#how the story was like the unwinding of a thread

[withleeknow]

thirteen percent.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; mentions of drinking, cursing, hella unedited and tbh i kinda gave up toward the end but i wanted to post smth lmao word count: 1.2k note: inspired by the events of friday night in which i had 1.3 bottle of soju and promptly passed out while unmuted all night in my discord server lmfao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

the first thing you do when you wake up is scowl.

at the sun. at the sky. at the cars and at the people going about their day on the street below. at soonie and doongie when you find them just peacefully existing in their respective corners of the room.

at minho who's looking at you from the doorway with an amused expression on his face.

"look who's finally up," he says, approaching the bed with a glass of water in his hands. "it's almost 1pm, heathen."

you groan, covering your face with your hands as you try to sink further into the mattress. "why are you so loud today?"

"this is my normal volume?"

"your normal volume is loud."

"hmm, could this be because last night you knocked back an entire bottle of soju and then some and therefore you have a raging headache right now?"

you blink, still delirious from the night before. it's obvious that the alcohol hasn't completely left your system and minho is right. there's a pounding in your head and you wish it would stop.

you ignore his sassy quip, trying to recall what happened. "how did i get home?"

it was supposed to be a cozy night in with your friends. you'd been looking forward to last night for weeks because all of you had been so busy with your respective lives, and a fun girl's night was desperately needed. to catch up, to gossip about your partners, to escape your tiresome realities for a few hours.

and of course, to unwind and drink. not to the point of being blackout drunk; just to de-stress a little.

"how do you think?" minho asks, holding out the water for you until you muster enough strength to sit up and take it from him. he watches as you greedily gulp down the liquid to satiate your dry throat, giving him back the empty glass when you're done and lying back down again. he sets the glass on your bedside table before he joins you under the covers. "boyfriend of the year went out in the middle of the night to drag your ass home."

"you took me home?"

"i just said boyfriend of the year, didn't i?"

despite his smartass attitude, minho still snakes an arm around your body to pull you close to him, until your head is lying on his chest while he strokes your hair gently.

"it was just soju. plum soju!" you try to justify your actions, throwing a leg over his and snuggling further into the warmth of his body. "only thirteen percent!"

minho scoffs. "that's how they get you. the fun flavors make you think that you're gonna be fine if you do just a couple more shots. next thing you know, you're sending your boyfriend gibberish messages at 2am."

to emphasize his point, minho shows you his phone, goes straight to the text thread you two share.

you mostly sent him nonsense, seemingly a lot of keyboard smashes and blurry drunken selfies of you and your friends. then came the last few messages.

you: oh naue why rom sponnign you: i wsntto go homrr you: mimo tskeeee me homeee

"oh." you purse your lips. "drunk me was a moment."

"no, she was a lot of moments actually. you stayed up for almost two hours after i brought you home."

"doing what?"

your boyfriend looks down at you, an unimpressed look on his face before he rolls his eyes and sighs, recanting the story of how you exhausted him just hours prior.

"stop squirming," minho said, trying to keep your head from lolling to the side as he wiped at your face with a cotton pad doused in micellar water.

but you kept giggling, kept trying to hold his cheeks so you could kiss him. "mimo, you're so pretty. my pretty, pr-" hiccup! "pretty mimo."

it took him thirty whole minutes just to take your makeup off, then another forty five to go through your skincare routine.

-

it was an entire struggle to get you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear because apparently, the feeling of him tugging your blouse over your head and sliding your jeans down your legs tickled that amorous part of your brain - your horndog side, if you will.

you instantly latched onto him, climbing on top of him to sit on his lap, attempting to trail kisses along his neck when all minho was trying to do was put your t-shirt on.

"not now," he scolded you lightly, pushing you away by your shoulders before he held your arms up just long enough to slip the shirt over your body.

"whyyy not?"

"mostly because you're about ten seconds away from passing out."

but that wasn't something that your intoxicated brain could comprehend. all you understood was that your boyfriend didn't want to have sex with you, that he was rejecting you.

you went quiet all of a sudden, your lips pouting, your eyes turning glassy before you practically sob, "you don't want me anymore."

minho could only sigh.

-

"what now?" he had finally managed to get your restless ass into bed, thinking you'd surely knock out within seconds of hitting the sheets. but when he returned to the bedroom five minutes later, having cleared away your clothes to be put in the washer in the morning, minho found you lying on your side, your eyes glued to your phone, your face illuminated by the blue light coming from the device. "why aren't you sleeping?"

you were going through your camera roll, watching your old videos like they were your favorite tv show. videos of you and him, videos of him and the cats, or just random videos of him that you took when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

it was cute how you were so immersed, how you kept giggling and making heart eyes at the version of minho captured on your phone. it made him smile, just standing there and watching you like that.

it was beyond endearing, but it was also fucking 4:18am.

minho snatched the device away from you and put it somewhere you couldn't reach before he settled into bed with you.

"i miss my mimo," you whined. "give me back my mimo."

he knew there was no use in telling you that you didn't need to miss him when he, the object of your affection himself, was lying next to you. instead, he just yanked you closer, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and holding you tightly so you couldn't move, hoping that it would eventually lull you to dreamland.

"your mimo is right here. now go to sleep, you menace."

"and not to mention you kept-"

"nope." you put a hand over minho's mouth so he would shut up. "i've heard enough."

he pushes your hand away. "i deserve compensation for what i had to go through last night."

"the satisfaction of taking care of your wonderful girlfriend wasn't enough for you?"

"no," he says. then, you both just stare at each another for a few minutes.

"fine," you relent. "i'll make it up to you with one hundred kisses."

"i want a cat tower."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 14.01.2024]

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

[sunshinescribes]

Heyy sunny, i just read the story about Law with his head bury on s/o chest and i was like: damn, that's hot. And i kinda think Law need more pampering like pat in his head, caressing his knuckles or something. So, since your request is open, can we get Trafalgar Law get pampered by his s/o?

If you didn't wanna write it, you can skip this one :0

TENDER

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x GN!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Law is whipped but also bad at feelings

Sometimes Law thinks he dreamed you.

When you thread your fingers through his hair after a long day, massaging his scalp while whispering sweet praise, or absentmindedly caress his knuckles, leaving phantom kisses against his inked skin—he doesn’t think you’re real.

You come to him when he needs you most, as if you know he desires a comforting hand, a friendly word, and he melts into you every single time. His defenses shatter—the wall he’s constructed all this life comes tumbling down, and you hold him through the carnage.

You’re everything his heart secretly craves—so tender-hearted and caring, and wonderful—everything he feels he’s not.

And God, does he wonder what you see in him. Wonders how he manages to attract the kindest people when all he has to offer is practiced indifference. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, doesn’t voice the things he feels, but it doesn’t deter you, and despite how brilliant he is, Law can’t make sense of it. He could spend a lifetime trying to figure you out and would never even come close.

“What is going on in that pretty head of yours?” You inquire, your brow raised playfully as you stare down at him. “Can hear the gears in your head movin’.”

His head is in your lap, your soft fingers brush back mutinous strands of hair from his forehead, and he blinks up at you dumbly. It’s one of those rare peaceful evenings where the crew unwinds and breathes a sigh of relief as the Polar Tang slips through the sea, pushing you all towards your next destination with ease.

It takes a moment for your compliment to register—that pretty head of yours—and Law hates how his heart flutters. You say the most…outlandish things without considering their effect—flattery he never expected to like, but they always sound so lovely coming from you. The urge to look at anything but your pretty face almost overtakes him, but he fights his urges, keeps his dark eyes trained on you.

Instead, he arches a sharp brow at you and attempts to sound mildly offended, even though he’s certain you see right through him. “Pretty?”

You purse your lips, feigning thought.

“Would you prefer beautiful? Gorgeous?”

He rolls his eyes, but your soft teasing does little to calm the rapid beat of his unruly heart. When has anyone ever thought him pretty? Beautiful?

You say it as if it’s one of life’s simple truths, but he feels you’re much more deserving of such compliments, and he would shower you with them if he knew how to stop himself from biting his tongue.

Your free hand moves from its spot on his exposed chest, trailing upward until you’re softly cradling his jaw. You dip down, placing a tender kiss on his supple lips.

“Brains and beauty,” you murmur against his lips. “How lucky am I?”

I’m the lucky one, he thinks. To be cared for like this—to be treated like something worthy of being cherished and loved.

And maybe it’s the fear that makes the words catch in his throat, stops him from ripping out his bleeding heart and handing it to you.

He’s never had a good thing that lasted. Only fleeting moments of happiness, ripped right from under him just when he thinks tragedy can never reach him again. He’s lost so much already, and yet there’s always more to lose.

But you continue to smile at him, kiss years of self-loathing away, share your warmth and affection for as long as he accepts it, and Law allows himself to become a little hopeful—thinks maybe you’ll be the first good thing he gets to keep.  

A/N: I feel like this kinda got away from me, but not in the "I wrote too much" way and more so the "I feel I deviated too far from the original prompt and am almost certain I was possessed while writing this" way. Despite that, I hope you enjoyed! I love love LOVE writing soft love for Law so this is a PSA to flood my requests with fluffy prompts!!!

