#like honestly they all have so many issues

[puppetwoman17]

Honestly, I don’t know what I want the relationship with Cap and Billy to be.

Because I get why some people want them to be wholly separate beings. It just makes sense that Marvel is completely nonhuman. That he’s just magic given form.

But I don’t entirely like that conclusion. To me, it takes away the fact that billy is responsible for all those lives saved. That he is the one sacrificing his time and putting his life on the line. That he is the one getting all this trauma. Making them separate takes that all away for me.

But there’s also the issue that new52 dc doesn’t do that right either. When Cap and Billy ARE the same, Cap acts like a stupid kid, an overgrown child. I mean that’s not it completely. I have an entire separate issue with how New52 handles Billy’s personality and lore, but we can’t get into that rn or this rant will go on forever.

And the thing is DC DOES know how to handle Cap and Billy being the same(or not the same, but like Cap is Billy with…more. He’s Billy, but he’s also magic itself. Like a fusion of sorts. He has memories and some of his personality, but he doesn’t act like an idiot).

I mean, look at JL Unlimited. Despite Cap still acting somewhat childish, it never goes overboard. He’s even admired by his fellow Leaguers. Hell, BATMAN says the League needs him because of how sunny he is! And sure, while there’s some childishness in the YJ cartoon, it’s not cringy(at least to me, because when you see what they did to him in JL:Throne of Atlantis…)

There’s that one other movie with Superman and Batman that I can’t remember the name of, where some heroes are going after Superman for a reason I ALSO can’t remember. Cap is one of them, and he never once acts like a stupid kid. He, like those other heroes, doesn’t have the whole picture, and that’s why he’s attacking Supes.

Thwre is a way to have Cap and Billy be the same entity, have the same memories, but also be somewhat different. There is a way to make sure that Billy is shown to be responsible for the lives he saves. There is a way to give Cap respect in this universe because it has been done before. New52 needs to work on that or we’ll have this issue forever🙄.

It almost makes me glad we don’t have a Shazam/Captain Marvel tv show because gods know what they might do to him. I’m telling you, we have had the “child gets given tremendous responsibility and fucks up” schtik over and over and over for the past century and probably more. It’s been done. So many times.

Cap was a beloved hero in the 1940s and pre-52 BECAUSE he didn’t adhere to that. Because the writers made sure we knew he was capable of being responsible and a hard worker, and not an idiot, all while being like 10. And in recent years it has STILL been done.

It is possible. Just do it right!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! I wanted to ask something.

You see, before knowing your page, I was thinking about making a TWST OC based on the same poem from Alice in Wonderland as Miss Raven. Then I stumbled upon your account, and I felt low-key bad in continuing with it, since I really like your take on a “twisted” version of the raven at the writing desk.

I know you don't own the concept or anything, but just in case, I wanted to ask if you would be uncomfortable by another OC being made with the same concept. My idea is nothing like Miss Raven though, I can assure that! No Crowley family relationship, and their personality would be different too. Again, I know you don't own the concept, but since I really like Miss Raven I just don't want to risk making you uncomfortable, so I figured it was better to ask.

I think you’re talking about the riddle (“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”) from Alice in Wonderland? The Raven poem is a separate piece by Edgar Allen Poe.

As you’ve mentioned in the ask, no one person owns the concept of a character. There are many OCs in the fandom that take inspiration from the same thing and still result in very different interpretations. For example, many people have their own OCs based on the Disney princesses. TWST has its own canonical twisted Disney princesses too (hi, Neige).

It’s perfectly fine to make an OC with the same initial inspiration. There may be some overlap in traits due to the nature of coming from the same starting point, but the end point usually ends up being varied due to the the unique life experiences and perspectives that each creator brings to the table. Honestly, I think there’s really no real issue (especially since, in this instance, there’s no intent to copy or desire to take elements from Miss Raven in particular). Maybe I’d be more skeptical if there was an oddly specific amount of similarities, but that’s not the case here so it’s all good ^^

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

rewrite the ending in every lifetime・l.f

—From the moment Felix saw you drawing your dreams in the sand, he knew you were a daughter of the seas, with frozen fingers and feelings like the tide. So when the waves rush overhead, he will place his soul upon your tongue so your hollow heart can finally feel the warmth of the sun.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・felix x mommy issues!reader 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・angst, smut, a collection of moments the two of you have ever wanted to say I love you, his vow to find your soul in every lifetime, elutions to supernatural connections of humans hearts 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・8.1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・The reader had mommy issues that are heavily described, manipulation, verbal abuse, references to physical abuse but it really isn't described, love bombing, alcoholism, references to blades and knives, sweet PIV sex, an ungodly amount of crying, panic attacks, there are some potentially disturbing descriptions in this honestly, uhh pregnancy and proposals (its really cute I promise) 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ・If you want to see the preview for this story look here 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ・Family Line by Conan Gray, If the World Was Ending by Jp Saxe and Julia Michaels, The Night We Met by Lord Huron, Cover Me by Our Beloved Stray Kids, Evergreen by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners.

𝐚/𝐧・I have poured my heart and soul into this fic; I hope it heals you how it healed me.

i. It is the wounds we hide from the light that beg most to be seen.

Age 12.

Scene one.

The sand feels like stardust as you glide your hands across the sky, your frozen fingers tracing the edge of an anguished cry.

lair.

You write in scribbled chicken scratch,

lair.

lair.

lair.

You wipe it all away.

The ruthless afternoon sun glares off the playset before you, stabbing through your eyelids. You actually have to squint to make out any of the children shrieking and playing on the variety of scattered sets; a few push and shove each other on the slides, while the quiet, more reserved ones sit silently on the swings. Some were climbing on the monkey bars, others spinning on the merry-go-round, and then there was you, 12-and-a-half, drawing their sorrows in the sandbox.

You don't even know why you come here anymore. It almost makes you chuckle, imagining how others must see you—too old, too tall, too out of place to be sitting in a snot-infested box that smelled like the remnants of many, many nasty toddlers.

Though, as silly as it seemed, you needed an escape, an outlet to channel all this burning rage. You wanted to flip the world inside out, turn it around and upside down; shake it, shake it, shake it untill humans finally had some common sense. I mean, really, how could they not see it? How could anybody not see it?

The worst part of it is you don’t even have a reason to be mad. You hadn’t argued, you hadn’t fought, she hadn’t hit you, hadn’t taken away your stuff. No, that isn’t why you were mad.

You were mad because she's a liar.

A big, fat, ugly, fucking liar.

Her love only ever pools at the tip of a knife, the glint of all your hopes and dreams; It shimmers and shines in the overhead lights, in the cloud of the crowd’s ceaseless cheers. See it, look everyone, I'm great. Her hands cover their eyes. Look, world, she's trying. Do you see it? She's trying. She's trying, you're crying, and the world only ever applauds.

You sigh, smacking your hands on your thighs. You were inches away from combusting—Your emotions, like unreleased electricity, coalescing in the pit of your gut, one wrong spark away from exploding.

Why couldn't anybody see it?

An earsplitting screech of pure bliss pierces your eardrums as you snap your neck up. It wasn’t really hard to pinpoint the noise, figuring every few beats it would happen again. The sound was home to a little girl with blond braided hair and a smile that rivaled the sun, but it wasn’t her that caught your attention the most—It was the boy behind her, gently pushing her on the swings. Your heart skips in your chest; he was beautiful, the unique type of pretty, the kind that’s utterly humane. He had sprays of freckles and cheeks that permanently crinkled in a grin.

