#in a kinder world they were best friends and the love was safe in that friendship

[gromky]

alright im still. on this. The tragedy of tommy and lizzie to me is that there is a certain degree of intimacy or self knowledge that Lizzie needed from Tommy that he simply was not capable of giving, and it’s not because he was intentionally withholding it!

I think thats why it stood out to me that Lizzie and Ada had the same comment about him not letting them in. It’s not that he doesn’t love them enough to let them in! It’s just he literally does not know how or where to begin to do so. I’d argue he doesn’t even realize he’s not letting them in. If anything he’s going through life feeling like an exposed nerve

[adragonsfriend]

Use this one trick to instantly fix all childhood trauma (Jedi Masters don’t want you to know this)!!!!!

That is what every “if Obi-Wan had just— *adds one extra scene to canon* —then Anakin would’ve had perfect mental health and never listened to Palpatine at all,” sounds like to me. Look I am not an expert on any kind of psychology at all let alone early childhood development but,

It is possible to do your very best to help or raise someone and still have bad or imperfect outcomes, especially when you have someone actively, secretly working against you (cough cough Sith Lord of the month cough), (for many reasons, but in this case particularly), because unravelling the mindset built in early childhood is hard, actually.

Coming at this from the “raised in a safe and loving environment” side of things, it took me years to figure out and internalize that my friends whose parents weren’t as great as mine were functioning in an entirely different landscape when it came to their interactions with adults.

Many years ago when I was in middle school a friend (acquaintance? idk I think most people thought I was annoying) told me that her ankle kept giving out and causing her pain. I asked if she'd told her parents so she could rest or go to the doctor. She told me she had, but her mother either hadn't listened or refused to help. My (approximate) responses?

"So it's not actually that bad then?"

"You should tell her again."

"Are you sure you explained it right?"

The only explanation I could comprehend at the time was that there must have been some unclear communication about the situation or its severity--if her mother had understood she was in pain, she couldn't possibly have just not done anything about it? Adults are responsible, caring, etcetera! They wouldn't do that?!

With more experience, I've come to understand better, and learned to respond in kinder, more helpful ways, but the shift in mindset was not and is not intuitive.

And I had the luxury of figuring all that out whilst being safe myself. Coming from the other direction, being in danger and trying to figure out why other people act like the world is safe? I can't say for sure, but I imagine it’s a lot more complicated.

Point with regard to Star Wars being, it really is harder for Anakin, coming in later, to acclimate to the Jedi ways and thought processes than it is for his peers who grew up in the safe environment of the Temple. And whatever arguments people want to have about how much psychology and therapy exist in the Star Wars universe, or how much “Jedi just do cognitive behavioral therapy” (not totally inaccurate, but reductive on several levels), no matter what the answers to those questions, it will still be harder for Anakin.

There is a reason the council changes its mind on training him only after he is suddenly famous and the Sith are proven to be back. When Anakin was not in significant danger of being snatched up by someone else, it was genuinely probably the easier and safer option—for him and everyone else—for him to live a different life.

The Jedi are not necessarily fully prepared for a child with Anakin's history, and, there is nothing bad about living an ordinary life. Anakin would not have been somehow unforgivably robbed by living life as a mechanic or an engineer or something, rather than being a Jedi.

Anakin is a victim of many things in his life—Sidious, Watto, Gardulla, Tatooine’s everything, his own conscious choices—but he is not a victim of malice, incompetence, or idiocy by the Jedi just because they couldn't—in only a decade or so—help him fully and perfectly unravel the mindset he developed in his early childhood. If there was any lack of qualification on their part, it was one they were aware of—but which was outweighed by the danger of little Anakin getting kidnapped out of normal-kid elementary school.

Being brought up in and around slavery absolutely made him more vulnerable to Sidous and became the basis of their dynamic as master and apprentice. Acting like the trauma that affects his mindset and actions for his entire life can be obliterated just by making minimal changes to the plot is wild to me.

And don’t get me wrong, fics and headcanons can do whatever they want, not everyone wants or is trying to write a deep psychological character study (also fanfic and even fiction in general cannot and should not be held to any standard of realism if it's not serving the story and the author)—simple fix-it’s (my love) are fun and an excellent short-cut to other things like happiness and fluff (my other loves)—but don’t act serious about the idea that adding one conversation about his feelings or one extra explanation about Jedi philosophy would automatically lead to Anakin having perfect mental health outcomes and always making good decisions.

Disclaimer (if the ones throughout weren't enough) : please go forth and do whatever you want. the moral of this post is actually just that (1) you won’t convince me, (2) I wanted to talk about this, (3) the clickbait title was too funny not to post, (4) i literally can't open my mouth without phrasing things like i'm in the middle of a heated debate, and (5) i continue to not be an expert in early childhood development—my evidence is very literally anecdotal

[leviraaaaaa]

It'd been years after the war.

You no longer had to fight anymore.

The ODM bruises had started to fade as you don't have to tighten the straps anymore, so hard that they dug into your skin. You don't miss the familiar weight of the gas tanks and thunder spears around your waist.

No more recovering only the remains of your dead friend. No more running for your life. No more corpses, no more blood.

You don't miss that life.

You've found your peace, a life with Levi.

You would have never thought it was possible. Not just you and him, but the whole concept of it.

That finally, you can sleep peacefully, without being scared of an urgent call that a wall was broken through. Though you'd still have nightmares but still. And even then it was fine because you had Levi now, to help you get through it. You no longer hard to curl up to yourself and try to calm yourself down, hug a pillow and sob silently so none of your dormmates wake up. You had Levi now.

Or the mornings, you think. The odd sense of peace, the feeling of safety. You can wake up beside him and stay in bed for as long as you want. You don't have to get up and search for your uniform. There's no training to be late to. You just curl yourself around him and watch him sleep, peaceful. And you get to watch when he'd woke up, sleepy sleepy eyes peering through and then arms wrapping around you tighter. He looks so vulnerable then. But you're glad, you think. That he can sleep like that now. That he feels safe enough to, safe with you. His dark circles aren't so visible anymore and he doesn't look as tired as he used to. He still can't get a full rest, but the insomnia isn't that bad.

Life had changed. And for the best. Peace for him and peace for you.

But try as you may, and oh dear God did you try, you can't actually forget. Can't actually leave the life you had spent so many years living behind just like that.

No, the scars never faded.

Souvenirs, you think. Reminders etched into your skin, reminders of who you were and what you've done and all that you pray to forget.

Yours stopped bothering you at one point. It used to. Once. Severely.

You'd stare at the bruises on your thighs for hours or the livid pale slashes along your arms or your stomach. Rough knuckles and calloused fingertips, the constant usage of ODM had left marks there too.

It's more the memories than anything that comes with it.

You used to think, how could anyone possibly look at this marred mess you were and still love you?

Oh but Levi.

He never told you but you knew.

He thinks it's not enough. That he's not enough. That surely you deserve someone with all their fingers, and both their eyes.

And you think it's ridiculous.

But even now, after so many years, you'd sometimes catch a glimpse of him staring at himself into the mirror, fingers grazing his face.

The world had been so cruel to him. And he didn't know how to be kinder to himself.

Unlike you, who cried it out, he never learnt how to actually handle his emotions. So when it's one of those days, he merely shuts himself out. In his own dark little mind. And those days, you leave him alone, because he only curls into himself deeper if you try to get him out. And you learnt to give him space, for him to come out on his own. Though every inch of you wants to help him, but you don't know how.

And it was one of those days, you realized when you walked into the bathroom.

He was staring at the bathroom mirror, arms braced on the counter. So focused he didn't even hear you coming.

"Levi?" You called out gently.

He didn't answer, but his head tilts towards you, eyes shifting to meet yours. He only gives a slight nod.

"You... okay?"

"...yeah." He takes a moment but nods. "Fine."

And it was then you noticed how hard his fingers gripped onto the counter. And you noticed his expression, the look of guilt there. How he wouldn't even look at you properly.

Your heart hurt.

If only he understood.

You didn't say anything but walked towards him. And without a word, you slide on top of the counter, shifting so he was standing between your legs. You locked your legs behind him, pulling him closer. He was startled but he didn't say anything, his eyes downcast.

There was so much pain inside those gray eyes.

"Levi." Your voice gentle, soft. "Look at me."

At that, he only tilted his head, looking further away from you, eyes darting sideways.

"No, look at me." You held his chin, turning his head towards you. He flinched at your touch, but you could see the resistance breaking under your gaze. The walls coming down.