Divider credit: @/cafekitsune

#sunny.fic #sunny.reqs #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #x reader #trafalgar law fluff #If Law listens to ONE Hoizer song he will feel so seen

[azullumi]

“i think i like this little life” ; genshin men

summary — small things and simple moments with him that makes life worth living.

includes — various characters (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, kind of domestic, not proof-read, kind of word vomit ; scenarios

words — 1336

notes — i was originally going to add like a watching him get ready scenario thingy but then i changed my mind,, anws i feel like i wrote everyone too soft here haha

;; spending the morning together

honey-dyed light slips through the thin drapery over the window as the distant shrunken circle of golden rises to the sky portraying the morning that comes. the birds sing a gentle tune outside, serving as some sort of alarm that wakes him up, eyes fluttering open to the sight of the familiar ceiling, the feeling of warmth beside him.

although the dawn’s early night was never a pleasant welcome to him as it only indicates the things that he has to do and have to do for the remainder of the day, anticipation comes at the mere thought that he’ll get to start and spend it with you—everything becomes a little bit better like a weight on his shoulder has been lifted.

in the stillness and silence of the morning, there you are besides him; his gaze lingers at your sleeping form—tranquility seen on the edges and corners of your being—, eyes deep and swirling with feelings of affection; he doesn’t even know how soft his expression becomes whenever he looks at you until someone would inform him of it. strands of your hair were tangled and messy, some of it obstructing your face as it fell over your forehead, and the feeble light shines itself on your skin, basking you in a warm golden glow. everything feels like scenery, something out of a claude monet painting. how did he ever become so lucky to have someone as lovely and wonderful as you in his life?

the moment doesn’t last forever, however. as if a fleeting one, a groan was heard from you and you stir yourself awake.

“good morning, lovely. did you sleep well?” his voice, tender and filled with affection, pierces through the gentle silence of the room. he presses a small kiss on your forehead as he greets you, brushing the strands of your hair back as he did. you slowly blink your eyes open, the sight of him greeting you and immediately, a small smile graces your lips. “good morning.” you reply and having just woken up, your words came out as a whisper only for him to hear.

“do you want to get out of bed?” you only shook your head as an answer, snuggling closer to him. face buried on the curve of his neck, you inhale his scent—faintly cloying yet pleasant. he laughs shortly, “we can stay in for a little bit more then.”

for him, the thought of waking up with you to the soft glow of morning outweighs every trace of his not-so-morning-person personality; he’s not a morning person but if he gets to spend every morning under this light with you, he wouldn’t mind it.

ayato, diluc, dainsleif, heizhou, kaeya, baizhu, kaveh

;; watching everything outside the window

it was just a small thing that you would do together, mostly when one of you is bored. sitting by the window, looking out of it, watching every person that passes by, and creating some sort of story behind them—a not-so-true reason behind the passing strangers’ actions. it’s really just a simple way to pass time and to entertain yourself and you love it, especially when you’re doing it with him.

“do you see that man over there?” you start, referring to the man on the street who seems like in a rush, and his gaze follows the mentioned person. “he’s walking—no, wait, he’s running because he’s on the way to meet someone.”

instead of a mere indulgence in gossip or prying into the affairs of others, it transforms into a serene narrative, delicately unwinding the threads of each moment that passes—people watching, the art of noticing. everything felt like a movie with each of the scenes unfolding before you.

he takes a sip from the cup that he was holding, eyes showing a hint of interest. “perhaps he’s on the way to meet the love of his life.” he chimes, his gaze then darting over at the sight of a woman with their dog. “how about them?”

you hum, “maybe on the way to the vet?”

“sounds like a plausible reason.”

the moment stills, the both of you quietly observing and noticing everything outside—like how the plant displayed outside the window of the shop was a different one compared to yesterday or how the cat across the street always sits and waits on that one spot until an old lady comes to feed them. in essence, yesterday was different to today; in a way that yesterday, there were less people than today or that yesterday, the sun whispered its golden tales to you as to today, it wears a different hue as clouds gather in quiet conversations.

“oh, look there, the cat has a companion.” you say, breaking the hushed moment being shared between you two, tone with a faint of excitement in it as your eyes flickered with the same note. “do you think they’re a couple?”

“they look alike, perhaps siblings.”

“that’s silly, you know a lot of cats look alike.”

and yet, despite all the small shifts and subtle differences painted on his moment before and currently, his yesterday was no different than his today, perhaps it was because you were there with him. many people experience today in a different way and for him, he experienced today with you—and he could only silently hope that it remains that way forever.

kaveh, alhaitham, baizhu, wanderer, lyney, heizhou, childe

;; making plans to spend more time together

there’s just something so intimate in doing things together even if it’s just as mundane as making plans together, to see if one has time for the other on a certain day so that you can have a small date with him or to see if he could accompany you out shopping. perhaps, it is one way of saying that the time you have right now is not enough, never enough, and you can’t wait to see spend time with each other again even if the two of you are right there besides each other currently—a shared anticipation that whispers of the inadequacy of the present moment, always leaving you yearning for more time in each other's company.

“do you want to go out tomorrow morning?” he asks you, his voice gentle like the soft beating of his heart against your ear. you lay besides him while your head is resting on top of his chest and he has his arm encircled around your figure which urges you to nestle into the curve of it; your forms were intertwined with one another in bed, his fingers going from tracing the delicate of your back to playing the strands of your hair, twirling and combing through it.

“to where are we going?” you answer, head tilting up to look at him and his eyes meet yours in that moment, a soft gaze full of adoration for you and only you. he hums, as if going into thought, “there’s a newly opened cafe down the street, do you want to have breakfast there or do you want to have it here instead? we can cook something together. which one sounds more appealing to you?”

he gives you a set of choices, giving you the freedom for your own comfort and desire—something that you greatly appreciate. you’ve contemplated on your decision, taking just a few seconds to do so: “the former.”

“in a cafe?”

“yeah, i feel like going out tomorrow. can we wake up early so that we could, like, take a walk and go to the park?” he doesn’t give it a second thought, nodding and agreeing to what you have asked: “i don’t mind. maybe we can have a picnic there?”

“next time we can.” you answer in which he responded with a hum. silence then settles in the air between you two yet it doesn’t last long as he spoke once more: “can you move closer? it feels like you’re not that close enough for me.” he says, earning a chuckle from you.

albedo, thoma, tighnari, zhongli, dainsleif, lyney, cyno

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin impact fanfics #genshin #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #ayato x reader #diluc x reader #albedo x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #thoma x reader #dainsleif x reader #lyney x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact headcanons #azul.writes

[grandlinedreams]

helloooo!! i was wondering if you could write a story about how law and the reader had a fight, but the reader feels really bad about it,, so they take a hit for him in an battle and almost die ?!!

i understand if you don’t feel comfortable with writing this,,, have a good day/night !!🫶🏻

OUGH I LOVE THAT TROPE TOO GOD LET'S BRING THE PAIN TRAIN but also love putting Law in situations. like bro if you didn't want to don't be so blorbo (borrowing a lil bit from one of my favorite books bc it has a scene like that and OOF)

[heads up!: angst, blood/injury]

There's blood on his hands.

Thick and smelling of copper, it covers his tattoos, his fingertips, his palms. When he looks at his reflection, he distantly notes that it's spattered against his neck and his shirt, too.

There's so much of it, and none of it is his.

"Captain?" Bepo's voice is small and hollow, uncertain as he watches Law sway a little at the sink before he turns the handle and begins scrubbing at his hands. "Are you okay?"

Law wants to laugh. What a stupid question ㅡ but he isn't sure how to answer. Does Bepo mean physically? Mentally? Emotionally? He scrubs at his nails, watches his skin tint pink from the force. Watery red swirls down the drain. "I'm fine, Bepo."

They both know he's lying.

ㅡ

"I'm telling you, this is a bad idea!" Your eyes are narrowed, blazing with fury as you jab your finger into Law's chest for emphasis. "You know better than this. There's no way this will end well, Law. You're going to get someone killed!"

Law's temper flares, and he reaches to bat your hand away from him before he steps around you. "If you have such a problem with the way I lead this crew, then maybe you shouldn't be part of it."

Law won't let anyone else change your bandages.

He winds and unwinds them, an endless loop with peeks at skin knitted back together with thick black thread. His hands ache with the memory of sewing you back together, knowing he'd been actively trying to wrench death's bony fingers from around you.

Pulling back, his gaze drifts over the bandages to the steady rise and fall of your chest. If there's a god who takes requests, he's ready to offer up a plea for you to make it out of this. You have to. You need to.

He still has to apologize.

ㅡ

It takes almost a week before you open your eyes. It's the twitch of your fingers that alerts him first, the shift in your breathing ㅡ and then you're staring at him. Your expression is blank and your eyes are still a little cloudy from medicated sleep, but you're awake. You're alive.

There are a thousand things that Law could say and should, but what tumbles from his lips is nowhere close to any of them.

"You're an idiot."

You blink at him. "Your bedside manner is terrible," you croak, hissing when pain lances up your left side like a wildfire. "What happened? Did I get in a fight with a sea king and lose?"

Law doesn't laugh at your attempt at humor, terrible as it is. He lets his gaze drift, assessing your injuries from minor to major, as he's done for days now. He doesn't want to look at the biggest one, the one that almost took you from him ㅡ so he stares at the bandaid on your cheek. "You were right," he finally says. "About that informant."

