, she asks, “Can you dress yourself?”

Myka nods, but she winces far too much with even that motion, so Helena screws her courage to it and says, “I’ll change and then help you.”

Herself, fast, then Myka: Functional, she snarls internally as she addresses the situation, and even faster. She’s relieved to find that Myka’s trousers and boots are less complicated than she’d feared, and as it happens, preventing Myka suffering additional physical pain—even while undressing and redressing her!—is, paradoxically or not, far easier than navigating emotional shoals, or even hand-on-hip physical shoals. Focusing on Myka’s face for twists, listening for labors in breath, adjusting accordingly... it’s distractingly, satisfyingly concrete. Only the present moment matters.

Only the present moment matters. This is the mantra Helena iterates internally as they proceed to the nearest urgent care facility.

Yet as they wait there for attention, Helena finds herself increasingly unable to ignore why they are waiting there for attention. In the present moment, which matters. She begins—or does she intend it as an ending?—with, “I’m assuming you flung yourself to the floor in an attempt to escape a circumstance.”

Myka hiccups a laugh that makes her cringe in protection of the shoulder. “That’s weirdly accurate. As an assumption.”

Helena recoils at the confirmation, but she must acknowledge it. “A circumstance in which I touched you in a way that was unwelcome,” she agrees, with gloom.

“Unwelcome,” Myka echoes.

It’s so... definitive. It was one thing for Helena herself to think it, believe it, say it aloud. Quite another—though it shouldn’t have been—to hear it from Myka.

A punctuating end to what never truly began between them: there is some consolation, if only philosophical, in the idea that after so many starts that were false, they may at least enjoy a finish that is true.

“Of course it was,” Helena says, following with, “and how could it have been otherwise.” She puts the final period upon it by adding a bare, spare dig: “Given history.”

Myka closes her eyes... in acceptance of the cut? When she opens them, they are glistening. Tears? Helena is egotistically gratified by such a response, never mind that it means she has yet again failed to hold to her resolution.

“Helena,” Myka says, and now Helena is gratified simply by Myka’s low utterance of her name. Myka does not always use that deeper voice, and Helena does love (yes, love) the rare pleasure of hearing her name in it. “I’m so tired,” Myka says next.

That is less gratifying. It’s yet another utterance Helena should leave alone; of course Myka is tired. But in what she is sure is a mistake, Helena says, “Of?”

“Everything. But particularly, you.”

A dagger, that was. A cut back. Testimony to Helena’s concatenating mistakes.

“This you,” Myka adds.

The additional twist of blade leaves Helena unclear on the devastation Myka intends. “Of course” is all she can think to say.

Myka closes her eyes and exhales heavy, a near-sob. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” she intones, but what need has she to apologize? “That was the pain talking—or, no, I still know you well enough to know you’ll hear that wrong. What I mean is, I’m saying something I could keep holding back if the pain wasn’t cracking me open.”

The pain. Cracking her open. Which would never have happened in the absence of Helena’s stupid, thoughtless touch. Which in turn makes abundantly clear that the stupid, thoughtless person who applied that touch is the “this you” Myka means.

If Helena is to remain in this situation she must take measures, so she lengthens her inhales and exhales, entirely ashamed both at needing such a crutch and at having to exhibit that need.

After a moment of silence, Myka asks, “Are you breathing differently than you were just a second ago?”

Myka isn’t Steve. Helena could at least attempt to lie about this, to cloak her shame... but it’s effort, either way. “Yes,” she says, choosing the unpredictability of Myka’s interpretation over the unpredictability of her own performance.

“Is that good or bad?” Myka asks. “Or both?”

The questions stop Helena, stop her in the same way her at-leisure observation of Myka had. I still know you well enough, Myka had said, and it is true. This is why, Helena would say if she could. Your knowing to ask that.

But she can’t say it, and, worse, she doesn’t know what she should say. What should come next.

Apparently Myka doesn’t either. That not-knowing persists, hanging, until “next” arrives, as an intrusion from outside their suspension: medical attention is at last directed Myka’s way; she is escorted out of the waiting area and taken elsewhere.

“We’ll call you when you can see her,” Helena is told.

Alone in the waiting area—for no other human seems to have suffered damage this night—and uncomfortably situated on a hard plastic chair, she tilts her head back against a similarly unforgiving plaster wall.

She closes her eyes. She’s had no rest, no rest for so long. She is drained. Physically empty.

Philosophically as well.

She imagines trying to sleep... or rather, she imagines not trying to remain awake.

Doubtless futile, either way.

She next imagines constructing an airtight argument that could not help but persuade all who hear it—Myka in particular, but all others as well—that this entire situation is Artie’s fault.

Also futile.

This despite its being the fact of the matter, for indeed he did bring the situation about. Perhaps not in a proximate sense, but in the ultimate... the idea of which, after a moment, strikes her as both comic and tragic: Artie as the ultimate cause? Of anything, from the universe on down? Though he would doubtless like to imagine himself so... even at the Warehouse, however, he must be not even penultimate, given the bureaucracy that sits over the entire concern...

Helena thus spends the bulk of her time in the waiting area stewing about—stewing over? stewing under?—the relative positions of god, Mrs. Frederic, and various Regents in the universe. None of it, however, requires her to alter her breathing; rather, she composes in her head the opening paragraphs of several publishable monographs on these and related topics. It isn’t restful. But is evidence of something other than emptiness.

When someone does at last call her to see Myka, everything has changed.

Well. Not everything. Helena herself hasn’t, as her bureaucracy-pantheon thought may have been philosophically valid but made no difference.

Myka, however, has changed entirely: her arm is now professionally dressed, but more importantly, the knit of pain has left her face. “They medicated me,” she says, giving the word “medicated” a rapturous cast. “The X-rays said I didn’t break anything, so we’re waiting on results of a scan to see if I need surgery but in the meantime I feel better than I maybe ever have in my life and I am so happy to see you. All these doctors were like ‘why did she think she could fix you’ but I knew why and it was because it’s you. and that scan? It’ll shout out how Helena Wells relocated Myka’s shoulder so she didn’t need surgery, and they don’t know this, but actually H.G. Wells relocated Myka’s shoulder, which is even more amazing. Wait, that’s not more amazing. You’re the most amazing when you’re you than when you’re that guy. Even though I guess you are that guy. Sort of. Wait, Claudia’s been saying ‘that guy’ a lot now. And I cut and paste from her so much, but I don’t like it. The way things are.” She heaves an enormous sigh and blinks at Helena, as if she’s just re-understood that another person is present.

Is there some ideal way to answer this flood? Helena settles for an antiseptic “I’m pleased to see you out of pain.”

Myka gasps and flails wildly with her uninjured arm, which gesture eventually resolves into an index finger directed at Helena. “That’s it exactly. I’m out of pain. All out. No more pain to give. Particularly not to you. So saying I’m tired of you? I regret it, and I apologize for it, and I promise that’s the end of it. I was wishing to get something back, and you don’t want it back, and so I have to be fine. Without it. Without you.”

Without you. Helena supposes she should be impressed by how concisely Myka can foreshadow disaster. “Should I not... be here?” She braces herself for the answer.

“Of course you should. I have to be fine without how you were,” Myka says, very quietly. The collapse of her volubility gives Helena pause.

She knows it would be better not to probe; she ought to, as Claudia says, “take the win.” But “Of course you should” is only facially a win... “How was I?” she asks. To wound herself by making Myka clarify what has been lost.

“Oh, how you were...” Myka says, her words dragging. How much—any, all?—of this might be due to the varying effects of the medication? “Putting me into this story,” she continues. “It was so big, and I didn’t understand what it was, really or at all, but it felt so big. Yearning and tragedy, and there I was, still me, but in it, so in it, all in it, next to you. Bigger than life, and I... loved it? Needed it? Something to take me over. But my wishing for any of it back, when of course you don’t?” She raises that free arm, then lets it fall. Futility, it says. “So small. Only somebody little and desperate would want to make you revisit any of that.”

Medication effect or not, Helena can’t let Myka keep on with this. “Make me revisit it? Yearning and tragedy? I’m the one who inflicted that, and with malign intent; I damaged you. And I cannot imagine a scenario in which that debt is discharged.”

Myka squints. “Debt,” she says, as if articulating a new noun, but not one that names an abstraction; no, this thing is big and blunt, a dumb object that takes up space. Unfunctional furniture. That I carry on my back, Helena moods.

“Oh!” Myka then yelps, her tone shifting to excitement. “But I just damaged myself. So now we’re even!” She delivers that last bit big and broad, for all the world as if she’s the comic lead in a panto.

