#felix bode

[thunderstruck9]

Felix Bode (British, 2002), Aeroplane Window II, 2024. Oil on canvas, 150 x 200 cm.

[muirneach]

wait if i read the bracket right. are we deigned for felix daniil r16. terrible….

[mmuffncakes]

i meant to post this a while ago. but this is roughly my personal favourites (or most intense) pieces of the year. three whole months i DIDNT draw (or if i did they were just doodles and i was trying to find stuff that was more than just a sketch) things i know ive improved on: hands. anatomy. colors. things i know i still need to improve on: movement. my own patience when it comes to rendering. exploring other pens/linework options.

here's hoping i can get more art done in 2024 as a whole

[fairymint]

I need a Grape for a burrito I'm making.

~ Clint

"What, is this motherfucker copying me now, too...?" A bit of instant irritation under his breath; Clint is a....interesting and different kind of guy. Self-serving, always attempting to call attention to himself verbally..... But never willing to earn it. Does he get that he's not earning it?

And, it seemed, whenever someone did something 'cool', especially around Emily, Clint had to copy it, or one up it, or something. Still, the man isn't horrible....but he's clearly not ready for any kind of real relationship. Felix still can't help to hold it in; don't be mean. Be nice.

"Why just raw grapes, though? You might as well go for artisan jam, if you're going to go that far..." That part he might bring up upon delivery- not that a single word will sink in given the fact that he's a guy.

[seraphinitegames]

Okay So In love I am. Once again I’m struggling STRUGGLING to actually stick to a route. So I have to rank them lol.

1.Mason

2.Felix is tied with Adam

3.Our lovely Villain

4. Nate

5. love triangle .

Was only disappointed chapter 2 ended right when it did because that comfort was giving me life after hurting them. I. Love it.🥰

The pics are just errors or little things I noticed in the villain route.

I LOVE how the villain is ranking at third place when there's only been a small moment with them so far...that bodes well, hehe! ;D

Chapter 2 had a whole bunch of places where I wasn't sure to end it, but that angsty ending is just something I couldn't resist leaving it at, hehe! :D

Thank you so much for the message, and for those catches, I've edited those in! <3

[skzdarlings]

part i: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the next decade.

Companion series to my sharing the bed one-shot. Follows the relationship between reader&felix from beginning to end. It will be a multi-part series.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.

-

One of your father’s disgruntled bodyguards shoves you for walking too slowly.  You have enough tenacity to glare at him when you stumble, but even at fourteen years old you are smart enough refrain from retaliation.   You know your father will not take your side as you are already in trouble for sneaking out last night.  You met with some school friends and attended a house party like a normal fourteen year old, a punishable offence because your life is anything but normal. 

You just hope this punishment is a physical one.  A few smacks might sting but you’ll get over it, whereas you don’t want to lose your already limited phone or computer privileges. 

You walk into your father’s office with the expectation you will be alone, so you stop short when you see the back of a stranger’s head. 

Your father’s guests are usually suited old men or pretty young women, not a beanie-wearing teenage boy.  He’s kicking his legs like he’s in an ice cream parlour and not in a chair across from one of the most powerful men in the country.  Your father is behind his desk, hands steepled and attention determinedly fixed on you.  Punishment time is the only time his attention is so rapt. 

The door closes behind you, the guard outside slamming it shut.  The boy in the chair looks over his shoulder at you.  He has a soft face, much too soft for a place like this, his cheeks sweetly freckled and mouth like a pretty pink bow.  He has dark eyes, his eyebrows the same shade of dark brown.  His hair has been dyed a strawberry blonde, bangs sweeping out from under the beanie.  He has to flick them out of his eyes as he looks you over.  

You stare at him.  A change in routine does not bode well for you and this is a massive change. 

The boy just smiles.  It is disarming in its sweetness and it petrifies you.  You know how to behave when an ugly brute glares at you but a pretty boy smiling is unnerving. 

Your father clears his throat.  You and the boy both look his way, the boy dropping his gaze in a subservient way while you glare. 

“Daughter,” your father says coolly.  He gestures to the free chair beside the boy. 

Some days, when you are feeling especially petulant or when your father is distracted with his phone even while meting out punishment, you will stomp your foot and refuse him.  Maybe it is your stunned bemusement, but today you oblige without argument. 

Your gaze drifts to the boy as you approach your seat.  The boy does not look at you.

He looks like a normal teenage boy, wearing a hoodie under a flannel and blue jeans ripped at the knee, but you know better.  There is always a flaw and this one is immediately jarring: his shoes are army regulation boots, the same as your father’s guards, albeit smaller.  You have no idea why he would need them.  He looks about your age and is a slender, delicate thing. 

“Sit,” your father says.   You realize you have standing there, staring.  You look at your father and obey, sinking into the other chair.  “Good.”  Your father folds his hands on his desk.  “My loving daughter,” he says dryly, “It has occurred to me that your present circumstances are not the most conducive to your development and well-being.”

You cannot help but scoff.  Talk about understatement of the century.   

The security teams?  The constant surveillance? The knowledge that your wealthy father has accrued so many enemies that you can barely step outside without feeling threatened?

The fact you desperately want something bad to happen, because at least it would be different than the bad in here? 

Your father just frowns.

“Don’t test my patience,” he says.  “Especially as I have constructed a compromise according to your whims, young lady.” 

Your brow furrows.  You have no idea where this is going but you know you won’t like it, because you never like it. 

“I only want what’s best for you,” your father says.  “You’re my daughter, after all.  My only child and my only heir.  I want you protected but I want you capable, and you can’t be expected to thrive with the company of my men constantly surrounding you.” 

Your heart kicks up with hope even while your brain knows better.  Your father is not a generous man and he is clever with his words.  There is a reason he has reached the heights he has reached.  No one is better than your father and your father settles for no less than the best in turn. 

You are an agonizing disappointment, but you lash out because you would be a disappointment regardless.  Your father does not want a human daughter but a plastic doll that he can lock away until it has use, at which point he expects unending gratitude for your very existence.    

This might sound like a concession of freedom but you know him better than that.  The vice is tightening, not loosening.  You will never be free. 

“I have a gift for you,” your father says.  “This is Felix.” 

You and the boy, Felix, look at each other.  Felix smiles again.  He has the audacity to wave at you, a little salute and cutesy tip of the head. 

Your nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath.  You look at your father. 