You blink. "Oh." You try to move a little, trying to see what else hurts. "Could you repeat that? It's not every day that I hear you admit that I was right about something."

His eyes narrow as his temper flares. "Don't joke," he hisses, "you almost died because you just had to get in the way."

He's doing this all wrong, he knows that ㅡ but he can't quite control his tongue because somewhere he's still a child demanding to know why someone is willing to risk their life for him.

"You're right," you say, and when he looks up he finds you watching him, expression neutral. "I shouldn't joke. I'm sorry."

Law studies you for several long minutes before he speaks again. "Why did you do it?"

"What do you mean?"

His eyes narrow. "Don't play dumb, [Name]. You know what I mean."

You stare at the ceiling, counting the rivets. "Because the Heart Pirates are nothing without our captain," you say, "because we can't afford to lose you. And...I needed to apologize."

Law stares.

"...Apologize." He hears you mumble softly, paler than he's ever seen you as he gathers you up, clutches at you like that alone will stop you from bleeding to death before he ever gets a chance to try and save you.

"So you almost got yourself killed in order to apologize to me? That'sㅡ"

"Something an idiot would do," you interrupt. "Good to know I'm doing what's expected of me."

"Youㅡ" Law shuts his mouth with the click of teeth, jaw taut as he tries his best not to blow up on you before his shoulders sag with a sigh. "Just concentrate on healing. And don't pull a stupid stunt like this ever again." He reaches up, giving the brim of his hat a nervous tug. "I don't like almost losing crewmates."

He doesn't like almost losing you.

"Does that mean I'm still part of the Heart Pirates?" He's confused by your question before the crux of this entire ordeal comes back to him ㅡ the argument the two of you'd had. He doesn't know if you mean to turn the knife, but you do as you repeat his words to him. "If you have such a problem with the way I lead this crew, then maybe you shouldn't be part of it."

His stomach twists. "You're still part of this crew," he reassures you, "which is why I'm telling you that you're not allowed to pull stupid stunts like this again. Am I clear?"

Your eyes lock. "Yes, captain."

The expression on his face softens. "Good."

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered. #anonymous #–ml: law.

[waitmyturtles]

BLUBBERING SPOILERS BELOW FOR I FEEL YOU LINGER IN THE AIR, EPISODE 12/FINALE:

YEAH. SO. YEAH. SO!

This can't be meta. I don't think I can conjure it. Just blather. I'll try to be sensible. First, a little housekeeping before we start the meeting:

We know there will be a special episode (the preview looks..... LIKE A GODDAMN HOLIDAY GIFT, GAAAAHHH).

Peeps are going back and forth on a second season, and while it seems that Nonkul Chanon blurted it out during the final episode fan meeting (lol you cute, Nonkul), Tee Bundit is rolling back a bit, *likely* due to funding. But seeing social media going absolutely INSANE over this ending, I can't imagine that Dee Hup will have any issue with finding the moolah for a second season -- especially after that after-credits scene, WITH HORSES, WITH MUSTACHES, WITH TATTOOS, WITH ARMOR, the whole thang. Tee let that shit hang all out like that. Warrior-era Thailand, let's m'fing go. That was a hell of a lead into a second season that may not happen, come awn.

Alright, with that out of the way:

I didn't think a show would top Moonlight Chicken for me this year, but IFYLITA is my top new drama of the year (with the HEAVY CAVEAT that I have not seen La Pluie yet -- that's for either after my Old GMMTV Challenge, or just making sure I watch it before year's end).

Part of the reason why I lost my gatdamn mind last week on episode 11 is that Tee Bundit did not interfere with any damn nonsense last week -- he let the episode's story unwind without any noise. He let the emotion roll.

The same light touch (or rather, a lack of interference) happened here, BUT: there was a LOT more happening firstly by way of closing some loops that were open, moving to new loops, and shedding more depth into Jom and Yai's final moments together

We got closure on Yai's dad, who was grumpily like, uhhh, I dunno what happened in my life, but yeah, daughter Eaung Peang, you go have a good life with Maey, crotchety crotch. I think that's the best we could get from politically involved dads of 1928 Chiang Mai. (EP AND MAEY SWINGING THEIR HANDS WHILE WALKING AWAY -- SAAAHHSHAY FROM ALL THAT, LADIES, SASHAY.) It looks like EP's herbal abortion left her safe -- thank goodness. We didn't see James or Ming this episode.

For loops that weren't closed, I'm not complaining, because we got an explanation for how Jom's beloved ones will repeat in his reincarnated futures and pasts, through the explanation of the northern Thai ceremony of having 32 blessings reinstated to you after illness or misfortune (THREE CHEERS for @blmpff for capturing screenshots of this explanation!). (AND THE WHITE THREAD, PEEPS, THE WHITE THREAD, I'm coming back to this in a second.) If we do get a season 2, then I will not be colored surprised if we see Ming and James in different roles. (And, yes. Your bitch here has relaxed on Pat's shooter, finally. My nose was trained on James being a colonialist interferer, but he did good last episode.)

But this episode belonged, of course, to Yai and Jom, their final moments together in 1928 Chiang Mai, saying the slow farewell as Jom slowly disappeared in front of Yai's eyes.

LORD. WHEWWWWWWWWWWWWW. The lacy fabric with which Yai used to cover the mirrors so that Jom wouldn't see himself fade away. The empathy of that. The scene where we heard their lovemaking over the flashbacks montage. WHEW. WHOA. (I did say, to my friend @shortpplfedup, something something Jom started really fading away after that intimate scene and something something had the ontology cough cough outta him, ANYWAY.)

The way that Yai pitched forward when Jom finally disappeared.

AND I MOTHERFUCKING SCREAMED WHEN JOM AND MUSTACHIOED YAI WERE ABOUT TO TOUCH INTO THE WATER AGAIN, AND THEN THE DIVER EMT WAS LIKE, BLOOP I'M HERE AND OH, JOM, YOU'RE ALIVE IN 2023. I yelped in the deli, shit. The way Jom was silently screaming in the water for Yai.

And, so. In the "present" day (present dimension, really), Jom survived that CRAAAAZY car accident (LIKE! WHAT?! He flew out of the car into the water, bros! The magic of fiction, anyway.)

He.......he holds space for Ohm?! Looking BACK on that scene, AFTER we get the explanation of the 32 blessings, we realize: despite Ohm's infidelity and his promise to a new woman, Ohm is still important in Jom's life -- he's still a beloved presence, as he did mean something, for a long time, to Jom. Of course, modern Jom did NOT let a moment to shade Ohm pass him by, oh no. But wasn't that interesting to note? That Jom's dimensions would allow Ohm to be in those dimensions -- that Ohm would be reincarnated through Jom's 32 blessings (at least in the past direction).

You know what I also loved about seeing Jom in his present-day apartment, with the present-day Jeed, Ohm, and Khaimuk (aka Fong Kaew). I LOVED WHAT THAT CASTING, THE SHIFTING OF THE CHARACTERS AND CHARACTERIZATIONS, SAID ABOUT JOM'S PERSPECTIVE OF EQUITY IN 1928 AND 2023.

Jeed is NOT Khun Eaung Peang. Jeed is ALL SASS. But Jeed is YOUNGER than Jom. Jom, in 2023, is P'Jom, with the honorific. Present-day Jom can smack his little sister's head in jest. Jeed can be OUT and SAFE and have a crush on her girl friend, safely, and can ask for her brother's support, OPENLY.

Jom never stopped being Jom, whether it was 2023 pre-accident, 1928, or 2023 post-accident. Jom is comfortable in his own skin, and wants happiness AND EQUITY for the people he loves around him. I love that the casting and characterizations of the incarnations of the characters reflect Jom's state of mind that all people are equal and the same, no matter a fancy honorific or a royally appointed residence.

I screamed at @shortpplfedup when I saw Jom wearing the white thread in bed during the thunderstorm. I stopped, rewound, and saw he was wearing the white thread in the water scene with Warrior Yai. The white thread never left his wrist -- he still has his blessings intact.

And, and, and, back to the house of Palanthip in 2023. Who's the lady of the house? This lady knows Jom's the only one who can open that chest. The chest opens, the drawings are there, THE PICTURE OF THEIR PARTY, AND THE LETTER FROM YAI TO JOM, THE LETTER, THE TEARS, AKSLKDF, AND, AND, AND --

Oh my god, I was crying, y'all. Shit. Just our confident dude, striding in, asking Jom, sweetheart, why are you crying. And Jom jumping into Yai's arms.

I was shaking my head. I mean. I love that we learned that Yai actually HAD HIS OWN BLESSINGS CEREMONY because he was so lost after Jom's departure. WE LEARNED ABOUT THE REST OF YAI'S LIFE. We know, now, that the Yai of 1928 yearned for Jom for the rest of his life. So much so that, at the twilight of the life of 20th-century Yai, that he had the good mind to leave Jom a letter, to let Jom know that his life was a good life, because Jom had been in it. To let Jom know that Yai's love had never faded away.

AND THEN THAT YAI CAME BACK TO JOM.

Jom, dude, you're a good dude, for these good people to be coming back to you, in dimension after dimension. That monk was right.

I told you this was just blathering; I can try to put some sensible thoughts together in a few days, but the structure of this story, the empathy of this story, the way this story was leveraged by drama and romance and HOPE. I mean. This series was utterly fantastic.