Helena has not spared a thought for panto in years. “That makes no sense at all,” she says, because it’s the case, but also to scorn the memory. This is no time for that past.

“Would you like me to dislocate your shoulder?” Myka asks, as if it were a reasonable proffer. Still comic, but now strangely sincere.

Helena meets this bizarrely compelling, ridiculous combination with as much severity as she can muster. “Honestly no. I would not.”

“I see,” Myka says, and she points again, this time without preambling flail. “Some prices you aren’t willing to pay.”

Helena can at the very least be honest about this. How nice it would be if Steve were here to verify. “Willing to... in the sense of volunteering to? No. In the sense of understanding that I deserve to? Certainly. So do me damage if you must. In particular, do me damage if you think it could even the score between us. It won’t, but if you think it could? Please do.”

“That’s pretty twisted,” pronounces the only arbiter who matters.

“You sound like Claudia again,” Helena observes. To push the judgment away? Yes, and she tries to make certain of it with, “Is that another cut and paste?”

“Maybe. But now that I think about it, she sees things pretty clearly a lot of the time. Don’t you think?”

“I would like to think,” Helena is compelled to admit. Hoist by her own petard.

At this point—suspending any resolution—a doctor reenters the curtained area. “Good news: no surgery,” she tells Myka.

“See, I told you she fixed it,” Myka preens.

“You did,” says the doctor. “Several times,” she adds, dry.

Helena says “I’m so sorry,” only to hear Myka say, at the same time, “Sorry not sorry!” Another echo of Claudia... this one, however, clearly heartfelt.

The doctor turns to Helena. “Don’t try anything like this again. You got ridiculously lucky.”

“That’s kind of her M.O.,” Myka says. “Except when it isn’t.”

The doctor sighs. “I’m pretty sure that’s my point. And listen, make sure to follow up with your local doc. They’ll prescribe a ton of PT, so brace yourself.”

Myka snorts. “Brace myself? Sure, but not for the PT; my boss is going to flay me alive.”

The doctor barely reacts. “Oh, maybe this one can fix that too,” she deadpans, directing an eyeroll at Helena, accompanied by a murmured, “not a suggestion.”

“Oh, she’s in for the flaying,” Myka says, with more than a little cheer. “If not for this, then for something. Eventually.”

The doctor shakes her head, eyes unfocused. “Good news for me: I don’t have to care.” She points at Myka: “You go to PT.” Now at Helena: “You don’t try to practice medicine.” At both of them, her eyes flicking back and forth with purpose: “Got it?” Helena nods; she senses Myka doing the same. “Excellent,” the doctor says. “Or whatever. I’m done with you now.”

She conveys with her rapid exit that interacting with both of them has been a most exasperating experience.

While Helena does not appreciate being chastised—and especially not for attempting to care for Myka—she does appreciate expertise. Especially when it contributes to Myka’s well-being. It’s a conundrum. “I find your doctor’s aspect strangely appealing,” she says. “Speaking of bracing.”

Myka grins. “I was totally thinking the same thing.”

“And yet I would practice that medicine again.”

“For me that’s good news.”

As they prepare to depart, Helena says, “I confess I’m curious as to what you intend to tell Artie.”

Myka offers a slight stretch of her right shoulder in the direction of her ear: the only version of a shrug available to her, bound as she is. “Maybe I should leave that to you. You’re the writer.” Forestalling Helena’s reflexive objection, she adds, “I know, I know. The research. The ideas.”

“And yet I don’t have any. I certainly don’t see a path to inventing anything that would—”

“How about I take your photo with that camera? Think that’d help?” This is accompanied by a different grin: sly.

Whither the warning? Or is this a test? Myka isn’t Steve, yet Helena goes with truth: “It might. With any number of things.”

“If only,” Myka says, inscrutably. “Anyway I intend to tell Artie that this is all his fault, because he sent us on this retrieval in the first place. Obviously I won’t say what really happened.”

While Myka bestowing such grace is not surprising, it moves Helena all the same. “Thank you,” she says.

Myka opens her mouth, then closes it. She does it again. This wait... it’s grace too. “You’re welcome,” she eventually says. “I mean I’m tempted to tell him how you saved the day—the arm—but I know I shouldn’t, because I don’t want to draw attention to the hotel charging us extra.” To Helena’s quizzical eyebrow, she says, “For the missing towels and pillowcase. Which I tried to talk the nurses into giving back to me, but they’d already tossed them as hazardous waste. Or something. Or maybe I’m just not very persuasive? Or clear in what I’m asking for?”

Helena would very much like to explain that her own answers to those questions are negative and affirmative, respectively: no, you are persuasive; but yes, you are unclear.

“On the other hand, they did medicate me,” Myka says, perking up. “I keep thinking it’ll wear off, but not yet!”

The consolations of intoxication. “To the delight of your shoulder I’m sure,” Helena says. To my delight as well, she wishes she were free to say.

Their return to the hotel room offers another “everything has changed” hinge: no longer a stage for new and awkward performances of politesse, the space is now familiar, a place they have reentered. For the next act of the play?

Myka, who has preceded Helena in, stops and sways—just a bit, but Helena instinctively steps close, taking her by the elbow of her uninjured arm with one hand, stationing the other around the curve of her waist.

She feels Myka’s breath catch at the contact; immediately, she curses herself, loosens her hold, and says a terse, “I’m sure you want to lie down.”

“More than maybe anything. Or, wait, no, not anything.” Myka turns and catches Helena’s eyes with hers, but Helena cannot use that gaze as the basis for any inference.

She backs away as Myka lowers herself onto the bed; eventually, she backs her way into the room’s one armchair. It lacks give. It also lacks arms at a height that might provide anything resembling support. Helena slumps down, trying to be grateful that it exists at all.

Long minutes pass. As in the hospital’s waiting area, Helena imagines trying not to remain awake.

Similarly futile.

She chances a glance at Myka, who meets her eyes again and says, “That looks uncomfortable. Or what I mean is, you look uncomfortable. Which honestly is pointless, unless you’re doing some hair-shirt thing, because we’ve got this big bed. Not a lot of hours before we have to leave it, but we’ve got it for now.”

“That went poorly before.”

“I think circumstances have changed. Don’t you?” Weighted.

Circumstances are always changing, Helena could say. Usually for the worse. Instead she ventures, “You’d let me lie down with you?”

“I never wouldn’t.” Myka squints. “Wait. Did that come out right? Anyway, yes.”

Medication: not yet worn off. “You’re sure?” Helena asks.

“I’m pretty sure this bed is almost as big as a field where Pete’s favorite sport happens. It’s at least as big as an ice rink anyway, and those aren’t small.”

Helena refrains from pointing out that that was no help in the previous disaster. She doesn’t, however, appreciate being able to recline. For the first while, the fact of being beside Myka is less relevant than the slow loosening of her lower back and hips.

 “Can you sleep?” Helena asks, as they are both evidently lying with eyes open to the ceiling.

“Not now,” Myka answers, and the sentiment seems clear: not after all of this. All of this with which we must deal.

The bed first, perhaps.

She turns to look at Myka, if minimally. “Did you request a cot?” she asks, because she doesn’t know. Because the answer might reveal... something?

Myka’s eyes widen. “Oh my god I should have,” she says. Stricken.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It didn’t even cross my mind.” She’s talking more to herself—or perhaps to the room at large?—than to Helena. Is this continued evidence of the medication?

“And do you know why that is?” Helena asks, hoping for that revelation, even if drug-induced.

“Honestly I think I thought I was being given an ultimatum. Like it was something I had to be fine with or else.”

“Fine with ‘or else.’” Helena means the echo as rueful agreement.

But: “Sharing a bed with you. Platonically,” Myka says, taking it instead as a request for explanation.

“Platonically,” Helena scoffs, unable to avoid the idea that agreeing to accept that adverb would, paradoxically, usher in others. (Passionately.) (Speaking of paradoxically.) “That word is so often misused.” It’s a push-off. A push-away.

“But I’m using it correctly.” Myka sounds not offended, but rather self-satisfied.

Fine. Harden the position. “You are not referring to our consciousness rising from physical to spiritual matters.”

“Well... but how about love for the idea of good? As a path to virtue?”

Myka is well-read. In this moment, that fact is not entirely pleasing. “I suppose we were both attempting to be courtly,” Helena concedes.

“I mean I’ll grant you that nobody ended up transcending the body,” Myka says. Helena is about to agree, to snap away from churlishness, to express regret and apologies, when Myka exclaims, “Hey! I just had the best idea for a joke. So you’re not a hologram anymore, right? So you know what you were trying to be? Last night, in bed?”