“What is this?” you ask, so much wrong with this scenario that you don’t know where to start.

Your father smiles for the first time since you walked in the room.  He needs to be in the position of highest power and that is obtained through making everyone else small.  The more visibly uncomfortable you are, the more at ease he feels.  He slouches comfortably in his big chair as he stares you down.  You feel trapped in the little seat across his desk.    

“This,” your father says, “is your new bodyguard.” 

You look at Felix again.  He is once more looking at your father like an obedient little puppy.  It’s for the best as you are certain your expression is betraying every single thought.  You are angry, confused, frightened.  The confusion worsens your other emotions. 

“Bodyguard,” you repeat.  “He looks like he’s twelve.” 

“I’m fourteen,” Felix says, startling you with a deep voice that does not remotely match his face.  The rounder sounds are accented with an Australian twang.   “Same as you.” 

You look at each other again.  You hide your confusion under a piercing glare.  Felix draws his mouth into a flat line, not quite smiling, not quite frowning.   He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair, a mismatched rhythm, some song only he can hear.   His leg bounces. 

You look at your father. 

“Fourteen,” you say.  “And short.  And skinny.  Look at him!  I could throw him out a window!”

“You could try,” your father says, drole.  “You wouldn’t succeed.  Oh, hush.”  He swipes a hand through the air when you open your mouth to speak again.  “Felix is more than competent, believe me.”  

Your father would not hire a second rate bodyguard, but there is simply no way this Felix kid is good for anything.  You just can’t believe it.  This is a test of some kind, maybe a mind game. 

Your hackles are up and they won’t come down.  Felix flicks some hair out of his eyes and the motion makes you jump.  He doesn’t comment.  He clears his throat and sits a little straighter, looking like every goody-two-shoes keener you ever gave a sneer. 

“You will no longer require a full security detail,” your father says.  “Not at home or at school.  No where, barring certain occasions under my discretion.”   

This has your heart racing again.  Currently, your father has guards posted in several places around your school.  No one but the school administrators know they are for you, but that doesn’t matter because you know.  You know they are not general security, that they are specifically watching your every move.  If you skip a meal or eat too much, they know.  If you talk to one person and not another, they know.  If you forget to do homework or flunk a test, they know.  If you put on more make-up or roll up your skirt, they know.  If you fall, if you laugh, if you flirt, if you breathe a little too hard, they know, and they report it all back to your father. 

It doesn’t end there.  They keep you on a schedule for your “protection” and if you stray from that agenda, they are on you.  That means no chatting too long after class, no extended bathroom breaks, no stopping to smell a fucking flower.  In the car, out the car, through the doors, at your seat, at your locker, upstairs, downstairs, fuck, fuck, fuck.  How you’ve lasted this long, not even you know. 

You spend all day suffocating under the extension of your father’s eyes, then you return home, flanked by bodyguards, only to be stuck with supervision until you are finally permitted to go to bed.  Naturally, this is the easiest time to escape so you are in the habit of breaking out at night.  You’re good at it too.  Most nights you move without any detection, having memorized all the chinks in the mansion’s high-tech security armor.  Last night was the result of some bad luck. 

Now you are here, your heart racing, your breath catching. 

It must be a trick.  You look at Felix then your father, trying to hide your eagerness and your suspicion. 

“In exchange, you will have Felix,” your father says.  “He will attend school with you as a classmate.  He is in all your classes and extra-curriculars.  You are to keep him with you at all times of day.  He will accompany you everywhere at all times of day.”  Your father leans in.  “Do you understand that?  At all times of day.”   

It does not sound too different from the security team other than the obvious fact there is only one of Felix.  Even if Felix is the most skilled bodyguard in the world, he is still just one person.   It seems too good to be true so it must be.   Your father is waiting until you are comfortable so he can rip the rug out from under you, to put you in your place, which is flat on your back like a stupid, helpless, needy baby.    

You will not give him the satisfaction.  Curtly, you say, “I understand.”

“Good,” your father says.  “I’m having a new bed installed in your bedroom as we speak.  It should be ample space for two people without your privacy being overly encroached.  When you get home, you will clear a space for Felix to move his things into your room.” 

Despite your effort to remain neutral, obvious surprise blinks across your face. 

“Wait, what?” you ask, darting forward in your seat.  “What are you talking about?”

Your father tips his head as if perplexed with your outburst. 

“Did you think you were getting away with something?” he asks.  “Constantly sneaking out at night, evading my men.  Do you know every time you pull a childish stunt like that, it endangers me and my business just as much as you?”

Your anger bubbles to the surface as quickly as his, cold laughter punching out of you as you say, “Oh! Your business!  Of fucking course!”

“Don’t use vulgar language with me, child!”

“Don’t call me a child!” you snap back with as much fervour.  “I’m fourteen years old!  I’m not a little kid and I don’t need some other idiot kid babysitting me!  I don’t need anyone fucking watching me!” 

Felix is sitting ramrod straight, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father.  He says nothing.  He just sniffs and scratches a little circle on the exposed skin of his knee. 

“You are my daughter, this is my house, and I will do with both as I please,” your father says. 

“Then maybe I don’t want to be in this house!” you shout. 

“You want to leave?” your father asks.  He smacks a vicious hand down on his desk, rattling his computer.  “Go ahead.  Pick yourself up and walk out that door.  Where are you going to go from here?  You have no money and no skills and no protection.  See how long it takes someone to pick you up off the street.  You don’t want to be my daughter?  You want me to ignore you when they put a gun to your head?  The least they will do is kill you, you stupid little thing.  But go on, since you’re so wise and brave and all grown-up.  Walk out that door.  I dare you.”      

You sit on the very edge of your seat, your hands balled into fists.  You long to swing them at his smug face but you can only sit there, vibrating with rage. 

“Do you have something more to say?” your father asks. 

You kick his desk, the adrenaline forcing it out of you.  He smacks a mug and it smashes on the floor.  Felix still does not react, though his gaze does linger on the broken mug. 

“What about him!” you shriek, pointing at Felix.  It draws his attention back to you, his eyebrow lifting at your pointed finger.  “You’re going to leave me alone with a boy?  In bed?”  You imbue this exclamation with all the suggestive horror you can.  “I can’t share a room with a boy!  What if he’s a pervert!   What if he takes pictures of me!  What if he rapes me!  You really trust some random boy to be alone with me?!”

The silence that follows is somehow more shrill than the yelling.  Your father stares at you, resolutely focussed with such a cold glare that you shiver. 