With that, you held up your hair, tilting your head to show him a slash that went up to your neck.

"See this?"

He looked at you, confused. And without a word, you tugged on your t-shirt, taking off the clothing in one pull.

"What are you... doing?" He asked, warily. Eyes on your face. Even after so many years, he still got shy.

"No, eyes here lev." You said firmly. "See this?" You pointed at a scar along your elbow, then towards the bruises that ODM had left on your chest. " And this?"

He only stared at you, expression hard. His jaw tightened.

"Tell me Lev." You sighed.

"Does these repulse you? Creeps you out? Do you think they're ugly? Do they make you love me less? Or not at all?"

Levi looked horrified. He was immediately shaking your head, desperate to deny the words. How could you even think that?

"No." He said hastily, eyes wide. "No, what are you saying? Of course not—"

"So why on earth," You gently cupped his cheek, shushing him down. "Do you believe that yours makes me love you any less?"

Your thumb pressed along the scars on his cheek. They were white now, no longer blood red and livid on his skin as it was back when Hange stiched them up. You swallowed, pressing your forehead to his.

"What made you think," You whispered. "That these makes you worth any less levi? "

He didn't pull away, but he stiffened. His face hardened but there was a look of despair beneath his eyes. "That's not the same—''

"How is it any different?" You cut him out, your voice firm. "You tell me, I'm waiting."

He hesitated, staring at you. And then he looked down.

"...I'm crippled."

"Your point?"

"You deserve someone younger. Someone whole. Someone who's more than me."

"There's no one that's more than you levi."

"I'm damaged. "

"We'll fix it. I'll fix you. So, help me fix myself."

"I'll hurt you. I've already hurt you. I don't know how to be better than this. I don't know how to love someone. "

"You're the only person who have never hurt me. You make me feel more worthy than anyone else in this world ever could. And holy shit, if you can't," You whispered. "If you can't, let me. God, I'd love the shit out of you if you'd just let me. So fucking let me in Levi, don't push me away. Don't shut me out. You've done that enough in your lifetime."

And Levi was still. He was made out of stone. So hard, so rough, the edges so sharp. He tries to soften himself for you, but it goes against everything he ever taught himself his whole life and he doesn't know how to do that. He tries, but somehow it never feels enough. Not enough for you. And he wish he could believe that you didn't love him because you do and he could feel it. He can always feel it . Like the way you were looking at him and he felt so, so exposed.

It makes him feel guilty. Someone like you doesn't belong with someone like him. And he wishes, for once in your life, you'd stop looking at him like that so he could convice himself that you don't want him and he could walk away.

And he knows he makes you feel like you're not good enough, because he sees your sad expression when he locks himself out. But it's not you, he wants to tell you. God, you're fucking perfect and it's never you. It's him. He's the fucking problem. The space inside his head was so dark he was scared that just might be enough for you to leave.

But you. The tempt of it.

The warmth of you. You were all softness and gentless and goodness, so so kind to him and it makes him want to hold you tight and never let go again.

But somedays it gets so hard.

He isn't used to this. To show his feelings. To feel so bare in front of someone. Instinct doesn't let him.

He isn't used to feel so loved.

But he thinks he'd try. For you.

Because now that it's you, he doesn't know how to go back to a time there wasn't you.

"Levi?" Your voice pulls him out of his mind. Like you always did. His saving grace, his angel. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling you closer and he can hardly breathe.

"Don't give up on me, Levi." You whispered to his ears. "On you. On us."

@sad-darksoul @anxious-chick @raginginferno267

[atlantis-is-burning]

Dead Boy Detectives Cancelation

So in light of the heartbreaking news of Dead Boy Detectives getting canceled, I decided to write a letter to @netflix It's the first time I've ever felt compelled to reach out to a major company regarding their services but I wanted them to know how much the show means to us as fans and what they're taking away from us by canceling it.

For me, the show was a literal life-saver. Without going into too much detail, I was in a very dark place prior to its release and it was the only thing that helped me through it. That and meeting all of you =)

I don't know what impact it will have, if any, but if you would like to write a letter to Netflix as well letting them know what the show meant to you, I would definitely do so. Our community may be small compared to other fandoms but we are passionate and devoted to this show and they deserve to hear from us.

I've attached the letter below the cut for anyone who would like to read it and believe me, I'm not trying to medal in the tragedy Olympics with the intro, it's just a fact of what happened.

Maybe the show helped you in ways you couldn't imagine. Maybe it made you feel better about yourself or something that occurred in the past. Maybe it was just a fun comfort show for you that you really enjoyed. Whatever the reason, this show brought out the best in people and made the world feel just a little bit kinder for a while and I will never forgive Netflix for taking that away.

To whom it may concern,

On April 29th, I sat down and watched the first episode of the Dead Boy Detectives. 

I had heard good things about the show since its release a few days earlier, that it was fun and campy and easy to watch, but for me I was hoping it would be a distraction. A very close friend of mine passed away without warning on December 30th; she was just there one day and gone the next. The first half of the year was spent helping her family get her affairs in order while trying to process our shared grief and figure out how we could move on without her. 

I didn’t begin to feel like myself again until late March and by then it was only a fraction of who I had been before her passing. So when I sat down and pulled up the first episode of the Dead Boy Detectives, the only goal I had in mind was to pass a few hours watching a silly supernatural mystery show and think about something other than this sense of loss and imbalance that had settled over me.

It was the first time I smiled in nearly three weeks and it was the first time I laughed since December.

I watched the entire series, start to finish, in one night. Then I went back and watched it again the next day. And again a few days later. And for the first time since her passing, I felt like my friend was still there somehow, like we were watching it together. It was exactly the kind of show she would have loved when she was alive, flamboyant and silly with a touch of romance and mystery, so on my fourth rewatch of it, I sat on my couch with a picture of the two of us cradled in my lap, watching a show I know she would have enjoyed and feeling just the tiniest bit of my grief fade.

It was through the Dead Boy Detectives that I found a community online, a group of people who loved the show just as much as I did. We traded theories and ideas about the episodes, we excitedly welcomed new members who had just finished it and encouraged others to watch it in the meantime. We set up forums and threads on Reddit, we messaged each other, we embraced this silly, quirky show so much that it became a safe haven for a lot of us, it became a comfort series. We saw ourselves in this show and these characters and for many of us it gave us a sense of fellowship and belonging in a world where that feels more rare by the day.

And then it got canceled and for many of us, it felt like a slap in the face for the fans.

While I don’t claim to know the metrics on which a show’s success and renewal odds are based or what formula is used to determine ratings, I do know you didn’t see the fandom we created for ourselves because of this show. 

There are artists who make the most breathtaking art pieces you’ve ever seen, writers who bring you to tears with their works, and creators who painstakingly and lovingly created playlists and mood boards for each of the characters, matching them with songs and snippets of poetry that fit so perfectly it felt like it was made for them. There are fans who cosplay so well it looks like they borrowed the costumes directly from the production team and some who make jewelry and charms and trinkets that sell out almost before they complete them.

We engaged with the stars as well, wanting them to know how much we loved the show and these characters and how grateful we were to have watched them. We set up Q&As and asked them questions through Cameo, all the while thanking them for their work in bringing these characters to life. This show meant so much to us and we wanted them to know just what an impact they had had on more people than they ever could have imagined.

We were well aware of Netflix’s reputation of canceling shows based on poor viewership so we went in and organized weekly watch parties in an effort to increase the number of new viewers. We promoted it on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, creators made videos for it on TikTok, and we created an entirely new tag on social media to bring more attention to this show we all loved so much.

Early on, there were several comments from people who said they were hesitant to even watch it; they had been burned before and didn’t want to get deeply involved with a new show that would turn into yet another “one season wonder.” We did our best to reassure them and convince them that this time it would be different; it wouldn’t be like all the shows that had been cut down before it could ever really develop. Since it was tied in with DC and The Sandman Universe, we promised them that maybe this time we could save it, maybe this time it would be enough.

And it was still canceled.

On Friday, August 30th, ten minutes after the news broke that Dead Boy Detectives had been canceled, I canceled my Netflix subscription. Netflix was the first streaming service I ever signed up for and today it is the only streaming service I have ever canceled. And, after watching the fallout in our little online community, watching the actual grief people were experiencing because of the cancellation, and scrolling through pages upon pages of outraged fans who swore they would never watch another program on Netflix and vowed to cancel their subscription that day, I can see that my decision was justified.