Jokes. They confound Helena nearly as completely as metaphors do Steve. “I have no idea.”

“A Platonic solid,” Myka declares, triumphant.

Helena is mortified to find that in this case, she “gets it.” “Myka,” she sighs.

“Too soon? But come on, it’s not bad!”

“Alas, it is.” This quality, Helena can recognize.

“Right, but the good kind.”

Helena is not made of stone. Or bronze. How much easier everything had been then, sans choice and sans reason... and most importantly, sans the near-irresistibility of this one human. “I did always enjoy the word ‘icosahedron,’” she tenders.

“See,” Myka says, now in indulgence rather than triumph. “Pretty sure you have more than twenty faces though.”

“You do as well. Some revealed only under the influence of opioids.”

“Here’s one I don’t think I’d have the guts to use otherwise: my explain-it-to-you-using-words face.”

“Explain what to me?” Helena asks. It’s a surrender. She should better have said she did not wish that face revealed, but that would never have stopped a determined Myka.

“Why I flung myself to the floor.”

“I thought that had been explained? You were attempting to escape a circumstance.”

“First, the flinging was more involuntary than an attempt. And second: your hand.”

“Perhaps you don’t remember”—a strange thing to say to Myka—“but we had this conversation previously.” Helena does not want to have it again.

“Not this conversation. In that one, you drew the wrong conclusion. Or relied on an invalid assumption. Actually both of those. Anyway, your hand.”

“Please stop saying that,” Helena requests. Begs.

“Fine, I’ll finish the sentence: Woke up every nerve in my body,” Myka says, causing Helena to cringe and wish she could this very instant construct a truly useful time machine so she could fly backward, overleaping this latest passage so as to muzzle Myka before she could say that, because she believes it but knows it leads nowhere functional. To her continued mortification, Myka carries on, “Woke them all right up.” This, she says rhapsodic. Helena feels that tone in her gut, a hot twist of something she deserves as pain, but that manifests, shamefully, as pleasure. “Then your hand moved, and it shorted out the system—my system—and I fell out of bed, and the rest is history.”

“On the contrary, the rest is quite present.” Helena tries pushing all of it away, striving for detachment. For function.

“So, your hand,” Myka says again.

Helena raises the offender. “Also present.” Detachment. Humor, even; pushing, pushing, pushing. Trying to maintain.

“No, I mean why,” Myka pushes in turn.

Helena bats back, in faux innocence, “Why is it present?”

“Why was it present. On me.” Low now, her voice, just as compelling as, and even more commanding than, when she uses it to utter Helena’s name.

“I have no excuse,” Helena says.

“I don’t need an excuse. I need a reason. Do you have one?”

“It isn’t exculpatory.”

“As long as it’s explanatory.”

No escape now. No excuse, and no escape. “Here is my reason: I wanted to touch you. So against all better judgment, I did. Intending only that, nothing more.” Myka’s response to these words is an exhale. Loud. Unlike the hospital sob, however, this is slow and controlled. Helena allows a decorous pause, but no words ensue, so she goes on. Myka deserves an explanation that is complete. “But then I found myself unable to... un-touch you. Competently. And the rest will at some point be history, upon which I will never cease to look back and berate myself.”

Waiting for whatever may come next, Helena feels exhaustion inch through her, infiltrating her eyes, limbs, brain, sapping every vestige of energy... her surrender to the creeping leach is imminent when Myka says, “I like that reason.”

All right then. Awake and aware. “You do?”

“You really can be impossible to talk to. Listen to me: if I did that—touched you—I would find myself the same. Unable to un-touch. Do you understand?”

What would be the cost of abandoning her resistance? “I don’t know...” she begins, then reverses course and begins again. Truth, never mind the cost. “Yes. I do understand. But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Myka turns her head full toward Helena, twisting her long neck. Helena turns her own head, but that isn’t enough, so she shifts onto her side—her left side, punitively aware that it will be weeks before Myka can turn in such a way.

They look at each other, Helena both knowing and fearing how her guilt must freight her gaze. Regarding Myka so close, looking now into eyes that are open, is a boon she does not deserve.

After a time, Myka says, “I know what I want to do.”

Her intent is abundantly clear. The entirely of Helena’s being balks, stranding her again in Boone: if she makes a move for the momentary better, it will most likely end worse. She cannot find the... courage? or is it foolish disregard for consequences?... to reach for that moment of joy. Neither, however, can she find the discipline to dismiss its possibility.

“But I also know I shouldn’t,” Myka says, breaking with clarity into Helena’s indecision.

Well. Helena can certainly see the wisdom of that, so perhaps at last they are approaching a real accord that will render all hopes and wishes moot, so that neither courage nor discipline features in the—

“I can tell the meds are messing with my head,” Myka says, “and if there’s one thing I want to remember in picture-perfect detail, it’s this.” She moves her right index finger near to Helena’s lips, then withdraws it.

Unable to un-touch. That withdrawal reaffirms that Myka believes what she says. “This,” Helena echoes, mesmerized.

“So I’m going to wait till tomorrow to—listen to me saying it out loud—kiss you. For the first time. I want to be all there when it happens.”

There is a practicality to Myka’s thinking, and to Myka, that Helena worships. She tries to match it with a bit of her own: “If it happens.”

Myka’s jaw drops. “Come on! I said it out loud! It’s real now!”

“It’s been real for some time, hasn’t it? But I’m being realistic about the circumstance. You might not remember that you wanted to.”

“Seriously? I’ve remembered it since we met.”

Helena has remembered it just as long. She has. Denying it is pointless. But she has a larger concern, and though this is the wrong time to address it, perhaps medicated Myka will afford an unfiltered read...

“Or you might think better of it.”

“Of kissing you? I don’t think so.”

“Of what could ensue. The possibility of a... relationship. Between us. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Relationship.” After she says the word, Myka’s lips part and close, as if the very word is savory. “What if it does?”

It is savory. However. “I’m asking as a practical matter, not philosophically. I’m constrained: I can’t leave again. That’s why I came back.” The thin strand to which she is clinging... refraining from attempting to rekindle an intimacy hasn’t been only to keep Myka safe. It has also been to keep the Warehouse safe for Helena herself to inhabit.

“Then don’t leave again.”

“But what if that means you do?” This is not philosophy either. This, too, is history.

“If I do, then I do, but I’d like to think I won’t. We’ve both had our walkaway crises, and they didn’t take. So if it doesn’t work, we put it behind us like adults. If Pete and I could, then so can you and I. But I’d rather not have to. So let’s be careful.” She pauses. “Breathe however you need to.”

The words are an embrace. A physical clasp might be more galvanizing, but right now, Myka is managing just fine with words. “If this works, it will be because you say things like that.”

“Good news, because I mean things like that. And I intend to keep saying them. Hey, speaking of saying, do me a favor and write down what I said just now, about the adults and the careful, because I want to remember it.”

Sluggishly, Helena ideates rising, going to the room’s desk, finding logo-bearing paper and pen, writing...

****

Helena and Oscar are in a salon. They are engaged in a dispute regarding choices and consequences. Helena is standing at a lectern, and Oscar is reclining on a lavishly upholstered chaise longue, kicking his right leg such that its calf bounces in a languid little rhythm against the low cushioned edge.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

“The choices that create a circumstance will not, repeated, resolve it satisfactorily,” Helena says. Is she reading from a monograph? “As we see in the case of your own Ballad of Reading Gaol, do we not? And yet injury need not lead inevitably to future debility, so clearly some choice in the matter is—”

“Helena,” Oscar says, interrupting her monologue. “Helena,” he repeats. He sounds nothing like himself, but rather someone else, and Helena is straining to connect the voice to the correct person.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

“Time to wake up,” Oscar-as-someone-else admonishes. Encourages?

“I know,” she tells him, hugely frustrated, fighting. “I’m trying.”

His impassive mien is no help. It never was.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

Trust Oscar to cast some part of himself as the pendulum of a particularly annoying clock—

“Seriously, wake up,” Helena hears, and consciousness jolts at her: Myka’s voice.

Oscar dissolves. Into laughter or tears, no doubt, as he was wont to do...

Helena’s eyes open, meeting Myka’s, and she is brought back to it all: the hotel, the bed; the shoulder, the hospital... then hotel again, bed again... and finally words, as if for the first time.

Myka is lying on her right side, facing Helena. Her eyes are bright, her gaze intense.

“Are you in pain?” Helena asks.

