#sat down and had a very emotional but helpful conversation with my director about pronouns and use of them with clients | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 4 years

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Director’s Commentary- Lovesick Side Effects, Lance comes out to his dad

my comments are in bold italics.

His eyes fell on the couch and he frowned at the sight of the two of them. “Que pasó?” he asked uncertainly. “Why do you two look so upset?”

“Sit down, amor,” Mami said.

Lance sat up straighter and pressed back against the cushion. The immediate sense of having to appear more certain, more in control, because that’s connected to being masculine, macho blah blah. In this case, it’s to show his father he’s worth the respect he needs at the time. It sucks but I mean the whole thing gets addressed later. Veronica was right in getting him to tell them separately. This was ridiculously more terrifying than telling his mom.

His dad sat down on the couch perpendicular to them staring at them both suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Mami took Lance’s his hand and nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, mi niño.”

“Tell me what?” Papi snapped, clearly agitated as his patience was tested. Inmy experience when a man isn’t fully in charge or in control it makes them nervous which comes off as anger. That anger didn’t really make space for the following conversation.

Lance gulped and tried to stop shaking. He felt like he was going to puke. He wasn’t afraid of his father. He knew he wouldn’t get hit, and he knew he wouldn’t get thrown out. Mami was right; he loved Lance, and frankly even if he tried to tell Lance to leave, Mami and Vero wouldn’t allow it. He wasn’t afraid of that. He was afraid to let him down. I wanted the fear to stem more from disappointing his dad than being afraid of him. And it’s probably me projecting, but... you know, knowing you won’t get hurt physically or kicked out isn’t always enough to come out. Plus Lance already feels than he’s let his dad down over and over. Again. He was afraid to lose the bond he had with him.

“Apá…. There’s someone I want you to know about. Someone who’s very important to me. Romantically.”

“Oh. Oh! Okay….” He smiled and nodded. “Que bueno, mijo. Claro, I would be honored to meet her. What’s her name? When did you meet her?”

Lance couldn’t help it. He started crying again. Because of the pronoun his dad defaulted to, because of how excited he sounded for Lance, because he didn’t know what would happen next, because he was going to disappoint his father. It clearly took Papi by surprise. He reached out across the couches to put a hand over one of Lance’s trying to comfort him, but he didn’t even know…. Here, Julio thinks Lance is upset because he feels bad or is thinking of Allura or he’s just overwhelmed. It’s Lance, and Lance is sentimental, which Julio knows. So it’s surprising, but he also know how important this topic so he embraces the tears, thinking they stem from something else. For him, this is showing his support.

“It’s not a girl, Papi,” Lance whispered. He stared at the wooden floor, afraid to meet his eyes. Afraid to see the words process, afraid to see the change in emotion. If he had looked up, he would’ve seen the utter confusion and fear in his dad. He would’ve seen the way Julio’s expression broke for a split second before he lets machismo get in the way and converts it into anger. It was quiet for so long, and there was no movement, so Lance continued. He figured he may as well do this like he was ripping off a Band-Aid. “His name is Keith, and-” The calloused hand that had been resting over his pulled away quickly, making Lance look at his dad. For Lance- and the reader- this comes off as disgust. In the future, it’s more of him needing space, if that makes sense? The way that people will pull away from hugs or comforting touches because they’re overwhelmed and need to be alone, that’s what this was for Julio. “Pá-”

“Que cojones es esto?” he asked gruffly, his eyes on his wife. When writing this, I felt it would be easier for Julio to speak to Caridad. In a way, it’s accusing, but he also has a sense of understanding that lets him recognize he’s not in a space to talk to Lance the way Lance needs and so he directs conversation to his wife to avoid hurting Lance. We all know that backfires.

“Amor, escucha lo que te quiere decir-”

Lance’s dad stood up, waving his hand in dismissal. This is a very Latine Man thing to do. Just walk away because again there’s no control. When writing, I wanted this to have a lot of layers. It comes off again as Julio wanting to get away from Lance, but it’s a lot more. It’s fear of not having control, of not understanding. It’s recognizing that his immediate reaction isn’t going to help or let him properly talk to his wife or his son without resulting in something he doesn’t mean. It’s being overwhelmed and needing space to sort through it. It’s pain from realizing his wife knew and didn’t tell him (of course he doesn’t know that she barely found out too- they talk about that privately and I think Julio mentions that to Lance later). It’s a lot and it just... it’s really just bad communication that stems from men not being taught to be emotionally intelligent. He clashes with Caridad in this way, clearly, but also, she know him well so.... She gets what he’s going through, Lance never does until Julio goes to talk to him.

“Dad wait-”

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the house, and Lance felt himself shrivel up from the inside. He put his face in his hands and shook his head, crying in a panicky, breathless way that only made his frustration worse. He wanted to be angry, he felt that much was his right, and yet all he could feel was resentment towards himself for being a disappointment. I think a lot of readers can relate to the feeling when you want to be angry, and you are, but then sadness overwhelms it. Which isn’t fair especially when you’re not the one who did anything wrong. It was hard to write Lance’s relationship with his dad because as men, it’s more distant than Lance’s with his mom’s. But I think this part and Lance’s reaction to his dad’s reaction shows how much he cares about his dad and the fear of that bond severing.

“Ya, ya, mi rey. He’ll get over it,” Mami said as she hugged him and rocked him. “You know how dramatic he is."