You have no idea the impact this show had on its viewers and you have no idea the impact you had when you took it away. We had people admit that the show helped them come to terms with their sexuality, helped them process deep-seated trauma, helped them love and accept themselves for who they were. We knew the Dead Boy Detectives would never be a runaway hit like Stranger Things or Bridgerton but we hoped and prayed that it would stick around just a little while longer, that we could enjoy these characters and their stories for even one more season before they were gone for good. 

For you it may have been just a silly little ghost show that was little more than a blip on the radar but for a lot of us it was so much more than that, it meant so much more than that.

I am under no illusions that this email will make a difference or that it will bring the show back from cancellation but I wanted you to know what an incredible and amazingly talented fandom you are leaving behind in its wake. These are people who put their heart and soul into the art they create and the words they put on paper and all we wanted was a chance to see that continue.

We are tired of being drawn into a program and falling in love with the characters with no guarantee that our viewership and involvement actually means anything. We are tired of begging for complex characters and the representation we crave in media only to have the rug jerked out from under us once we finally get it. We are tired of hoping and praying and campaigning to save a show that should easily be renewed for several seasons or, at the very least, a season two. 

We are tired of feeling like we’re being taken advantage of as fans, that the passion and excitement we have toward these shows and their stars, the kind of involvement you claim to want, is dismissed with little regard toward the fans of the show itself.

We are your audience and we are tired.

We will continue to love and cherish this show and these characters, without your involvement, and give them a much longer life than they ever had on your platform. This show, the cast and crew, and the fans deserve better than what you gave them and I hope you understand the tremendous amount of talent and passion you’re throwing away in your fan base.

With regards,

-M

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

here’s the resolution to steve’s angsty struggles, in which he finds a path to the future by remembering kindness from his past. enjoy.

(for some reason it’s not letting me link the first two parts but if you check the “losty can actually write” tag at the bottom you’ll find them if you want them!)

They’re all so kind to him; much nicer than Steve thinks he deserves.

He apologizes profoundly to El as soon as he steps back inside. She accepts, hugging him and giving him a shy kiss on the cheek, telling him she “never likes hitting, not ever” but she knows he only did it because he thought he had to protect her, and she loves him for wanting to keep her safe. Then Mike hugs him, too, which is huge because he never hugs anybody anymore, and Mike actually thanks him for being willing to stand up for him and fight on his behalf. A few tears escape at that, but Steve wipes them hastily away and if Mike notices he doesn’t let on. Robin wheedles a bag of ice from the bartender and holds it against his swollen knuckles, teasing him about being a ruffian who starts bar fights at the same time as she’s cuddling into his side and comfortingly stroking his hair. He truly has the best friends in the world.

The Corroded Coffin guys treat him like friends, too, despite what a douchebag he’s been to them, and he wonders briefly if Eddie told them to be nice or if they just are nice and he never noticed before because he wasn’t. He knows their names now. Jeff plays guitar and sometimes keyboard, and has a loud delightful laugh and a clever sense of humor. Grant, the bassist, sings harmony like an angel and is apparently a trivia nut; he invites Steve to join his pub quiz team. And Gareth, who shakes Steve’s hand and waves away his apologies. Gareth, whose red plaid flannel is absolutely ruined with bloodstains, who still manages to smile despite his bruised face as he tells Steve he’s glad to know Janie has such great loyal friends looking out for her. Steve hands over his father’s contact card, in case Gareth’s family wants to pursue litigation against him, to which the younger boy shrugs and replies, “What would they wanna do that for?”

Much kinder than Steve deserves.

He’s the last one to leave the club, after apologizing to everyone all over again, and by the time Steve gets back to his huge empty house it isn’t empty after all because Robin and Dustin are there waiting for him. Eddie arrives a few minutes later with two big cartons of ice cream— “is he a middle aged woman who just got dumped?” Robin teases, even as she’s digging into the rocky road— and between the three of them they fill Steve’s normally desolate and lonely house with light and noise and laughter. The four of them squeeze onto one small loveseat together, eating rocky road straight from the container, warm and cozy and comfortable, and Steve feels as if there had been a layer of sharp thick ice around his heart that he hadn’t even noticed until now when it was finally thawing. He leans against Eddie, heaving a deep, gusty sigh, and Eddie unexpectedly kisses the top of his head.

“You wanna talk about it, Stevie?” His voice is filled with quiet concern.

But he doesn’t, not yet; he’s thinking of something else entirely, a long-buried memory somehow unearthed by the closeness or the nickname or the scent of Eddie’s hair. “Remember when we were little kids,” he says dreamily, “and uncle Wayne used to pick us up after school every day?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, I remember, but I didn’t think you did.”

“I didn’t, until just now. I made myself forget a lot of things. But now I remember.” He rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I think it’s because you don’t smell like cigarettes anymore. Now you smell the same as you did when you were a kid.”

“Wait. Hang on,” Dustin splutters. “You guys were friends when you were kids and we’re only just finding this out now?”

“What happened?” demands Robin. “Back in ‘86 I didn’t think you guys even knew each other! Why’d you stop being friends?”

Eddie scoops up a large spoonful of ice cream. “I dunno, people change, life gets in the way,” he says vaguely through his mouthful. “Plus we weren’t in the same grade or anything.”

He’s giving Steve an out, but Steve doesn’t take it. “And I ditched you in sixth grade when Tommy moved to town,” he frankly admits, “because I wanted to be part of the cool crowd, and Tommy said I was a shoo-in if I’d just get rid of you.”

Dustin’s mouth drops open. “Really?”

Eddie shrugs apathetically. “Shit happens. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Steve insists. “Even back then I was a people pleaser, when I should’ve been trying to be more like you instead of them. You knew who you were and stayed true to yourself. I just… became whatever everyone else wanted, even if it was bad, because apparently I didn’t mind being a jerk as long as I had a group of popular kids telling me I was cool.”

“My mind is completely blown,” Robin says, “and we’re gonna need to revisit this topic in a few minutes because I’m dying to hear all about the adventures of Tiny Eddie and Baby Stevie, but first can I just say that you are never allowed to go off and spend weeks traveling with just your parents ever again? Because honestly, Steve, you’re a mess right now. They’ve totally done a number on you.”

“Seriously,” Dustin agrees. “I’ve never seen you like this before. I knew your parents were weird, but I had no idea it was this crazy. Next time they come home, just come stay over at my house instead of hanging out with them, okay?”

“Okay.” Steve doesn’t want to think about his parents anymore. He snuggles further into the couch, shifting to rest against Robin. “Uncle Wayne used to read to us,” he murmurs, “and I used to sit in his lap, and Eddie always let me. He never got mad about sharing. He never got jealous.” He sighs heavily. “I was always jealous of you.”

Eddie scoffs. “Come on.”

“I used to think if my parents could love me even just half as much as Wayne loved you then I’d be happy forever.” Tears spill down his cheeks again, and he scrubs them away with his shirtsleeve. “I had the big house and the expensive clothes and the popular friends, but I used to see you jump into Wayne’s truck after school and you’d both be so happy to see each other, and I used to think I’d do anything for someone to be that happy to see me.” He hiccups out a sob, and Robin drops her spoon to wrap both her arms around him and pull his head against her shoulder. Eddie leans into him from the other side, and he feels Dustin reaching over to rub his shoulders comfortingly.

“I never felt as loved at home as I did with you guys,” he muses. “Max said I should look into being a mentor for troubled kids, and maybe… maybe I could, you know? If I could find a little kid who’s as lonely as I was, and make him feel as safe and happy as you and Wayne made me feel, that would— that would be pretty great, I think.”

“Why stop at one little kid?” Dustin suggests. “You could do some kind of after school program, maybe, for lots of kids. We’d help.”

“We’d totally help!” Robin agrees enthusiastically. “I can see it now— ‘Daycare By Mama Bear’. Steve, you’ll be amazing at that.”

“Nah, not a daycare,” Eddie argues. “I could see you doing more like a Big Brothers, Big Sisters type of thing with older kids. Reaching out to the ones who need help, and then at the same time teaching them to reach out and help other kids too.” He sits up straighter so he can look Steve directly in the eyes. “I agree you’ll be amazing at it though. I mean, look at how you’ve looked after all of us ever since Vecna. You’re really good at seeing who needs a hand and figuring out the exact right way to help them. The kids always say you’re a damn good babysitter, but you’re a lot more than that, too. I think ‘mentor’ is a good word for it.”

“Even your parents would have to be impressed then,” Dustin jokes, but Steve brushes that aside. “Nah, fuck them, they’re awful. I’m officially through trying to impress them. I have more important things to do then worry about what they think.”