Myka leans forward, as if that were a signal. The signal: for Helena is the astonished, grateful, transported recipient of a kiss, a first kiss—the first kiss—one that is swift but soft, gentle, genuine. Like morning... “Better now,” Myka says when she pulls back. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Stay there.”

Better now. Not lost on Helena are all the ways that signifies, including: better that this happened now than at some point in the desperate past. Then, such a kiss would have been a tragic wish for all they would never have. Now, instead, it can stand as a reward for having survived all of that, as well as, universe willing, a mark of embarkation.

By the time Myka returns, Helena has sat up, stationing herself on the edge of the bed. She has also realized that she must apologize—for they should not embark on this new voyage with yet another of her many faults unaddressed. “You charged me with writing down part of our conversation. I didn’t. I fell asleep instead.”

Myka hesitates before joining her on the bed’s edge, clearly considering which arm should be next to Helena. She chooses the functional right. “It’s okay. Even if I don’t remember exactly what we said, I remembered what we needed to do.”

“Needed to,” Helena reprises. She could supply words of her own, but why? Myka is saying the ones that matter...

“Needed to,” Myka affirms. “So where were we?” She raises her useful hand to Helena’s cheek, cradling. Helena leans into it, saying nothing, because silence now says everything.

This is a longer kiss, more wandering, more suggestive of possibility, more likely to lead to such possibility... Helena is the one to this time pull away. “A place quite new,” she says.

“And yet I’m pretty sure we’ve been headed here all along.”

“It wasn’t inevitable,” Helena says. She is thinking now of dream-Oscar, who is slipping from her mind, dropping, like a poorly initiated painting, but he must have obstreperously been maintaining something about inevitability. He always did.

“No,” Myka agrees. “And it still isn’t. So let’s be careful.”

“You remember that part? Despite my stenographic failure?”

“Even if I didn’t—but I do—I’d know it’s important.”

Helena turns and touches her right hand to Myka’s right hip. She would certainly not be able to do this now if she had not done so in the night... the night’s ontogeny recapitulating the phylogeny of their shared history. Myka covers Helena’s hand with hers, and there is healing in the simple fact of their sitting. But eventually that is not enough, and another kiss ensues, longer still, and lips outweigh quiet hands—or no, lips add to quiet hands, but hands are not content to remain so calm, and so this continues and might continue—

Myka makes a noise that is clearly not of pleasure; she moves entirely away, her right hand pressing protectively at her left shoulder. “We’re going to need to be careful about this stupid shoulder too. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself.” Ontogeny, phylogeny.

“It’s not like I’m some paragon of self-control... and I am sorry, because I’d like to be able to participate fully. But also I’d like to not have to hurry on account of catching a plane. In good news, eventually my shoulder will heal. I know we can’t stay here till then, but...”

“It would help,” Helena supplies.

“If only because we have to come up with how this supposedly happened. I still think maybe I should take your picture. Or you could take mine? Because by the way, here’s a funny thing: I was trying to write a novel.”

“You were?” More that is new... “Speaking of icosahedra,” Helena notes.

“I want to tell you about it.”

“You do?” Trying to convey her incredulity. That Myka would allow her such... access.

“I want to tell you everything. But in the meantime we have to tell Artie something... I guess we’ve got both flights plus the layover in Denver to get our story straight.”

Stories. Narrative. Novels? “But we’ll tell Steve the truth. Won’t we?”

“Of course we will. And Claudia, right?”

“Also necessary. Although most likely mockery-inducing.”

Myka smiles. It’s a sunrise. “Stress testing. If we can take it from her, we’ll be fine. Then again we might need the time on the planes to rest up for that.”

“Weren’t you able to sleep, this past while?”

Myka shakes her head, and just as Helena opens her mouth to express regret and apologize again for her own sleep, Myka silences her with a kiss, one that lingers, lingers, lingers... still half against Helena’s lips, she says, “The un-touching part really is difficult. But don’t worry about my not sleeping: for the first time in a long time, I was happy to be awake.”

END

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #Asleep #part 2 #B&W holiday gift exchange #kla1991 #also anniversary! #which this year arrived a bit unexpectedly #so I decided to do this mashing up of occasions #because I apparently cannot work fast or well anymore #but as for this story #something something sleep and wakefulness #and when one finds oneself in those states #and whether one recognizes the state one is in when in it #or when finally out of it #and of course there are also the transitions

[pitot-0]

Easter eggs for player's name (spoilers ahead if u wanna discover it urself!)

I'll be including the dialogues when you enter it as the name/nickname

-maleyanderecafe

"Clever, are we? Do you want a round of applause?"

"Well, then you should know how it ends..."

"Don't you?"

-C4, Candy, Lunar

"Haha, what a sick individual."

"Perhaps it's best not to act so innocent..."

"When you know what you are already."

-Alpha, P1

"You just wanted to be accepted into the world, didn't you?"

"To be friends with everyone just like in the stories..."

"But what happens when..."

"You finally break?"

-Beta, P2

"You just wanted to be loved, finally and forever..."

"But they never would have stayed with you otherwise."

"I mean it's not really your fault..."

"It's theirs."

-Scientist

"Kind of a strange name for a prodigy, wouldn't you say?"

"But the guilt you feel is pretty immense..."

"This is all your fault..."

"And it always has been."

-Gamma, P3

"Why do you always pretend to be the villain?"

"You try so very hard to be unlikable and yet..."

"Hahahaha..."

"When will you finally succeed in making sure everyone despises you?"

-Delta, P4

"It must be really sad all alone like that..."

"You want to forget, you really do but..."

"Well, you just know more than you ever should..."

"Maybe like the fact you're playing on a ___ system or something?"

"Haha...just kidding."

-Emil

"With a smile of gold to hide a darkened heart..."

"Doesn't it feel like it's in your nature?"

"First Impressions are everything."

-Thella

"What a noble person to tarnish."

"But then again, it's just as they say..."

"First impressions aren't everything."

-Ryan

Eris: Why would you ever want to be him?

Eris: How disgusting.

-Milo

Eris: That's your perfect creation.

Eris: Let's not tarnish him just yet, alright?

-Desmond

Eris: Why would you want a name like that?

Eris: He's simply too meddlesome for his own good.

-Seph

Eris: Oh dear, that won't work out at all...

Eris: He's only interested in monsters after all...

Eris: And not the kind that you are.

-Valli

Eris: She's a bit too much of a chatterbox, isn't she?

Eris: That's not really your style though...

-Holly

Eris: It's a bad idea.

Eris: She will have your head otherwise.

-Y/N

"What a dull an unremarkable name."

"That doesn't suit you at all."

-Bussy, Fart, Butt

"Hahaha!"

"Very clever!"

"Now watch this!"

game closes

-Dick, pussy, bitch, boobs

"Ah, a prankster, are we?"

"That's pretty funny, I have to say."

"But oh well."

game closes

-Espoir

"My, hello there. It's you. And everyone else."

"You know I heard that using a certain Ashy name might give different results."

"But that's just a simple rumor..."

"Who knows if it's true."

-Ally

"Oh? Ally? How curious."

"It's such an Amiiable name..."

"It's unfortunate you won't live up to it."

-Tsu, Tsumachi

"Oh? It's you."

"Sorry...there's not really any white hair boys in this game..."

"Haha...hope you're not too disappointed."

-Reiynm

"Oho. It's you."

"Such pretty drawings you make."

"I adore them so."

"I wonder just how pretty the thumbnail would be..."

"Haha...it's nothing. Let's continue."

-Lionel

"Ah, so I'm not the only one who is watching."

"I've been watching you for a while."

"So I hope you enjoy."

"Alright?"

-Cherry

"The one and only."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll end up in the attic at some point."

-Mari

"You know, I have something special for you."

"Deep inside of the code..."

"Let's check it out, shall we?"

-Veronica, Jason Dean, Heather

"A song hums in your brain."

"I was meant to be yours..."

"We were meant to be one..."

"Don't give up on me now..."

"Finish what we become..."

"How fitting."

-Strade

"Oh, it's you."

"Well, isn't that something..."

"You'll fit right in!"

-Vance

"Don't you wish you were held more?"

"Don't you wish that someone could hug you...?"

"Even if it drove them insane?"

"So desperately you will crawl to make someone love you..."

-Virgil

"Child of the stars. Child of the galaxies."

"You take on many forms, many shapes..."

"Stay with me, you tell them."

"Force them to stay if you can."

"They have no choice."

-Mychael

"Was it hard living in the forest alone?"

"Some terrifying being that wanted to be loved..."

"Well, don't worry. You'll be loved soon enough."

"By force or by..."

"Suggestion."

-Nick

"...You look awfully hungry."

"Should you get something to eat?"

