#it's so corny but also so so heartwrenching

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

how do people still call c//a a tragic shakespearean romance when s5 entrapdak exists?

[giantmushyfriend]

Welcome back to the Ineffable lyric discussion (can I hear a wahoo)

In honor of the announcement of season 3 of our beloved Good Omens, I find it completely necessary for us to discuss one of the many songs on Aziraphale and Crowley's angelic playlist that made me scream my bloody head off. One of those songs is the one and only The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel. While I UNDERSTAND this song may have just been chosen to spell out SEASON THREE, I think it goes much deeper than that because of all of the parallels it draws to Aziraphale and Crowley. And ultimately, what I think is going to happen in terms of their relationship when they finally sort their shit out. So beware if you haven't watched season 2 of Good Omens because we're about to do a fucking DEEP DIVE into this.

First, the title of the Book of Love feels almost like a call to this looming threat to the Book of Life that was consistently used in series 2. The entire season, Crowley and Aziraphale have to work oh so carefully because with the Book of Life being confirmed, they know that either of them could get the other erased, and whether they want to admit it or not, losing the other is their biggest fear. We've seen this when Crowley believed Aziraphale to be dead in Series 1 when he couldn't feel Aziraphale's presence anymore since he got incorporated. When Aziraphale isn't there, Crowley is a mess. Likewise, we saw how both reacted during the ineffable divorce scene in series 2. Crowley is full-on begging Aziraphale to stay, and Aziraphale has finally admitted that he needs Crowley and full-on mouths for Crowley not to leave him. The Book of Life inherently, from how Neil set it up, feels threatening. The Book of Love, on the other hand, raises an entirely other reaction. Throughout the series, as corny as it sounds, love has been what grounds our protagonists. It is the love of Tadfeild and his friends that keeps Adam from kickstarting the end of the world; it's what keeps him from rejecting his father, the literal devil. It is the love of the earth, of humanity and all its strange creations, and for each other that keeps Aziraphale and Crowley attempting to prevent the end of the world when it could be so much easier to just accept the fate of it all. Love is the key theme that grounds our protagonists, that makes them tick. Love is safe; love is, at times, painful but overall kind. So when we see this title on their playlist, listed amongst heartwrenching tales of grieving a relationship, you could have had, and of loss, it brings a sense of salvation and safety. The Book of Love, unlike the Book of Life, is not a threat- it's a sanctuary for Aziraphale and Crowley.

Now, diving into the lyrics.

"The book of love is long and boring

No one can lift the damn thing

It's full of charts and facts, and figures, and instructions for dancing

But I

I love it when you read to me.

And you

You can read me anything"

The first couple of verses inherently feel like Aziraphale and Crowley's original view on this notion of love. As two supernatural entities who aren't bound by human emotion or logic, love may seem superficial and downright silly at times. The courting procedures that different societies have taken on throughout the centuries and the songs and dances that come along with it may all seem like a big waste. The book of love is a manifestation of love itself, and originally, it seems unappetizing to our protagonists. That is until they refind each other, and love goes from this thing that humans feel and jump through hoops for to this tidal wave of emotions. Love felt silly and unrealistic before, but with each other, they are willing and excited to explore it, even if it comes with things that feel inherently silly.

Also, these verses draw some cute parallels to headcanons and features of cannons. If you've been involved in the Good Omens fandom long enough, you've probably stumbled across the idea that Crowley asks Aziraphale to read to him for a multitude of different reasons. Some people say it's because his eyes aren't meant to read, one of the many punishments that came with him being cast down from grace, or maybe it's just because he finds Aziraphale's voice comforting. Additionally, the line about instructions for dancing is just so heartwarming when we look at the ball scene from this past season and Aziraphale's daydreams of a romance worthy of a Jane Austin novel.

"The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago

It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes

Adn things we're all too young to know

but I

I love it when you give me things

and you

You ought to give me wedding rings"

I'm sure we've all heard this idea that you'll understand love when you get older, but even when you get older, it never seems to make sense. This idea that love is too old for any of us to truly understand, and that humbles us but in the best way possible. There is no point in trying to figure out what exactly love is because you could spend thousands of years feeling it and watching it happen all around you and still not know exactly what it is besides this all-encompassing feeling. And that is exactly the perspective of Aziraphale and Crowley. They have seen countless examples of love, true, unwavering love, and they have felt it for each other. And yet they themselves cannot begin to fathom what love, true unconditional love, is exactly. These two supernatural, ethereal/occult beings are humbled by the very concept of love like humans are- and that love is drawn from each other.

And then there is this notion of giving, which pairs so well with Crowley's primary love language, acts of service and gift giving. If the first chorus was Crowley talking about how he loves it when Aziraphale reads to him and takes care of him, then this is Aziraphale talking about how Crowley displays his love. And this final notion of asking for that final commitment, one of the key ways humans express their love for each other, is just amazing. Because in a way, Aziraphale moving to make this commitment, to fully be on their side in this way, is the resolution we have been wanting since the beginning. For Aziraphale to finally feel safe enough to let go and finally let himself settle to where he finally belongs, on his side with Crowley.

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

that art is beautiful, i'm also just obsessed with how you write könig. the nervous energy needing to be burned, the hyena-like laugh, the way he curls into himself when he's ashamed UGH it's so good and fucked up and human i love it!!!!!!!!!! i look forward to anything you write for him in the future (also i think you're gonna drag me into the bg3 fandom, i have no idea what's goin on there but damn if you do not reblog the most interesting shit about those characters!)