Lance figured that even she didn’t believe it. Which I mean, Caridad knew he’d get over it... just not how or when or anything else.

This whole scene was a wild thing to write because I needed it to be realistic with male relationships within a Latine family, and I also knew it would be hard for readers to forgive him despite what I had planned for him. I needed that future apology to sound genuine, so I think I banked a lot on actions to be the ambiguous aspect here. Because I also wanted readers to experience this feeling of rejection along with Lance since we’re in his POV

#director's commentary

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arigatouiris · 5 years

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out of my league // t.h — 12

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: depressive/triggering thoughts, explicitly mentioned; swearing; eventual fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; pining; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: Again, more angst. But there’s fluff if you squint a bit. Don’t worry, this will pick up soon~

Also, if you want me to add you to the series taglist, just drop a note or comment! ^^

Word count: 3644

Series Masterlist

11 | 12 | 13

Harrison never considered himself a very successful actor. Though, he had never really found himself being too attached to the profession as Tom was. He loved acting, and that’s where he wanted to end up, this was certain. And he believed that if he didn’t make it, he would be okay, and wouldn’t feel too disheartened. He wouldn’t feel as if the world collapsed above him, and that he was carrying the weight of his sorrow in his bones. However, Harrison was wrong.

When his director told him that his show was now cancelled—he didn’t care what reason it was. Three days into being in Portugal, having been so excited in diving into a new opportunity, Harrison told himself his big break was finally here. But, his director walks and and tells him that it wasn’t his fault or it wasn’t anything that had to do with him, but the funding hadn’t come in and the production team had cancelled and all Harrison could think of was how he wasn’t Tom Holland. He was never jealous of his best friend, he never told himself he was, and this wasn’t jealousy—he knew he was more than happy for his friend’s success, but the failure of his own broke his heart.

And the flight he took to London had him rethinking every choice he had made. His blue eyes were always filled with some or the other positive emotion, but were now devoid of feeling. Strangely, he knew he had to surround himself with family or friends to help him cope, but he didn’t want any of it. He didn’t want sympathy or empathy, he wanted someone who wouldn’t linger on this topic.

And the only person he could think of was (y/n). Strangely, he understood why Tom found her company pleasing. Even if Harrison had no intention in his mind, and thought of the girl as only his good friend, Harrison understood what was so likeable about her. She treated them both as regular people, and it isn’t easy for someone to do. Harrison himself found it difficult sometimes to have a conversation with someone more popular, but (y/n) made it look way too easy. As soon as his flight landed, Harrison shot a message to (y/n), and awaited her reply. She didn’t respond immediately, but agreed to meet him that evening.

(y/n), on the other hand, was slowly healing. Healing took a lot out of her, and she buried herself in reading and watching Star Wars again from the beginning. She was currently watching Return of the Jedi when she saw Harrison’s message. Shouldn’t he be in Portugal? Her mind jumped to thinking maybe something was wrong, and accepted to meet him that evening. Standing up, she quickly rushed to the shower and began to get ready.

She thought of Tom as she was getting ready. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that they had almost kissed the last time they met, but she told herself it was just the spur of the moment. She would definitely apologize when she met Tom next, and felt slightly glad that he was sending her messages everyday. She knew Croatia was an hour ahead of London, and that communicating wouldn’t be too hard; but, considering he was acting and it would take most of the day, and sometimes night, she didn’t tell him too much. Their messages were cordial, and she planned them to be that way.

Harrison and (y/n) met at the usual bar. Harrison was already sitting there when (y/n) showed up, confused and not aware that Harrison was in the need of some mental comforting. She embraced him, like she would any friend, and sat across him. The two were quiet, her not knowing how to bring it up and Harrison not knowing where to start. Calling the waiter, Harrison broke the silence and ordered them both a beer each.

“Haz, what’s wrong?” Her voice broke him out of his reverie. “You’re back?”

Harrison looked at (y/n) and sighed, “They cancelled our show, (y/n).”

Her eyes widened a second later but that was all that her reaction was. Biting her lip, she placed her hand on Harrison’s, bringing a smile to his face. She squeezed his hand and said nothing for a full minute.

“May I ask why?”

“Apparently the production team pulled out. Not sure why entirely. Didn’t have the heart to ask.”

(y/n) observed her friend for a full moment. He was trying very hard to look like it didn’t affect him; Harrison had a calm and composed demeanour which was begging to slip at that second, an instinct that she noticed rather easily.

“Haz,” she began, looking right into his eyes. “You can feel bad, you know. This calls for it.”

Harrison chuckled, “Do you want me to feel bad?”

“Actually, it’ll do you good,” Haz looked at her like she was mental. “I’m not kidding!”

“Why?” His voice was low.

The waiter came back with their drinks and (y/n) let go of Harrison’s hand. He wanted to understand what she was trying to tell him and why she was saying it, but perhaps, the grief was still fresh and didn’t allow him to think as clearly as he wished he could.

“Susannah, you know about her?” (y/n) asked. Harrison nodded. “She’s my manager. And ever since we found out where she had gone, and ever since she had returned, she’s been very unhappy. Her unhappiness projected itself as anger and bitterness. And she took it out on everyone at work.”

“That’s terrible.” Harrison said, not sure where this was going.