"An arm or a leg...perhaps?"

-Momo

"A peach grown with a small child that comes out."

"A demon ritual made to get the love of your dreams."

"What will be the ending for this tale?"

-Toma

"A older figure to some, or a cage for others."

"You will be taken whether you like it or not."

"It's a promise."

-Cro

"It's weird... I feel like I remember you..."

"Somewhere in a train going down the line."

"You didn't let me leave."

"Did you?"

-Catsket, Dorian, Aeron

"...A god?"

"...No, the devil..."

"Bloodless Art, perhaps..."

"Remake him into your own."

-Cassanova

"Let's try not to get our hands too dirty."

"We can't eat him up just yet."

-Theo, Riese

"Oh my, you should be careful where you tread."

"I've heard vampires like to come about around here."

"Just be careful when you walk around baring your teeth."

-Ezra

"My, I've heard that you have experience..."

"Let's put that to good use."

"Let's hope it ends up well."

-Krow

"An omen of something to come."

"Be careful of what misfortune you bring."

-Fone

"Don't worry, I can hear you."

"You will be found soon."

"I promise."

-Jack

"A ghost of that who comforts."

"At least, that's what it seems

-Alan

"A song hums in your brain."

"Do you know the Hatchet Man?"

"The Hatchet man, the Hatchet man..."

"Do you know the Hatchet Man?"

"Who lives within the woods...."

"How fitting."

-Louie, Mica, Allar, Josh

"My what a colorful name."

"So pretty and yet unexpected."

"Well now, Valentine."

"Try not to eat his heart out."

-Ren, Redacted

"There's no need for you to try to be someone else."

"You will make them accept you and love you."

"He doesn't have a choice.

-Tenebris, Keith

"Of flowers and monsters."

Keith:

"Such a pretty person...and for what?"

"Being too jealous isn't a good look for anyone."

"Tenebris:

"Ah, be careful that your rage doesn't break them."

"It's unfortunate to destroy something before they're even made."

-Aster

"An angel. Someone who lives for you."

"Well, that might have been what you were suppose to be."

"But now it's time to find someone else to be able to fufill that role, hm?"

-Leumin

"It's raining, it's pouring~"

"Milo is snoring~"

"Hahaha..."

"Let's see if he'll enjoy this rainy weather we'll be putting on then..."

-Koolie

"Ha. Are you some sort of dog?"

"Ah, that's kind of funny..."

"Hopefully this doesn't turn out to be as tasteless as milk."

-Zecharias

"Just as memory serves right?"

"Sometimes you can't find your perfect muse..."

"You have to make them."

-Sal

"The evil white shark of the waters..."

"You just wanted to be loved right?"

"Well..."

"Don't we all?"

-Sol

"A name like the sun..."

"Or so they say."

"When you're simply the kid in the back..."

"Would anyone even notice?"

-Eli

"You were made to be loved, weren't you?"

"Sometimes though, you have to make sure you follow your directive."

"And you just have to do it yourself."

-Zachary, Simon, Seth

"This world isn't really that colorful..."

"At least thats what you think."

"Don't look at it through some colored gaze then, alright?"

-Bo, Dachabo

"You look like such an innocent puppy."

"But it's wrong isn't it?"

"You're more like a wolf who lusts for more."

-Liu

"Watch carefully through that door of yours."

"Your eyes darting about."

"You had always watched him from afar."

-Ashton

"Ah, did you jump from another game or something?"

"Don't forget your garden sheers."

"Maybe you might need them."

-Harper

"Ah, are you taking a break from camp?"

"Well hopefully, you find someone for you..."

"And try not to murder anyone, okay?"

-Morgan

"Hm? Are you a librarian or something?"

"Ah, sounds like a quiet job."

"Well, you can hear a lot of secrets, I'm sure."

-Riker

"Ah, so many different endings, so many different faces."

"Keep it together for your love, okay?"

"You're going to need him."

-Griffin

"Ah, like the bird, huh?"

"Did you guys meet on IndyCent or something?"

"Haha, I jest."

-Dameon, Stalker

"What a fluffy figure you have..."

"You must be good at following the things you like, don't you?"

"Well, let's track him down then..."

"Our Perfect Love"

-Nial

"A parasite bringing someone to death..."

"A blue enigma with a killing blow..."

"Let's hope you can keep him alive..."

"He's going to need it."

-Z

"Ah, a real demonic character, huh?"

"Have you taken interest in someone?"

"Let's keep them closer to you..."

"So they can never leave."

-Gold

"Ah? What a peculiar name."

"You wouldn't perhaps have someone who is in a coma, right?"

"Ahaha. It's just a jest."

-Klein

"How long did it take you to finally get what you pleased?"

"Behind that plastic cover..."

"You'll finally break free."

-Friend

"Ah, what a friendly name you have."

"Despite all that, it's quite ironic."

"After all, being friends with you is rather...unfortunate, isn't it?"

-Adam

"Ah, you have experience hurting others, don't you?"

"Says the one above..."

"I'm sure you will get what you deserve."

-Doc, Dre

"Do you like vengeance?"

"You probably do, don't you?"

"Then please..."

"Enjoy to your heart's content."

-Valk

"May you be watched and possessed..."

"Just as you deserve..."

"I hope it's to your liking."

-Melencholy

"Ah, I remember you. You do your best, don't you?"

"Carried us when we all needed it..."

"Please, let's have fun..."

"Creating our very own perfect love."

-Sox

"A perfect househusband or a perfect wife..."

"Maybe both, maybe neither..."

"Well, I'm sure that this will end with someone being taken care of."

"Whether you'd want it or not."

-Calem

"As I've heard, you really are something."

"You love it when someone watches you from above."

"Like a cat, ready to pounce."

-Meru

"The one of the stars, the one of love."

"I've heard them say you're quite the artist."

"Let's make him into a piece of art, shall we?"

-Techno

"Oh? What a curious name..."

"Like a small, little hamster..."

"Well, they do say that if someone dies next to a hamster..."

"They use their face as bedding."

"That's a fun fact, huh?"

-Madelyn

"I did promise something for you, didn't I?"

"Someone or something that's quite cute or cuddly..."

shows image of a cat

"Someone like this then, hm?"

"Haha. I did promise."

-Jablue

"Can you hear him hiding in the walls?"

"Watching...waiting..."

"There's always someone out there, you know..."

"Begging for your love."

-Bambi

"A deer in the headlights, watching so carefully."

"Will you enjoy the corruption that has been brought?"

"It's more fun when they fall by your hand, you know?"

-Song

"A monster in the making is just as fun..."

"Watch as he twists and turns into his new form..."

"Watch as he hatches into something that's just for you..."

-Flaine

"Ah, welcome back, boss!"

"The cheeriest of all, the one who speaks loudly..."

"May we corrupt the one we love the most..."

"Don't forget to finish your comic..."

-Quiet, Quietaxis

"Did I forget about you?"

"You seem familiar..."

"Like you'd be friends with a cute pink character."

image of kirby

"Kind of like that? I suppose?"

"Haha, that's cute."

-Stranger

"Surprising..."

"I didn't think you'd be here."

"The god of death themselves."

-Manly, Manlybadasshero

"Ah, so it's you. And everyone else."

"I've been wondering if you would pick this up."

"So hopefully you enjoy."

"It would be a shame if you didn't."

whew that's a lot lol

I'd separate the nickname one since there is a lot

#perfect love vn #perfectlovevn #random

[moonfirerainbow]

Regarding the Watcher drama, it’s interesting that some people don’t seem to understand the outrage the horrible (now rectified) business decision caused. The attacks at the three of them and their circle of people are inexcusable, especially with racism playing a role in this. This is not a defense of the disgusting behavior some of the fandom displayed. I think it’s pretty short sighted to claim that people being genuinely hurt and critical of the decision, are being ridiculous. The fans are very attached to Ryan and Shane, for many reasons, and while it is a parasocial relationship, it doesn’t mean that it has any less value in someone’s life. Personally, I was a fan of Shane and Ryan because they seem to be normal dudes who aren’t assholes, and have some funny banter together. The apology is great, but the distrust is now there. The outrage is because Watcher has only succeeded because the fans have been providing the stats that result in the money they earn, outside of Patreon, merch and live show tickets. If less people watched, they’d have less paid ads and sponsorships. If we didn’t submit our stories, ghost evidence, ideas, questions, art etc, they wouldn’t have as much content to make. If we didn’t engage and tag and make them trend and like their videos to get the algorithm in their favor, they would sink into the abyss of search results. It’s not entitled to feel that the subscription was a slap in the face to the loyalty of the fans. I honestly think this is a misguided, mismanaged and misread derived situation. It’s not bad that they want to make more content, and had they started with announcing that they want to move in the direction of a streaming service so they aren’t dependent on or restricted by YouTube, reception would have been much different. Anyway, I’m happy about the apology, but honestly they are on thin ice for me.