Felix shuffles in his seat.  His mouth opens and he looks contemplative, weighing his words, but your father speaks before he can. 

“Felix,” he says, “put your hand on the desk.” 

Felix delays only seconds, more surprised by the order than reluctant.  He obediently rests his hand on the desk, palm facing up. 

Without looking away from you, your father grabs that hand and flips it over.  Felix jerks, his feet planting, but he manages to restrain whatever instinct rattled him.  He looks at his hand, at where your father pins it to the wood. 

You look there too, fuming, then you look at your father.  He is still glaring at you, even when he reaches into his desk.  Your brow furrows when he retrieves an enveloper opener, a sleek little knife, shiny and sharp.  He smacks it onto the table beside Felix’s hand.  It makes you jump.    

Felix just looks at the knife, tipping his head as if only mildly curious.   

“Felix,” your father says. “Pick up that knife.”  He leans back in his desk chair and crosses his arms, his expression bland and uncaring as he looks at you.  You shake less from fury than fear, looking from your father to Felix. 

Felix picks up the knife with his free hand.  He looks at it, his expression revealing nothing. 

“Thank you,” your father says. 

He has not looked away from you even once, asserting his knowledge that Felix will obey without his supervision.  You try to be as steadfast as him.  You act like you couldn’t care less about the unknown boy and his freckles and beanie.  This is between you and your father.  You glare just as fiercely.  

“Now, Felix,” your father says, “I am going to count down from three, then you are going to drive that knife into your hand.  All the way through to the desk.  I trust you know the spot that will do the least lasting damage.” 

Your gaze whips from your father to Felix, staring at him wide-eyed as the stupid boy doesn’t even flinch.  He just turns the knife over.  His brow briefly pinches as he rests the tip of the knife against a soft spot on the back of his hand. 

Your horrified brain is already several paces ahead, picturing his bloodied hand pinned to the wooden desk.  You taste bile and it is only partially for the gore.  The rest is for the fact Felix does nothing more than blink at his hand. 

“Three,” your father says.  “Two.” 

You scream, “Stop!” at the same your father says, “One.”

You tackle Felix.  The adrenaline flies out of you the same as that kick.  The knife clatters to the desk and both your chairs fly out from under you. 

Felix is fast.  He flips you around so he takes the brunt of the fall, your head pillowing on his stomach when you land in a tangled heap on the floor.  His beanie falls off when his head hits the ground.  He barely winces, looking down at you. 

You stare back at him, breathing hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you ask.  Tears fill your eyes, much to your horror.  You try to suck them in because there is nothing you hate more than crying in front of your father.   You don’t even know what is prompting the tears.  Maybe it’s the forced recollection of how thoroughly his guards have invaded your life, the revelation that you will be forced to share every living moment with another intruder, or the fact he almost maimed a fourteen year old boy just to make a point. 

Or, maybe, the fact you fell for it like you always do.  Just a stupid little girl, high in her emotions, vulnerable and weak and in need of intervention. 

You push away from Felix, directing all your emotions at him. 

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” you say, spitting when you talk.  “What did you think you were doing?  Freak.  Do you think you’re brave?  You’re an idiot.”

Felix props himself up on his elbows, just staring back at you.  His gaze flicks up when your father stands.  That awful man circles the desk to look down at you. 

You refuse to look up.  You wipe your arm under your nose.  Tears blur your vision.

“Felix,” your father says, “there is a car waiting outside.  Take my daughter home.  She is not to leave the house tonight.” 

You wrench your arm away when Felix tries to help you up.  He says nothing to your glare but at least he’s smart enough not to smile again.  He gets up and dusts off his pants, then retrieves his beanie.   You clamber to your feet and march toward the door without looking back or waiting.  Only when your hand is on the doorknob does your father call your name. 

You freeze, wanting so badly to ignore him and storm outside, but once the coldness settles in your veins you cannot move. 

“Come here,” your father says.  As if under a spell, you can only move when he demands it.  You turn, facing him as he approaches.   You hold still, your eyes full of tears and fists curled at your side. 

Your father walks up and swiftly strikes you across the face.  Tears spill over and you grab your cheek, heaving with frightened breath as your useless new bodyguard just stands there and watches. 

Your father sighs. 

“You’ll learn,” he says.  “One way or another.  If I have to chip at you with an axe until you take my shape, I’ll do it.  You’ll thank me one day.  Felix.  Take her home.  Now.” 

You let Felix take your arm and guide you out of the room, too drained to fight him.   

-

You refuse to be accommodating.  If you’re unhappy then you will make Felix unhappy too, and if Felix is unhappy then maybe he will leave.  Then your father will be unhappy and you finally won’t be.     

You glare at the massive new bed taking up space in your room.  It is still a big room otherwise, with plenty of space for two people, but your things are spread out everywhere and you have no intention of moving them.  Instead, you empty out a single bedside drawer and point to it. 

“There,” you say.  “That’s yours.”

Felix is standing in the bedroom doorway wearing a backpack.  He looks around the room, not sneering at its lacey, ivory princess-ness but not looking too enamoured either.  He is passive as ever, quietly receiving his surroundings.  He closes the door behind himself and shrugs the backpack down to the crease of his elbow. 

“Kk,” he says.  He puts his backpack on the floor by the bed then takes off his beanie and puts it in the drawer.  He sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap.  He stares at the wall. 

What a weirdo. 

You stare at him until he looks at you, then you scoff and roll your eyes.  You dump your things on your desk and stalk over to your private bathroom door.   

“Can I go pee without your supervision, or do you need to hold my hand?” you ask sarcastically. 

“I don’t need to,” Felix says, “but, uhhh, I guess I can if you need help.  But if you have a problem with doing it by yourself then we should probably take you to a doctor.  I know first aid but I can’t really help with incontinence or like the opposite. Lol.” 

He says the word lol out loud, a single grating syllable.  You do not dignify his weird humour with a response.  You stomp into your bathroom and slam the door shut.   

There are bars on the bathroom window now.  You grab the nearest bottle of soap and chuck it there, furious when tears spring back to your eyes.  You feel violated even in your privacy, glaring at those bars as you shower and wash away the day. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror, touching where your cheek feels tender from your father’s strike.  He usually doesn’t hit your face or anywhere someone could see swelling or a cut.  You suppose today’s slap was more personal than strategic.