“Hell yeah, you do,” Robin agrees, grabbing for the ice cream again, scooping up a large spoonful. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she giggles, and the boys immediately dive in for matching scoops. “To Stevie finding his purpose and forgetting his parents!”

“To Stevie!” Dustin and Eddie chorus, four spoons clinking together, and this time when Steve’s eyes fill up he knows they’re tears of joy.

🍨🫂🍨🫂🍨🫂

[deathnguts]

Regulus and rabastan understand each other better than anyone else and that is both wonderful and awful for both of them.

Regulus can only cry around Rabastan. Like truly cry with more than two tears and real sobbing and whimpering out his emotions through babbles and sniffles rather than stealing himself even more and rushing away from the situation as fast as possible. Being around rabastan makes the smaller parts of himself, the parts he’s ashamed of -the little girl who used to cry at every turn- feel… ok. When it’s just the two of them he doesn’t scramble to hide that part if himself the way he naturally does around everyone else. Because even his closest friends are only allowed past a certain point of his walls. Rabastan has been around and encouraging about letting himself be human and waver from his families expectations since the beginning. It’s hard not to give into the beckoning to let it all go when it’s safe ti do so around him.

Rabastan is really only his true self around regulus. Or, the better half of his true self. The kinder, softer half. He never learned to be generous with showing it to others because well he’s a pure blood too. His twin brother was never his best friend the way regulus and Sirius used to be. Rodolphus has always been the perfect heir and Rabastan always wasn’t. He was either pointedly ignored or scolded and scoffed at with eye roll and wave at every turn. He learned ti feel a natural sort of anger and annoyance around others and didn’t learn to hold it back. He’s angry at the world and it’s everyone’s problem. He drinks, he talks shit, he lounges about and lets himself look disheveled in public, he’s just the picture of the family fuck up and he hates it. But he’s not around regulus. He’d always felt softer towards him, albeit for fluctuating reasons through the years. Like @florsial said in one of their posts I think he had a very ‘blind leading te blind’ relationship with him when they (really just regulus honestly) were young. Like he hated the family, but he wanted to ‘save’ regulus. And he kinda did, providing a safe space most if them never have and harvesting a genuine love there.

But the problem is, they’re both very jaded people. They’re both bitter and angry and can only provide so much comfort for such an amount of time. They love each other and unexplainable amount and they never doubt that, but it’s hard to be around each other when it’s not easy, yknow? Like when one of them is in the bitter mood, they can work it out and help the other. When neither is, that’s great! They bask in what they have and it’s wonderful. But when they’re both in an awful mood? Clear the area, there’s about to be an explosion.

When they fight, regulus gets mean. He’s used to not being able to actually participate in fights, it’s always his parents scolding at him, Sirius degrading at him, it’s never a debate or a conversation it’s always just him lying there and taking it. So when he fights someone he feels safe with, he jumps to get his word in. He can be cruel, he says things he doesn’t mean just because he wants ti get a rise. And he does, it hurts rabastan beyond a way he can describe to hear these things. It feels like he personally failed in saving regulus and he’s just another Black.

So when they fight, rabastan runs away. He leaves and he gets drunk and he stays with whoever will begrudgingly take him in for a few days. He doesn’t want to see regulus that way, he wants to forget he did. He wants ti forgive forget. He wants to wait it out and come back when it’s easy again. Because he loves regulus, but he will not be scoffed and scolded by him like everyone else. It makes him mad and he doesn’t want to do something he’ll regret.

And regulus hates it because above all else, he doesn’t want to get left behind again. That’s part of why he fights like he does, he wants to know if he pushes it too far if rabastan will still come back after. He wants to be seen as the person and sometimes ‘monster’ he is but not left alone again. He can’t be alone again. He’ll do anything to not be alone again. So that leads to a lot of their fights ‘ending’ in an even bigger fight where now it’s Rabastan yelling and regulus begging him to stay and standing in his way of doors and eventually they fuck it out with pulling hair and biting words and teeth and when regulus wakes up in their bed, rabastan left anyway. He gets mad and it stews until Rabastan comes back and they both pretend nothing happened, no matter how serious the fight was, because above all else, they just want to love one another. They love each other so much and it only takes a few days of angry separation for them to remember that literally nothing in the world could matter enough to keep them apart forever.

Everything else in the world makes them angry. Everyone else in the world is locked away from deserving forgiveness. But not them. Never them. They can kiss each others wounds, even if sometimes they’re the ones who put them there. They can come home after a fight that almost ended in the killing each other and hold one another close and sway ti a song on the record player like they’ve never fought before.

They love each other. That’s all that actually matters.

[creatingnikki]

Dear twenty-seven year old me,

You have your work cut out for you, let me just say that right away. I am sorry but this is all I could do. I, the twenty-six-year-old, who had to abandon the home she was happy and struggling to build. And the ones before me, the twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, and twenty-year-old selves too — I won't say we did the best we could but I will say that we tried.

Of course, now, with five days left before I turn 27, I finally know that sometimes trying is not enough. For things that absolutely matter to you, for things you absolutely want, trying is not enough. And so you, you have to do better than try.

Too much pressure? But you only have to try for yourself. You don't have to try for the world or anybody in it. You don't have to try to be kinder, sweeter, politer, or more useful. Friends, lovers, corporations, ideologies will always demand more and more and more from you. And for them I tried and tried and tried. All of your twenty-something selves until now did. Your teen selves too.

Also, just because you are a good person, it does not mean that the world will treat you better. One of the hardest truths to accept and understand. Of course, you were never good because you thought there would be such a reward but you always just assumed that it would only be natural for life to be just and fair in these ways. Now I know it's not.

Please, remember, you do not have to be quiet and take it all lying down. You can still speak your mind and respectfully put people back in their place instead of letting them walk all over you. You are no Gandhi. You should only show your other cheek to someone when they have kissed one cheek and now you want them to kiss the other. Not to slap you again.

When you are tired, when you are upset and demotivated, please, take rest. Pause but do not quit or abandon. You know, our abandonment issues may just have something to do with the fact that we have quite easily abandoned our values, goals, and dreams at different stages of life.

Either because we wanted to accommodate another person or because of the hurdles that showed up. Or because it was us who did not believe that our goals and values and dreams were worthy of being faithful to, worthy of being met, worthy of being celebrated.

But dear twenty-seven-year-old me, listen to me. You are worthy. And I know you like proof and reason and not empty flattery or words of affirmation. And I could list a thousand reasons and this isn't even a hyperbole — I really could. However, all you need to know to believe that is that you have lived a life that is gracious and graceful. God loving, not god fearing. Fear has never motivated you in any walk of life. You are someone that if you were to come across you would not only really like but gosh you would be in utter awe and really respect.

Above any reason I could give you, however, is this — you have to support yourself, no matter who you are and how you decide to live your life, you have to support yourself.

Okay, now that all of this important stuff is out of the way I just want to say, while you work hard at what is important, have fun (as much as is possible and in ways that is safe) and keep writing. For dreams that do not seem possible right now, put them on hold but do not abandon them or shoot them in the head. For dreams that are possible now, don't overthink.

Balance, breathe, and go back to basics. That is all you have to remember when it all gets too much. I love you, your mother loves you, and there are a handful more on that list. If all else pales in face of pain, go to them. In joy and abundance too, go to them. In the mundanity of life too, be by them whenever possible.

All my love, now and forever, 26-year-old you.

[bruh-anator3000]

CAT-astrophic

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A/n: *pushes rock I live under over and peeks out of the black abyss* Hey, have you guys seen a Car Wash Miguel fic anywhere? I don't know what happened to it but it's no longer here. Might've escaped... anyways, watch this cat for me while I look? Thanks. And don't mind the hot homeless dude who talks to him, they're bonding. *returns into the depths of the void*

Summary: A hot dude won't stop talking to your cat, it's kind of freaking you out.

WC: 1.7k, edited by google docs...

Pairing: Miguel x GN!Reader

Warnings: crack fic, Spider-cat's real name is Sir Jeffords bc i said so, clueless reader, pro outdoor cat (i'm not actually, keep ur cats safe pls), future-ish?, accidentally snuck in some world building, in Lyla we trust 🙏, Miguel in tight clothing bc I also said so, and wait wtf are you doing with a dead rat miguel, AND WTF IS THIS WHITE STUFF DUDE?!

Also no Spanish bc I've done some research and those who do speak it have asked non-native speaker to avoid it, to prevent bad google translations and maintain respect!