#watcher #watcher entertainment

[aphidclan-clangen]

question for the creator :3 is it a good idea to log everything that happens for every moon before you draw? bc that's what I'm doing, and I'm wondering if its a thing you did? basically, how did you start?

Yes!! Definitely log everything that happens, especially when you’re starting off. Later on when you have a more fleshed out plot and characters in mind you can start throwing out prompts that don’t add anything and focusing more on the ones that do. (I’ll also get very out of character prompts sometimes, I just throw those out entirely and hold on tight to the prompts that are in character)

I would log 1. the main moon events, 2. as many relationship events as I can, 3. the cats’ statuses/thought bubbles/whatever the sentences on their profile are called, and 4. Patrol events ((don’t forget to check the statuses of dead cats and outsiders!!)

Here’s an example of my logs:

Everyone has a different way of coming up with a plot, either before the comic even starts or maybe the plot comes along on its own! I didn’t start AphidClan with a plot in mind, I was only drawing the daily events between the characters up until moon 6. Moon 6 onward is when I started building a plot and figuring out lore, worldbuilding, conflict, etc. I got a patrol that said Lilacpaw was murdered by a rogue, so I used that and went with a more murder mystery-esque plot

I would recommend playing ahead! Everyone has their own perfect number of how much to play ahead, I used to prefer it to be around 2-3 moons ahead of what I was drawing, to keep my workload small and spontaneous, but now that I have a much more plot-based story I prefer to play FAAAR more ahead than that so I have a more solid idea of the full story and how/when I want it to end. I’ve played up to moon 78 so far, and we’re currently on moon 20 in the comic

I started my comic very spontaneously with no future goal in mind. It took me a while to get to this place, where I now have a very plot-centered webcomic and a vague idea of how and when I want it to end. You very much make your own plot, and in a way, you make your own characters! The game gives you prompts that you can work with as inspiration for certain story events (like using the statuses “Stormkit wishes Sparkkit would play more quietly” and “Lilacpaw is worried about Stormkit” to create a plot event that adds more to Lilacpaw’s death) but most of the creative aspect you make yourself!

Hopefully that answers your question okay! Have fun creating! ^^

#aphidasks

[greenerteacups]

Would LOVE to hear more re: Lily Evans as the bolter of you want to share more about that idea

Ogh god I have So Many thoughts about Lily and the Marauders in general because I had to basically do a full outline of the Backstory in order to have context for the living Marauders' backstories, but here is my official Harry's Mom Was A Player dissertation:

I like the idea that Lily grows up with relatively few people around (we only see her with Petunia and Snape, which you could read as a function of Snape's perspective, but I prefer to read it as Lily and Snape being "those weirdos in the corner of the playground making Potion in the dirt" buddies). From that, she becomes pretty closed-off emotionally, and despite having general charisma and kindness, she's pretty hard to connect with. Nice, but a little brusque. She's glad to help you with your homework, but when you invite her to Hogsmeade, she'll smile and make a vague excuse, and you'll never hang out again.

This would also explain why she and Snape remain friends for five years, despite being in different houses and having a lot of political differences: he's one of the few people she's vulnerable with. So we're picturing this Lily who's beautiful, charismatic, clever, but also very closed-off and hard to find. I.e. 100% the kind of person who attracts a lot of admirers, but doesn't actually get close to any of them.

My headcanon for her is a long series of two-month relationships running from around fifth year through sixth, none of them very intense, and petering out around the time that the other person starts asking for labels or commitment. Because (a) she's Busy, but (b) she's not really comfortable with any of them. And so she gets a bit of a (slightly mistaken) reputation as an ice queen.

We know Lily and James started dating in seventh year, after he "stopped being an asshole." ACCORDING TO SIRIUS. This is his account of his best friend's love story. A lot of the read here turns on (1) how much you think James told Sirius about him and Lily, and (2) how much of that Sirius wants Harry to know, as someone trying to protect James's memory.

"He was a cad" is obvious big James energy, especially since we know (1) he's an unserious arrogant jock for most of his Hogwarts career, and (2) she would have absolutely no reason to take him seriously if he expressed interest in her, because — he's a dumb kid! And a bully, from her point of view.

Because they're not close, verging on antagonistic, I tend to think that his interest in her actually was superficial to start with — based on her looks or her reputation (or both). Which, of course, plays right into her issues with intimacy and not being really Seen by anyone. And the ritualized game of his pursuit only contributes to her disbelief in its sincerity.

So basically, by seventh year, you have these two incredibly desirable, successful, popular people who are both in fact really locked-up and struggle with sincerity, but have the beginning of real feelings for each other, and are freaking out about that.

And then you get a great Player4Player love story about intimacy and the mortifying ordeal of being known.

#this is much different from the lily in the climb whom i sketched to suit the contours of that universe #but that's the beauty of the multiverse baby! #the bolter => the alchemy pipeline. you get it. you see my vision #jily #lily evans

[melbatron5000]

The confines of a story

Any time you play a game, you need to know the rules. A puzzle has a border, you can't smash the pieces into a spot they don't fit with a hammer (I mean, you can, but it won't look right when you're done), etc.

My mental assumptions are that we are following the rules of stories as told in both novel form and video form. I'm not going to list ALL the rules associated with storytelling in both forms, because whole books and classes have been written about them and the parameters are way too big.

How do I know these rules? Well, I write novels, too. I'm not Neil Gaiman, (and I'm not going to go so far as to say I'm anywhere near his level, looking at you, Magic Trick OP), but the people who've read my books say they like them, so I think I do okay? I never went to school for any of it, but the library was and is my best friend, and I've read as many books and taken as many workshops as I can on this topic. Am I an expert? Nah. I know some stuff. There's always more to know.

So anyhow, some rules:

Rule one: the story has to be generally satisfying and not make people feel betrayed or angry. Hurt is fine, angry at the characters is fine, tricked is fine, but the reader can't feel betrayed or totally let down by the author at the end of the story. It's impossible to avoid this entirely, but most people in general have to agree that the story isn't a betrayal of the reader. The author needs to keep faith with their reader as best they can.

Rule two: in mysteries, all the cards need to be on the table at some point. Misdirection or downplaying of important information or use of double-meaning words are totally fair tactics, but the answer has to be there to be sussed out by a clever observer. (I got really mad when I tried to read murder mysteries for a little while. I figured this rule out very quickly on my own, and I could always spot the killer by the end of the second chapter. I gave up on murder mysteries. HOWEVER, another author I admire wrote a classic murder mystery-style book, and when I spotted the killer in chapter two like always, she had arranged matters so that the killer's motive was shrouded in deep mystery. I burned through that book to find out WHY he dunnit, and when the main character helped the killer escape at the end, I was troubled but satisfied.) But mah point is, all the pieces to the puzzle need to come in the box.

Rule three: (which isn't really a rule so much as an observation and something I myself struggle with), writing fiction can be very hard because people are naturally not good at knowing that other people do not know what they know. You know? Psychological studies have shown that when a person knows something, like where an object is, they develop this sort of assumption that the object's location is OBVIOUS, or that other people also know where the object is or can easily guess it, no matter how hard a time they had guessing it themselves before they were told. So not only do newer writers sometimes struggle to maintain what various characters do and don't know at different times in a story, readers can also struggle with the same thing. Gotta keep your eyes peeled for what information each character actually has, and also keep in mind how easy it is to be fooled when you think you have all the facts. I notice Neil and John taking advantage of this in Good Omens a lot -- the lies that Crowley and Aziraphale tell to the other angels and demons seem really obvious -- but that's because we know they are lying and what they're lying about. When we are lied to, we fall for it as easily as those angels and demons, because we assume we know what's going on. Watch out!

Rule four: you can't break the rules. If you're going to make a wild, avant garde, ground-breaking story, that's pretty much the whole point of the entire story. Twists are fine, emphasizing or de-emphasizing expected tropes or ideas is fine, subverting a trope is fine. Otherwise, you have to stick to ideas, formats, plots, structures, etc., that have come before. For example, just as I started seeing metas about the POV characters in Good Omens 2 jumping around, I had remembered an episode of the X-Files from way back where an "alien landing" is told from three characters' perspectives. When told from the POV of the alien conspiracy-believing kid, the story gets really weird with all kinds of wild things happening. When told from doubting Scully's perspective, it gets very boring and mundane. POV jumping is nothing ground-breakingly new. There won't be anything ground-breakingly new.