“She asked me not to come to work,” His eyes widened now. “She told me I was the reason she was unhappy and a great many other things that made me feel terrible about the choices I made and what I’ve done—”

“(y/n), you’ve wanted nothing but the best for her. Don’t blame yourself.” Harrison’s voice sounded super kind. It melted her heart.

“That’s the thing, Haz. I thought it was best for her. I made those actions. She wanted to be left alone so she could grieve. And I didn’t give her that. Sure, she could have made it clear that she wanted to be alone at first, but some people grieve differently. And I never gave her that chance.” Harrison blinked.

“Sounds very familiar.” He muttered.

(y/n) smiled bitterly, “It does. I did the same thing to Tom. I hurt him using my grief as a weapon. And he only tried to apologize.”

Harrison smiled. “So, your take on this is?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes before saying, “My take on this is simple, Haz. Allow yourself to feel bad. Susannah isn’t letting that happen and that’s why she’s hurting. Let yourself feel bad, Haz. For the past few days, since she’s told me not to come to work, I’ve been feeling bad a lot. But, doesn’t end there. It’s getting better slowly, and I can feel it. Please, don’t try to hide it.”

Harrison smiled at her before lifting up his beer can.

“To feeling sad.”

(y/n) giggled before clicking her can with his, “To feeling sad.”

The two had never thought it possible but it felt like they have known each other since forever. Friendship and romance were not different. They were the same; albeit two different versions. They were the different versions of the same desire to be close and stick to one another. Harrison and (y/n) could laugh and smile at things as lovers did, but at the same time, their bond needn’t require physical closeness in any way. It was a pull so pure, it gave meaning to the world platonic.

“I’ve always believed that this whole calm nature of mine is a lie,” Harrison said, after his fourth can of beer.

“A lie?”

Nodding, “A lie. I don’t know… Feels like everything I say and do is a lie. I feel like I’m constantly lying to people about who I am. But, I know I’ve nothing to hide, though this feeling never really goes away.”

“You feel like an imposter?” (y/n) asked, taking a sip of her own beer.

Harrison nodded. “An imposter.”

“Harrison, you’re so humble. I’ve critiqued things and people for years now, I can tell apart any sort of lie. It’s both a curse and a gift, really.”

Harrison laughed. “So, let me tell you this. You’re very talented. And your calm nature is no lie. You’ve been telling yourself that you can’t feel grief like the rest of us, and that’s the only lie. Nothing else, love. You’re a darling and you need to believe that.”

Harrison leaned back, “Aww. You’re making me swoon here, really.”

“Shut it.” (y/n) said, giggling.

“Have you ever had a dream you gave up on?” Harrison asked, out of nowhere.

(y/n) was drunk enough to answer this with no hesitation, “I’ve always wanted to write a TV show.”

Harrison frowned, “That’s still possible—”

“Don’t be like Tom, Haz. He told me the same thing. I just… I don’t think I ever could. It’s something… I don’t know.” She couldn’t find the words.

“You’re giving up on this because you don’t know?” Haz made it sound ridiculous.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, “I know it sounds ridiculous, Haz. But, I just can’t. It’s…”

“You’re not brave enough to take a risk, is that it?” Haz pressed.

“It’s everything, really. I won’t deny it, it’s a risk and I’m scared. But, I haven’t had the best and very confident days either. Everything that went on with Susannah and—”

“Is that why you broke down the other day?” Haz’s voice was low.

(y/n) nodded quietly. I miss Tom, she thought, randomly; unsure if it was the intoxication that made her believe so, or if it was pent up feelings from the last time she saw him. She was aware, that each time she thought of Tom, she thought of loving him. She was aware of it now, she knew it was too soon and perhaps it was because he’s an actor that she believed she loved him, but some part of her heart knew otherwise. Some part of her heart told her it was because Tom tries so hard with people he cares about; it was because Tom had a laugh that would crease his eyes in the corner and made him seem so happy; it was because his happiness was contagious. She knew she thought she loved him because Tom was just that easy to love—humble and kind, even when the world showered him with affection.

In her quiet wonder, she knew she was in and over herself for just knowing she loved him. He was someone from an entirely different world; she could never reach up to him.

And perhaps, Harrison saw the dilemma in her at that second. He saw the far-away look in her eye, and her face was transparently thinking of his best friend. The problem here wouldn’t end with Tom confessing to her and her accepting—it was related on a more ideological level. She believed, firmly, that he was out of her league and invariably, so did Tom.

“You’ll need to book a cab this time,” Harrison chuckled.

(y/n) hit him on the arm playfully before nodding. She stood up with him, Haz’s hand around her shoulder. He radiated a warmth, which was different from the warmth that Tom would send her way. This warmth made her sleepy, calm and everything that fell under serene, while Tom’s warmth sent her stomach to space.

“Thank you so much.” Harrison said, just as her cab arrived.

“Haz, I’m here for you. Anytime. Alright?” Harrison chuckled.

“You’re going to be a great writer someday, (y/n).” He said, looking into her eyes.

“And if I do, I’m going to cast you as the main character.”

They may have met that evening, feeling low about their circumstances, but it was almost a miracle that they left on a happy note.