You put on a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants.  When you step back into your room, the weirdo is standing at the window with his hands behind his back.  He is wearing just his ripped jeans and a t-shirt, plus those ugly army boots.  He looks at you when you open the door, giving you a brief assessing stare before he smiles. 

It would disarm someone more naïve.  You just glare. 

“Where are your things?” you ask. 

He tips his head like an inquisitive cat.  “Huh?” he asks.

“Your things,” you say venomously.  “Aren’t you moving them in here?” 

“Uh, I did,” he says.  He turns and points to his side of the bed.  “You gave me a drawer, remember?”

This kid unpacked a beanie. 

Maybe it’s a good sign he isn’t fully moving in.  Maybe this whole charade is just your father threatening you.  He will torture you with this invader until he thinks you have learned a lesson, then things will go back to normal.  Felix probably isn’t even a proper bodyguard, and how could he be?  A skinny, pretty fourteen year old boy?  He’s probably an actor or model or something. 

You give him a derisive smirk and shove past him.  He just shrugs and approaches the bathroom door, pausing before entering.  He looks back at you.

“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” he says, then walks into the bathroom and closes the door. 

You exhale sharply.  You had no intention of going anywhere, honestly too exhausted to do anything but putter around on the computer, but fuck this kid.  He’s your father’s paid actor or some other nonsense, so who does he think he is to give you any orders? 

You storm out of the room with the intention of marching around outside, but you stumble when you enter the upstairs corridor.  

The huge house is eery in its silence.  You shudder as you look around.  

Even when your father is not home, the security team is here.  Someone is always awake, at least one person keeping guard in the corridor, the rest of them scattered in the house and guest house.  But they’re gone.  They’re all genuinely gone.  And because it is late evening, all the housekeepers and cleaners are gone too.  You have not been in a house this empty your entire life.  It feels uncanny, ghostly even.  It completely halts your half-baked plan to leave, not that you planned on going much further than the pool-house.

You stand still, suspended in the unfamiliar emptiness.    

“Whatcha doin’?”  Felix’s freaky deep voice is suddenly right beside you.  You jump away from with a startled squeak.  He just stands there, his mouth in that stupid flat line, his shaggy blonde hair bouncing when he tips his head. 

“Nothing,” you snap, annoyed that he scared you.  “I’m just going to the kitchen for a snack.  Is that against the fucking law now?”    

“It’s not really healthy to eat this late at night,” Felix says, “but it’s not illegal.  That would be weird.”

“I hate you,” you say.  His even temperament has been driving you insane, so it is satisfying to see a flicker of genuine surprise on his face.  “Just leave me alone.” 

“Sorry,” he says, recovering quickly.  His voice is steady.  “Can’t do that.  Sort of my job, you know?”

You roll your eyes then turn and stomp all the way down the stairs.  Felix trails behind you without protest, not making much noise despite the boots but he is impossible to ignore regardless. 

You go to the kitchen and open the fridge.  You aren’t hungry but you feel like you have to eat something now just to prove a point.  

Felix ambles up to the counter and perches himself on a stool.  You look over your shoulder at him.  He waves. 

“I’m not making you anything,” you snap. 

“That’s fine.”  He folds his hand on the counter.  “I’m not hungry.  Thank you.” 

You reach into the fridge and grab an eggplant out of the produce drawer.  It is a ridiculous response, but you decide to out-weird the weirdo, making eye contact as you bite in the raw eggplant.  You try to hide your displeasure, chewing the thick vegetable slowly.  Felix tips his head very far then straightens.  His eyes narrow. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s toxic,” he says. 

You stop chewing. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “Eggplant, yeah.  I think when it’s raw it’s like not good for you or something?  I think there’s like a chemical in it.  Maybe it’s only if you eat a lot of it, uhhh, I don’t know.  Just in case, I wouldn’t eat it like that if I were you.” 

You stare at him with a chunk of raw eggplant still on your tongue.  He could be bluffing.  He could be playing mind games.  He could be telling the truth, since he delivered each sentence so uncertainly.  Maybe he’s just bad at mind games.  You’re good at them.  You’ve been playing them since you were a child, so you just stare him down, swallow the eggplant, then take another bite. 

His brow furrows.  You are pretty sure your displeasure is a little more obvious now, your mouth partially open as you chew.   Felix did not balk at stabbing his own hand but he looks very scandalized right now.   You consider it a success. 

“Stop it,” Felix says. 

You take another bite, ripping into it with a ferocious tear. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.  “What? Are you trying to commit suicide by eggplant?”

You just shrug, chewing with your mouth wide open now.   His stool scrapes the ground and you brace yourself, shuffling in the opposite direction when he circles the kitchen island. 

“Spit it out,” he says. 

“No,” you say, spitting eggplant as you say it.  You very nearly choke. 

“Seriously,” Felix says.  “This isn’t funny.” 

You chew obnoxiously big in his direction and he pounces, smoothly intercepting your escape.   He cages you in against the counter, blocking you when you try to move. You drop the rest of the eggplant and push at him, dribbling mushy vegetable and cursing through your mouthful. 

“Spit. It. Out,” he says, putting his hand under your mouth like a mother to a baby.  You shove that hand away, then try to shove his face away.  He clearly doesn’t want to get too physical with you, but eventually he grabs your chin and holds you still, your face pinched in his hand.   You stare at him, breathing hard through your nose.  “Stop it,” he says. 

The house is empty.  The house is genuinely, seriously, completely empty.   Your father trusts Felix that much. 

Who is this fucking kid? 

You spit the eggplant at him.  It spatters on his shirt and wins you an eye roll.  It’s the first expression from him to make you smile. 

“Bed time,” he says, stepping back to brush the mess off his shirt. 

You cross your arms and lean against the counter.  “No,” you say. 

“No?” he asks.  His deep voice fractures with a higher-pitched sound of surprise.   “Why not?” 

Because you hate your father and everything he puts you through.  Because petty victories are your only victories.  Because there is something seriously wrong with Felix if this is his life situation, and there is something seriously wrong with you for the same reason. 

So you shrug.  “Make me,” you say. 

There is a beat of silence.

Then the world is upside down because Felix picks you up and slings you over his shoulder.  You cry out, slapping his back as he marches to the stairs.  Where is he even hiding this strength? 

“Put me down!”  You pound on his backside while he carries you up the stairs.  “When my father hears about this—”

He puts you down on the landing, swinging up a step to afford him an extra foot of height over you.  He holds your wrist in his hand and looks at you very seriously. 