Okay, enjoy~

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You were about to head in for the night when you were not tripped by your cat for his dinner. After a quick search around your apartment, you sighed upon realizing he was still outside. Shrugging on a coat, mismatched slippers, and grabbing a flashlight, you went out to look for him.

Plenty of people told you to keep your cat inside. That it was vital to their health to keep them safe indoors. There were plenty of articles stating the cons of letting a domesticated cat roam freely outside with no supervision. They were also written 80 years ago. The world has changed since then, drastically.

Sure, it would still be smart to keep Sir Jeffords inside. Less late night searches for him, no more worrying if that scratch on his right paw was from running too fast along pavement or something worse. But he came from the life of an alley cat, and no matter what you tried, he had to be out there for a few hours a day. Last time you tried to stop him, he went under your radar for three days. You had a panic attack, worried he didn't love you anymore, but he did eventually come back. Chipper and eager, and he made sure you left his cat door unlocked.

The streets were cleaner than 80 years ago. The people were kinder. The city more accommodating to everyone, even stray animals. Sir Jeffords was mirco chipped, and even if it didn't work for tracking half the time, the shelter folks could scan his neck and drop him back home.

There were no pounds or pest controls anymore, just volunteers who helped poor animals stay warm. And find whoever left them in the streets. It was a crime to leave them now, resulting in 6 months of detention if caught dumping your animal friend into the alleys.

Jeffords was a smart cat. He knew what he was doing. You trusted him. In the event of something bad happening, you made him swore he would come find you right away. Though he couldn't speak, his tail wrapping around your pinky seemed solid enough.

You called out his name, followed by a few 'pspspsps's to really seal the deal. Your flashlight shining in the darker corners of the streets he may be hiding in. Cats and their dark, unreachable corners, Sir Jeffords fell victim to any cozy spot he could barely tuck himself into.

It wasn't until a few blocks away, a little past the bank, when you heard a meow. Very similar to his, you quietly sped your pace, wanting to grab your kitty and go home. The closer you got, it seemed more like he was responding to someone else more than you.

"-and your service is always appreciated." You heard a deep voice whisper. Their voice a grumble echoing through the alley they hid in. "You're one of our best." Your brows pinching together, you turned the corner of the bank, flashlight illuminating your fluffy orange cat. Who was rubbing up against the shin of a random man.

He looked up at you, eyes darkened as he blocked your flashlight with his large hand. They almost seemed red as he stayed squatted, Sir Jeffords head butting his knee. His face pure sharp angles, with a scowl permanently in place. His black shirt a tight, compressing fit. Clinging to each muscle and vein in his arm, stopping halfway down his bicep. His calves just as impressive. His shorts doing nothing but making him look even hotter.

Wait, no. This was a random man, he wasn't hot.

You lowered the light and gave an awkward smile. Seemingly unimpressed, his hardened gaze turned back to your cat. "He's yours?" He asked, voice rumbling low in his chest. With a nod, he added, "He's... cute."

Okay, maybe he was a little hot.

"Right?" Your smile smoothed into something more natural. "He's the cutest cat to ever exist." You lowered yourself down onto your knees with a soft baby call. Sir Jeffords trotting into your lap happily, orange fur swaying with his steps.

Your hand ran through his silky fur. Tension easing from you as you held him close again. Though his three day disappearance had yet to happen again, you still worried. He was your precious baby, after all. The one you shared everything with, and he never once judged.

Your fingers caught on something sticky, stopping short of his lower back. Pulling your hand away, strings of white followed, sticking to your fingertips. The feeling moist and far too clingy for comfort. A disgusted shiver ran up your spine at the horrible sensory.

The man stood then, tossing a tissue at you as he did. His gaze stayed on your cat, never faltering. He pushed his dark hair away from his face, still scowling.

Glancing between your hand and the man that now towered over you, you almost gagged. This wasn't... his, right?

"It was the rat." Like he read your mind, the mysterious stranger held out his other hand. A dead rat laid in his palm.

"That... doesn't make me feel much better." You suppressed another full body shake, quickly wiping your hand off. This guy may be extremely attractive to look at but the longer you stayed there, the more uncomfortable you got. "How would a mouse... And what is this?" You felt yourself getting sick as you held the tissue out, the white stuff now sticking to the paper instead

"Webs. And, it's a rat." He stated with a straight face. More angry at your confusion than anything. "Chased him through some spider webs."

You let out a soft 'oh.' But that didn't explain why he was holding onto the dead rat.

And he let it stay that way. Instead of reading your mind like he had been this entire time, he just... walked off. With a dead animal in his grasp. Without a word.

Your confused gaze turned to your cat, knees beginning to ache from the pressure of concrete beneath. Sir Jeffords purred into your stomach loudly.

"You're not allowed to hang out with that guy, ever again."

...

"Christ!" Miguel tossed the rat at the wall, hearing him curse. The small animal glitched into a grown adult, body morphing sickly. "That..." The villain panted, rubbing at his neck. Bruises from how tightly he was held already forming there. "... was not what I was expecting."

Miguel squatted back down, balancing on his toes as the hologram of regular clothes shifted back into his suit. "You chose to become a rat, in a world whose Spider-Man is a cat." He slammed down a disk, red netting encasing the fool. "That was your own fault."

"It was the only way I could get into the bank!" The villain squeaked. Miguel tuned out almost immediately, eyes turning to his watch. Setting the portal to his universe, and making sure he wasn't needed elsewhere. He entertained the villain in a tacky grey suit with distant hums and 'oh, yeah, uh-huh's. It was best to just let them get it out of their system then try to shut them up.

"And I would've gotten away with it, too! If it weren't for you and your cat!" The shape shifter writhed in the nets.

"Sound like a damn Scooby-Doo villain." Miguel stood up with a huff. He would never admit it, but Hobie used the term so often, he had to look up what he was referencing. Only to end up watching the first few seasons. He had to stop around the third season, a sick sense of deja vu hitting him with a bat. The cartoons reminded him too much of the daughter he never really had.

With a sigh, "Lyla," He called.

The AI appeared before him, wearing a shit eating smirk. He opened his mouth to command something else when she beat him to it. "You should've asked for their number."

"What?" Miguel's head snapped up, eyes wide.

"They were cute, should've asked them on a date." She glitched to his side with a teasing laugh.

"Lyla, I... no." He grumbled, flicking at his watch.

"Oh, you know?" Miguel tried to smack her away, only for her to reappear on his left shoulder. "You should go back, then."

Miguel glared at her, ignoring how the tips of his ears began to burn. "I can't, its-"

"Not a canon event." They said at the same time. Lyla rolling her eyes behind her heart-shaped glasses, Miguel focusing on creating a portal. "You're such a loser, you know that?" She huffed and puffed, spawning with her back turned to him.

He tried to reach out with a heavy breath, but she moved further away. This time sitting with her arms crossed and pouting.

"They were cute." The villain nodded from his fetal position on the ground. Earning a glare from the two. Shrinking further into himself, the shape-shifter apologized.

Miguel thrust his forearms forward, his mantis blades catching on the fabric of time. Ripping them apart with a grunt. Orange and purple twisted in front of him, and he grabbed a hold of the red netting the anomaly was in.

"Meet me back at HQ," He spoke to his AI with a nod. Foot already in the portal, he turned to cast a menacing glance at Lyla. "And do not try anything."

She held up her hands in defense, watching the portal close behind him. It wasn't like she even had to do anything - not anymore. She already slipped his multiversal number into the collar of Spider-Cat. All that needed to happen was you either found it, or it fell out. Lyla just had to wait to see which option would be canon.

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Check out my Masterlist!

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve's first thought when he discovered bisexuality wasn't "Oh, so there's a name for me, I'm not alone", it was "What a relief that I can still like girls" instead.

Don't get him wrong, he wasn't against being gay, it was just that girls were always an easier option for him.

He didn't need to pretend because he did like girls, like how soft and nice-smelling they were, like how they nestled in his arms and let him protect them.

But he also liked how tough and masculine-smelling boys were, like how they roughhoused and overpowered him whenever they wanted to.

He liked both and somehow, he was afraid ashamed to admit so.

Thus, while he would go out with girls and hook up with them, he would jerk off to photos of naked men on his phone when he was alone and fantasized about being pinned beneath them.

And yet, those masturbations remained as his guilty pleasure. A scandalous thing that was never allowed to see the sunlight.

Steve knew nothing was wrong with him liking boys, the world had started becoming kinder and more accepting.