Who was he?

Perhaps it was Cupid’s feathered wings that tickled the boy’s chin up, because as soon as your gaze lifts, he inadvertently steps into a patch of light—his amber irises seeming to be encrested with honeyed seaglass, a phenomenon only created by the restless tumbling of a thousand folded seas; and even with an ocean of blinding afternoon sun, his eyes still found you.

Well, now that you really think about it, you were staring at him first, so it really isn’t as magical as your brain makes it up to be. But still—

You feel your lips part, your stomach flipping upside down. You would have usually been embarrassed, caught staring at such a beautiful boy, but you were floored, utterly flummoxed. Cupid drew his stringed bow, and with a flick of a finger, your heart was ensnared.

Subconsciously, you slip your hand into your front pocket, your thumb running over the smooth surface of a million different frosted bottles.

You found comfort in the concept—how easily humans discarded their broken trash, and in the excruciating process of being shattered, crushed, destroyed, the sea smoothed out their jagged edges. It was not their gruesome end; no, it was their birth.

Their birth into something so captivating so unique—

You were seaglass.

You wanted to be seaglass.

You were way too young to be thinking about the phenomenon of the ocean and the wisdoms of the world.

He was nothing less than breathtaking as his nose crinkled, the corners of his eyes disappearing into crescent moon-shaped slits. He was staring at you the same way one would look at an adorable puppy that just fell straight on its ass.

Oh, well, here comes the embarrassment. It hits you like a semi-truck, reality slamming into you harder than the tonnage before. There you were, sticky in sweat-caked sand, shifting through dirt and grime like a grody toddler, and there he was, innocently playing with what is probably his kid sister, looking perfect and beautiful and impossibly unsweaty.

Like, actually, how is he not sweating? It’s at least a million degrees out here. He catches your eyes again, his grin slowly forming into some (mysterious) mix between curious and mischievous. He eases the swing to a stop. The little girl grumbles in protest before he leans down into her ear, whispering something that makes her smile and nod, innocently toddling off into the abyss of grass and giggles.

You wonder why he stopped playing with her—that is until he starts walking over to you.

You had never, in all your 12 years of existence, heard a voice so naturally inviting—like the tender lullaby of whispering rain.

"Hi, my name's Felix. What's yours?"

Your lips formed around the letters—the way they fit so perfectly in your mouth.

In every lifetime, you turned the words on your tongue like a promise forgotten in the stars.

In every lifetime I will find you.

With jarring familiarity, you take his extended hand, blushing profusely when he asks if he can take a seat, you almost tweak a muscle nodding with such enthusiasm.

And in every lifetime, I will make you mine.

ii. I could find your soul in the sky because yours is the only one that smells like home.

Age 16.

Scene two.

"You look like shit," Felix teases, a pencil lodged firmly between his teeth; he was obnoxiously chipper for a Monday morning in math class.

You roll your eyes, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the classroom with a heavy-handed flick.

"Fuck off and die," you smile, slumping into your seat.

Felix lets out a forceful laugh, shocked by your abrupt hostility. His mouth stays agape far into the droning silence, his brain scrambles into damage control when you lack an immediate explanation.

“Come on now, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” He showcased his obnoxiously large smile with the bottoms of his palms in a gesture that said, Look at me. His goofy antics would usually make you at least grin, but today you were the very epitome of exhausted, swimming in a vat of thickening cement. You just wanted to melt into the comfort of your fluffy sheets—

The room erupts in a cacophony of screaming voices and roaring laughter.

Why must humans be so loud?

You groan, scooting your chair so close to Felix your bodies are practically smooshed together. If it bothered him, he didn't show it—or maybe you were too tired to notice. Either way, you drop your head onto the dip of his shoulder, his heat wrapping around you like a threadbare blanket—just enough warmth to dull the bite of a chill, but never enough to melt the ice.

"Somebody's tired," he coos with a hint of concern, slipping an arm over your shoulders. You nod, mumbling something along the lines of "tired" and "understatement." Your eyelids flutter shut to the sound of his heartbeat, and even under the bright fluorescent lights, everything starts to dim.

That is until your teacher shakes you awake, rudely plunging you back into the land of the living. You blink a few times, Felix's face a blur. You clear your throat. Your teacher was a short lady with a smile like a snob and her hair styled in a bob. She was loud and callous, with the temper of an obnoxious lapdog. You dig your palms into your eyes until your vision is painted in Picasso.

"We have a test today, L/N. I would sit up if I were you," she says, tossing two packets onto the desk, she flicks her eyes between the two of you, before pursing her lips like a woman clutching her pearls.

Of course.

Of fucking, fuckudy, fucking, course.

Of all the days.

Most of your night was encased in a bubble of beer, the stench of anguish, and the echo of wet cries. Your mother insisted on proving her godliness until the sun came up, for she, the untouchable essence of perfection, could never be wrong.

You nodded in and out of consciousness, only ebbing along the edge of the ocean before the tide pulled away.

You just wanted to sleep.

"Hey, wake up," Felix says, softly nudging you awake. His touch is feather-light, but it feels like the stab of a thousand sharpened pencils, the way your annoyance flares up.

"No," you croak, the lights like little lanterns reflecting off the surface of your tears. He hesitates for a moment, his tender hand leaving your skin for just enough time to make you crave it more.

"You have to wake up, or you're going to fail the test." He mumbles, gently lacing his fingers through your hair.

"I don't care anymore." You were traipsing on a tightrope with a body made of glass. You slip, you fall, you risk it all to tumble into his embrace. You felt it in your bones, the way he smelled like home, and you'd give anything to have it back.

Just once.

"Please," you whisper. It grates in his ears like gravel, your watery lashes cracking his heart in two.

You wanted to go home.

He pauses, narrowing his eyes in indecision before biting his lip and turning to scan Mrs. Womperbottom. You sit impatiently, bouncing your legs up and down. He flicks his stare to you, all your eye bags and smudged makeup, with that, his gaze softens, face melting into a small smile.

"Okay." He concedes, taking your body into his hands, carefully nuzzling your head to sit snug on the curve of his chest. You were so glad to sit in the back, especially as the world fades to black.

"I expected far more from you, young man."

It had been a few days since you fell asleep in Felix's arms, opting to turn in a blank packet rather than fight the urge to skydive without a parachute. Your brows furrow as your teacher frowns in disappointment. Felix, whose cheeks turn red as his eyes grow wide—equal parts panic and regret—seems to know exactly what's going on.

She flips the packet around. His fingers wrap around the paper, never turning it to see the depth of the damage. Only when he hastily unzips his bag, do you notice in the frenzy of movement—

A thick red F at the front.

Your jaw goes slack, lips gaping ever so slightly. He doesn’t meet your gaze, even when the room erupts in a deafening ring, chairs screeching as people scamper out. Your eyes blur like the lens of an old camera, faulty with the ages of time.

Carefully, you turn your page.

A

Your mouth is filled with sand.

You never did the test.

You flick through the edges of oblivion.

Every answer.

Every circle.

He did your test for you.

It was the sheer selflessness of his act that threw you for a loop—how a man who could have the whole world at the tip of his fingers could also be so impossibly kind.