“What?” he asks.  “When he hears about me doing my job?” 

You try to tug your hand back but Felix holds it tight.

“Are you serious right now?” you ask.  You continue to squirm your hand in his grip.  “Who the fuck are you?  What do you even get out of this?” 

“What do you get out of this - this - everything?” he asks.  

“I get my life,” you snap.  “In pieces and only for a little bit, but mine.”

“Me too,” he says. 

A breathless silence follows.  You realize you are holding his hand, having twisted and turned so much that he clasped your fingers with his.   You both look there then at each other.  You abruptly let go. 

“Can we go to bed?”  Felix asks, softening his voice.  “Please.” 

Your lower lip wobbles.  You look at the stain on his shirt.  You think about his hand on that desk. 

“And what about my other question?” you ask. 

He tips his head again, but his expression is no longer neutral.  He wears his confusion openly, briefly but substantially. 

“What?” he asks. 

“My other question,” you say, blinking back your tears.  “Who are you?” 

“You tell me first,” he says.  “Who are you?” 

It’s easier to fight and scream than plainly express yourself.  No one ever listens, so you are not practiced.  You have Felix’s undivided attention but it suddenly feels like too much.  You do not have it in you to glare anymore.  You meet his pained gaze with your own and join him on the next step. 

“I’m tired,” you say.  “Let’s go to bed.” 

He goes to check the security system while you get ready for bed.  You are already nestled under the covers, shivering despite the thick layers because the house sounds so quiet and you are honestly scared.  You jump when the door opens and Felix enters, your eyes meeting in the dim light.  He looks away first, going about his own routine.  You turn your back to him. 

The bed is big but you still feel it dip when he gets inside.  You look over your shoulder.  He is laying on his back with his eyes closed.  He is clearly still awake but the semblance of sleep accentuates the natural innocence of his face.  You have seen the flicker of a few deeper emotions, none of them childish, but he looks his age while laying there. 

His eyes open.  He glances at you.  You wonder what you look like to him. 

“Good night,” he says, shattering the terrifying silence. 

You don’t argue it.  You just nod then turn away, closing your eyes, letting the sound of his breathing lull you to sleep faster than usual. 

[seollem-tm]

Evil Author Day

Oh this sounds fun.

“Miss Granger?” a gentle voice startled her into nearly dropping the jar, and she spun back around to face the doorway. Although his face was cast in shadow, the dim lights of the corridor outlined his silhouette just enough for her to recognize the straight, prim posture and head tilted slightly to the side.

“P-Professor Riddle?” she gasped, heart stopping in her chest. He was an NPC, which were typically the ones who caught her breaking the rules and sent her spiraling into a bad end. The game’s police force, really.

“A bit of late night potion-brewing? That never bodes well,” he teased, stepping into the small space. She instinctively took another step back.

“No, I just thought…” she stammered, scrambling for an excuse and coming up with nothing. “I heard a noise and hid in here.”

“Hogwarts is the safest place on earth.” Another step toward her. “What have you to fear?”

“I-I dont know,” she backed up until her back hit the shelves behind her with a thunk, jars rattling.

His hand slowly reached toward her and she jumped when his fingers brushed the backs of her hands. Then he gently pried the jar from her hands, lifting it up to read the label.

“Ashwinder eggs?” he frowned, eyes hardening. “Don’t tell me you’re brewing a love potion, Miss Granger?”

“Of course not, that would be unethical.” Not to mention completely useless. Love potions were cheating, after all, and not an option in the game.

“Felix Felicis, then? Though, I doubt you need luck, with your grades,” he mused, gazing at the frozen eggs.

“Only someone as unlucky as me would be caught sneaking around the castle at night,” she joked, shrugging.

“You are sneaking, then?” His tone sharpened, and she began babbling.

“Figure of speech. I was only exploring, clearing my head after a study session.”

She paused, and looked up at him pleadingly.

“You won’t expel me, will you?” That was not an ending that would get her back to reality, she was certain of that.

“No, detention should do it,” he gave her a warm smile and the jar floated from his hand back up to the shelf. “Every night this week, seven sharp.”

[flightfoot]

I know you read a lot of fics, so maybe you'll be able to help me, please? Do you have any fic recs with trans Adrien or trans Felix?

There ain't a lot of Trans Felix fics yet, but there are over a hundred fics that feature Trans Adrien, it has its own tag! Here's two fics I have bookmarked (Sorry for not leaving reviews of them though, I gotta skedaddle).

Rocking the Cat-Eyes by @buggachat

“I like being a girl.” “That’s the alcohol talking,” Marinette snorted. “I’ve always been a li’l jealous,” Adrien admitted. “... Of what?” “That you get to be a girl,” Adrien murmured, “and I don’t.” — When Marinette and Adrien host Girls' Night at their apartment, Adrien is easily welcomed to attend as "one of the girls"... but has a bit too much to drink. Some drunken confessions are spilt, some assumptions are made, and most of all... Adrien is confused.

Hello, We Love You, Won't You Tell Us Your Name? by Inkworld

Adrien has been Chat Noir for all of six months when he realizes… well, he had never runaway before because the reality of looking like a teenage girl and supermodel would not bode well for him on the streets even with his fencing experience. But Chat Noir doesn’t get misgendered—though Adrien imagines he’d still feel safe enough with Plagg around even if he did. Adrien has been Chat Noir for all of six month when he decides that he only wants to be Chat Noir. The only creature in the whole wide world that has ever called him by his name, his real name, is Plagg anyway. He’s sure that his friends from school won’t miss him half as much as he’ll miss them (he’s wrong, of course). Adrien has been Chat noir for all of six months when he runs away from a mansion that has always been more of a prison than a home. He’s not expecting Ladybug to be so upset when the Agreste kid is announced missing.

And here's the Trans Adrien Agreste tag on AO3 for your perusal!

[farfromsugafanfic]

SKZ MTL Date A Capricorn

Genre: fluff, astrology

Warnings: none

A/N: Since the members' rising signs are not publicly known, I am basing this off of the rest of their charts.

Most

Jisung Seungmin Hyunjin Felix Minho Chan Changbin Jeongin

Least

Jisung's chart is pretty well aligned with having a partner that is a Capricorn sun. His Virgo sun complements a Capricorn sun as does his Pisces moon. I would not be surprised if his rising is water/earth as well. Plus, when Jisung is more subdued or anxious, the right Capricorn partner will be strong-willed and when a Capricorn steels themself to reality, Jisung's more sensitive moon can help them feel comfortable in vulnerability.