Tom had just finished acting a scene when he thought of her. It was strange—he found himself repeating her name like a mantra before falling asleep. Somehow the simple pleasure of uttering her name, and the added pleasure of hearing her name was heaven for Tom, and he couldn’t go to bed until dawn, on most days. Isn’t it odd how a single name, a single word associated with her, could bring another person such joy that they inflict insomnia upon themselves and call it a blessing?

At some point, Tom found himself thinking of the feeling of her hands above his, the night they met for dinner. Tom knew, in between all those sleepless nights, so far away from her, that would remember the feel of her hand around his for the rest of his life.

He sent her a message, “I hope you’ve had a good day today.” He knew about Harrison’s show, and he had called him the night before he left to London. He wanted to give his friend some time, hoping it would heal him more than his words ever could. Just as he was about to put his phone away, it began to ring—startling him, throwing him off balance. When he looked at the name of the contact, his stomach flipped like he was back in school. He immediately answered, placed the phone next to his ear, his eyes widened and his cheeks reddening, breath rolling out of his lips as Tom let out a feeble, “Yes?”

“I miss you, Tom. I hope you know that.” (y/n)’s voice was soft. Cherry pink. Infused with the intoxication that alcohol provided her.

Worry seeped into his veins and he wondered why she was drunk. Before he could ask, she told him herself.

“Harrison asked to meet. He was feeling down, the poor fellow. We talked and drank and I took a cab home. I’m safe.”

He could feel the worry being replaced with relief. It was funny how much control she had over him, being countries away.

“How much did you have to drink, (y/n)? Did you drink water?”

“Four pints, I think? And yes, I’m drinking water right now. Anyway, I’m sorry for the other night. I wanted to make things clear with you before I start feeling bad about myself for the way I behaved.”

Tom chuckled. He had a shoot to complete, but he wasn’t going for that now. The time was close to midnight, and he had had enough for the day. The director would definitely understand.

“I miss you so much, (y/n). I do.” Tom spoke, his voice low.

It was no picnic missing her, Tom realized. It drove him insane on most days, he couldn’t concentrate, he found it hard to maintain an appetite, and he found it even harder to sleep. All this for someone he doesn’t even have, he wonders if on the off chance, how things would be if he had her.

There was silence on the other end, but he knew it wasn’t the bad kind. He wanted her to continue talking, he wanted her to pour her heart out, to tell him things about her—to fill his heart with her details, to make him feel so full that he could explode; but Tom knew he had an infinite amount of storage in him just for her.

“Susannah’s been… She’s been hurting,” (y/n) began, her voice breaking. Days went by when she felt the sorrow on her own, and it was perhaps the first time since coming home did she allow herself to openly break in front of another.

Tom listened, as well as he could, as kind as he could. It was her pain and he embraced it with poise, he knew she was hurting and this was what had happened the night he met her, before leaving. He could tell she cried in bits where she felt confused about her anger and hurt, he knew she struggled trying to be rational about the entire situation, and he knew she was simply in pain regarding being blamed.

“I did the same thing to you…” She voiced and it threw him off guard.

“What?” He asked, feeling his heart beat against his chest.

“I blamed you for my sorrow. I did the same thing that Susannah—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, (y/n). What happened with us is something you can’t compare with this. They’re both very different scenarios, love. Don’t do that. Don’t corner yourself against a wall. I know you want to, but don’t.”

“Tom, about the other night…” He felt his heart beat against his ear. For some reason, he knew what she was going to bring up. “I know we almost…”

He gulped and pulled his sleeve away from his throat. He was sitting inside his air-conditioned room, but he still felt sweaty. Tom felt as though he could chew up nails and spit out a barbed wire fence.

“We almost kissed.” She finished, and he almost fainted.

He didn’t know what to say. He knew she was being direct because she was drunk, but he now so desperately wished he was drunk too so as to not feel this nervousness that brought him down like anchors tied to each of his legs.

“We…” Tom gulped. “We almost did, yeah.”

“Tom… Tom, you can’t see me that way. You can’t.” She said, almost begging, her voice breaking at each word.

He felt as if his insides were on fire while speaking to her regarding this.

“Why not?” He suddenly ran out of liquid in his throat. His throat was on fire, and so was his stomach and his brain and his eyes.

“Because you’re way out of my league.”

Is she being serious? Tom thought, rubbing his palm over his mouth. He could taste the sweat in his palms, and when he blinked he felt tears well up in his eyes. His head was spinning and he suddenly fought the urge to throw up.

“You’re wrong, (y/n).” If anything, it’s you. You’re out of my league. Always have been.

He could practically see her shaking her head and not believing his words. But no, now was not the time. He knew she wouldn’t believe him if he told her over phone. She was drunk and sad and alone and in London and he was sober and sad and alone and in Croatia.

“Sweetheart, you need to sleep.” Tom said, kindly.

“Tom, I’m sorry. I really am.”

He smiled as he replied, “You have nothing to be sorry for, (y/n). Goodnight.”

The morning after, just when she could think about all that she had told Tom the night before, Aditi called her. Her heart leapt, and she wondered if she could go back to work—she wondered if Susannah had changed her mind and forgiven her, if her life could get back on track once more.

“What’s the scene?” (y/n) sounded perky.

“She wants you to come in.” Aditi sounded rather monotonous, hiding something she clearly didn’t want to divulge on call.

Getting ready as quickly as she could, (y/n) felt her heart beat against her chest. She was nervous, almost as if she was going in for an interview for a new job. It took her about 30 minutes to reach her office, and once she was inside, she found Susannah near her desk.