That was a feat you believed no human was capable of, cynicism long engraved into your DNA. Your own blood was indebted to your mother, so how could a man with no inherent obligation to you, show such devotion?

"In the scars of sea glass, you will find your answer," the stars whispered.

"He loves you," the universe says.

"Do not doubt his intentions," time tells. "His soul has already found you in every lifetime."

iii. There are so many things in the world that must first collapse before it is born; why do we not believe humans are the same way?

Three months ago.

Scene Three.

Playing: The Night We Met.

"I love you, you know that, right, baby?" your mother slurs, her words tangled in a cloud of stale beer. She called you in a fit of drunken giggles, professing her undying ardor, wedged between passive pleas to come pick her up.

Something deep inside you screams as her arm wraps around your waist, the voice you fought to hide, it sounds and pounds at the walls of your ribs.

Not again, please.

You had spent so much of your life tangled in her web of lies, pulling at every poisoned thread.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

“I love you so, so much,” she cocoons your cheeks in comforting hands, and almost for a minute, you fall into the fuzz, into the black and blurry buzz of the mix between right and wrong.

She does not love you.

She loves your reflection and how it so greatly mirrors hers.

You were an extension of herself, the one she holds, the one she molds, her fingerprints sticking in the sand.

Brick by brick, she builds you up.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

She loves you, she says.

But she is in love with a mirror, the shattered glass of a battered reflection, the one that can never improve.

For she is too great in her empty state; she has nothing to prove.

You will never change a woman made of stone.

You will only ever break your bones.

So you drop the remote

with an echoing plop

and let all her love leak out.

You don’t really love me, do you?

Just pretend one more time.

Just one more time.

You drag her stumbling figure up a grueling flight of stairs. She giggles and hiccups when one of her feet catches on the edge of a step.

Her eyes are clouded as you lower her onto the bed. She caresses your cheek with silky fingers.

You relapse.

Rewind.

“Come lay with me, baby.”

You don’t cry, don’t die as the tip of her knife digs into the skin of your thigh.

You collapse into the warmth of her covered arms, shrouded with the lies of alcohol.

Brick by brick.

You nuzzle your head deeper into her neck.

She builds you up.

Just one more time.

She curls her hands around your heart.

I love you.

Your mother was too in love with herself to find room in her heart to love you.

Your tears taste like sorrow when they seep onto your tongue, cascading down your shuddering lips like the bullets of rain that whip across your face, dripping into your sodden shirt. Your heart was burdened by paradox, the overwhelming tonnage of utter desolation; you sink your fingers into your chest as if breaking the surface of snow, searching for any sign of humanity.

Perhaps it was fate's gentle hand that guided you from stumbling through your mother's desolate driveway to softly rapping your knuckles on Lee Felix's front door, cause the moment your weary feet touched his familiar steps, something stirred deep within. In a multiverse of infinite universes, it felt as though every timeline suddenly collided, merging to form this pivotal moment in your history—the story of you and him. The mere thought made you question its legitimacy, until the door creaked open, and suddenly, everything you'd almost forgotten came rushing back.

It was the disheveled state of his hair that you notice first—tousled atop his head like a misty halo; his eyes were heavy-lidded, foggy with frosted sea glass. You choke back a sob; the sunlit streetlights really do him wonders.

The moment you step into his line of sight, he can sense something is wrong. You're soaked to the bone, though the rain is barely coming down; your eyes glazed with a grief so acute it resonates in his very core.

He reaches a hand out—

"Y/N, what happened?"

You unravel; your knees giving out, all the energy spent on keeping yourself upright diffuses into an agonizing sob. Your hands find purchase on his steady shoulders as you threaten to collapse straight into the wet patio floor.

The universe had split apart, the sky falling down. You were crumbling, caught in between thick chunks of earth; you couldn’t breathe—

you gasp

The weight of a quivering world crashes into your chest, an earthquake erupting at the base of your spine. You were the daughter of destruction, bleeding with the wrath of humanity's woe.

Wordlessly, Felix chases your agony down, drawing you gently into his embrace. You had rehearsed your excuses all the way here, but when his arms wrap around your waist, the lies soak straight back into your throat.

Settled atop folded thighs, his free hand moves; lacing his fingers around the nape of your neck. His lips like life, pressing into the cold, dead skin of your outer shell; he grazes the apple of your cheek, the slope of your nose, the flat of your forehead, the tremble in your hand; and at last, with hooded eyes, his gaze finds your mouth. You are an amalgamation of quivering limbs, your bones like leaves; he locks his strength around the base of your spine, palms steading you from the outside in.

And yet, you lament, how desperately you wanted his lips to form around your flesh with the irrevocable promise of always, but you know the ramifications of such a thing; you were the embodiment of devastation, born with a blade in your hand, you would only ever hurt him. He did not deserve that. So instead of chasing your dreams, you chase the solitude of his skin, firm against your cheek.

"I'm here." He is—through it all. Through every violent hiccup and every hushed sob, Felix stays with you, fierce hands anchoring you back into reality. Finally, after lifetimes locked in this position, you find the strength to plead, "Do you think we could go somewhere?"

I would go anywhere with you, is what he wants to say.

“Of course,” is what he does.

A muted smile tugs at the corners of your cheeks, and with every labored rise of your chest, he fights the urge to hook his hand underneath your jaw, sucking all your pain into his lips. He doesn't. Instead, he lifts you up and follows his feet wherever your soul wants to take him.

He hooks his ardency on the sun as it starts to sink low. The world is dipped in darkness, perforated by the warmth of a cratered moon. Déjà vu follows you down the dark, dirt-paved road, marked by children's footsteps. Your heavy steps stop, mouth forming around the shape of a suffocated gasp. The trees rustle in the breeze, the wind slapping against the metal of a misty memory.

You had never, in all your 12 years of existence, heard a voice so naturally inviting—like the tender lullaby of pattering rain.

"Hi, my name's Felix. What's yours?"

Your lips formed around the letters—the way they fit so perfectly in your mouth.

In every lifetime, you turned the words on your tongue like a promise forgotten in the stars.

He remembered.

He really remembered.

Felix could never forget.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on!" he calls out, breaking into a backward jog, his smile beckoning you closer to the swings.

And with a swipe of his hand, you have already left your afflictions on the imprint of your shoes. Cold rubber hits you first, your thighs bouncing into the seat. His fingers latch around the frame of your waist, thrusting you into the air.

You laugh with the resonance of lost youth.

Time slips from your fingers like dust, forgotten in the way you had drifted from the swings to the slides, only to circle back again. It wasn’t until your skin had brushed every corner of the park that you found yourself lying on the damp earth, sinking deeper into the solace of Felix’s chest. His heart hums like the rhythm of a song so intimate, you could recite the whole melody from just the first note.

Stars blink overhead, still—sparkling, spread across the sky like golden thread sewn into rippling silk. You first settle into comfortable silence, both equally at peace, but the heavy burden of unspoken questions leaks into the calm air; forcing you to speak.

Softly, weakly, you tell him about your fears, about how much you hate her, how much you hate loving her, and how much you want to rip out every helix of her DNA.

Felix doesn't respond for a long time after this, inhaling your confessions with all the deference you deserve. Your heart slams into the slats of your ribs, shaky breaths forced into the balmy summer breeze. There was something so potently terrifying about voicing your issues, especially after masking them for so long; your pain splintered across the ground like the most fucked-up stained glass—as though Felix could sense your building anxiety, he kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair:

"Even the moon hides parts of herself from the sun."