Also, a Virgo sun, Seungmin, and a Capricorn partner are likely to have similar goals in life and senses of humor. His Cancer moon complements a Capricorn sun but adds a bit more spice than other water signs since they are directly opposed cardinal signs. This is not necessarily bad (though it could be depending on the rest of the partner's chart, etc.) and could account for sarcastic exchanges that no one else can quite understand.

Hyunjin has a Pisces sun paired with a Virgo moon. This makes him a good match for a potential Capricorn sun partner. Similar to Jisung, their strengths and weaknesses would work well together. Hyunjin also has a couple of Taurus placements which bode well for a relationship with a Capricorn. I think the relationship would be a fairly content one with an expected, but not unmanageable amount of strife.

Out of the Virgos, Felix is least likely to seek out or vibe with a Capricorn partner. That's not to say the right one couldn't charm him, but with his Aries moon and a couple of Aquarius placements, he and a Capricorn partner both can be rather dominant personalities. While Felix is kind and sensitive, he has his ways and doesn't like deviating from them. A Capricorn can be a little more chaotic in some ways that would not vibe with the Aries brand of chaos.

Minho has a very Scorpio heavy chart which--as a complementary water sign--can work well with Capricorns. However, I've ranked him a bit lower since Capricorn and Scorpio are both very headstrong and determined. Their life goals may clash, but they are more likely to have a strong emotional connection and understanding for one another. If this emotional bond is strong enough, Minho and a Capricorn sun partner may work out beautifully. Though, it is a delicate balance and could easily tip the other way depending on the partner's chart.

Chan and Changbin both have medium to low overall compatibility with Capricorn suns. Out of the two, Chan is more compatible with a couple of water placements, and his Libra is somewhat hit or miss based on the individual Capricorn. Despite a couple of Taurus and other water sign placements, I ultimately think Changbin's Leo sun AND moon clash too much with a Capricorn sun. Essentially, they could be too much for one another. However, in rare circumstances, depending on the Capricorn's chart and Changbin's rising sign, there is a chance it could work out.

Jeongin's Aquarius sun and Leo moon simply make him a less-than-ideal match for most Capricorn suns. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, but unless Jeongin's rising sign is a strong Virgo, Capricorn, or Pisces, I do not see him ever having a successful long term romantic relationship with a Capricorn. There would be too much strife between them and likely an emotional disconnect necessary for a close romantic relationship.

[twoturtlesinabathtub]

Weskennedy Shenanigans

A sneak peek at my upcoming Weskennedy fic, Killing Time (because I’m a slut for titles with double meanings lol)

Is that Felix? Leon wondered. It looked as though the German man had acquired some new clothing. From this distance, it somewhat resembled a police uniform—which didn't make much sense, considering Felix's background.

Well, whatever. He'd seen much weirder clothes here before. Leon was sure the architect was on the lookout for his own generator to work on; still, he questioned why Felix didn't seem to be looking for objectives to complete.

Said question was answered when a low laugh sounded behind him and he felt a long slash split the skin of his back.

"Fuck!" he yelped, scrambling forward and away from the hit. He turned and saw a man who, from this short distance, certainly wasn't anyone he recognized. This guy was new. And that always meant bad news.

"You're not a Survivor." Leon staggered backwards from the apparent Killer.

"Well spotted," said the other man dryly. He then cocked his head slightly as he took in Leon's disheveled appearance. "You. I heard you were here. Finally, we're face-to-face."

Leon was doing his damnedest to keep from groaning from the pain. "You've heard of me, huh?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Indeed. Strange, though..." The Killer slowly flicked Leon's blood off his knife, a wicked looking thing that was longer than his forearm. "You seem to be from a time before mine, judging by the baby face. A rookie." The corner of his mouth tilted up in a grin, as if he found the term inordinately amusing.

"Well, if you know anything about me, then you'd know I managed to break into an Umbrella facility on my first day and kill plenty of nasty shit on the way."

"All on your own?" the other man tutted. "Or with help from our dear friend, Ms. Wong?"

Leon stiffened. "You know Ada?"

"Better than you. Much better." The Killer raised a brow. "You truly don't know who I am, do you?"

Leon didn't reply as he studied the stranger warily. He knew enough: that this man was the latest psychopath out to kill him and his friends. He knew he likely wouldn't make it out of this trial alive, not if the enemy was already familiar with him. Who knew how much information he had?

Might as well go out with a bang. Leon's hand began inching towards his back pocket, which held a flash grenade he'd crafted earlier.

The other man took immediate notice. "Really?" he drawled. "A grenade. Is that all you have?" He stalked closer, his footsteps almost completely silent. "You really are so young."

"Easy for a senior citizen to say," Leon shot back.

The other man stopped dead in his tracks. When he next spoke, his tone was low, ill-boding in a way that made the back of Leon's neck prickle. "This is the moment when you attempt to run," the Killer said evenly.

Leon didn't need to be told twice.

.~.~.

The trial was going poorly. Leon had managed to help his fellow Survivors finish two of the generators, but the Killer had still been able to send him sprawling with the lighting-quick flashes of his blade. He'd yet to see if the newest addition to the realm had any special ability, as it hadn't been used on him. He was the first to reach death-hook, and his luck was running out. When he heard Chris's shout as he was strung up on a hook, Leon took off like a shot in Chris's direction.

Upon reaching Chris, Leon skidded to a halt, horrified to see the man's skin crawling with a strange, black substance that slithered in and out of sight. "What..." he gasped.

Chris wasn't even looking at him, a stupefied expression on his face as he hung limply from the hook and muttered to himself. It was like he'd gone into shock. "Wesker. Fucking Wesker. What's he doing here?"

"Chris?" Leon said. He repeated the man's name, louder this time, and Chris snapped out of it. His wide eyes conveyed a terror Leon had never seen in him.

"Leon," he said, voice rising to a near-frantic pitch, "get the fuck out of here. It's Wesker. I don't know how—I don't know why—but he's here and he wants me and I don't get the things he's saying but all I know is he's gonna go fucking ballistic if he sees you trying to help me—"

"Chris, stop!" Leon shouted. "I'm not just going to leave you. Let me—" He reeled back when Chris tried to slap his hands away, but still reached up to pull the other man off of his hook.

