Bach must have known how something flutters away when you turn to face the face you caught sideways in a mirror in a hall at dusk and how the smell of apples in a bowl can stop the heart from beating, for an instant, between sink and stove in the dead of winter when stars of ice have spread across the windows and everything is perfectly still until you catch the sound of something lost and shy beating its wings against those darkening stars. And then: music.
Bach, winter by Jane Mead
fantasy is when currency is referred to as "gold" and sci fi is when currency is referred to as "credits"
Mike in s5: But there's one story he can never tell 😔
Nancy in s2: 🗣️ HAWKINS NATIONAL LABORATORY KILLED MY BEST FRIEND
hyperfixating on a fictional woman who went underdeveloped in canon is literally FUN and the 80-90% of fandom people who only do the same for background character men have no idea of the degree to which they are fucking missing out