At that moment, with overwhelming certitude, you knew—even littered with secrets and scars, his rays would kiss whatever side you wished to show.

"In every lifetime," you plead through tear-stained lashes.

Maybe in another universe, you could be easy to love.

“In every lifetime.” Aged fingers run the length of your soul, tracing the vow 'I do.' In every lifetime, he would find you—broken or whole, with the sky falling, the sea sinking, the world tumbling down.

"Stay with me," you whisper to the wind as the stars start to dim.

"Always." He will find you in every lifetime and love every mangled piece.

The ocean.

You are wrapped in its cool embrace. The shore hums with soft lullabies as the wind whips across the water. Amorphous mist floats along the top of the sand, shrouding it in a dreamlike shade. Your fingers are formless as they dip into the darkness. Something sparkles. You lift your gaze.

Sea glass.

It’s basked in warm moonlight, buried in a fissure of the earth. You collapse onto the ground, your knees quivering as frantic fingers dig into the land.

Your hands are cold, holding something so old. You flip the smooth stone.

I love you.

You run your thumb over the inscription.

I love you.

It is only through the tumbling of a thousand folded seas that sea glass can even come to be, and maybe, that is how your soul found me.

You wake up in a bed that isn't your own with the warmth of the sea and the smell of home.

I love you.

iv. Just once, let him rewrite the story; just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Present day.

Scene four.

Playing: Cover Me.

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks. 

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice. 

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, breath grating across your throat like grains of sand. It took every shred of mental stability not to bash your head into the wall.

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak, wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

Where did the argument even begin? You search the past 30 minutes, all the way from the start, sitting on the couch with Felix, The Princess Bride playing in the background. Your ringing phone cuts through the movie. He tells you to answer it. You do. What happened after that? Your head is foggy with hurt, time forced into an everlasting circle of the same issues.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, steady arms curling around the small of your back, and in a gentle flow of movements, he cradles you against his chest.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," shaky fingers cling to him, pleading with so much of your soul none is left to protest. He gasps into your neck, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a thousand different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the tops of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

Your frantic fingers smooth around the base of his neck, further blurring the line of friendship; and in one sharp movement, he takes a sledgehammer to any hope of going back. Your lips collided with the zeal of years lost to silent longing, a kiss that unfurled all time and space, bursting with the passion of hearts starving for connection.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him,  just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

This could ruin everything, and yet he lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness your glassy eyes threaten to break; his heart thrums with the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"Felix, I need you," His eyes widen slightly, features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," Not even 20 minutes ago you were sitting on the couch watching the greatest love story ever told, and now, here you are living it. How did you get so lucky? It's unfathomable how attentive he manages to be, his nose nudging the slope of your neck before laying a peck on your collarbone. His mouth never leaves your flesh even as he slowly strips off layer after layer of fabric.

"I want to see all of you" Now it was your turn, taking his time removing your clothes. His fingers slide across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips tracing the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

I love you

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glossy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

Your head is empty, airy, only tethered to the earth by one dangerous thought:

I love you. You did. You have; in every timeline; in every universe; in every lifetime; you have loved him, and you knew with all your heart, he felt the same.

“I love you.” The words slip off your tongue, dripping into his mouth like melting snow. You had fallen in love with existence itself—a boy with a soul made of sun and eyes like sea glass. A man whose strings reached across every plane of time to find you. His fingers still, a soft burst of air puffing into your cheeks.

For minutes, hours, Felix can only stare, his strangled breaths wafting over your chin. You gulp, at least five differently worded apologies tangling themselves on your tongue. He doesn’t let you speak. Instead, he brings his hands to either side of your face, resting his forehead against your own; on your lips, not fear, but instead, words.

"Say it again," he urges, kisses split by the warmth of a starlit smile.

"I love you, Lee Felix." you share the galaxy in between your lips.

His arms slip around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer; there are no limits, no constraints when he captures your shuddering gasp. He has waited years to hear those words, so with a breathy rasp, he begs, "Tell me you love me, tell me until you are sick of it."

"I love you," you repeat, beginning to laugh. "I love you. I love you, fuck, Felix, there has never been a time where I haven't loved you."

The passion that surged in the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; his hips ruthlessly rutting into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—you can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they drip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

"I love you." He cups your trembling cheeks, throat tightening around the earnestness in his tone. You can run from the stars; you can hide from the bay, but his love will find you just as the sun finds the day.

v. She is only in your DNA.

Five months later.

Scene five.

Playing: If the world was ending.

Anxiety is like a cup that never falls, the tease of water sloshing at the rim. It comes in inclines—the clench in your chest, the flip in your stomach, the tremble in your spine. The world begins to quake, the table tips, the water shifts, but none of it ever pours out.

That was how you felt right now, a bright pink river rushing underneath your feet, sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss.

No matter how many times you squeezed your eyes and wished it all away, reality still managed to smack you in the face.

Positive

Your numb hand goes limp, the plastic pregnancy test tumbling to the tiles with a deafening crack. Cold porcelain seeps into your skin as you drop your tear-stained cheeks between your knees, all your deepest, darkest fears suddenly snapping into view.

"Just wait until you have kids." Sometimes, it is the most overpowering emotions you can feel most clearly.

Determination.

"One day, when I grow up, I'll meet the perfect guy, and get married, and have tons of babies—and I will do it all without ever becoming you." She scoffs, rolling her shoulders as if she had already unraveled the scrolls of your soul, and engraved on the paper was your life, traveled down a perfectly mirrored path.

"I said the same thing when I was your age, but then I had the kids, and everything changed. You aren't going to be able to do it."

You were only 13 then, and yet, with unwavering resolve, you declared, "Watch me."

How were you going to tell him? Was your first thought.

How could you manage to be a mother? Was your next.

You dug your hands into your chest, wishing to tear your seams. In her womb, she had stitched you up, and now you spent every waking moment trying to unravel the threads.

You wanted to vomit—vomit until your blood ran dry, until it curdled around your muscles, trembling over the cold toilet seat.

"Watch me," you had said.

"Watch me fall apart" is what you had meant.

So she does, through the blurred layers of your reflection, her eyes staring back. Why did you have to bear such an eerie resemblance to her? The power she held over you was suffocating, for even in thought, she found ways to claw at your lungs.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, how many different ways can I make my daughter fall?

It's been hours.

Many, many hours before Felix finds you huddled beside the toilet bowl. Your dead eyes stare—just stare. Not blinking. Not moving. Not twitching an inch. His reaction is almost instant; he drops to his knees, jerking you towards himself. He grips your pale cheeks, begging you to look at him—just once. Blink. Flinch. Move something. Finally, finally, like little butterfly wings, your eyelids flutter to life. Before you can even speak, he's yanking your head onto his chest, his heart pounding vehemently inside the thin fabric of his cotton T-shirt.

Though every cell in your body screams at you to stay, you withdraw. Your gaze is laden when it lands on him, and for a moment, he is taken aback—that is, until you slip a slim white object into his palms.

Silence.