But it was also difficult letting himself become the one thing that he had been taught was bad growing up.

His worldview didn't quite shatter when he first had a wet dream about one of the boys in his class, but it was a close thing.

It had made Steve dizzy and nauseous, causing him to almost have a panic attack when he thought it was over for him.

That was why he had spent his high school years sleeping around, hoping to cure himself.

It was until he met Robin that his eyes were opened.

Learning about bisexuality had finally set his mind at peace and he could never thank his best friend enough for saving him from his inner turmoil.

Still, Steve always had this secret fear that no one knew about, even Robin. But he had a suspicion that she already did and was just waiting for him to confide in her.

Thing was, Steve always wondered what he would do if the love of his life was a 'he' and not a 'she'.

Would he be brave enough to love 'him'? Or would he continue denying his feelings and stay single and unhappy for the rest of his life?

As Steve was still struggling with those questions, Eddie Munson had swept into his life like a storm.

The man took nobody's shit and was unapologetic when he told people his opinions.

He was weird and funny but also kind and a romantic at heart.

He always listened to Steve, took Steve seriously, and offered Steve comfort.

He made Steve laugh, made Steve forget all about the bad things, and made Steve float with happiness.

He was everything Steve could ever ask for in a partner.

Except, Eddie Munson was a 'he'.

And never once in his life Steve had wished to be a girl so bad.

Because if he was a girl, he could be together with Eddie without fearing his parents' disappointment or the pity and disdain people would throw his way once they knew he wasn't straight.

Nonetheless, all of that couldn't compare to his fear of losing Eddie.

Every day, the fear got worse until Steve just broke down and started bawling his eyes out in his bathroom at three in the morning because he missed Eddie so much.

After crying his heart out, he decided to just up and go to Eddie.

The older man had taken one look at him before carefully pulling him inside his apartment and wrapping him in his steady arms.

"Eddie," he sobbed, unable to keep his emotions at bay.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Eddie combed his hair gently and swayed them both slowly. "I'm here."

Everything kind of went hazy after that for Steve and when he woke up again, he found himself being tucked safely in Eddie's chest.

Somehow, the easy intimacy between them just broke something inside Steve.

He didn't know he was crying again until he heard Eddie's worried voice above him.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt somewhere, Steve?" Eddie had pulled back to get a better look at him.

"Nothing, I... I'm just scared," Steve sniffled.

"Oh," Eddie's face softened and the man started stroking his back soothingly. "What are you scared of, Stevie?"

"You," Steve admitted.

"Me?" Hurt flashed across Eddie's eyes.

"Yeah," Steve closed his eyes and dug the heel of his palm into his eyelid as he choked out. "I'm scared that I love you," his lips wobbled again, "So much, too much."

A tense silence blanketed them and Steve kept breathing shakily. He didn't dare to open his eyes not even when Eddie shifted and cradled his face softly.

"Me too," Eddie whispered. "I'm scared too."

That made Steve's eyes fly open in surprise, "Was that why you never said anything?"

"Yes and no," Eddie smiled sadly at him. "I'm always scared but never was I more scared of anything than losing you, sweetheart. I never said anything because I was afraid that I'd ruin our friendship with my stupid feelings."

"What should I do?" Steve leaned into the older man's touch and watched those dark eyes reflect his image. They were shining with many unsaid things and he wished he could keep them all to himself.

"I can't say anything for you, darlin'," Eddie caressed his cheek tenderly. "But we can be scared together if you accept me. Accept us."

Steve parted his lips to say it, but all the words just stuck in his throat and choked him with their thorns.

Eddie seemed to understand him nonetheless because the older man just gave him another sad smile before leaning closer until their lips met in a soft kiss.

"I love you," Steve murmured when they finally parted, his pointer finger tracing the line on Eddie's jaw.

"Love you too, my sweet boy," Eddie kissed his forehead and held him close again.

After that night, they had been inseparable. Despite their relationship staying secret, they had announced it to their close friends and Eddie's uncle.

Though the fear was still there and Steve might never be ready to accept himself, he felt better with Eddie by his side, always understanding and loving him unconditionally.

And Steve just knew he would be alright. They would be alright.

[notmorbid]

rouge.

dialogue prompts from rouge: a novel by mona awad.

you were such a lonely little girl, weren't you?

the soul lives on forever, doesn't it?

all i want to do is get away from here.

we may as well go down in style.

whatever you're doing, it's working.

you should be kinder to yourself.

don't frown, or your face will get stuck that way.

how long were you standing there?

never hide your light.

how do you always know exactly what to say?

i hate roses. i'm allergic to cheap apologies.

all buildings have energies, you know.

tragedy likes to leave its mark, doesn't it?

you look like old movies.

didn't i just tell you not to follow me?

ghosts? in the middle of the day?

i'm not ready to face the world yet.

no dream is ever just a dream.

if i told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now, would it?

you don't need my secret. you never did.

grief is a journey, isn't it?

make a wish with me.

i'm jealous. i envy, to use the parlance.

liar. you did something. tell me.

you don't want to go where i go.

i can read your face like a book, every page.

i heard you talking to someone.

just tell me what you see.

a lot of things seem to be leaving me.

who are you? what am i doing here?

i'm not a monster. well, not that kind of monster, anyway.

we're all some kind of monster, aren't we?

am i really so forgettable?

why am i getting the distinct impression that you're holding out on me?

grief makes us do funny things.

nothing warms you like tea.

three deep breaths. we'll take them together.

memory lives everywhere in the body.

i thought you'd left me. i thought you were gone forever.

don't cry. we can't both cry.

i learned by watching you.

it's lonely. lovely, i mean.

don't worry. i'm here now.

i haven't been a friend to you, but i want to try to be one now.

it's like you don't know me at all.

we all have our demons, don't we?

who says i want you to save me?

all i ever have to do is look at your face to tell if you're lying.

you look like vogue magazine.

i'm not afraid of anything anymore.

nothing saves us in the end.

you saw what you wanted to see. you still do.

i do love you.

i'm sorry not to be who you thought i was.

maybe you'll kiss me and i'll turn into something beautiful.

repressed, as we like it best.

i won't be able to protect you from this place.

i'm only protecting you from myself, the things i can't change.

it's alright. you're safe. only a dream.

i did some grocery shopping, so you won't have to think about it for a while.

there's no one right way to ride a wave.

[lestweforget5]

Sunward I've Climbed

AO3 Link

Summary: A Tale of Friendship and, eventually, Love in the Skies over War-Torn Europe

When the United States began integrating women into military units before and, especially, after Pearl Harbor--and not just confining them to important but still auxiliary units--it was decided that heavy bomber squadrons were a good place to relegate some of these pioneering women. There was an early, misguided belief that American heavy bombers were 'invincible,' though this would quickly be proven wrong, especially for the 100th Bomb Group, which would come to be known as the "Bloody Hundredth."

Mildred Brady, better known to her friends as "Millie," was one of ten women assigned to the 100th and its 35 original crews when it flew from America to England in June 1943. Serving at Thorpe Abbots from the beginning until Black Week, she would survive nineteen missions before being shot down. From combating prejudice as she did her duty as a gunner and engineer to fighting to survive as a POW, she would find strength in friendship and a level of tenacity she did not know she possessed.

Rating: Teen (chs. 1-17); Mature (chs. 18-25)

The Sunward Verse

Quiet Amidst the Darkness

Summary: In which a sudden downpour leads to a quiet moment between Brady and Millie in the final weeks before Münster, a discussion about the future, and stolen kisses. September 1943.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Sorrow Like Unto My Sorrow

Summary: In which Kenny--and Maggie--grapple with the fact that Millie will not be returning from Münster. October 10, 1943.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Brothers Lost and Found

Summary: In which in a kinder world Millie, Curt, and Dickie are reunited after Regensburg, but sometimes it just takes longer or shorter. AU.

Rating: Mature AO3 Link: Here

Ghost in the Flesh

Summary: In which an afternoon discussion with Hoerr reveals to Millie a horrifying tale from their jump over Münster three months before. Late January 1944.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

The Lost, Found

Summary: In which, on a cold and gray afternoon, a miracle happens and John Brady finds one of his missing crew returned to him, but his engineer (and best girl) who parted from him in the cockpit of M’ll Zig Zig in the skies near Munster is not the same woman whom he meets in Barracks 8 three months later. January 1944.