“Susannah—”

Susannah turned around and beside her stood an older male, salt and pepper hair. He had a large nose, but it strangely sat well on his face. (y/n) blinked before turning to Susannah again, wondering who this person was. Her eyes fell on her own desk, someone’s bag had been kept there, and she wondered whose it was.

“This is Martin Posner,” Susannah said, “He’s our newest addition.”

Aditi entered the area and stood right behind (y/n). Looking at Martin, the Indian woman’s eyes widened before turning to (y/n)’s back.

“That’s… That’s great. Welcome—”

“He’s our new critique.” Susannah finished.

Her heart fell. A new critique? Her throat suddenly felt dry. She felt Aditi’s hand grab her elbow, but (y/n) didn’t budge.

“What do you… Um… Am I transferred?” Her voice broke at the end.

“You can pack your things and leave, (y/n). We won’t be needing your services.”

What Susannah said stabbed (y/n)’s heart, like someone had ripped through her carefully stitched up world and exposed the infected, pulsing red tissue that she thought was healing.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get your things and leave. This isn’t a firing. You have to resign—”

“What if I won’t?” It came like a small ember, her courage.

“I’m not giving you a pink slip. If you resign on your own, it won’t look bad. If you still won’t, then I’ll have no choice.” Susannah said, coldly.

“Susannah, on what basis are you doing this? I’ve been doing my job! You were overworking me and I still didn’t complain—”

“Don’t make this difficult—”

Aditi grabbed (y/n)’s hand and pulled her away, just as (y/n) broke down. Before exiting, Aditi turned to Susannah and sent her a rather nasty glare, and missed how Susannah’s fists were clenched tight.

It seemed to her as though everything that was good and true had been blasted out of the world. All those things had been crushed destroyed made to disappear. Susannah struggled through every hour of each day feeling as if her each breath would be the last. She didn’t know what she was doing and why she was doing it for the most part, and it left her feeling nasty and guilty—she found solace in hurting those around her and perhaps, the most was out of hurting (y/n).

She remembered like it was yesterday when she spoke to her as Stephen, wanting to come out as Susannah.

“What do you think of the name ‘Susannah’?”

“I think it’s a wonderful name. Why’re you asking me, Stephen?”

“I think I’ve always known, (y/n). I think I’ve always known I was a she and not a he.”

She remembered how (y/n) looked at her at that moment. No surprise. No judgement.

“Alright then, Susannah.”

Susannah felt herself sink to her toes as soon as she closed the door in her new flat. Her eyes immediately travelled to the wall on which a single photograph was fixed. (y/n), herself and Aditi and the rest of the office—looking happy and cheerful as they were a while ago.

She pressed her hands to her mouth and cried, thinking if what she had done was wrong. She thought of when (y/n) opened up to her one night, when they were drinking alone in a bar. (y/n) had told her she’d always wanted to be a writer. She chose to be a critic instead because it ‘suited’ her. Susannah had always known the truth—being a critic never suited her, it was simply a cage. A cage that prevented her from dreaming. A cage that made her believe that her dreams were unimaginable.

A cage that she was out of now. For good.

I am so sorry, Susannah thought. And felt it too.

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff, @aestheticgaybish, @noobmaster63, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay, @wonders-of-the-multiverse, @boushalaivre, @jackiehollanderr, @nerdypisces160, @yourwonderbelle, @quackson606, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff, @fandoms-stuff, @danicarosaline, @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo, @multiverseprincess @spider-mendes @jazzhandspotter @the-rad-mad @itsjlynadaxoxo

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland x y/n #tom hollander #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years

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The Miys, Ch. 13

Author’s Note: This is the first chapter written by my new co-author, @ritualistic-raven, AKA The Real Tyche. Initially, this was a fanfiction she wrote from Tyche’s perspective, but as soon as I found out, I had to read it. The idea of everything was just too good not to include! Obviously, this chapter is dedicated, first and foremost to her: For being my biggest fan, my staunchest supporter, and with everything going on in our lives right now, making everything as easy as possible on us both.

She would like to dedicate this chapter to Dante, God Rest His Soul.

Please: Read, Review, Reblog.

“Where were you when it happened?”

I sighed deeply as I placed my mug on the table. “Antoine, why would you ask this?” As I said his name, his grip on my hand tightened reassuringly.

Sophia raised an eyebrow at his gesture. “You have been avoiding it. You haven’t even told me and I’m your sister. Between you and my old therapist, I know first-hand that talking helps. You know what I’m talking about.” She gently pet the purring puddle of fur on her lap, pausing only when it stretched, showcasing claws and fangs.

In my heart, I knew she was right. There was a complication though: my memory never had been reliable. “More holes than a sponge and nowhere as absorbent,” is how I had always described it. I could summarize ten years in three sentences. These survivors wanted a story, not the bullet points.

“I haven’t undergone repair yet. I know Noah can fix me. My memory. I’m just not sure I want that. Soph, you know how bad my life was back home. Antione, darling, I’ve briefed you on a few parts. Conor, Arantxa, you will likely find out soon. I don’t hide my past, but I also don’t simply offer it,” I sighed again, the last few words feeling tight in my throat. “What I mean is… I only remember pieces. I can share those, but a lot is missing. Most was either repetitive or I just don’t remember.”