Rule five: it has to make sense. Mark Twain once said, "Of course truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense." Once upon a time, a friend of mine who liked to embellish stories told me all about his new fiancee, who he'd met and proposed to all in a few months, who was head over heels for him, a gorgeous red-head, one of triplets. I never met this mystery woman, and then one day he called me to tell me she had died very suddenly and dramatically. I had my suspicions that she wasn't even real in the first place, so I made consoling noises and asked him when and where the funeral was so I could be there for him. I expected to be put off, told some crazy reason why there wouldn't be a funeral or it hadn't been planned yet and I would somehow mysteriously not hear about it until it was over. Instead, he gave me a date and location immediately. I was taken aback. I was even more taken aback when I arrived at the funeral to meet this woman's family, including the remaining red-headed pair from her triplet set, and hear all about what a whirlwind romance she'd had with my friend. If that had been a novel, I would have shut the book and told the author to give me a break. Books and TV and movies and plays can't push the consumers' credulity too much. Readers have to maintain their willingness to suspend their disbelief. It can't get too crazy. What's too crazy? Hard to say, it's kind a of a "I'll know it if I see it" sort of thing. And some people are certainly more willing to go along with something wild than others. The author can only try their best to maintain faith. To tell a story that can be believed.

Anyhow, I dunno if that's helpful at all, but it's sort of the litmus test I'm using to gage all my questions and theories. And what I'm using to shuffle in the metas and theories I like from others.

#long explanation #this is how my brain works for any who are curious #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fan theory #searching out the ineffable mystery #the rules of the game

[hua-mo-jin-is-a-cutie]

Okay so I have a fnaf dca au in my head and I wanna post it here because I think it'll get better reception than on insta stories or twitter. So hear me out.

Royal Guard AU

WAIT- I know it's been done before, but this one is different I promise! So this is lowkey based on a dream I had and I'm still working out the details.

Basically there's this kingdom that is know for clockwork and robotics. And it's in a bit of a conflict with a neighboring kingdom. So to protect their young princess they build a far off hidden sanctuary of sorts entirely staffed by some very advanced clockwork robots. You got your daycare attendant as per usual, responsible for the overall care of the princess. Then there's the glamrocks, Freddy is sort of like a tutor, teaching her general knowledge and also things she needs to know about how to rule a kingdom and stuff. Chica is the chef, she grows the food and cooks it. Roxy is the stylist and tailor, responsible for keeping the princess well groomed and making her new clothes as she grows. Monty is in charge of guarding the main entrance. And Bonnie is responsible for keeping the princess active and fit. maybe the DJ (a smaller version of him) could give her music lessons idk)

This hidden care facility is hidden deep in the woods and is fairly large, the largest room being the daycare of course. I have this vivid image in my head of a large room where the ball pit is the floor and there's a long bridge overtop of it that connects to rooms and play structures that line the walls.

And I think the general plot would be that she was only supposed to be hidden out there for a few years at most and then she would be retrieved when the war was over. But it just like... never happened. No one ever came to get her. And while she loves her robot family, a now adult princess would be concerned for her kingdom, for her parents. So you've got sort of a tangled situation, but instead of being evil and keeping the princess trapped for nefarious reasons, you've got sun and moon just genuinely concerned for her safety if she leaves the facility. I think maybe they would venture out together, the princess and her royal guard (daycare attendant). But I don't have any ideas past that.

Mainly I've just been having fun imagining the slice of life of her younger years in this isolation with her robot family.

Idk is this anything?

#fnaf #dca #fnaf dca #fnaf au #dca fandom #dca au #daycare attendant #fnaf daycare attendant #moondrop #sundrop #fnaf moon #fnaf moondrop #fnaf security breach #fnaf sun #fnaf sun and moon #moon fnaf #sun and moon fnaf #sun fnaf #sundrop fnaf #fnaf sb

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know multiple of these are likely important to people, but I'm asking in terms of like - which of these do you tend to focus on the MOST, enjoy the most, that is most essential for you to actually care about the media, etc.?

(For example: someone finding "Relatability" most important would likely not enjoy a show much if they have trouble empathizing with the characters/relating to it, even if it were good otherwise. Or, someone might be able to overlook bad acting and ugly costumes, as long as the Character Dynamics are fun to them, because they value that more than Aesthetics- while for others, bad costumes would be a dealbreaker.)

Also feel free to reblog and explain your answer or more information in the tags- I've always been curious about people's relationships to media, how they conceptualize it/what they get out of it, how some people value some parts more than others, how that informs their overall taste and genres they may be more inclined towards, etc. :0c

#I was having a conversation with a friend about our favorite type of media and they said the reason they DON'T like historical or fantasy #media or etc. is because they can't imagine themselves being in those situations like it's too detached from anything that they can relate #to personally. they put themselves in the shoes of the characters and apparently like feel emotions while watching stuff and actually #get into the way the characters are feeling so they kind of judge how 'good' or 'bad' a show's writing/setting/etc. are by how it makes #them feel and if they think the characters reacted realistically based on what they were feeling in the moment/what in their head they #would be feeling if they were in the postion of the character. SO apparently the distance of it being in an unrelatable setting or too #detached from our reality makes it harder for them to relate to and less able to really engage with it on that level. WHEREAS I watch #things exclusively in a very like.. detached way?? I'm INTERESTED.. it's like im intellectually analyzing everyhting that's happening and #can be intrigued by events but it's not in an emotional way? More of like a distant 'intellectual curiosity'. Maybe the premise or the #aesthetics or something about it has piqued an interest for me to observe it. to see what it's like or how it plays out. how the idea #is executed or etc. But like.. I cannot remember EVER really relating to any character or situation or projecting onto a character #or having those sorts of feelings or investment in it. That is just not a central part of why/how I watch things or what I care about #BUT after this I was thinking maybe this is my disconnect? I do not seem to conceptualize media the way some other people do and I often #walk away with an entirely different take on things. etc. So I wonder if maybe it's part of how everyone values different things probably? #maybe I literally just watch stuff and percieve it from a different frame of mind that others. More of a like detached curiosity #vaguely bemused analysis mode. Instead of a 'I am deeply emotionally invested in this and am feeling for all the characters' mode #And also I bet people who care more about plot/story are also the people who mind spoilers. Whereas for me I literally seek out spoilers #intentionally because that element of 'suprise ooh what will happen next!' is not central at all to my enjoyment. I could know literally #everything that will happen and still can find it interesting to observe - since for me #that's not the point. I'd rather know the ending so I can determine whether I want to invest the time in it in the first place. etc. #ANYWAY!! If I had to choose - I would say I'm usually heavily focused on world details and aesthetics. With only a slight preference #towards characters individually being interesting. Group dynamics can sometimes be okay but I get tired of everything being about relations #hips and romance - especially when sometimes it seems to be like. people who could not stand on their own as a character/are fundamentally #boring otherwise lol. I would watch a series of just one guy locked in a closet talking to himself as long as he was interesting and saying #things that were amusing or notable for some reason lol. I actually tend to dislike plot because most 'plot heavy' things like action focus #ed shows ALWAYS feel to me like they're moving so fast just to get from one thing to another that I'm not getting enough details. Part of #why I tend to not like movies. the time limit makes them too quick. I need a 95 hour expostion dump of the history of the entire world #and a series of 17 episodes straight where a guy is trapped in a room & the audience is just psychoanalyzing him. hghj.. Maybe I find all #characters annoying/unrelatable bc people w my personality type make bad characters/are not often represented (or are done BADLY). so then #I'm just picking 'who is the LEAST insufferable? who could i study like a lab rat?' whilst my main focus is the worldbuilding&costumes lol

[majorshatterandhare]

I’m thinking about how the Mechs use energy, because they do things and live and therefore they *must* use energy, that’s how physics (and biology) work.

I had the idea that they are always absolutely frigid to the touch because they suck in heat from the environment like an endothermic chemical reaction.