"Leon, go!"

The rookie set his jaw and ignored him, bracing his hands under Chris's arms and beginning to pull upwards.

Before he could finish helping his friend, Leon was yanked back by the collar, then gripped by the throat and hoisted into the air. The Killer—Wesker—looked almost bored, as if Leon weighed no more than a few pounds. He was left dangling there, hands clawing uselessly at the grip around his neck.

Wesker wasn't even looking at the rookie, his head turned towards Chris, instead. "My, what an interesting world this is." The malicious amusement in his voice instilled a sense of leaden dread that made Leon stop struggling momentarily. "Isn't this a touching scene?"

"Leave him alone, you bastard," Chris barked. "It's me you want."

Wesker smirked. "Quiet, now, Chris, you'll have your turn. I plan to take my time with you—we have some things to discuss."

"Put Leon down!"

"Is that an order, Redfield?" The Killer's grip tightened around Leon's neck; the rookie wheezed quietly, words far beyond him at this point.

Leon would die. It was why he was here. Chris seemed to forget that more often than not, acted like death was the end. Despite knowing this, the rookie was still panicking. It wasn't because of Wesker's seemingly normal appearance—it was because of the look on Chris's face.

"Hmm," Wesker droned, gaze still fixed on the man hanging from the hook. "I've been holding on to this for when I finally met you—but I suddenly have a better idea." Wesker leisurely reached into a hip pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small, green offering. An ivory memento mori.

"You son of a bitch," Chris snarled, now beginning to attempt to pull himself off of his hook as he looked at Leon with equal measures of fear and rage.

"Don't look away, Redfield."

Leon's struggling intensified as the fright threatened to take over, but he was too far off the ground, too far away from the man who held his life in his hand for his frantic kicks to do any good. In a last, desperate move, one of his fists managed to make contact—just a glancing blow, but it still knocked Wesker's glasses off. That got his attention. Leon's breath froze in his bruised throat when a pair of glowing, reptilian eyes met his.

Wesker regarded him coolly as he crushed the mori in his fist, the offering disappearing in a wisp of smoke. "I believe I'll enjoy this," he said with finality, then punched Leon square in the face. The rookie flew back several feet, landing in a crumpled heap. It was only when he could no longer pull air into his lungs that he realized his trachea had been completely crushed.

Leon faintly heard Chris spitting furious obscenities as a mass of black, viscous tendrils raced across the ground and then ate him from the inside out. Before the dark spots in his vision overtook it completely, he managed to make out a low, amused chuckle.

"It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Officer Kennedy."

[venusofvolterra]

hi ! is that okay if you can explain to us why do you think that being Demetri’s lover could be toxic ??? pls Pls I want to read your ramblings

// CW: discussions of emotional abuse and manipulation within romantic relationships

Oh boy, let’s go!

So a lot of this is HC based on the very little amount of characterization we have from canon.

A few bits of context from my own posts and analysis that may be helpful because this is largely built on that.

This post where I talk about Demetri’s human life and how his academic talents were the only way he gained favor with his human father. This mirrors what his undead existence has become with both Amun and then with Aro.

From the films, we get a very sadistic characterization of Demetri, which I discuss and analyze here. I also place this in context with my own HCs and a little bit of evidence from book canon about him here.

All this is to say that Demetri’s primary character traits are that he is manipulative, a liar, a sadist, a survivalist (everyone in Volterra is but he is especially), narcissistic, etc. — none of these bode particularly well for a fair and equal romantic partnership.

I do think Demetri has some healthy connections in his life — particularly his friendships with Heidi and Felix — but that probably has more to do with the fact that he sees them as on par with him in that they are in an equally precarious standing with the coven (probably Felix less so, but nonetheless he does not have a gift). I think these are the kind of insecurities Aro manipulates within his subordinates — whether there is validity to them or not.

I think a mate would bring a lot of complications into his life that I’m not sure he’d be equipped to deal with adequately. I’m not even sure some of these issues are even ones that can be solved in a manner that is safe and fair for both him and his mate.

For example, if his mate is human and doesn’t want to be turned, he will manipulate them until they do (so it isn’t really their choice) or kill them if he must. He will always put himself and his coven first. That is the position he has put himself in as a member of the Volturi.

The only way there could possibly be equality in this relationship is if his mate is turned prior to meeting the Volturi and he meets them as a vampire. Even then, if his mate has a better power than him he may become insecure. If they have no special abilities, he may probably convince the kings to give them more “home base” duties such as working with Heidi or something— essentially he’d find a way to keep them locked up in the castle, he probably wouldn’t even let them go outside the grounds. He has his sanity to lose in losing a mate — another threat to his survival.

All in all: Demetri isn’t exactly great mate material if we’re being honest about his character. Very few Volturi are, but him especially so. In Twilight, we see with Bella and Edward how manipulative and abusive a relationship between a human and the most boring of vampires is — and Demetri is far above Edward in those terms.

[thunderstruck9]

Felix Bode (British, 2002), Aeroplane Window, 2024. Oil on canvas, 140 x 190 cm.

[tr4umaborn]

TR4UMABORN -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- indie. private. mutually exclusive multimuse

** MUSES -- primary: thomas james hammond. political animals. thomas doherty. prev: @tjhmnd. wyll ravengard. baldur's gate 3. jacob anderson. gale dekarios. baldur's gate 3. live action fc tbd. nadia godfrey. hemlock grove. milly alock. caius. the twilight saga. sam reid. natalie scatorccio. yellowjackets. sophie thatcher. prev: @natal7e felix catton. saltburn. jacob elordi. mike warren. graceland. aaron tveit. -- by request: ianto jones. torchwood. jonathan bailey. louis de pointe du lac. the vampire chronicles (mixed canon). jacob anderson. bucky barnes. marvel. jonathan bailey. bode akuna. jedi: survivor. no live action fc. abigail hobbs. hannibal. kacey rohl. eliot waugh. the magicians. hale appleman.

written by bee. tumblr elder. 21+ to follow and interact. heavily triggering themes likely present. all muses are canon divergent. mostly written in 1st person and therefore in the frame of mind of the muse. please see posts linked in name for each character on important details. carrd u/c. rules under the cut. promo. ask. memes.

affiliated with: @t1meaway. @maramcna.

ONE . The first rule of my blogs will literally always be don’t be a dick. I don’t have time for it. You don’t have time for it. Just don’t do it.