All eyes were on me, even the bright green eyes of the fur-puddle.

“Tyche?” Antoine spoke softly, but his voice shook ever-so-slightly.

The hand that wasn’t on mine reached for my other wrist, the one I hadn’t realized was held in a fist next to my shoulder. He pulled back to show blood on his fingertips, only, it wasn’t his.

My sister stood up casually and announced our meeting was over for tonight. “Tyche will be okay. I’ve got this. If everyone could just leave, without touching her, I’ll get her cleaned up. It’s PTSD, and she just told us she hasn’t let the Miys treat her. Tyche will be okay. I’ve got her.”

Our friends placed their dinnerware on the counter and each said goodnight, concern in every word. After the doors to my quarters closed, Sophia sat beside me, where Antoine had been, and sat our now-shared cat on the table in front of me. “Can you see ‘now’ or are you seeing the past?” she asked quietly.

Being able to act in the present while my mind showed me only the past was an unfortunate skill of mine. No one could really explain how I could do this, but it was classed as a form of shellshock. With so many on the ship with moderate to severe levels of PTSD, the Miys had found my particular form of shellshock fascinating.

“Now,” I barely whispered. My right hand found the cat while my left was clenched tight. Blood dripped slowly toward my elbow.

“Good start,” Sophia said, still quiet, with a ridiculous level of calm that I knew was her own self-defense mechanism. “Your hand is bleeding. I’m guessing you flashed back to something really awful. I’m so sorry, Tyche.” She calmly uncurled my fingers to look at the cuts. My fingernails had dug into my palm pretty deeply, somehow without registering pain.

A voice came over the intercom that rang with panic and anger. “She’s bleeding! Why would you let her hurt herself, Soph?! How was bringing up the beginning of the End a good idea?!”

My chair fell back a few feet when I erupted from it. “Don’t you dare blame her for this!” I thrust my hand poignantly toward the camera module, emphasizing my last word. “Don’t you dare blame any of them, Simon!”

“Tyche, you need to calm down. Raising your—”

“Oh, fuck off. I have PTSD, as do all of us – except you, might I add? I am traumatized and I refused treatment.”

“That’s—”

An absolutely primal scream roared from my tiny frame because I could not stand Simon. He was truly terrible at handling any of my PTSD episodes, had been since the moment I first woke up on Ark.

“Tyche—”

I audibly growled before I spoke again. “What are you even watching me for? You swore you wouldn’t when you stepped down from the Council! What the hell do you want?”

He cleared his throat from his location elsewhere on the ship. “You have a meeting in two hours. Your quarter doors were set to Do Not Disturb and due to your illness history, there was concern for your safety. Apparently with good reason.”

“Simon,” my sister began as she set my chair upright, still unnaturally calm but clearly scolding him with that one word. “You know to check entry logs first. Then you would have seen I had an official appointment with our Assistant Director of Administration. Go back to work.”

“With all due respect, ma’am—”

“The concern is appreciated. She is my sister, though. I am one of the few people in any universe she trusts. Please, just – go away. Tyche would probably like privacy now.” She shifted her gaze to me.

I nodded almost imperceptibly. As I turned around to walk to my bed, the intercom clicked off. The Miys, with their not-very-good understanding of privacy, slipped words into my mind. “There is an infirmary approximately two-hundred and fifty yards from your quarters. Would you like to be escorted?”

The telepathic hive-mind alien ‘spoke’ in a tone of genuine concern. I don’t think it had witnessed a physical result from PTSD before.

“No, I have not. Your recollection is – fragmented, but very strong. How can the human psyche withstand such emotions of such strength?”

I brought the knuckles of my wounded hand to my forehead. “It can’t. The psyche breaks. Otherwise, post-traumatic stress disorder wouldn’t exist. If our psyche could handle it, our brains wouldn’t…” I waved my hand to signal I was trying to find a word. “Our brains wouldn’t glitch, or malfunction, or however you best understand the damage done to my brain by my traumatic experiences.” Sophia opened the door and reminded me about the infirmary. Apparently, our host had included her in the conversation.

“Right. Thanks. I’ve managed to keep my hand pretty since before the End. Let’s not break that streak now.”

The alien body in the infirmary was just as tall the all the others. Not really a surprise, given the months I had been on this ship, but I had hoped for some distinguishing feature from time to time. My sister, however, could tell them apart. How she did that remained a mystery to me.

I strolled over to the Miys body assigned here and carefully held out my wounded hand. With one pair of hands, it placed my arm on an exam bench adjusted to my shoulder height. It did know I was on my way, after all. This was also not my first visit. The Miys vessel moved a CD sized scanner over the wound, no doubt checking the severity of the injury.

“So, Tyche,” my sister said with a note of curiosity. “Who is this Antoine guy? You two seemed awfully chummy.”

I looked at her and blinked, trying to register what she asked. The Miys still had little understanding of dissociation, but Sophia understood perfectly and showed patience. She knew what post-panic numbness felt like.

“He’s, um… What do you mean? Chummy? In what sense?” My brain was catching up and my tone reflected playfully.

She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “I saw Antione’s hand on yours. We both know you’re generally a prickly person,” she laughed. “You were practically cuddling with him, if someone knew what to look for.”