That is what precedes your actions. He stuffs your heart into a meat grinder, and with every excruciating minute that passes, it feels like he cranks it up one level higher. He reads the result over and over, breaking it down to syllables, letters—backwards, forwards, flipped upside down. Part of him didn't believe it—not that he didn't want to believe it, but simply because he couldn't. It felt impossible, improbable, really. His tongue twisted into knots between his teeth, rendering him utterly speechless. So instead, with trembling fingers, he grasps your wet jaw and pours all his thoughts into the line of your lips.

It came out a little something like: I love you

The whiplash is dizzying, like stepping into pounding rain and spinning; spinning, spinning, spinning until it feels like you'll twirl right off the earth. How could you believe that he’d reject you? It was so colossally stupid you almost want to smack yourself in the face—not that Felix would let you, of course.

You gasp at the same moment he sniffles, your synchrony causing him to chuckle, the sound thick with tears. He lays his forehead on yours, a disbelieving smile cracking across his cheeks.

"I'm going to be a dad," he utters, already envisioning all the adventures ahead. Hell, he was practically braiding his baby girl's hair right now. He seems to catch up with this reality because, with a sudden jerk, he has locked his hands underneath your armpits, hauling you into the air. You squeal, clutching his shoulders so tightly your nails dig in; it doesn't faze him—not when his head is tilted back, his smile like the edge of an everlasting sunrise. In that moment, as the bathroom swirls, you know, it was only with him your baby could view their reflection through the shattered glass of a broken cycle; and that is an accomplishment worth celebrating. At last, you begin to laugh.

Once you have begun, you don’t stop—not even when he gently sets you down, giggling as you sway, foggy and disoriented, his hands firmly steadying you by the shoulders. When you find enough balance to walk, you clasp urgent fingers around his wrist, drawing him to the bed. He happily follows. Calves hitting the frame, you fall backward, bouncing onto the mattress. With a dimpled grin, he crawls over your waist, littering kisses all over your face, leaving wet, slobbery marks. Laughter spills out of you uncontrollably, groaning when he licks up your cheek.

"Ewww, Lix, that was gross!" you giggle, wrinkling your nose in faux disgust. All of a sudden, as the overhead lights catch the bands of your eyes, it feels as though his breath has been ripped straight from his lungs—a stunning epiphany dawning on him.

He could reach across every timeline in an infinite multiverse of parallel realities, and yet, he still wouldn’t find a version of himself as in love with you as he is right now.

So, he does something crazy.

"I wanted to wait for the right time to do this," he utters, his face tight with masked emotion. "And I promise, one day I'll buy you something flashier." Your brows furrow, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, about as confused as you are nervous—especially when he slides down the bed, halting to leave a kiss atop the fabric of your covered belly. His nose bumps your stomach when he peers up at you through tear-stained lashes. "But for now, I wanted to ask for your heart with something meaningful—something that means forever."

Every atom buzzes with anticipation when he dips to one knee, digging a finger into his pocket. Finally, he fishes a small velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands fly to your face, shielding a choked sob. "Will you marry me, Y/N L/N? Will you let me love you in every lifetime?" He flips open the lid, and as if you were dipping into the well of time, nestled in the silky cushions was amber sea glass—your amber sea glass. For years, it burned a hole in your pocket, anchoring you to the ground, to earth. Then you met him, and suddenly, you didn’t seem to need it anymore. You evolved, and in time, your little sliver of the sea got lost among the waves of life. You don't ask him where he found it; frankly, you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything except him.

Without a shred of doubt, you exclaim, "Yes! Yes, Felix! Of course, I’ll marry you!" You don't even let him hand you the necklace before you collide with his chest. He grunts as your full body weight slams into him, but he doesn’t mind it—not when you’re busy kissing words onto his freckles, mumbling over and over, "I love you. I love you. I love you." He is so enthralled with the moment that he almost forgets.

"There’s more," he breathes, extracting the box from between your smooshed stomachs—not really sure how it got there, but nevertheless settled atop his folded thighs, he uncurls your fist, sliding the pendant into your palm.

Your hands are cold, holding something so old. You flip the smooth stone.

Time was such a volatile thing; how easily it is broken—for with a simple flick of the wrist, you are caught outside of all existence.

Your lips part, his sucking in your shuddering gasp. Right then, right there, all that existed was the two of you, his hands trailing up your shoulders, the cold snap of gold clasping around your neck. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again. Your fingers tug at the weight around your neck, almost in awe that you still had it on—that any of this was real.

In every lifetime.

You run your thumb over the inscriptions, golden letters scrawled on the surface of a star. He had plucked his promise straight from the sky. For now, far past his grave, your love will live on, tumbling deep beneath the waves, until his soul finds it and pledges you his heart all over again.

If you liked this please consider telling me i worked really hard on this Thank you! also little side note if I find time I might add an installment because there was supposed to be one more scene before the pregnancy but I got too overwhelmed but that scene gave more of a closing to the readers relationship with her mom sooo maybe more soon lol

[bones4thecats]

➸ Fear Deity! S/O; Record of Ragnarok

Character: Hermes, Aphrodite, Odin, and Buddha A/N: This was fun to write. By the way, I might allow requests to be open tomorrow. No promises though! Disclaimer(s): Nothing wrong, just fluffy shit

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Hermes ═══════════════════════════════╝

📨 As the Greek Deity of Fear, you were hailed for many centuries for your ability to torture someone with visions and dreams of their worst nightmares happening. Because of how bad some of them got, many began calling you Deitas Interni Nocendi, or Deity of the Internal Harm

📨 Hermes gained interest in you after the whole Adamas incident. He had asked if you sided with his uncle, to which you smiled and asked if he thought you feared such a pathetic man so much. He just smiled back and chuckled before evolving into a deeper conversation with you

📨 Years later, you guys stood by one another's side as you were married and began to make your own branch of the Greek Pantheon grow larger and larger. This was especially true when your children of fear from your previous bond with a human warrior, the Terrors, began to see Hermes like a father

📨 During Ragnarok, you stood alongside your husband and now adult-children. While he admired the fights with his father, you merely sat with your head on your hand in boredom. It wasn't until Poseidon lost and Jack the Ripper came on stage that you could feel the fear that flowed through everyone's frames, feeding you amazingly

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Aphrodite ═════════════════════════════╝

💐 Aphrodite has always been an alluring woman, and she knows that. She looks at herself so much that she can perfectly draw her body without any issue. But, with breasts that big, how hard would it be to remember your figure?