TWO . I don't have any triggers, but if you do please let me know!! this blog will contain a boat load of triggering content including but not limited to gore, violence, and mature situations. I generally don't tag triggers unless I'm asked, but I tag things with NSFW when it needs to be.

THREE . I do practice mains and exclusives, because sometimes you just click with people and that's ok! I will follow duplicates of MY muse, but unless it's a friend, I generally won't follow duplicates of exclusive muses.

FOUR . This blog is limited to interactions with mutuals. i always follow back / follow first if i feel like we can write together. if i haven't followed you back after a few days, it probably means i won't be following back to write. for the sake of my profession (i'm a high school age educator) i will not be following back anyone younger than 21.

FOUR CONT. While i do not follow back younger than 21 because i feel icky if you're young enough to be my student, my messages are always open if you ever need anything! if you need an adultier adult to talk to about something i can always try to be that for anyone. i know how important trusted adults are.

FIVE . This blog will be mostly private. I'm here for a good time not a long time. If you want to write with me, the best way is to DM me and say yo bitch let's RP.

SIX . My name is bee. i'm 32 years old. i've been writing on tumblr for like 10 years and rping in general for over half my life. i met my significant other through rp. we just moved across the country so i could go to rabbinical school. obviously i'm super busy but i love making friends!

CREDITS . psd is a combo of two by supersources. all graphics made by me unless otherwise stated.

[sleepyowlwrites]

FTWT CCCLXXXIX

a pair of beaded earrings from @crypticcodexcreations

time (let's play pirates)

Zoro sighed, then shifted to sit next to Mari again. She didn’t immediately start trying to get up again, so he closed his eyes. Every time Mari made a reference to her past he got the strangest urge to ask her invasive questions, especially about the people who had betrayed her. He chalked it up to his instinct for a bounty and not the more unfortunate reason of actually caring. It happened with every member of the crew. Zoro hadn’t signed up to have protective instincts about all these people.

“How about you take a nap, huh? That way I can go back to mine.”

frustration (beating hearts)

Pangzi’s exhale is even noisier this time, the frustration clear in how he stutters into it, how his heartbeat hitches along with his temper.

“Liu Sang,” he starts, and it never bodes when when his real name is brought into things, “I’m trying to take care of you. I’m always trying to take care of you. Why won’t you just let me?”

listen (untitled lullaby, 2013)

The blood orange crests the hill Warm your hands, you can't stay still So run and run and run Now the birds sing your song You could listen all day long But there are things to be done

game (meta-portal) (I love this fic so much)

Hyunjin is just about ready to cry because of everything that is happening. Jeongin notices and steps up to welcome the strangers like the good little brother prince that he is. He says "why don't we all sit down and have some lemonade"

Chan goes to organize getting the lemonade and appoints Seungmin in charge of watching Soobin, who looks on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Seungmin says "so is Hyunjin but I guess I can watch them both"

Younghoon has been talking with Changbin since he arrived and they keep on talking now, settling down and continuing their discussion on whether darts or golf is the trickier sport and also how bad they are at both games.

mirror (meta-portal 2.0)

Jacob huffs a little. “I’m a witch, okay? I don’t do big magics.”

“Alright,” Jisung says, sounding very much like he’s used to smoothing over peoples’ tempers. “Anyway, what are we going to do about that guy that fell through the portal?”

“Did you see him? Before you came through?”

“Yeah.” Jisung messes his hair up even more when he runs his hand through it. “Just for a minute. He fell through the mirror sculpture in Felix’s garden.”

allow, betray, annoy, breath, + bonus: yellow, invent. @queerlilchinchin @winterandwords @nopoodles @daisywords OR ANYBODY

[san-fics]

Felinette Drabbles

Independent Investigation

(Ao3/ Wattpad / Patreon)

Summary:

“What do you want?” Marinette demanded, crossing her arms defensively – this boy’s appearance usually didn’t bode well and was accompanied by some kind of prank or trick…

“To see my wife and child, obviously.” Felix replied, closing the door behind him in a businesslike way.

Marinette rolled her eyes and sighed wearily.

Today their class was in sex education lesson, where they were divided into pairs for an exercise. And Marinette – to her utter annoyance – was paired with Felix, having received a doll and the task of raising ‘their common child’ for a week, in order to report at the next lesson what difficulties they encountered, sort them out with other ‘parents’ and discuss ways to overcome them.

Felinette Tag list (ask me to join)

@mochegato

@thepapillonnoir

@snow-leopard-777

@loves-books

@turiankitty

@toodaloo-kangaroo

@readingismyoxygen

@aespades

@starlightshield

@jessigurl-design

@trippingovermyfeet

@apasponsor

@avs17

@fangirlingfanatic

@psychicdelusionwerewolf

@ur-beautiful-when-u-smile

@spicemallow

@kking13

@frieddonutsweets

@miraculous-panic

@ateneagirasol

@its-maemain

@unoriginalmess

@achaoticmess1

@starfire21

@peachayim

@starling218

@iloontjeboontje

@jennifer-rose123

@a-slytherinish-gryffindor

@wegetitethan

@jacimari

@hammalammadamdam

@rosewood1sedona

[mmuffncakes]

Please please please tell me about Lancet and His Name is Cal Kestis 🖤👉👈🖤

Lancet is actually a gift being worked on for my good friend Barquinn. It follows Danny attending one of the galas held during the season as per request by his object of obsession, Felix. it's that good ol' aesthetic of "what if you dance with your enemy" but Danny isnt an enemy here, he's just unhealthily possessive over felix. the term lancet, is actually a type of window shape! (Felix is an architect). and its also a hole on the back of Felix's glove. and dannys gonna shove his tongue down it.

His Name is Cal Kestis you've actually read. I think it's actual title is A Proper Name. But it is the general background i give to my trans!Cal headcannon. Of how he approaches Jaro Tapal about how he wants to be addressed, to the Jedi community accepting the change, and when he crash lands on Bracca, how he comes to tell Prauf. How Prauf helps him find someone who can help Cal. And inevitably, how Cal gets the jagged scars across his chest. And how, once that's done? Cal's life is the same. He's just comfortable in his skin fully and he continues the story per normal. It ends with him and Bode doin a smooch.... ~maybe more~

Edit: even though this last one is done, i consider it a wip as i want to adjust it slightly in the storytelling fashion and im unsure if it'll ever see the light of day on my a03