“Oh! That. He’s basically my assigned comfort-human. Ever since I told our hosts about touch-starvation, they’ve been trying to encourage me to bond with someone. Y’know. For my health.” A cold serum was injected into my palm. “Ah! You could have warned me!”

The serum was designed to heal our wounds almost instantly. It worked, mostly. As long as the injury wasn’t what human consider severe – the Miys considered everything severe – the serum could stimulate rapid cell growth. You could actually watch the injury heal within minutes. The only side-effect was a few days of the site tingling.

“Anyway,” I said as I watched the cuts on my palm heal, “Antoine was one of the ‘candidates’ to ‘facilitate’ catching me up on lost touch or whatever. He’s good at snuggling, will bring me meals when I’m not well, and fully respects that I am asexual. I ended up telling Them, well, It, since there’s only one mind… Ugh… I still feel awkward about the pronouns… Our Host that it really is best for me if I receive that touch from someone I can get to know. That sounds creepy, I know, but I digress. I guess Antoine is like an arranged boyfriend? He knows the deal. Aroace. He asked what it means and I explained. He said that actually makes things less awkward if we end up not getting along and have to end our ‘arrangement.’”

We both laughed as we left the infirmary. I told her it was much easier to get the cuisine I was accustomed to thanks to Antoine and some of the things he had told me about himself.

The pendant on her necklace chimed, signaling that my that my councilmember sister had another official meeting. Our three hours had come to an end.

“Same time next week?” She asked, casually brushing her fingertips over the pendant to silence it.

I looked down as I smirked. “I can take a sedative just to make sure things don’t turn out like this week. So yeah, same time next week.”

We parted ways and I couldn’t help but think of how badly I had reacted to a simple question. He didn’t mean anything by it. At some point, we all shared our stories with a crowd. Some days, the assemblies felt like Addicts Anonymous. The attending members were almost always awkward, fumbling through their histories on Earth. Given that my position on the ship dealt with so many people, I knew that sharing my story would help them see me less as a bureaucrat. Seeing me as a person they can relate to would make my job easier when learning where to place them for jobs.

Looked like it was time for me to get the hard part over with, damn the emotions and full speed ahead.

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#miys #the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #science fiction #sci fi #aliens #apocalypse #fiction #original #writing #my writing

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vvlin91 · 6 years

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The Making of Sanaich

How 19-year-old Sana Hiroki transformed himself into an 80s yaoi icon

Maraich is special to the Patalliro! series even before author Maya Mineo realized it. He confessed to planning to kill him off after a few chapters but saw the character had a life of its own and therefore he felt compelled to let him live. I wonder if this happened before or after Maraich was assigned to be 18 years of age, because Maya Mineo fell in love with his wife at first sight when he was 27, which is Bancoran’s age, and his wife 18. In the manga Maya-sensei also jokingly stated that Bancoran’s cheating was in no way a reflection of his own behaviors. And the fact that Maya-sensei’s now-mangaka daughter saw Patalliro as a sibling growing up kind of indirectly shows how Bancoran and Maraich’s relationship is in certain ways a representation of Maya-sensei’s own marriage.

Maya-sensei is delightfully weird, as you would expect from the man who created Patalliro! in the first place. So a lot of the decisions he has made about his story and characters don’t fit into boxes. He said he wasn’t good at drawing women so he made all his characters gay even though the pretty boys he draws are all indistinguishable from women.

And even though Maraich was one of the most important characters of the story, he never bound himself or anyone else to any set ways of portraying the character. Maraich was famously voiced by female voice actor Fujita Toshiko, and Maya-sensei had characterized Maraich as “a girl with a boy’s body”, despite the fact that Maraich throughout the series has used “boku”, which is the male first-person pronoun and on several occasions made it clear that he is a male and has no problem staying that way. So the whole thing is a very fluid situation and Maya-sensei is almost always just free-ranging.

When Stage Patalliro! became a thing but the cast has not been determined, Maya-sensei called his daughter Marie to ask about whether Maraich should be played by a man or a woman. Little did he realize that because Marie was raised on all the BL manga he had gathered over the years in his household, there was only one possible answer from a hardcore fujoshi.

The conversation was first revealed in Marie’s own comic series:

“100% MALE!” was Marie’s instant reply. So we might have her to thank for Sanaich.

“For real?” was Sana’s initial response after being cast as Maraich. He didn’t know Patalliro! prior to the play and there was little in common between he and his character. Maraich looks like a woman, and was voiced by a woman, moreover Maya-sensei sees Maraich as a girl at heart and even wants a female to play the role, everything was mounting on Sana who has so far made his name by playing a serious character.

A known hard-worker, Sana did not dwell on the pressure and dived into the series. He read the entire manga(which was 90+ volumes and counting) and watch the anime on DVD(49 episodes not counting the movie). It was then when he saw that Maraich always uses “boku” when referring to himself.

“So there is still a part of him that is a boy.”

He expressed his thoughts to Maya-sensei when they sat down for an interview for the first time. And Maya-sensei, being his free-ranging self and all, essentially advised him to approach the character his own way. That is to say, he doesn’t have to feel confined by the anime’s female voice(which would be impossible for him to mimic anyway) or even Maya-sensei’s own characterizations. They have cast a boy, so Maraich now is a boy and there is nothing wrong with playing him as one.