💐 When you arrived at a meeting with the other Gods, she was shocked to see just how dark you were. Even the God of the Dead, Hades, dressed in more color than you did! You walked in with your children following you, all in cute little color-coded cloaks, while you had a large thorn-made crown on top of your head with some thorns poking out of your skin amazingly

💐 She was entranced with how you held yourself. Many feared you, and the small few who didn't ended up succumbing to your ability to instill fear in all you wish too. Aphrodite was surprised that you seemed to have little animosity with her, and when she asked, she was happy to hear you actually enjoyed her more 'peppy-look'

💐 It was after you guys married and began ruling your realm together that everyone began to notice just how much more joyful you were to be around. You started dressing with more color and plants on you, she even got your little Terrors to dress more colorfully and child-like, despite how they aged to be more mature. It honestly made even the toughest Gods smile on the inside

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Odin ═════════════════════════════════╝

🪶 Odin respected you from afar. He knew of your abilities and always decided to stray away from asking you for any insights on the issues inside of your Pantheon

🪶 But, when a couple incidents with Loki grew into including your youngest Terror, Kenaz, he had no choice but to have you come to a meeting. Everyone was internally weary that you would pull something and end up forcing their Pantheon to go into war against you and your seven little fear-monster children. Thankfully, that did not happen and you ended up surprising them by being quite nice to be around

🪶 Ever since that day, you spoke more and more to the Head God of the Norse Pantheon. As he spoke to you more and more, Odin had started to mentally record every tiny event you guys had where you made his heart start beating faster. This led to you guys becoming close allies, then courting, before settling on marrying one another years later

🪶 When your only biological son, Thor, was born, everyone feared you more. Not only could you instill fear and make someone scared so much that they had a heart attack and just drop dead like nothing, you were also married to the Odin, and had the Thor as your son. You were quite the surprise to all

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Buddha ═══════════════════════════════╝

🍭 Buddha had always heard of a Deity that lived in Heaven that could control the fear that someone, even an immortal, had inside of them. He never encountered you for quite some time, but when he did, he wasn't that surprised with how you behaved

🍭 He guessed you'd be a quiet and threatening type, which you were. But, you only shocked him when you seemed to be more sunshine and rainbows with your Terror-children. You would kneel to their height, pat them on their shadow-like head, and kiss them goodbye as they went to speak to another mortal on the path to be a better person

🍭 When you guys actually started bonding, everyone who knew you just wanted to know why you were around the 'Human-God knockoff' all the time. You would just smiled and laugh before looking at them with a dead expression and telling them he made you laugh more than anyone else had ever

🍭 Buddha does love being around you, especially after you guys got together. He also loves being around your children. Your oldest Terror, Shui, was more of a shy-type, but when Buddha came around? That just fell faster than a loose rock on the mountain that Sun Wukong was stuck underneath years ago! He was the perfect choice for you and the perfect choice for your children. And you wouldn't have it any other way

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 18/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

                He starts keeping a record of his favorite dishes, what he likes and doesn’t like about places they eat. And they eat at so many different places. While he might ring Ice once a week or every other week, me calls Leandro and Silvia almost everyday. And everyday Leandro or Silvia give them another instruction, a food to try or a place to go and visit, or a restaurant to go to. Ask to meet the chef, tell them who you are. They are expecting you.

                It’s the fact that they’re always somehow expecting Bradley and Violet means they can’t not turn up. Sometimes it’s high-end places where they are so incredibly underdressed it makes him uncomfortable, but he notes that in the best places they don’t pay any attention to what he’s wearing, all customers treated with the same level of respect and deference and he likes it, reminds him of Leandro’s restaurant.

                “Why are you keeping all these notes?”

                “I… I think I might want to open my own restaurant.”

                “Holy shit. Really?”

                “Yeah. Is that crazy?”

                “Yes. Absolutely insane. Where?”

                “I don’t know… Where do you think?”

                “Well. How much money do you have?”

                “Shit. That’s a good question.”

                “It’s a good thing I have a business degree.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Well, I’m not letting you go off and do it alone.”

                “Thanks Vi. I love you.”

                “Ew gross. Feelings. Love you too though.”

…            …            …

                He hears the door and the sounds of Jake kicking off his boots before they’re carefully placed out of the way. It’s after midday, so he’s not sure if Jake would have eaten yet, he’s just making some sandwiches, easy enough to simply put away for later if needed. Jake doesn’t bother calling out, heads straight for the kitchen like he knows that’s where he’ll find him and it feels nice, that he already knows Bradley so well.

                “Hey, how was your morning?”

                “Torture…” Jake offers. “But somehow not illegal.”

                “That bad huh?” Bradley asks, and Jake comes to stand at the corner side of the kitchen island, leans forward to give him a kiss and he can’t help but smile into it. The easy gesture of affection but also Jake’s dramatics over his sisters torturing him.

                “Do you promise not to hold my family against me?” Jake asks

                Bradley grins, goes to immediately tell him of course not and then pauses.

                “Well. As long as you can promise me the same, I guess. When the time comes.”

                “Pretty sure my five sisters are scarier than any family you can throw at me…”

                “Yeah… you’d think so. Probably. Just… uh. It’ll be fine.”

                They need to actually reach a milestone of maybe months or a year together before he considers raising his relationship with Ice. Vi might think his fame would cause issues, but he honestly thinks Jake won’t give a damn. Vi’s right, he’s far too down to earth and grounded to care about what fame or money Bradley might have behind him. He cares about the person Bradley is and it’s nice, makes such a nice change. However he suspects that Jake will care about his deeper ties with certain members in the Navy, especially given that they’re all Naval aviators as well. Right. Like what he thought before, he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. Jake has shifted closer, has stolen a sundried tomato and popped it into his mouth and chewing while he grins and then he’s kissing Bradley properly, the sharp tang of tomato still in his mouth.

                “Why are you always initiating sex in the kitchen...?”

                “It is pretty much where you spend a lot of your time. Where I find you…”

                “Huh. Yeah. I guess you're right.”

                “Hmm. Maybe spend some time somewhere else and then you might find me doing this in other places…”

                “Mmm. So it’s not me in the kitchen gets you going huh?”

                “Baby, you anywhere and everywhere gets me going. Think we've already determined the fact that all I need to do is look at you...”

                “Sweet talker.”

                “Just for you. Also we ain’t having sex yet. This is just a welcome home kiss. You forgotten what sex is already?”

                Bradley laughs against Jake’s mouth.

                “Yeah, think it’s slipping from my memory. You better remind me…”

                “Mmm. Hard job but someone’s got to do it…” Jake murmurs and Bradley hadn’t meant it as an invitation, not really, but Jake steps behind him, draws him back so that Bradley’s ass is cradled against his hips, he can feel Jake’s growing erection pressing through the layers of denim and his own cock has already started racing to catch up, an almost Pavlovian response now to seeing Jake simply walk through the door and surely he’s going to get used to it eventually. He braces his hands against the counter, shivers as Jake nips at the side of his neck, his hands pressing down over Bradley’s.

                “Yeah, keep them there…”

                “Huh?”

                Then Jake’s palming his cock, fleshy part of his palm dragging and pressing and he jerks a little, caught between wanting to grind back against Jake’s cock or press into the friction of his hand. He can’t decide, glad Jake clearly has a plan as he works Bradley’s jeans open, hand slipping inside and pulling his cock out, starting to work it, not giving him time to think other than I was making sandwiches for lunch. Instead he’s panting, hands white-knuckled on the kitchen bench as he feels Jake’s body flex behind him as he works his hand down-up-down.

                “One day I’ll come home and you’ll be in nothing but the apron…”

                Bradley lets out a choked laugh, wants to say something about saving it for a special occasion, he’s not wearing an apron right now, but Jake is shifting so he’s more caged in by his body, more of him is pressed up against Jake as he grinds his hips against Bradley’s ass, his teeth nipping at Bradley’s neck.

                “Love making you come for me…”

                “Oh,” the breath punches out of him and he doesn’t last much longer, Jake holding him in place as he shudders through his orgasm, can’t believe a handjob has him coming that hard. Jake makes a humming sound and Bradley wonders if he’s imagining him sounding pleased with himself, before he’s stepping away to wash his hands in the sink and Bradley’s glad he’s supporting himself against the bench.

                “You going to let me take care of you now?”