I know there's the lifelong debate of whether or not BLs "count" as queer media, and in many, many instances, they do. But since I've had the disappointment of Only Friends and GMMTV on my mind lately, I had to note, mentally, particularly during the lovemaking scene, and during the closure of this episode, that Tee really fucking handed it to anyone who criticizes BL as a not-as-sophisticated drama genre.

And you know what? I also wanna say that Tee fucking handed it to GMMTV as well. I am so DAMN glad this series was airing when Only Friends was airing. While Only Friends sat on the opportunity to present progressive ideas on queer love and queer community, IFYLITA ROLLED right into it.

(I'll ask @lurkingshan to fact-check me on the following:) Because this series was a historical drama with a queer romance centering it, I think Tee Bundit could feel free from the chains of BL tropes and expectations to do something truly singular. I felt that what I was watching was cinematic, it was moving, it was strikingly emotional, particularly because I felt that this show was showing me something that transcended any viewer's expectations of what we should be watching, as opposed to, say, a BL set in an office like Tee's Step By Step. Where that show fumbled was in the show itself not knowing if it was a workplace drama or a BL-centric romance.

IFYLITA knew what it was: a historical drama, certainly centering romance, but also balancing conversations about equity and wealth disparities across eras. With that uncomplicated centering, I think Tee Bundit made an absolutely BRILLIANT show, and it fucking WORKED.

I will scream to anyone who'll hear me. If you haven't watched I Feel You Linger In The Air yet, do it, PLEASE PLEASE. Y'all know I am an Aof Noppharnach girlie for life, and I LIVE FOR MOONLIGHT CHICKEN, I DO, I DO, all of my Asian references in MLC and the food and everything, god I loved that show, but --

IFYLITA was a cinematic masterpiece. Full stop. All hail @neuroticbookworm and @lurkingshan for telling me to keep with it after my Step By Step-PTSD. This show was worth every last minute I spent watching and writing on it.

Season 2, Warrior Yai, let's get him a better mustache -- let's FUCKING GO, BABIES.

P.S. BRIGHT AND NONKUL FOR LIFE, FOR LIFE!!!!!!! THE ACTING!!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!

#i feel you linger in the air #ifylita #best show of the year #tee bundit #bright rapheephong #nonkul chanon #i feel you linger in the air meta #ifylita meta

[sapphosewrites]

Trektober Day 3: Anniversary

They always called it The Day of Withdrawal, even though it had actually taken over a week for the last of the Cardassians to evacuate. Kira knew how myth and legend and story worked; sometimes, details had to be elided or rearranged to arrive at the core of truth.

That first anniversary, the provisional government declared it a day of fasting and prayer. The Federation officers commented that they found it odd- wasn't it supposed to be a happy time?- but Bajor hadn't been ready for joy then, not yet. The threat of civil war loomed too close on the horizon, the unity the people had fought in fighting for freedom dissolving in peacetime. No one knew what the second anniversary would look like, what kind of Bajor would be there to see it. Kira sat by the candles and prayed wordlessly, with an ache in her soul, for something she didn't quite understand and had never known.

The second anniversary, First Minister Kalem Apren called for a day of Bajoran cultural teaching. Schools remained open, and Kira found herself in front of Keiko's class awkwardly sharing a lullaby her father had sung when she was small. She didn't have much of a singing voice- no one in her family did- but it was one of the only things she could share that did not come back, in some way, to violence. (The teachings of the prophets she left to the vedeks, and in spite of Opaka's words she couldn't shake the fear in her heart that fighting was the only aspect of Bajoran culture she had to share.)

When Li Nalas became Navarch, they asked him what he suggested for a ritual. His answer had not been detailed: "Well, I suppose we should have some kind of celebration, shouldn't we?"

On the third anniversary, Shakaar Edon was the First Minister, and the first to declare it a holiday in perpetuity, a day that would last. "This day is a testament to the strength and the resilience of the Bajoran people, and shall be set aside for both remembrance and joy forevermore," the official announcement read.

That word, forevermore, stuck with Kira. For the first time, she imagined it, the future unwinding like a spool of thread and generations of children, who celebrated a holiday every year of an event that was for them only a distant memory. Children who had only ever known peace.

#my writing #trektober 2023

[ametrinearrows]

Victories

The vibrant energy of WrestleMania had finally subsided, and a group of WWE superstars, including Triple H and YN YLN, found themselves out for a celebratory dinner. Laughter and chatter filled the air as the group relished in the post-event high. 

 Amid the lively conversations around the table, Hunter and YN found themselves naturally gravitating towards each other, their easy camaraderie evident to anyone observing. Hunter raised his glass in a toast, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and satisfaction. 

 "To another successful WrestleMania!" he exclaimed, clinking his glass against YN's. 

 YN grinned, the euphoria of her victory still evident in her expression. "Cheers to that!" 

 As the night wore on and the conversations flowed, Hunter and YN's interaction became more focused, a bubble of their own forming amidst the larger group. Hunter leaned back in his chair, his tone casual as he directed his attention to YN. 

 "So, how does it feel to come out victorious at the Grandest Stage of Them All?" 

 YN chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. "You're asking like you don't already know the feeling." 

 Hunter smirked. "Well, there's nothing quite like it, is there? The rush of the crowd, the adrenaline in the ring – it's what we live for." 

 YN nodded in agreement, her eyes distant for a moment as she relished the memory. "Absolutely. There's nothing like stepping out onto that stage, knowing you're about to give the performance of a lifetime." 

 Hunter's gaze held a mixture of admiration and understanding. "You've come a long way since your debut, YNN. I'm proud of you." 

 Her cheeks warmed at his praise, a genuine smile spreading across her lips. "Thank you, Hunter. Your guidance and support mean a lot to me." 

 Their conversation continued in a relaxed manner, the rest of the group fading into the background as they shared stories, insights, and even a few inside jokes. The familiarity between them was evident, a testament to the years they had spent working alongside each other. 

 Hunter leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. "You know, YNN, it's nights like this that make all the hard work and sacrifices worth it." 

 She met his gaze with a knowing smile. "Absolutely. And having friends who understand the journey makes it even more special." 

 Their eyes locked for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. The bond of shared experiences and mutual respect was a thread that connected them, and it was in moments like these that their connection felt particularly strong. 

 As the evening drew to a close, the group began to say their goodbyes. Hunter and YN exchanged a final smile, a promise of more shared victories and camaraderie in the future. 

 "We'll do it all again next year," Hunter said, his voice filled with determination. 

 YN nodded, her own resolve mirrored in her eyes. "Count me in." 

 After bidding their fellow superstars goodbye, the night air was filled with a sense of contentment as YN and Hunter made their way back to their respective hotel. The buzz of WrestleMania was still palpable, lingering in the air as a reminder of the epic event they had just been a part of. 

 As YN entered her hotel room, she hesitated for a moment. She turned to Hunter, a warm smile on her lips. "Hey, you want to come in and hang out for a bit?" 

 Hunter's eyes lit up with a spark of curiosity and intrigue. "Sure, sounds good." 

 YN led the way into the room, and they settled onto the couch, the energy of the evening continuing to weave its magic. The room felt cozy and inviting, a space where they could relax and unwind after the excitement of the night. 

 "So, what do you want to do?" YN asked, leaning back against the cushions. 

 Hunter grinned, his relaxed demeanor putting YN at ease. "How about we just chat? No wrestling talk, no business – just a casual conversation." 

 YN nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of comfort in the simplicity of the idea. As they talked, the topics flowed effortlessly – childhood stories, travel anecdotes, and even a few funny mishaps from their time on the road. 

 As the conversation dipped into a comfortable lull, Hunter's gaze met YN's, his eyes holding a mixture of sincerity and something else – something that YN couldn't quite decipher. 

 "YNN," he began, his voice a little softer, "there's something I've been wanting to say." 

 YN tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "What is it, Hunter?" 

 He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "I've known you for a long time, and through all those years, there's something I've realized." 

 YN's heart began to race, a sense of anticipation filling the air. "What is it, Hunter?" 

 Hunter leaned in slightly, his expression serious but vulnerable. "I care about you, YN. More than just a friend." 

 YN's eyes widened as the weight of his words settled in. Her mind raced, emotions swirling as she tried to process what he was saying. 

 Hunter's gaze held hers, his voice steady. "And I can't help but feel that there's something more between us. Something I've been ignoring for a long time." 

 Before YN could respond, Hunter's lips met hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. The moment felt surreal, a mixture of surprise and longing, and yet it also felt completely right. 

 When they finally pulled away, YN's heart was in her throat. She looked at Hunter, her emotions written all over her face. "Hunter, I... I never saw this coming." 

 He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't either, YNN. But I can't ignore how I feel." 

 YN's eyes searched his, seeing a depth of emotion that mirrored her own. "Hunter, I care about you too. You've been a constant in my life, and I've always admired and respected you." 

 A relieved smile spread across Hunter's face, his gaze softening. "I'm glad to hear that." 

 As they sat there, the weight of their confession and the newfound connection between them lingered in the air. The room felt charged with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, but through it all, there was a sense of hope that whatever lay ahead, they were facing it together. 

 "YN," Hunter said, his voice filled with a newfound warmth, "I want to see where this goes. If you're willing." 