#the mechanisms #another crack idea #it would make the most sense for them to be able to run on multiple kinds of energy #and yes i know the actual answer is that they just do. its magic basically. but thats not fun for me. #what is fun is trying to figure this shit out #and if you disagree. thats fine. disregard my musings. but like. idk what to tell you. im autistic. #of course the way i enjoy the media is different than most people #i dont think its surprisjng that the way my autistic ass likes to interact with the mechs is to disect every little bit and try to fill- #holes in ways that make sense in our understanding of the universe and their world #like you could just say that in the universe that the mechs live in physics doesnt work the same and energy isnt needed #which is fucking insane #but you could. my question would then be how the physics does work and trying to figure that out. #i just wanna stick my fingies in the holes in the story like its a crochet blanket and make flex them around #thats whats fun for me. which means that its super frustrating when i pose these questions looking for people to play in thd space with me- #and they just get shut down with answer like ‘whatever serves the narrative’ or ‘the mechs are unreliable narrators’ or ‘jonny lies’ #tbc unreliable narrators can be very fun. but its not fun when it stops the possibilities or the conversation. #its not fun when ‘unreliable narrator’ is the end. #i think other people may enjoy the freedom of just doing anything that that gives them (or ‘whatever serves the narrative’ does) #but i dont because im a scientist which means i want to figure things out which means there must be a framework #if anything could happen at any time then you can’t make a cohesive story. #and i coukd argue we know thats not the case since ivy predicts stuff based on likelihood #anyway i managed to go down a rabbit hole tangent of why apes and roundworms hybridizing is the most ridiculous ‘scientific’ answer ive- #seen in scifi. so if you’re interested in that. hmu

[astrxealis]

okay rambles but i started creatively writing in like ... 5th grade? and. oh god just a little encouragement to anyone looking to get into writing or insecure or whatnot, but HELLS, maybe it's to he expected with my (obviously) very young age and inexperience with writing then, but my writing was really. yeah. Yeah. but then i'm what... a lot older now, obviously, and my writing has gotten leagues better. i'm probably not a good example for this bcs childhood years development stuff are different etc etc BUT practicing writing more and whatnot really does go a long way :]

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚ #my writing in 2020 is a lot different than my writing now even! especially so compared to my writing from 2010s #reading a lot of media is also really important :] i always read a lot of books BUT i only started to really read poetry since the pandemic #which were uh basically my early teenage years so idk if i'm a good example for this bcs childhood brain development and stuff (???) #BUT STILL ..... playing games like ffxiv and being really invested in the lore and writing + reading more poems and being fascinated with #more authors and pieces of literature + expanding my general vocabulary knowledge whatnot ... it all really goes a long way! #oh man i'm pretty proud of myself actually. i do love my writing. as imperfect (as all things are) it is. #i had a lot of Pauses with writing throughout my uhh relatively short life thus far since i'm NOT yet an adult and all aha but yeah! #so bless ffxiv again for bringing back my writing spirit... and other medias and whatever <3 #rn i have to thank bg3 for bringing back my Creative Spirit bcs i've been writing a lot more again and having/working on my creative ideas!! #okay i just wanted to ramble a bit lol ^_^ there! #idk my being a writer is very important to me. and my journey as one too. #i want to make a book one day! most feasibly would be to make a collection of short stories :] a bit similar to 'm is for magic' maybe bcs #i grew up with that lol neil gaiman i adore you <3 #i have a very special original world in my head but i am a little selfish and want to keep them all to myself... oops. or who knows! #anyway i have a lot of ideas and i adore writing and literature sooo much <3 #anyway. okay. leaving it here. #cheering on every writer author whatever out there !!! unless you're a sucky person of course yuck bigots but yeah ^^ <3 #huge writing inspo for me is uhhhhhhhh. thinking #ffxiv! does ffxiv count. esp drk quests. and shb as a whole. and then... edgar allan poe? neil gaiman? yeah? #can't remember anyone else good gods but i love vivid and imaginative storytelling and writing descriptively :] a bit of prose but also #quite simple in its eloquence (???) unsure honestly oh gods anyway BYE rambles over apollo signing off beep boop AGHHHHH (screams)

[crown-ov-horns]

Reasons why I motivate myself to work on my Good Omens fanfictions:

So I can take a certain hyper popular ship everyone loves, but I despise, and tear it apart, smash it with a hammer, and set it on fire for my own entertainment. 😊 It's not like someone will do it for me.

I would say because Lady!Crowley deserves more love, but horrific things happen to her, so, I'd be a hypocrite (spoiler alert, she's fine in the end).

Anathema and Newt's family keep a raccoon named Shovels, that they dye black, and pretend is a cat.

I have four ideas put down, so far. One's an actual detective story. Two of them are crossovers with... Legion, of all things (one came to me in a dream). All involve my Antichrist OC, who wasn't supposed to have anything to do with the GO universe, until I had that damn dream.

Another motivatior - so I can work with Maxine (the Antichrist OC) more. After a long consideration, I decided to pair her up with War (in non-crossovers, in those she's with Michael), which is problematic because they're cousins (War's mother is Satan's sister)... You know, whatever. Nobody from Earth knows. It isn't anything uncommon for royalty, either. 🤣 Besides, they're both women (offspring from donors, so no biological threats), and they didn't grow up together. I just... I adore my Antichrists. They're everything to me. Max, forgive me for getting you involved in this madness of an universe, the fanfiction gods compelled me.

Honestly, my other OCs, too. Max's best friend, Cthylla (daughter of Dagon, and... You can guess. He has a habit of oversleeping), her cat Squid, Madonna Maria (a literal jackal with vile temper and a fondness for whiskey, Maxine's biological mother;), Titan the Hellhound, Agnes Device-Pulsifer, Francisco Rossi (the Second Beast, who loathes Aziraphale even more than I do, for absollutely no reason)...

Off with Pollution, Pestilence is being reinstated to his rightful place.

I'm eager to work with canon characters like War, Michael (Legion and GO version), and Hastur - all of who, I adore

I am kind of a hater in this fandom. In the end, I've realized, fanfiction must be written for oneself, not the fandom. I will not apologize for doing what I want, with characters (and their genders) in a fic. Nor for heavily focusing on my OCs (even making them the main focus - it's something that I love doing).

The only thing I do feel some guilt for? I remember Neil Gaiman saying he likes stories where women saves themselves, which I completely agree with, yet Lady Crowley gets saved by others, most of the times... I guess, she's just in situations nobody could save themselves from. Now, her healing is another can of worms maybe that could be counted as her saving herself).

Oh... I hope no one who reads this took it as me attacking them, or mocking them, for liking what I don't. I kind of sounded like someone's evil grandma, threatening to throw their favorite toys in the trash can. 🤣 I'm just writing down my thoughts in an edgy manner. Think of this as a literal angsty, but hopeful diary page.

When I said I'm a "hater", I meant I personally have a very odd, unconventional relationship with Good Omens and it's characters. It's a... "I don't like how you're portraying biblical mythology, but I will always love you". I love Neil Gaiman. I don't know anyone im the fandom anymore, but I all the hearts to them, too. I'm just the designated class contrarian. My stories, like all fanfiction, are seperate universes from canon (and I mean no disrespect to it; the fanfiction wouldn't be here if canon wasn't).

Why do I keep hurting Crowley? I don't know, my relationship with the character is very complicated also. I find him annoying, but I named my stuffed snake after him. 🐍

Why did I write this down and post it? Because I've noticed I'm more likely to get something done after I get on a barrel, and anounce I will. These stories are so fun to write... Fine, that was kind of a lie. I'm picking at Ch. 1 of the dream storyline, and it makes me want to cry.

P.S. - I didn't see season 2, and I have no intention to (though my mom is badgering me to watch it; she's also scolding me for hurting Crowley).

#diary pages #story ideas #good omens #legion #good omens fanfiction #good omens fandom #maxine frost #female!crowley #lady crowley #war #archangel michael #hastur #i don't hate the ahip because it's popular i hate it becauss...I hate it. it being popular just causes the christmas music effect #self motivation #seriously no hate to anyone I'm just making myself entertainment in my own egdy way #it all started from a dream and I took that as a sign #but I'm hesistant to work on it because it's so heavy #it deals with dv implied sa and other topics that affect me very badly #but it's one of the stories where crowley saves herself in the end #aziraphale i don't portray in a good light because I don't like him (i couldn't tell you why) #gabriel though he is fucking DESPICABLE (he's the one who hurts Crowley btw) #archangel michael x the antichrist #crowley ends up with hastur most of the time... he never intends on falling for her but ends up at the wrong place at the wrong time #i'm giving satan a different faceclaim than benedic cu-... I'll refrain from attempting to spell it #in the crossovers adam doesn't exists in the non-crossovers he and maxine are biologically half-siblings #he doesn't partake in divine nonsense anymore because he's disowned by Satan but he and Maxine have a relationship - he makes an appearannce #max doesn't want the apocalypse either but goes about it differently - i guess playing the family mediator made her a perfct diplomat #maxine x michael #maxine x war #max is a rrising star politician and cthylla revoliutionized hell with demomic magic run technology