Rating: Mature AO3 Link: Here

And Therefore I Have Hope

Summary: In which Kenny learns that Millie has indeed survived Münster and is a prisoner in Germany. December 1943.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

"A Hometown Hero: Millie Brady"

Summary: A retrospective article published on Millie Brady by the press in Laurel, Maryland, following the release of Apple TV's new show, Masters of the Air.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

The Long Shadow

Summary: In which Millie looks to determine the fate of Flight Lieutenants Butler and Shaw, the RAF officers who helped her on the journey from the Dulag Luft in Frankfurt to Stalag Luft III. March 1949.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

But I Can Carry You!

Summary: In which Millie nearly loses her life to the claws of a violent dog years before World War II and years before meeting the people that will define the rest of her life. Summer 1939.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Sun-Split Clouds

Summary: In which are contained shorter pieces of work that are part of The Sunward Verse: what-ifs, outtakes, newspaper articles, prompts, etc.

Rating: Mature AO3 Link: Here

Peaks and Valleys

Summary: In which the course of life does not run smoothly for Millie, surging to the highest of highs upon Kenny’s return from England and crashing like a stricken bomber within days when an encounter with a neighbor’s dog brings trauma from Germany back to the forefront. (In which being home, being safe, finally being rid of her cast, and finally having both John and Kenny back in America does not mean that there are not bad days, and sometimes the good days and the bad days are totally intertwined.) June 1945.

Rating: Teen AO3 Link: Here

Out of the Ashes

Summary: In which a formal question is asked, dark secrets are laid bare, and Millie is reminded that love can find a way, no matter the scars of the past. July 1945.

Rating: Mature AO3 Link: Here

Thanks to @basilone for the screencap.

[nursewashing-a]

Anya, The doctors finally gave the okay for me to try out writing with the new prosthetics, still working on it. Hope my writing isn't too indecipherable, but I hear doctors and nurses . First thing I wanted to do was write to you all, but you first specifically. You have a good heart, Anya. you always have. There's strength in remaining kind and goodhearted and I'm sorry for the will and thought you've had to expend just to survive circumstances out of your control. I'm sorry the world isn't kinder, I'm sorry for the things I can't give back, for the things I can't fix, for the things I did and the things I didn't do.

I'm sorry I didn't do more, I didn't realize how tangled up I was in everything he was telling me. I was walking on eggshells, trying not to rock the boat, trying not to give him a reason so he didn't lash out, so things didn't escalate. And it didn't make a bit of difference. He found a reason anyway, and you all paid the price.

Not being able to talk gave me a lot of time to think, and seeing him the way you did -- Seeing him for what he was -- gave me a lot to think about. You deserve more than an apology, you deserved more and far better than what I gave. But an apology is all I can give. I'm sorry, Anya. I'm so sorry you were living like that for so long, terrified of him. I'm sorry I didn't do more to make you feel protected, supported, I'm sorry you all paid for my inaction, I'm sorry I put you in a situation where you had to do what you did to be safe, that should've never been on your shoulders.

I don't expect this apology to be accepted, but you, all of you, deserve one anyways. I'd love to have the chance to be there for you, really be there for you this time, if you'd have me. But, if not, I understand.

Here if you'd take me, "Curly"

anya's taken several days to write back; there's a clenching in her chest that starts whenever she looks over the words. on one hand, she's glad that curly could receive the medical attention that anya could never fully provide to him with the limited resources aboard the tulpar. on the other hand, hearing these reminders of a time past really, really hurts in ways that are too numerous to put into words.

she finally does write out something, keeping her words in measured print in the wake of being told by some that her cursive is a bit ... indecipherable.

curly, it's so wonderful to hear from you and know that you're receiving the treatment and medical care that you've needed for far too long. i hope the medical staff is treating you kindly and making all of the accommodations that you need. your handwriting is fine. probably better than my own. ha-ha<- (me laughing as i write this) i appreciate your apologies. what happened on that ship is the greatest burden my memory caries. i'm not sure i'll ever be able to truly move on, but knowing that you regret not doing enough is... helpful. thank you. i'll never undersand your inaction, but i won't fault you after the crash. it was never your choice to end up disabled. i did the best that i could to care for you, and i wouldn't change that if i could go back and choose not to. you never could tell me back then if you wanted to live or die, and i wasn't going to kill you. i could never truly hate you. forgiveness itself is... complicated. i think the best thing we could do from this point on is keep in contact, if you want to show me you mean what you're saying. i'd like that, actually, as i do miss you. i care about you. i care so much it hurts. i'd love to stay in touch. your friend, anya

[archetypal-archivist]

A Kinder World AU- Part 8

Roier’s Therapy

masterlist

1) The building that Roier uses as his therapy office was once intended to be someone’s house, but after their disappearance before arriving to the island, Vegeta decided to rent it to whoever wanted it for the sake of getting something back for his work. Roier decided to take him up on the offer and he grabbed a bunch of second-hand furniture and donations from friends to turn it into an office for mental health awareness and psychological help. There was little he could do about the exterior other than paint it the standard white of a Quesadilla island public building, however, hence its appearance to this day.

2) Due to the office’s status as “ex-house,” it doesn’t have some of the features that a public building in Quesadilla is supposed to have, mainly a portable generator and a closet full of sand bags in case of flooding. Roier’s first summer in the community, before he knew all the ins and outs of life in the ocean-bound town, was one with a lot of learning involved, frequently through experience and in ways less than fun. Indeed, he, Bobby, and Spreen were in the process of cleaning up some of the junk left over from moving in when a storm kicked up, stranding them inside for five days. Thankfully the trio had plenty of nonperishable food in the mini fridge and the taps worked, but the power went out on the second day and the roof started leaking on the fourth. While the group ended up enjoying the impromptu sleepover and became much closer during the event, it did prompt them to reinforce the roof and windows greatly. The therapy office can now boast to be one of the safer places in town to wait out a storm, if not necessarily a comfortable one.

3) Roier doesn’t live out of his therapy office, but it does have all the building blocks of a home. Having come from a rough background that led to him and his best friend, Spreen, taking his little brother, Bobby, with them to run away from their problems, he worked hard to make the therapy office into a safe space. The interior is painted a light pink, with lots of blue and purple decorations and plenty of pillows, blankets, and soft toys on every surface. The color palette came about when Vegeta donated a bunch of furniture to them from the club and Roier had too much taste to allow the rest of the room to do anything but match. He claims that the contrast between the stark white exterior and the bubbly, cheerful interior helps to distract patients from their anxiety but Jaiden teases him that it’s more that Roier’s favorite color is pink and the town wouldn’t let him use pink paint on a public building. This isn’t the case, but it makes Jaiden giggle so Roier doesn’t contradict her.

4) Roier’s primary patients are a host of people from the mainland who zoom call in for telehealth therapy and a number of Quesadilla residents, most notably Juanaflippa, Fit, Dapper, Slimecicle, and Cellbit, the latter of which he got very close to over the course of their time together. Having come to the community with a half-finished community college psych degree, Roier spent seven months cramming hard and speed running his online courses to finish it so he would be able to start working and stop mooching off the generosity of his new friends and neighbors. To this day the scent of coffee makes him feel ill, having chugged far too much of it in those awful months, but his hard work has more than paid off. Although Roier’s methods are sometimes strange and his office’s interior even more so, the residents know they are in safe hands with him. Indeed, of the people Cellbit trusts most, Roier is the top of the pack- although their shared feelings for each other may have a part in that too.

5) Roier loves the sea. After the traumatic deaths of his and Bobby’s parents and their subsequent desperate flight from the city for fear of being next, the chance to sit by the water and relax is a wonderful way to cope. He’s well aware that it’s not healthy but one of Roier’s favorite things to do when he can’t sleep is to jump into the water by the office and float there for an hour or three, disassociating to the sound of the waves before crawling back inside to sleep among the piles of pink and purple pillows. It’s soft, it’s safe, and it’s not inflicting his worries on anyone else, especially Jaiden and Bobby, who see him as a pillar of support and good cheer. Cellbit and the sea are the only ones who know of his worrying habit, so sometimes Cellbit will use his shortwave radio to privately broadcast messages of support to Roier while he’s trying to fall asleep. He appreciates this deeply but privately, he dismisses the concern as paranoia- no matter how long he lets his mind drift with the waves, he knows with all his heart that somehow, someway, there’ll be someone to guide him to shore.