 YN's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions – surprise, joy, and a touch of nervousness. She looked at Hunter, her gaze unwavering. "I'm willing, Hunter. Let's see where this journey takes us." 

 And as they leaned in for another kiss, the promise of a new chapter in their relationship unfolded – a chapter filled with the uncharted territory of romance, the unwavering support of friendship, and the magic of the unexpected. 

#ametrine arrows #ametrine arrows imagines #wwe #wwe x reader #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #Monday night raw #smackdown #Triple h #Triple h x reader #Triple h imagine #Triple h imagines #Triple h fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #hunter Hearst Helmsley #hunter Hearst Helmsley x reader #hunter Hearst Helmsley imagine #hunter Hearst Helmsley imagines #hunter Hearst Helmsley fanfiction

[thehistoriangirl]

HI I JUST CAME FROM AO3 I READ YOUR VIK/READER STORY AND I THINK ITS AWESOME AND I HAD TO TELL YOU

Also, didn't knew that requests were open, can i request a Vik/reader oneshot where Vik finds us crying and comforts us?

Have a good day/afternoon/night AND ALSO I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE OK BYE

Hi! Omg thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺 I'm so glad you enjoy them <33

I'm sorry for taking so long 😭 I found it more difficult to do than I thought it'd be jkfjhdjf but I hope you like it :3

You, My Solace

Viktor x gn!Reader----1.4K------SFW

Tags: Established Relationship| Angst & Comfort| Domestic Fluff

The living room was dark when Viktor entered the apartment you two shared. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, with no light in sight as he walked further in. With no sight of you either. Furrowing, Viktor considered the possibility of being home too early, that at any moment, you would be leaving your coat messily over the couch to plant yourself in front of him for a welcome home kiss.

Though the clock hung on the wall marked 8:06 PM when he peeked his head in the ajar door, looking at the amorph figure huddled in bed.

Viktor smiled, feeling the fluffy carpet around the bed as he walked over, the mattress dipping under his weight. One of his hands enveloped your ankle, giving it a playful pull.

He was expecting you to unveil your face from the blanket, looking at him with sleepy eyes, a slow smile expanding on your lips.

Instead, your body lay there with no reaction. Upon further inspection, Viktor heard you sniffling against a pillow.

“My love?” Viktor whispered, unsure how to proceed. “What’s wrong?”

Your movements under the blanket made it ripple. Viktor extended his arm to turn on the lamp on the nightstand, but your voice came with a broken tune to stop him with a weak: "No." Then, a pause. "…please."

It was shame, then. The passing memory of the issue about turning in or off the light the first time you made love washed over him, recognizing a tiny fragment of your feelings even if he couldn’t read your face.

Viktor rested his hand on your hip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your answer came too stretched out in the silence that Viktor was starting to think it was better to go to the kitchen and make you a hot beverage.

“I didn’t get the job,” you said, voice plain. Viktor felt his heart pool at his feet, and then slip between the creaks of the floorboards. “Because I guess I’m not as competent as I thought.”

He climbed into bed, ignoring that his leg brace pressed painfully against his knee as he moved to lay next to you, spooning the outlines of your body while only putting one hand over your shoulder.

“Love…”

“No,” you cut him, and Viktor winced. “I don’t want your pity.”

He retreated his hand. “Do you want to be alone for a while?” Viktor could do that, he knew you needed your time to unwind just as he did, from time to time. But even so, part of him felt stiff with anxiety about leaving you on your own while you were like this.

You hipped, the dam starting to break in the shaky threads of your voice. “N-no...” The blanket slipped out your face when you looked at him, with puffy eyes and trembling lips. His heart squeezed painfully. How long have you been crying? "N-no, please."

“Come here,” he muttered, hugging your torso as he cradled you on his lap, your head in the crook of his neck so Viktor could easily pepper your face in kisses to try and, if not dry your tears off, at least to give you the confidence you needed to cry in front of him, knowing that he’ll never judge you.

Your arms tangled in his shoulders, and you smell the familiar essence of him, with the detergent of his clothes matching yours, the burned oil and melted metal from all his working hours in the lab. It grounded you, your eyes closed so everything else would fade away.

“You aren’t inadequate, my love.” Viktor kissed the top of your head. “I’m sure there’s a job for you.” His eyes were shiny even with the lamps off, with only the dimmed light of the streetlamps below. “Rejection hurts a lot, but you shouldn’t take it personally.”

“But I failed—”

"Many things are out of your control. That you don't get the wished result out of them doesn't mean you are the problem." He stopped, dragging you into a more comfortable position now that his right leg started to cramp. "Remember what you always said to me when my prototypes don't work?"

As you shook your head, the rebel locks of your hair brushed his neck. You had a very good memory, and for the way you were biting your lip, eyes avoiding him, Viktor thought that you had never been a good liar.

"It's alright. I'll remind you." His thumb was warm against the wet streaks of tears down your cheeks. He looked at your lips swollen from crying for so long. "Your worth isn't quantifiable in your successes," Viktor muttered, his lips brushing your forehead. "You shouldn't feel less worthy just because you failed."

His shrug made you rest your head on his chest instead, the gentle rhythm of his heart soothing your palpitating headache. “I didn’t understand it at first, but you’re right. I’m more than Viktor the inventor; and you’re more than your job, too.”

You looked up at him, the hand cupping your cheek and meeting yours as you started to dry the tears away with harsh brushes of your palm. Viktor took your hand gently, fingers interlacing. "Please be kind to yourself, my love. It's alright to cry, too. I just wanted to remind you that you're worthy, but you can cry until your heart feels a little lighter, yes? I'll be right here if you want."

His gentle words formed a knot in your throat. Part of you wanted to stop altogether, to point a hand at your reflection in the mirror to mock how childish you were behaving. The other echoed with Viktor’s voice, filling with warm your stomach, pulling the pilling up feelings out in a trembling jaw.

Your vision started to get fuzzy, a sob leaving your lips as you hide your face against his vest, not caring that the outline of his buttons would get marked on your cheek. His hand rubbed circles on your back and whispered words moved the hairs around your ears. Half the time you were too caught up in your cries that you didn't hear them correctly, but as they started growing fainter his loving words made you put him closer.

“I’ll help you try again,” he was saying. “I’m sure that if we tried again enough times, we’ll get somewhere. Yes? Yes, like when you test theories in the lab… But for now, you shall rest. You deserve it. Have you eaten something?”

You shook your head again, your cheeks hot from shame.

"Then I'll cook something. I think there are some leftovers from yesterday's dinner, isn't it? I'll go serve us a plate." He smiled, trying you on the bed without disturbing you. You started to push the blanket away as if you wished to stand up. "No, no. It's fine. I can do it alone this time."

“I think… I think I would like to keep my mind busy,” you commented.

Viktor nodded. “Of course. Then let’s go. I think we can prepare some hot cocoa. What do you say?”

A small smile started to tug the corners of your lips. “With some cookies?”

He chuckled, happy that at least you were starting to develop an appetite. "With some cookies, yes. Shall we?" He said, his hand extended to you once he was standing again.

You nodded, your hand taking his as you propel yourself out of bed, with the blanket pooling at your feet. You walked out of the room, turning on the lamps in the living room and the kitchen. The blanket that cocooned you all evening was now thrown on the couch, used as a refuge for your cold feet as you cuddled in it after eating.

All the feelings pouring out of you made you feel exhausted now that your mind was somewhat clearer. Viktor was hugging you as you turned your head toward him, half-hiding his neck.

He was reading something about bioengineering from a book, the seal of the Academy library on its cover. Even if you couldn’t understand what he was saying, you relish in the soft cadence of his voice that reverberated in his chest, and then all over you.

Your eyes slowly closed, eyelids fluttering, trying to fight against the sleep clouding your mind.

Viktor kissed the top of your head. “Goodnight, my dear. I love you.”

You tried to say: "I love you, too," though your lips barely moved with a long 'mmmm' sound. But it didn't matter, because Viktor knew to read all your little noises, your body language, how your eyes seemed to write down all the answers you couldn't dare to say out loud.

He looked down at you, a gentle smile on his lips, his golden eyes twinkling like stars that would assure you that tonight would be filled with only peaceful dreams…

#viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane imagines #arcane x gender neutral reader #viktor fanfic #viktor fanfiction #viktor/reader #viktor/you #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction

[stargazer-sims]

for the fall emoji asks - ☕ 🍂 & 🎃!! <3

thanks for the ask @holocene-sims !

__________

Coffee or Tea: How often do you feel like you need to take breaks or unwind from working on your story?

This really depends on what else happens to be going on in my life. Sometimes it's hard to find time to write or to focus on writing, and sometimes I'm just not motivated. I think about my characters and my story fairly consistently though, even when I'm not actively writing.

Leaves: How do you want your story to end? Would you prefer a satisfying, concrete conclusion or keeping it open-ended so that you could continue writing if you chose to pick it back up one day?

This is a timely question, considering I'm literally in the process of wrapping up a story right now. I think I fall somewhere in the middle of this, to be honest. I don't like stories that tie up every loose end super tight, because I find it too contrived and also too limiting. I don't like them to be too open-ended either, because that doesn't feel particularly satisfying. I like to bring the main threads of the story to a reasonable conclusion, but also leave it open-ended enough to be able to write a "sequel" or spin-off.