“I often see (Maraich) being called ‘the one in a million pretty boy’ so I thought, ‘Ah, he’s a boy after all.’”

“My voice is so deep.”

“My shoulders are a little too wide.”

The photoshoot was just one of the places for such concerns, where Sana had to come up with very feminine and even erotic poses. Luckily he got advice from the staff and he also observed the women around him. He ultimately settled for a “worried” face, expressing the inner thought of “What do I even do...”

(Aoki Tsunenori, who plays Bancoran, said, “I didn’t receive any special instructions for the photoshoot.”)

The result was stunning.

Tsune: I don’t dislike girls with wide shoulders at all. It’d definitely score a pass for me.

Sana: I’m so glad ♪ (A/N: the music note was printed in the actual interview)

(Despite that, Sana carried the same concerns with him even long after the show was over. In these two clips(1/2) where he watched himself as Maraich on stage, you can still see him feeling uneasy about his voice and any sign of masculinity, despite his fellow actors' repeated reassurance that he was adorable and his style was really good. )

To look like the character is one thing, to give him life on stage is another.

Even though they have established the fact that Maraich is a boy, he is still a feminine one. A lot of ideas flew around from the director and others on how Maraich would behave under different circumstances(80s female idols were an important point of reference). Once the directives were in his head, Sana realized he had indeed started acting more “girlish” even without realizing. He started to obsess over make-up, buying fashion magazines targeted at women, and unconsciously dancing in a very feminine manner... At one point he wondered if he had gone a little too far and really became a girl, but he was also having so much fun so he just laughed it off.

However, there was another elephant in the room: Maraich and Bancoran’s same-sex relationship, which was something new to both actors.

Sana: (while staring at Tsune) I want to convey the ultimate love story that even the audience would envy. Tsune: I never injected love to a boy this way though~ Sana: I have never fallen in love with a man before so...please take care of me! Tsune: Well, me neither. (LOL) (A/N: the bracket notes are also printed in the actual interview)

Since both actors considered themselves to be straight(haha), Maya-sensei advised Sana to think of himself as a boy with a girl's heart to help him approach same-sex romance for the first time. Tsune then declared, “Sana I’m going to treat you like a girl now” which Sana happily agreed to. They indeed grew to enjoy each other’s company, sometimes caught by fellow actors sharing a private moment together and both spoke very fondly of the experience even long after the show was over.

And there’s the fanfiction-like story of how they managed to kiss without feeling embarrassed.

Here’s a video you have probably watched 200 times because I reblogged it 2000 times.

They were determined to get this right. Tsune said in a later interview that he didn’t want people to think they were faking the kiss so a simple brush on the lips was out of the question. Kato Ryo(Patalliro), who somehow always gets asked about the kiss even though he personally was not involved, also said they both really went for it with all they had.

And there is also the love-making. Neither spoke much about it unfortunately but we know this position was coined by Kato Ryo and there was a lot of trial and error happening under everyone’s watchful eyes. So we at least know they had to rehearse in the middle of the room with everyone watching.

Alas, Maraich is more than just a pretty face.

Maraich is a trained assassin and literal killing machine. Check out Sana’s epic high kicks in this action sequence with Tsune.

Maraich is also a sentimental lover. His solo "That Man" is an expression of his rawest emotions, and a very subtle tribute to the fact that Maraich was one of the earliest manga characters to be shown engaging in masturbation.

Remember how Sana was concerned about his deep, manly voice? In Maraich and Bancoran’s duet "Snipers of Love", you can clearly hear that Tsune's voice is a lot higher than his but that did not keep this song from being one of the most brainwashing tracks coming from any stageplay.

And there’s also this moment of truly seamless acting:

Maya-sensei's daughter and mangaka Yamada Marie grew up with BanMara. Yet even she, after watching the stageplay, found herself shipping BanMara even harder and started to actively use the term "Sanaich", combining the actor and character's names.

Kato Ryo, who was the determining factor that made the play even remotely plausible, mentioned how having Sana as Maraich and Tsune as Bancoran helped him relieve a lot of the pressure. Patalliro, Bancoran and Mariach are the pillars of the original story, and it is not surprising that the stageplay could only work out when there are three competent and talented actors to fill those roles. In fact, in many group and solo interviews the three of them did before and after the play, they brought up how watching each other get into character gave them confidence and even more faith that this play - long considered an impossible project - will work out just fine.

In the end, Sana probably found that he and Maraich had more in common than he first thought. Sana is a very talented and hardworking actor. His subsequent performances as Sesshomaru in Stage Inuyasha and Bedivere in Stage FGO were also highly praised, but I still feel Maraich is his most outstanding performance to date. There's just something about Sanaich that feels so natural, something close to perfection came out of that flawless addition of unabashed boyishness and Maraich's sentimentalism.

After the final performance, Sana wrote on his blog,

"I am so happy to be able to play Maraich. So happy that I might have got pregnant...LOL"

And here’s a gif of him having fun.

Well, he's just not pregnant...yet.

#sana hiroki #maraich #patalliro #cock robin killed me #DID YOU THINK I ONLY WRITE META ON KUROMYU #NOPE #every time I see people say Sana's Sesshomaru is so good #I be like ok you are not wrong #BUT YOU HAVEN'T SEEN NOTHING #you can never begin to grasp this boy's talent without having seen his Maraich #oh god when is the last time I wrote this long a post

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