                “Oh sweetheart, I’m banking on it.”

…            …            …

                Jake isn’t sure what has opened the floodgates for Leo, but he listens as talks about his childhood, his dad dying in a training exercise at Top Gun and now that he thinks about it, he vaguely remembers reading about it, like they have to read through all the accidents and incidents so they can be better prepared. Bradshaw. That’s why the name rings a bell.

                Then his mom being diagnosed with cancer, his godfather being there when he’s not deployed. Other naval aviators being present as he grew up and he uses callsigns like they’re as natural as breathing and it occurs to him then that when Leo had said he knew what Jake’s job entailed he had really meant it. He knows it can be dangerous. He knows Jake will be gone for long periods of time and that communication might sometimes be difficult, even if it has gotten much better. Leo was raised not only by a family in the military, but by naval aviators and if Jake had been looking for someone that might understand his job without doing the job themselves, then he couldn’t find someone better.

                Then Leo talks about his mom dying, his godfather pulling his papers and his immediate and drastic decision to take the first plane out of the country. He files it away, that Leo’s first response when hurt and angry was to run away, wonders if that’s still the case. Then Leo is talking about his other family, the Gallo’s, and the way the name sounds has him grinning.

                “Sounds like you’re saying gallows…”

                “Yeah, pretty much. Why is that funny?”

                “Well, I know it means rooster, among other things…” Jake says, and he can’t help the grin as he thinks of the sexual prowess and loud voice. “But my callsign is Hangman.”

                “Okay…” Leo says, and it’s clear from his tone that he has no clue what Jake is referring to.

                “You’re clearly not a Styx fan. But there’s a line, Hangman is comin’ down from the gallows… You’re the Gallo…”

                “Then the line needs to be changed a little. Maybe going down on instead?”

                “Yeah? Just maybe?”

                “Yeah. Just maybe.”

NINETEEN

[lunarleonardo]

Alright I got another question

Which of your fics is your favorite and which one is your least favorite in terms of how they turned out (and maybe actually writing them too)

Hooo this is a tough one

My favorite fic would probably be Motive 5. I always joke about how it was the "peak of lunarleonardo". I had just finished Blue Eyes at the time and I wanted to do something a lot more self indulgent. I was still nervous yeeah,, I always am when I start a new fic or post the next chapter. But Motive 5 was genuinely some of the most fun I've ever had while writing a story all the way through :] I think the most uncertain I was was during the Blackout chapters,, and even then i was rlly excited. Especially when everyone was freaking out over the add of the "Loss of Limbs" tag xD Motive 5 was awesome dude. It has its issues yeah, but what matters to me is that I love it. I do wish I could have gotten a little gorier though,, oh Lamprey Puzzle you could have been great :{

Second favorite is probably Love Letter I'll be so fr. I love Love Letter. Writing it has been tough nerves-wise,, it's like Blue Eyes nervousness all over again. But I've been having so much fun with the story (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ I can't say for sure how it'll turn out in the end,, it depends on my execution of the coming chapters and ideas I have. But right now I think it's pretty neat ^^ i do wish I planned out Tsumugi's motives a little better though. It was only in the trial that i started wondering "why DID she fake the suicide?" which uh. Probably would have been a good starting question (⁠个⁠_⁠个⁠)

Impermanent Attachment is probably my third favorite. It was HELL to write and honestly I hated it up until the last two chapters. I was shocked to find that so many people loved it tbh,, I only rlly like it for the ending. The actual time loop felt bleh

Shadow of a Dead Bro, Blue Eyes and Fever Frost all kind of sit at the bottom tier. I gave SDB just the ending I wanted, though it was written a while back and I was getting used to the whole "people are perceiving my creations" thing. Same with Blue Eyes, and I feel like that was just. All over the place. Q_Q fever frost is just. It's certainly there thats for sure. Writing the last chapter to that was about as pleasant as sticking ur fingers into a paper shredder

[magpigment]

spoilers for episode 19 of jrwi riptide

i love how, while talking to the empress, gillion is constantly making sure to be in front of jay and chip in order to protect them, and chip is doing the same but subtly because he doesn’t want to tip gill off that he’s going to also try to sacrifice himself if it comes down to it to protect gill and jay because he knows gillion wouldn’t let him and i’m just

bro why are they like this 😭

[smilesrobotlover]

Small Revali’s for anyone who needs it. This guy has me in a chokehold

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[dykedvonte]

Preston x Danse is the only companion ship I think would actually work because Preston’s inner turmoil is sort of a loss of faith in himself due to the traumatic experiences he’s faced while Danse is looking for something to have faith in and would find the fact that despite the desire to give up Preston held out so long not just for the honor of the Minutemen but because he had some hope.

It would 100% start off as a lotta unhealthy on Danse’s side as I believe he completely lacks the emotional intelligence (due to a combination of factors) to recognize the he’s feelings as anything but a sort of respect for a superior along with leaning too much into Preston as a substitute for the BoS. Preston may not really have a title but he’s like THE Lieutenant of the Minutemen. Realistically he’s the only companion Danse would probably be comfortable taking instructions from especially for how trusted Preston is by the Sole Survivor and his adherence to military standards despite how unstructured the Minutemen are. It would be him waiting for orders, approval, anything from Preston and he thinks it’s just the desire to have the regiment of the BoS again but he also like when Preston compliments him on being useful or resourceful. He likes the stories of Minuteman glory days and he trades the stories of the BoS that don’t hurt to talk about. He likes the familiarity Preston would provide and he’d be oblivious that it’s not just new found loyalty to the Minutemen.

Yet Preston explains it himself that he’s not a natural leader. He’s not an instructor. He helps manage what the General has put in place and he content on doing that. He relays what needs to be done and does major upkeep but I don’t think he’d know what to do with this guy this literally marches up to him and practically begs for a mission that doesn’t exist. Like the formality and respect is nice but he can tell it’s covering something even if Danse doesn’t.

Danse could go to Sturges for the many repair and upkeep assignments he gives him and has the freedom to go straight to the Castle if he really wants a big mission, but he chooses to come to him everytime. He’s aware enough that Danse only trusts him out of all of the Generals confidantes but it would take a bit for him to understand why. If anything Danse should be strategizing with him as equals seeing as he almost got the Minuteme wiped out and Danse was a Paladin for the Brotherhood with many successes under his belt before Preston even led his first scouting mission. It’s like he sees him as some figure of hope, some one who can come in and add stability. Someone with a fresh outlook who can provide a new perspective for him.

It’s like he sees him like he saw/sees the Sole Survivor but that would be crazy because that would also mean… and then oh, it clicks.

The revelation is both flattering and he doesn’t know what to do with it cause how do you address “I know you respect me but is that the only feeling you have for me?” To the guy who like refuses to rest unless you tell him at ease? He has to reevaluate his whole manner of interaction with Danse cause this is a very slippery slope that he’s sliding down and it’s even more perilous due to Danse’s repressed emotions regarding… everything. There’s an equal chance Danse will try to open up as completely shut down and he’s not just concerned about it cause Sole Survivor cares for him but because he has grown to care for the guy too. It’s not like he doesn’t also enjoy Danse’s company and value as a Minuteman member. He’s not a love at first sight guy but he’s played with the idea, anyone would when you’ve spent nights trading stories, historical facts and beers by the fire in a little home you’ve carved for yourself through literal blood, sweat and tears.