Pumpkin: What character continues to light up your mind and inspire you to write more?

It's definitely Victor (and Yuri by association). I feel as if I know Victor well enough to be able to write him at any point in his life, and I have more ideas for little scenes and vignettes and full-on storylines than I could possibly ever write down.

Honorable mention to Nikolai, because there's lots I'd like to explore with him as well.

#sapphire answers #ask game

[pestilight]

     The hero will not make it.

     Rauru pours every scintilla of light he has left into those grievous wounds. He presses it all into the wrist he's yet to let go of since that fateful clasp, a wellspring funnelled through the anchoring point of their contact. So tremendous an effort is it that another piece of his arm crumbles, quicker to decay without the blessing of Zonai blood nor heart nor stone, peeling off and fading into nothing within strands of dispelled radiance.

     Still, it is not enough.

     The right arm is beyond salvaging. The Gloom: a loathsome force merely kept at bay with his light's slower abrasion. With what it has devoured, devours, and seeks to continue devouring as its master recovers his strength, the hero — Link, a faint voice chimes, sweet with conviction and love for her swordsman — will not make it.

     What an enormously cataclysmic thing to reckon with.

     Somewhere in the far distance, what sounds startlingly like the time bell knells a solemn rhythm. His spirit cannot cast shadows, but it paints a seafoam glow over Link as Rauru looms over his body — hand clutching ever tighter, as though his hold alone could pierce past the trappings of mortal flesh and erase every sliver of rot in one fell swoop. He reaches for the Gloom again, tendrils of incanted light enveloping the source in a shimmering embrace, and once more, his magic does not purge as cleanly as he wants it to. Once more, another fragment of his remains falls away.

     This is foolish, a part of him thinks; the part mired in memories of wanton bloodshed, of surviving at whatever the cost, of a time before a tempering kindness. Foolish, and needlessly cruel. He has seen damage of this severity wrought before — has treated it before.

     At his core, he knows what must be done. His hesitation, in the face of that, is not a mercy: it is another moment suspended between life and death, another opportunity for the Gloom to spread, another tally against the odds of what would now be a miracle.

     Another failing.

     Rauru does not need to breathe, yet he nevertheless finds himself going through its invisible motions. It calms him, marginally, and his mind clears enough for the thought to turn constructive. Yes, he knows what must be done. The question now is: what is he to do with the repercussions?

     —What repercussions? Another part of him thinks; the one locked in shame, drowning in regret, fraying with the need to pen this story to its very end.

     The flow of his light stills.

     It resumes a split second later, surging forth to continue hindering the creep of darkness, but his grip loosens. His fingers, slowly, unwind.

     What repercussions, the thought continues, when it is only the right arm that has to be dealt with? A right arm that has to be accounted for?

     A right arm that he, blessedly, still possesses?

     Link's chances of survival do not seem so slight, now.

     ( Rauru's chances of atoning do not seem so elusive, now. )

     It is a simple thing, grasping that ruined hand. Honing his light to burn through everything — skin, sinew, blood, marrow — is, too, effortless with how densely the corrosion is seeped into the flesh. The Gloom lingers, harder to contain for a moment with no corporeal bearer, but that will soon be remedied.

     Link's fingers are the last ashes to be swept away. From there, it is just a matter of connecting.

     Rauru does not say the words as he threads their vitalities together. Vows like these have always been a show of devotion more than anything, anyway. When this arm is all he can hope to offer to Link — to Zelda, to Mineru, to Sonia, to Hyrule, to everyone and everything he's loved and lost — what could possibly indicate his devotion more?

#* light of blessing / study. #( oh i started off so strong but flagged...i spent too much time on this to not hit send post though so SEND POST #vow of ra.uru scene but it's like zel.da's in that there are no words....just the act of giving.... #also i probably don't make it clear enough but like. ra.uru cannot begin purging the gloom in li.nk's arm without #simultaneously searing the actual arm away with how thickly the gloom has infested it! hence why the amputation here is less cutting and #and more like. burning through remains sflkjdf idk. i hope that makes sense! #i have more things to say on how being sealed for millennia weakened both parties...and with no #sage's stone there is only so much he can feasibly do. pulling off the feat of magically installing a living prosthetic is the extent of it #but those are thoughts for another day lsdkjfl ) #* ic / para. #* lightroot / ic. #* v / daybreak come again. #amputation cw #death mention #ask to tag /

[bokettochild]

Heya! I was really nervous to start talking to you - not bc you intimidate me per say, but more bc I kinda look up to you and I wanted to make a good impression haha. Anyway I'm the daisy anon :) Nice to officially meet you, Ketto! Point of this ask is I decided to start reading your series the Ties That Bind - back when I was a lurker, I read so much of the original story, and I just want you to know that I loved it so much. But I think you said you were rewriting it? Where should I start? <3

Hey, Daisy!!!

Your words mean a lot, and I'm glad it's not scariness so much as admiration, even if I am just another silly on the internet :)

The Ties That Bind is currently being rewritten. I threw a lot of stuff into the story though, so I'm unwinding the threads like a giant basket of yarn so I can knit them together properly again, and it's taking a bit because I keep running into knots.

Anyways! My hope is to (maybe?) try and post chapter one of the rewrite this month, but for the time being, if you wanted to re-read the original, it's still in order (sort of?). I added two new stories to the series recently, but they're both unrelated to the main plot and more focused on Warriors relationship with his wife, so they can be read anytime (they're currently at the end of the list)

Also, if you have any questions about the story, or it's rewrite, PLEASE ask! I LOVE talking about my work, and sometimes doing so can show me how to work out another knot :)

#the ties that bind #the blood between us #the blood of heroes' history #asks and answers #daisy anon

[cascowriteswords]

Number 6, an empty kiss 💋 👀

Even as Clarke lays in bed beside Lexa she cannot stop thinking. It figures, that even in a moment like this they are not allowed true peace and contentment. That something as beautiful as what just occurred between them can be so quickly overshadowed by a persistent, lingering sense of foreboding. 

They are leaders of their people and they are not allowed to be anything else. These tender moments are not made for them. 

“You and I do not exist singly.” Lexa is reading from a book so torn and tattered it’s a miracle the binding still holds. Clarke watches her intently, more interested in memorizing the curves and lines of her face than whatever it is she has decided to read for them at this moment, more interested in preserving the taste of her on her tongue, committing the feel of her skin to memory. “It would be impossible to contain us into one thing. We are endlessly multiplied, a world without end. Did I know, the first time I addressed you, what kind of thread I was unwinding? The multiplicity of ourselves is intrinsically, impossibly linked. How could I have ever been anything, without you? How could I have ever lived in a world so forcibly narrowed? I didn’t want to. I tried to walk away from it. Every path just brought me closer to you.”

It’s almost as if the words had been written specifically for them. Penned onto paper centuries ago, speaking into existence a coupling that would bring peace to the world for the first time in - well, has there ever really been peace? This naturally leads to the question that hangs over them tangibly - will there ever be?

“I am not good. I am no saint. There are terrible stories in the past tense of me and only some of them I regret. I was weak and I was brittle and I doubted you, before I ever knew you. Of all my offenses, I think this is the least forgivable.”

Clarke sighs quietly. She reaches out, trails her fingers lightly along the curve of Lexa’s bicep, watches as goosebumps rise in their wake. Lexa pauses, glancing down at Clarke’s touch and then up at her, meeting her eyes for a few seconds before she looks back to her book. 

“You live inside me, the same way I live inside you. A Moebius strip, a snake always swallowing its own tail. Mutually-assured destruction, maybe, or mutual deification. Mutual consumption.” She pauses and lets those words hang in the air before finishing. “I will be the house that holds every part of you.”

Lexa closes the book; whether or not it’s the end of the passage or just where she chooses to stop reading, Clarke will never know. She turns the words over in her mind, well aware that there’s nearly always a purpose to everything Lexa does, more than one meaning to the words she says. The words she read were as unsettling as they were reassuring; two souls permanently linked, for better or for worse. Mutual destruction or deification. It’s too soon to tell where their path will lead. Too soon to tell if they are capable of anything other than destroying each other outside of these small intimate moments. 

“That was beautiful,” Clarke murmurs, pressing her lips to Lexa’s shoulder. 

“It is,” Lexa agrees, turning her head so she can look more fully at Clarke. “I did not understand how much so until I met you.”

Clarke kisses her. Because she can, because she knows she is running out of opportunities to do so, because she doesn’t know if they will ever have a moment like this again. Because the words Lexa read and the world around them have filled her heart with heaviness and hardness and dread but kissing Lexa makes her feel light and free and like she is home. Because they don’t have anything really, just the two of them, Clarke and Lexa, but they have this. 

Barely. 

There’s a commotion outside the door and then Octavia enters without knocking, shaking the hands of flustered guards off of her arms, a hard look on her face. “Clarke. It’s time to go,” she says, wholly unimpressed to find both Clarke and the Commander still undressed and in bed. She stares at them flatly.

Lexa stiffens. Clarke sighs. Time is up. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“We won’t make it if you aren’t ready and outside in five minutes. If I have to leave without you…” she trails off. Seems to weigh her words, then says them. “Then you aren’t the person I thought you were.” Octavia turns on her heel and leaves the room. Heda’s guards shut the doors behind her, mumbling apologies. 