[bloodandlegacy]

I: The Name She Couldn't Take

June 25, 1953

Dear Diary,

They call me "Andy," but I hate it. It feels like another way she’s trying to scrape away the parts of me that belong to my mother. I was born Andromeda. She named me after stars—something bright and beautiful, something that mattered. But in this house, in this world of shadows, I’m just "Andy," some girl she’s molding into whatever suits her. It feels like every time she says it, she’s taking away what little is left of my mother’s love.

The woman I call "mom" is someone my real mother left me with—a friend, she claimed, though I can’t imagine why. She’s all harsh words and cold hands, her face set like stone whenever she looks at me. Maybe she thinks raising me like this is doing me a favor, maybe she believes she’s “saving” me from something. But she doesn’t feel like a mother. More like a jailer, someone who locks me in the dark and expects me to grow blind to the light.

Sometimes I whisper my real name to myself, just to feel its weight in my mouth. Andromeda Gaunt. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ll always be, even if no one else ever says it.

Today I turned 11. She gave me this diary, probably just to shut me up. "Happy now?" she said, and tossed it to me like it was something I didn’t deserve. But it’s mine, no matter how I got it, and here I can say whatever I want. Here, I can be Andromeda.

Not that there’s much to say about today. Just me and her, like it always is. I asked if we could do something different, maybe just sit outside, but she just scoffed. "Birthdays are for foolish children," she muttered. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s childish to want something special, to pretend I could be more than… whatever she says I am.

Still, when she left, I went out to the garden, where the sun was warm and the flowers bright. I sat there, eyes closed, just listening. Sometimes I feel like there’s something in me that wants to break free, some spark or fire.

There was one time I got so angry, the glass on the table shook. She said it was because I was careless, but I’m not so sure. Sometimes it feels like there’s a spark inside me, like a tiny fire that wants to be seen. But every time it tries, it gets smothered. I feel it waiting, hiding in me, as if it knows better than to show itself.

Anyway, I made myself a promise, here in these pages: one day, I’ll understand who I really am. Maybe even make something of myself.

-Andromeda Gaunt

Looking back, I barely recognize that frightened little girl, clutching her diary as if it were the only friend she’d ever have. In a way, it was. No one else was going to tell me who I was, so I told myself in those pages, letter by letter, a quiet rebellion against a world that refused to see me.

I was born a Gaunt, yet I grew up a nobody. If fate had been a bit kinder, or perhaps less cruel, my life would have looked very different. Instead, my earliest memories are of a broken-down house, the smell of stale alcohol, and the rough, cold hands of the woman who raised me. She wasn’t my mother, of course; my mother was dead. She died when I was three. Her best friend—a half-blood who thought she was doing my mother some great favor by keeping me “safe” from magic—became my caretaker. Safe… that’s what she called it.

Safe meant beaten, bruised, and terrified to my core of whatever magic stirred inside me. Safe meant hiding every spark, every flicker, because to her, magic was filth, and I was the living embodiment of it. Each flicker of magic was met with harsh words and harsher hands, a constant reminder that magic was something ugly and shameful. And I believed her, for years. I shrank myself down, smothered the spark within me until it became something dark, something I feared as much as she did.

Every time something unexplainable happened—like the time the flowers in the vase grew at my touch, or when the lights flickered with my anger—she called it “devilish nonsense.” And I was punished, each time harsher than the last, until I learned to swallow it all down. Until the thing inside me that once felt like a fire turned cold and dark, like a storm I didn’t dare unleash.

But I never let go of that name: Andromeda. It was mine, a tiny link to a mother I couldn’t remember, a life I’d never know. In that name, there was power, a power she couldn’t touch, no matter how hard she tried to make me "Andy," her quiet, magicless little project. Andy was her way of wiping away the name my mother had given me, the legacy that flowed through my veins. She never realized that every time she called me “Andy,” all she did was fuel the fire she was so desperate to extinguish.

For years, I thought maybe I was just cursed, different, unworthy of anything else. But then I discovered I was a witch. And a Gaunt.

[projectmokyuu]

2 WEEKS LEFT TO AUDITION FOR "Crimson Resolve" | Project Mokyuu Magia Record Fandub

There are approximately 2 weeks before auditions for our fan dub of "Crimson Resolve" close on April 7th! If you're interested, please see the link in our pinned post! While the Magical Girls of Kamihama City were fighting the cult known as the Wings of the Magius, Magical Girls in other cities also faced dire circumstances…  In Futatsugi City, the discovery of the truth behind Magical Girls’ fates has led to a harsh dog-eat-dog conflict between gangs of Magical Girls fighting over territory and the dwindling supply of Grief Seeds. Can they end the war before they wipe themselves out? And what will happen when they discover the true reason behind the their situation?

Lead | As the student body president at her school and leader of the Magical Girl gang Torayamachi, Yuna Kureha is a compassionate and competent leader. However, her innate kindness is diluted by the intense rage she feels towards the horrible circumstances she finds herself and her Magical Girl allies in.

Lead | A Magical Girl with a fiery temper, Juri Oba is the leader of the Ryuugasaki gang of Magical Girls in Futatsugi City. Although she has problems containing her temper, showing little little regard for human life, and will sometimes make thoughtlessly cruel jokes, Juri cares deeply about the girls in her group. She has an old grudge against Yuna and dreams of a rematch between the two of them.

Lead | Although serving as one of Juri’s lieutenants in Ryuugasaki, Ao Kasane is secretly the head of Janomiya, a gang of younger Magical Girls that have infiltrated the other two gangs. Ao holds a grudge against the older Magical Girls of Futatsugi City. Ao dreams of a kinder world where girls like her can be safe. A hardcore gamer, Ao frequently hides behind her cheerful gamer persona to mask her fear and uncertainty.

Lead | Known as “The Horse of Torayamachi”, Hikaru Kirari is fiercely loyal to Yuna. She is currently undercover in the Magical Girl gang known as Janomiya, where she quickly develops a desire to help the younger Magical Girls. While kind, Hikaru is willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure Yuna’s victory and peace in the city, even if that means killing her own friends. She’s a passionate young girl with the tenacity of a soldier. She’s cheerful and a positive influence to those around her and will do everything within her power to protect those she truly cares for.

Supporting | An avid gamer, Ranka Chizu is one of Juri’s lieutenants in the Magical Girl gang known as Ryuugasaki. A little rough around the edges, Ranka sometimes has a hard time getting along with others. Ranka used to be second in command in Mozenbashi, a gang that stole Grief Seeds and abused younger Magical Girls. She feels guilty about her history and is willing to do anything to try and atone for the past.

Supporting | Sakuya Suzuka is one of Yuna’s lieutenants in the Magical Girl gang Torayamachi. She does her best to support Yuna amidst chaos of the city. Despite that, she is secretly plagued by nightmares of the horrible acts she's committed. While dedicated to her friends, she doesn’t make new ones easily. Sakuya is a member of her school’s track team and loves running.

[fictionkinfessions]

I'm tired and sappy and so i wanna be sappy or whatever here bc nobody will know who i specifically am and nobody can call me out and i wont ruin my spooky scary reputation (someone could find me quite easily actually probably but i'll ignore that)

HAZEL. you're my sister, i promise, you arent a replacement for Bianca or anything like that, you're my little sister and i'm so SO proud of you, you're so strong and so cool and im so glad you're here, i hope you're doing okay, wherever you are. I love you

BIANCA. I'm sorry you felt like you had to baby me, and i'm sorry i wasnt a better brother to you, i wish you were able to grow up, the world is beautiful and i wish you could've seen it. I miss you

JASON. you're my best friend. I wish you would lean on me like i know i can lean on you, and i hope you know you can be whatever you want around me. I want to be there to support you like you supported me. I miss you, and i love you, and i hope wherever you are, you're doing okay

PERCY. Uh. I dont blame you for some of the things you did or said to me. I was an annoying, awful kid. I'm sorry. I hope you know that despite it all, i still consider you a friend at least, even if i dont like to talk to you a lot

REYNA. you're like a big sister to me. Not replacing Bianca, but you give me that same feeling of being safe. I'm sorry if i'm a bit clingy - or even a bit distant - or, a mix of both sometimes. You're like family to me, i just dont want to loose you again. I love you

LEO. I'm sorry for not being kinder to you, i think we could've been friends, maybe.

WILL. my sunshine, i love you so much. I'm so thankful i have you, firefly. Thank you for sticking by my side no matter what. I know i can be a pain in the ass - and i dont and will NEVER blame you for struggling with me sometimes. You're a person too, and as much as i love your support, i hope you'll trust me to try to support you, too. I love you, sunshine. I hope you're okay.

- Nico di Angelo, Fictive (#🌟💀)

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