I think it’s one of those cases where it’s agonizingly slow to the actual relationship but neither part are anguished about that. If anything happened to soon Danse would be too dependent and Preston not equipped to handle it. It’s a case where I genuinely think they’d bring out the best in each other cause theyd want to figure out what is best for the other and not just apply what they think is the best. It’s the care that Preston would ask Danse what he wants to do and encourage it and at the same time Danse would be incredulous everytime Preston second guesses himself.

Long story short it’s a good ship to me because it’s just two guys with broken confidences and faith in their roles being each other’s hype man and kissin a little about it.

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[themyscirah]

This is how this went right?

Parallax!Hal: I miss being a hero... wish I had my ring back

Kyle: oh well you can have mine then! That way you can have a second chance : )

Parallax!Hal: YES!!! A SECOND CHANCE TO PLAY GOD AND RESHAPE THE WORLD AS I WILL IT MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Kyle, now ringless: .................huh. im gonna be honest here I really didn't see that coming

[statementlou]

i’m sorry to bring this up again, but i wanted to ask how are you making sense of harry having his former girlfriend’s name tattooed on his thigh if you don’t think they were really together? i’m not a larrie and i follow you for your louis content, but i respect your opinions, so i guess i’m coming more from a place of curiosity rather than seeking reassurance. do you not even entertain for one second the idea that you might’ve been wrong about things? that harry was really in a relationship with olivia? that he might actually be attracted to women? that he might’ve been with louis once upon a time but not anymore? have you ever challenged your confirmation bias? again, i’m not trying to attack you, i really just want to understand where you stand. i hope u don’t take this the wrong way.

well first of all you bring up the very good point that there are actually multiple Qs at play and not just one, despite the fandom's (and my) attempts to simplify things. I personally am open to the possibility that Harry and Louis are no longer together- we don't have enough info to say for sure either way about that, and I am constantly recalibrating and considering and I'm going to be totally honest, getting flat out ANNOYED at how often I find myself being like oh damn they ARE still (or again) together ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? Because it seems so improbable and illogical! You think I don't KNOW I sound fucking crazy?! Absolutely infuriating, and yet there are just all these little Things all the time. Plus ofc the fact that they both constantly wink wink larrie stuff to the fandom which could just be playing to the crowd... except then they both continually take it that little extra way that makes me go oh but... you really didn't NEED to go THERE that seems VERY pointed?? But also sometimes I go well. Okay, maybe not. Since they both seem super happy at this point, it doesn't stress me out to think they might have split, the way it would if they seemed miserable and were still churning out heartbreak songs, but it's schrodingers relationship and with all the savvy they've acquired around this stuff and all the balls they're keeping in the air wrt to fandom etc that's unlikely to change in favor of us knowing anything for sure for a very long time, if ever. But I do not doubt that they WERE together, it's simply not realistic. The evidence of it is overwhelming and imo undeniable when taken all together. And the thing is that knowing one thing with certainty (that they were together back when), having really looked at the things that happened during that time, does actually have a lot of bearing on the rest of it even if they aren't together anymore. Because knowing that and having seen the way fake relationships to make them seem straight were managed back then means that when I see the EXACT SAME things being done in the current day, like they are working from a fucking blueprint, no, I don't look at that and think it might be real. I know that Louis and Eleanor wasn't real in... whenever they allegedly got together lol, that story still isn't even quite straight, so why would I believe they were together in 2020? And if I know Louis has a tattoo for a fake girlfriend why would it change my mind about a million things I can see with my own eyes if Harry did the same (if indeed he even has who tf knows)? So despite what I said at the beginning, in the end it kind of does just come down to the one question people are always asking, are you a larrie? Because when you've actually been down the rabbit hole of details that ends up with you saying yes to that question, it's like acquiring a rosetta stone that unlocks the ability to read everything else, like putting on xray glasses, and I look at what is so obviously a publicity relationship (holivia) and whether H and L are still together has nothing to do with why I don't think it's real. Like could a celeb relationship be both used in typical ways for publicity and be or become real on some level (looking at you Liam, heyyy), sure, but for this question the fact that I have never seen Harry show the slightest sign of attraction to a woman in his whole life and he so clearly embraces and identifies so strongly with gay male culture in every possible way and never shuts up about how much he loves cock does play into my thinking; I simply do not think he is attracted to women, no, and I have yet to see him do anything that doesn't seem consistent with things a closeted pop star might chose to do. So in conclusion yes I have challenged my bias and decided I'm right lol! But for real- all the time I consider that they perhaps aren't together but that isn't really the point when it comes to believing they are gay.

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

the amount of effort that goes into figuring out what to cook and eat every day is RIDICULOUS. i used to think people were so weird and boring for eating the same thing every single day but it truly does make life so much easier

[prototypelq]

Wonder if Larian's games could have been better if like, at least 20% of content from them had been cut.

Listen, listen, before you say anything - I love Larian and their mentality. This team is making incredible games, and the amount of creative energy that is poured into each of their releases is incredible. Playing their games is a joy, and hilarious and amazing.

But, but.

There can be too much of a good thing. And I don't think Larian's ever learned that...

Do you know the average percentage of players that actually finish the main story in games? 30-40% if we look at achievements across different platforms. That is 60-70% of players who never saw the end of the main story.

I've been replaying DOS2, and it's a Joy to play through, however the 'joke' that tutorial level takes about 10-15, maybe even 20 hours to complete is...not a joke. There is beauty in hiding some content, so that only the dedicated players find it, but this doesn't exactly work for RPG systems that heavily depend on level&equipment of your player characters, now does it. This basically forces players to clear out the entire map to be able to progress the story further, and while the tactical aspect of this game is big, I doubt your average player can use it to beat difficulty&enemy level curve.

I had a big DOS2 phase before, my last memories of the game are Beast's quest (BEST COMPANION WHY IS NOONE TALKING ABOUT HIM) in Arx, soo I've been somewhere very near the end of the game. I never finished it because I was frustrated with a lack of direction for the main story for a long time, and Arx was the point where I jumped games.

So yeah, I believe cutting at least 20% of content from each of the acts of that game would have helped keep the main story in focus, plus the time to complete the game might have been more affordable.

Another thing is, from the documentaries on DOS2 development, and with the Larian saying that BG3 production took the studio much closer to the edge of closing, Larian seem to have a systematic problem of forever chasing their ambitions without really caring about their costs. DOS2 development was described as 'trying to build a plane as it is taking off', a lot of features for the game have been added last minute, and BG3 release players are sort of in the same boat. So yeah, some content cutting would have helped out the studio themselves quite a lot, or let them have more time for quality testing and polish.

tldr: I believe Larians are amazing but also head over heels in their production, their games are huge and the nature of their rpg mechanics forces player to play through everything,or never finish the main story, plus the studio have a history of releasing arguably unfinished games*, so I believe they should consider cutting content for future releases both for the studio's sake and to improve the player experience

*don't @ me, DOS2 and BG3 were arguably unfinished on release. That said, Larian's 'unfinished' and Average Game Industry 'Unfinished' are very different instances, I meant that Larian clearly would have benefitted for some polish time before release

btw why the Hell are there built-in Larian-approved player modifications for the games, however Turning Them On is a crime that disables achievements??? Larian, my guys, why.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about superheroes unfortunately