Clarke feels sour about the comment - then you aren’t the person I thought you were. As if taking a single thing for herself would undo everything she has done for her people. Would negate all of the sacrifices she has made - including the one she’s making right now by leaving Polis and Lexa. Would turn her into a traitor. She knows that all of that is true, fair or not. But she doesn’t need Octavia to throw it in her face like she isn’t already painfully aware of it. Like the knowledge doesn’t shape every choice she makes. 

She doesn’t have time to stew over it. Lexa gets out of bed as soon as the doors are shut. She quickly begins dressing, back to Clarke as she does so. Already reestablishing a distance between them by refusing to look at her. “My guards are waiting for you outside of the tower with two of our fastest horses. You will both arrive at your camp before the kill order is put into place, do not worry,” she reassures quietly.

“Thank you,” Clarke says.

Silence falls between them as they prepare to leave Lexa’s quarters, rushing about to turn themselves from young girls who are just barely women back into leaders of armies. Clarke feels robotic as she gets dressed, her movements mechanical as a coldness seeps into her that has nothing to do with having to come out from under furs that had been pleasantly warmed by two tangled bodies. 

When they meet by the doors just a moment later they are no longer Clarke and Lexa. Heda and Wanheda regard each other, hearts caged, emotions swallowed by throats that bob and struggle with the enormity of them. 

Clarke extends a hand. Lexa clasps her forearm. 

“May we meet again,” they say quietly in unison. Allowing themselves just a few more seconds to look at each other before they face the world outside again. 

Clarke leans onto her toes to press her lips to Lexa’s because she thinks she’ll regret it if she doesn’t take this last opportunity. In case it really is their last. In reality, she regrets this kiss because Lexa does not kiss her back. She is still and unmoving aside from the slight trembling of her shoulders. Clarke understands why and she doesn’t hold it against her, she just wishes she’d left their last kiss as the one in bed when they were still themselves, when their every move and thought wasn’t quite as clouded by the needs of their people, the very real potential war hanging over their heads. 

Clarke is the one to open the doors. One of Lexa’s Generals gets her attention immediately and pulls her to the side like they’ve been waiting for her to emerge for the past hour. Clarke doesn’t stop or look back as she heads directly for the elevator, aware of how time is dwindling away. She knew there would be no send-off. 

She knows she is alone now, a fact that is compounded the further away she and Octavia get from Polis, not a word spoken between them. The only sound is the beating of their horses' hooves against the forest floor as they race home. 

But in Clarke’s head there is Lexa’s voice, quiet but steady. 

“May we meet again.”

She clings to that hope like a lifeline.

-----------------------------

Note: The “book” Lexa is reading from is actually a hauntingly beautiful excerpt from a podcast -  Mabel, Episode 28: Matryoshka. In which the house eats all whole, written by Becca de la Rosa & Mabel Martin

#if love clexa #why make me write sad things about them? #thanks for asking buddy #clexa #clexa drabble

[lultimagoccia]

Knowing your partner well can potentially make writing together a lot easier

Name: castoro. cast for short!

Pronouns: they / them.

Preference of communication: dms are good! i do have a discord, just know i can be slow to reply to messages thanks to Bad Memory Brain + Low Social Battery. i promise i do wanna talk to people and rp, just really goin' through it with my exciting brain struggles.

Name of muse: giuseppe ’ peppino ’ sacchetti spaghetti.

Experience/how long (months/years?): i've been making up stories and embodying characters who aren't me basically my entire life. i honestly don't know who i'd be without fun pretendy times. in terms of online rp, i've been goin' since i was 13, so almost 20 years at this point. i've been on tumblr since 2011, and before that, i've used forums, chatboxes, online messengers, deviantART notes, i've done it all!

Best experience: a forum rp based on the movie " 9 " by shane acker. met some truly incredible people through that experience ( including my gf with whom i had a beautiful baby! ) and just overall had a great time weaving this big intricate plot together that spanned many months. i miss that level of cooperative plotting and threading, it was really fun and engaging.

RP pet peeves/dealbreakers: admittedly i very rarely unfollow / break a mutual with someone, so my threshold of tolerance is fairly high. i understand everyone has their bad days and that sometimes the only place a person can blow off steam or unwind is in the rpc. that said, i steer clear of people that display a consistent level of callousness, unkindness, or overall rude behavior ooc. i don't care how good a person's writing is, rp is a social hobby and if a person is gonna treat fellow players like shit all the time, nobody owes them interactions. no ooc / ic divide is also a big deal breaker.

Muse preference (fluff, angst or smut?): i find i really enjoy charged interactions, either moments of action or elevated emotion. i love seeing what happens when two muses just talk and share some really interesting chemistry that naturally progresses the plot. of course i love fluff and angst and all, but those kinds of things work best when i'm really invested in the muses earning that moment of sweetness after a lot of struggle or fighting their way through a hard time together. i love smut in theory, but i'm mega shy about writing it with new people. i think the stuff i enjoy in an erotic context is just so deeply personal, it's hard to share casually unless i really trust the other mun and gel with their writing style.

Plots or memes: for sure memes, i'm horrible at plotting out ideas unless i'm super familiar with the other person and their muse. i love brainstorming ideas and seeing where those vibes go, rather than planning out details of what's gonna happen.

Long or short replies: somewhere in - between i'd say. just depends on the rhythm of the scene and what best keeps things moving.

Best time to write: usually when i'm caffeinated and have had a nap. fully restored and ready to shift into Focus Mode babey.

Are you like your muse: while i can def relate to his struggles with intense anxiety and all the incredibly inconvenient ways that it manifests, i'm not a lot like pepp. which has proven to be a fun writing challenge, tbh! i enjoy trying to get into the heads of characters with their own set of morals and beliefs separate of my own, try to understand why they think and act like they do.

tagged by: @crvptd said do, so i do tagging: u

#;out for delivery [ ooc ] #;mun #;meme response

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

On The Unwinding Golden Thread, would you spoil some of your ideas about what happens after the end?

What I'm asking is like a meta of the fic where you make your own predictions, from an external perspective. Maybe it's a weird question...

Anon is referring to "The Unwinding Golden Thread", a fic I wrote ages ago. Infamously, I made vague promises of a sequel then never did it.

I guess this is me throwing in the towel and admitting I will very likely never do it. Which is too bad, would have been a great sequel, but my readers would have killed me.

As for the meta of my own fics... that's actually been a growing thing. I dunno man, it's a thing I apparently do now.

The Story You're Not Getting

For those who don't remember, things weren't going so well where we left off.

Nuclear war broke out, Tom was hit by something lethal, and ended up choosing to kill himself so that Harry and his horcrux might be propelled into the future. Harry didn't see that one coming.

And that's where the sequel would have picked up.

What happens to Tom? Who knows. Most likely his undying soul is in agony, still alive as the horcrux is somewhere, but unable to regain a body/with no real self awareness.

He might, perhaps, get himself a body via the philosopher's stone, wherever that is, but then he's immortal living in the zombie apocolypse. Tom gets to live in Mad Max desperately hoping that he can dimension/timeline hop to wherever Harry is which must be a beautiful paradise where everything is right with the world.

Good luck with that, Tom.

But we never find out what happens to him one way or another, his story is over.

Harry's, however, isn't.

Harry finds himself propelled back to 1996 but everything's changed. He's now in his twenties, he gained and lost the best friend he ever had (and did not wish to acknowledge), and now he finds that he doesn't fit into the world he left.

He physically does not look anything like what he used to, to the point where being in Hogwarts is embarrassing (a lie is made up in that Harry has aged so much due to an accident during the Department of Mystery fiasco, which is mostly true).

He finds he's outgrown Hermione and Ron. What they care about seems so pointless to him, they're so young, and everyone's going around talking like they know what war is when they still have their homes, their families, and still feel secure attending Hogwarts.

And Harry knows, a few years ago, he would have been right there with them. He sees the worst of himself in his peers and friends.

He tries all the same, though, because this is everything he ever wanted. He's back! He has his friends! He can defeat Voldemort! ISN'T THIS GREAT?!

People assume he's upset because Sirius died (and he is but... not nearly as much as he should be because he hasn't seen Sirius in years and he doesn't need a father the way he did back then). He hates himself for not being upset that Sirius died.

He speaks sparingly of what happened, no one has any idea that he became friends with Tom, which makes things weird when people talk about him and Harry sits there knowing that Tom Riddle didn't have to become Voldemort. That he could have been a good and shockingly noble person (Harry really romanticizes that suicide).

The only one that understands, the only thing he has left of Tom, is the diary.

Harry starts using it.

Meanwhile, he finds that Dumbledore is very different from how he remembered. Harry is a grown man who has been to war, he doesn't need to go to Hogwarts, but Dumbledore is insisting he does, giving him no information, and instead asking Harry fetch a memory from Slughorn and watch Tom Riddle growing up (which is painful as it is bizarre because these are such shallow looks at Tom Riddle's life). Dumbledore starts saying things Harry flat out doesn't agree with: Tom Riddle was born evil and doomed to be evil. And when Harry argues against it, Dumbledore starts getting weird.

Meanwhile, Harry's getting very weird and very gay about Tom Riddle. He and that diary are getting increasingly homoerotic (Harry, of course, has no idea).

Eventually, the horcrux bomb is dropped and Harry realizes exactly what the diary is. The diary notes Tom's theory that, perhaps, the diary can be used to pull Tom in from the other world.

But the diary would need much more power and a body besides.

Harry realizes he's going to have to murder someone to get Tom back. Further, he's going to have to leave school to destroy this world's Tom Riddle himself.

He tries to decide between Draco Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew. Malfoy's closer at hand and more... personal. Harry remembers the last time there was a spy crawling around that Harry refused to do anything about. He remembers what Tom said to him about it, that Harry blew off, WELL NOW IT'S LOOKING LIKE TOM WAS RIGHT IN RETROSPECT.

Harry will never quietly tolerate someone he knows is a spy ever again.

Harry forces Draco to use the diary

The Diary regains a body and, being quite evil, gloats. Tom Riddle from the other world never returns, the diary reveals that Harry himself is a horcrux and that this was why the other Tom killed himself and the only hope to bring him back, and Harry realizes that something else must be done about this world's Voldemort.

That Harry can never kill him without killing himself and thus leaving Tom in some other world to suffer unending, immortal, agony as a spirit with no body in some hellscape.

Conclusion

Aren't you glad I didn't write it?

#ask #anon #the unwinding golden thread #spoilers

[elisela]

tell your secrets stallison, college au, friends to lovers day 13: secret

“Tell me a secret,” Allison says. “It feels like a good night for those.”

It’s just past midnight and uncomfortably hot in the still night, stars twinkling above them as they lay back on the hood of Stiles’ Jeep. She’d insisted on putting a blanket between them and the metal, and every time she moves she feels herself slip down another half-inch. 

“I was the one that ate your Cheetos last week,” he says, and she grins up at the endless sky. 

“I already knew that, it doesn’t count.”

“Does too, you only suspected. You also accused Danny.”

“Well, I knew it was one of you, but fine.” There’s a loose thread on the hem of her tank top and she wraps it around her fingernail before unwinding it slowly. Ask me, she thinks. In the dark, she might find the courage to be honest. But Stiles falls silent for once in his life, fingers brushing the outside of her thigh every time he fidgets, never noticing the way it makes her shiver. “We should probably go back. Twenty-one or not, you know Dad’s still one of those ‘as long as you live in my house’ people and he hates if I’m out too late.”

“Ten more minutes,” Stiles says. “We still haven’t seen any shooting stars.”

She rolls her head to study him in the weak light of the moon, but doesn’t protest. She could always use another chance for a wish.

--

Stiles comes around to her side of the booth the second Scott and Kira leave, sighing loudly. “That’s a new low, even for us,” he says, stealing her cup and taking a long drink. She pokes him in the stomach in retaliation. “Especially for you, though.”

She doesn’t care. She hadn’t wanted to date Scott anyway, it doesn’t matter to her that he left with Stiles’ date. Anyone who’s seen Scott and Kira interact could have predicted it would happen sooner or later. “Maybe you should stop trying to set me up with your nerdy friends, then.”

He throws his head back and groans. “Scott’s the least nerdy of all of us.”

“I’m the least nerdy of all your friends,” she corrects, and he laughs.

“Yeah, but I can’t set you up with you.”

“I don’t want to be set up!” she says, wrestling her cup away from him and finishing what remains. There’s a pout on his face; she wants to lean over and kiss him. “Tell me a secret,” she says instead. 

Stiles fingers drum on the booth for a moment. “You remember that party you had in junior year?”

Allison hates this story. “Of course I remember it, you didn’t stop talking about how you lost your virginity in my guest room for months.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “I stole the condom from your Dad’s nightstand.”

She throws a french fry in his face. “That’s disgusting.”

He snaps his teeth but it hits him square in the nose. “Your turn, Ally-bee.”

“I used to fantasize about your dad,” she lies, and he mimes gagging, slapping at her leg. “When he’d come over in uniform to pick you up—” she breaks into giggles as he gives up slapping to make sure stop and digs his fingers into her ribs instead, pressing so close that all she’d have to do is turn her cheek to kiss him. “Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop!”

---

“Can you believe we graduate tomorrow?”

Allison picks a piece of confetti off her skirt. “At least you have grad school,” she says, letting it fall from her hand and onto the ground. “I have to start being a real adult.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just tell your dad you want a business degree and he’ll throw more money at you.” She kicks gently at his ankle, and he grins. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I want to go up to the lookout for one more sunset before we leave this place.”

“Stop being so dramatic, you’re leaving the school, not the town,” she laughs. “You’re even staying in the same apartment.”

“Are you coming with me or not?” he asks, but he’s already pulling her up like he knows she’d never say no. 

Stiles keeps the music on while they drive, and she watches out the window, catching glimpses of their younger selves in every place they pass. The taco trunk they’d go to every time they got too drunk on fraternity row, the mini-mart across from her freshman dorm where they’d stock up on snacks for study sessions. The coffee shop they’d loved in high school, the bowling alley they’d gone to every Saturday night in middle school, the library where they’d met as children. She’s so caught up in her memories that she hardly notices when they reach the lookout and Stiles pulls his backpack out of the back of the Jeep.

“Follow me,” he says, leading her to a small trail cut into the bushes. She grasps his hand when he reaches back even though he’s the clumsier of the two, and soon enough he cuts off the trail, pulling her along until the trees part and they reach a small clearing on top of a bluff. “Cool, huh? Danny told me how to find it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says, taking the blanket he’d pulled out of his backpack and shaking it out before letting it float to the ground. When he sits down next to her there’s a bottle of sparkling wine and two plastic cups in his hands. Stiles is surprisingly quiet, so she offers up the one thing that’s been weighing on her mind. “Dad asked how I’d feel about working in the New York office instead of here.”

“What’d you say?”

She shrugs, studying the way the pink streaks of clouds fade into soft peach near the horizon so she doesn’t look at his face and get her hopes up. “Told him I’d think about it.” They drink the wine while they talk, and Allison tries to draw it out in case it really is the last time, but she’s still finished just before the sun slips under the horizon. By the time the sky is dark they’ve shifted so they’re lying on their backs, ignoring the lights of the city spread out below them.

“Tell me a secret,” she says, playing with one of the strings on the hoodie he’d given her when she’d shivered.

“I’m in love with you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she rolls her head to look at him. He’s looking back at her, eyes a little too wide, more still than she’s ever seen him. She breathes out; there are only inches between them, and she reaches out her hand to cross the distance. “You’re in love with me?”

His hand closes over hers, pulling gently, arm coming up around her when she tilts into his space. “Can’t eat, can’t sleep, follow you across the country if I need to kinda love,” he says. “You just say the word. But if—”

She kisses him. Drops his hand and cups his cheek instead, fitting their mouths together like she has so many times in her daydreams. It’s so much sweeter than she’d ever imagined. “Yes,” she says, pulling back just enough to get the words out but not so far their lips aren’t brushing together. “To all of it. Everything. I’m in love with you too.”

also on ao3

#stallison #stiles stilinski #allison argent #college au #friends to lovers #eli writes #eli's january otp prompts

[submalevolentgrace]

i think a lot about the one of the stories of the game braid, the one written in the books at the start of each area

this man has the power to rewind his life, just a little, enough that he can undo any mistake me makes, any stupid thing he says to his love that upsets her. a story paralleling the game mechanic of rewinding the game to undo platforming mistakes and retrying until making the perfectly timed jump, and so on

so many times in my life i've craved that power, more when i was young and immature, less as time has gone on, but still.... to be able to rewind, just a few hours, maybe even minutes, so many things i could fix

but in the story, the most important part of it is that the man's partner knows he can do this, i can't remember how she knows, but she's aware of it, aware that her perfect relationship and his perfect love is the result of an uncountable number of mistakes and dead timelines she can't witness, she can't even know how many of them there are, all she sees is the perfection at the end

and she hates him for it,and it ruins their relationship, and no amount of unwinding can fix it, because it's the whole relationship, it's always been lies and deception all the way down, him living in a private world of mistakes and failures he never wants her to see, but she hates him for it

she doesn't really know who he is, only a meticulously crafted persona that he allows her to see, and she hates him for it

and when you couple it with some of the game mechanics, that certain meta puzzles become permanently locked off one you make certain progress in the main puzzles of the game

i think it says that you just have to live within your mistakes, the unintended consequences of your actions, and hope that it all turns out okay, right? because life and love don't silently freeze when you fuck up, and wait for you to rewind time; you don't even die and respawn. you just, fuck up and keep going. you have to. the guy rewinding time to be the perfect boyfriend is a metaphor for living honestly, right? even if sometimes in that honesty you do the wrong thing? say the wrong thing? if i could rewind the conversation back to before i said anything, when we were just sitting in open honesty, and i could just stop myself from saying things that made you regret opening up at all.... would that make it better? or is it better that we sit in the regret, and move forward anyway, and weather it together, as honestly as we can?

i don't know, and based on the themes of braid and also the witness, i suspect there's not supposed to be a definitive answer in there, just the question and some perspectives for us to ponder

that's my takeaway at least, of one of the many story threads woven throughout the game braid

but instead the analysis of the stories of the game are all like.... woah what if the princess is actualy.... nuclear bomb??? woahhhhhhh because i think Gamers™ are generally pretty adverse to the concept of art

#dont even get me started on the witness #and how badly people miss the fucking point of a big chunk of it