ISN’T IT JUST 😭😭❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 I got so blessed with @utttoka ‘s talent and loveliness in wanting to share their vision of my take of him, I just jump up and down when I go back and look at it dghj 🥹🥹

And THANK YOU 💖💖 like logically he’s such a minor character in a campaign with much more fleshed out and interesting characters played by amazing actors, but I really just went full crab with knife and just picked him up and ran LMAO. I put a lot of thought and attention into my portrayal of him (and at this point he’s basically just an OC), and I still do, and he’s ended up being very special to me. Not to get too corny about it, but I’ve put enough of myself into my rendition of him that he’s become a significant comfort character, and I’m so glad that ppl respond to how I write him and relate to him and find him believable and engaging fghgd.

I AM gonna take a min here and get faintly cornball about it, but I’ve been - hi this is after-work rags and i'm here to finish up my thoughts on this topic now that i'm home and looking up lockets to put video game character pictures in. life's a fuckin joke and i'm going to laugh the hardest. ANYWAY.

i've been spending a lot of time considering my place in the CoD fandom through a myriad of lenses (some far FAR weightier than others, but with thoughts that ppl far more intelligent and articulate than me have already put to words), but it basically has boiled down to the condensed soup of "is this making me happy, is this giving me an outlet, is it time for me to shift my focus and step away, or should i change my approach to the things i'm creating?"

sorry for turning your sweet and kind ask into a like sljlskjd semi-existential crisis sweetie. i'll cut it short and basically sum up with: i still love these characters even if i'm neck deep in bg3, i still want to tell my stories with my versions of them, and i'm pretty sure i'm gonna just switch to solely "oc x" content after finishing up the last reader-based projects i have going, so at the least i'm having fun. christ, off the soap box now, sorry again dldjs.

BUT AGAIN, THANK YOU FOR ENJOYING MY PORTRAYAL OF THE BIG AUSTRIAN ASSHOLE, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE STUFF I DO WITH HIM IN THE FUTURE <3 <3

(ALSO PLEASE GET DRAGGED IN BG3, THE COMPANIONS ARE A FUCKIN MESS, THE GAME IS SO FUN AND HEARTWRENCHING AND KICKS SO MUCH ASS. I WOULD TO HEAR ANY SCREAMING ABOUT IT FROM YOU THAT YOU MIGHT WANNA DO IF YOU JUMP IN THE HELL HOLE WITH ME SLKJSD)

[bucca2]

I just need a moment to indulge myself and gush about this fic, because it is so, so beautiful.

Firstly, this fic is so well written. It clearly communicates its lore, Cielito and Miguel's relationship is so real and intimate, the sad moments are so heartwrenching and never seem forced or corny. Miguel and Cielito feel so real, I got so invested in their characters and their troubles.

Miguel being a hero and Cielito being someone who could very well destroy a universe, they have so much at stake. Miguel believes he must make sacrifices for the good of everyone but him, not just because he's experienced terrible loss, but because that's the kind of person he is, the kind of person he's been forced to become.

And it's so beautiful for Cielito to reach through this muck of suppressed grief and say, no. There need be no sacrifice. You deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy. We can do this if we have each other. I know this despite how many unknown factors there are in life. I like to think Miguel and Cielito, no matter what trials they encounter in the multiverse, they will face it together.

I hope that Cici knows by know that she's made something special. But what I wanted to communicate with this long-ass rambling essay is that EYEM is one of those fics I'll be thinking about for a long time after it ends. What is life about, if not for loving and being loved? Love is always, always worth fighting for, worth living for.

As Hozier sang, "And just knowing that everything will end, should not change our plans when we begin again"

also this quote by Ada Limón came across my dash right after I finished reading this chapter. Isn't that crazy?

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #15 - FINALE

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: All things end.

Word count: 3,400

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous]

Traveling through Strange’s inter-dimensional portal is a different experience from going through one of Miguel’s. It’s less of a laser light show and more of a psychedelic drug trip.

Shapes and patterns warps in front of you, and the strength of gravity seems to press in against you from all sides as you fall upwards through an endless space.

You lose track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here. It could be hours or seconds, but you can't tell the difference. Then it stops.

There is a gentle light ahead of you, and as you pass through it, the soft warmth of it trickles away. Then you find yourself standing in a familiar vast and empty space once again.

Staring into the far distance, the only thing you see is the blank whiteness ahead of you, just as jarring and endless as last time.

You clutch onto the pink-gemmed amulet hanging from your neck, gifted to you by Strange. A magical artifact that’s meant to help you keep your physical form in this space so you don’t fade away like you did last time.

Everything is static here, stale. There’s no air flow, no sense of temperature. The environment is neither hot nor cold against your skin, but somehow you feel an ever-present chill seeping into your bones.

Taking a deep breath, you start to walk forward.

You're shivering with each step you take. There's no sound under your step. No shadows cast under the soles of your feet.

"Boss lady,” Lyla pipes up, her hologram avatar hovering over your shoulders. “I really don't like this. Let's go back home, Beyoncé is holding a concert in Amsterdam! I got us front row seat tickets."

It's a valiant attempt, Miguel really did a great job coding her, but you’re not going back without him. Ignoring Lyla, you continue on your path.

There’s no sign of Miguel anywhere. It's all infinite whiteness as far as the eye can see, with no signs of an end.

The last two times you were here, you didn’t have a chance to gain an understanding of how big this space is. For all you know it could be as vast and endless as the universe itself. What if you’re stuck wandering in this place for an eternity and still never find Miguel?

You walk on, eyes roaming the space, and a dull ache starts to form behind them from staring at the glaring brightness.

There! Off to your left, you finally spot… something.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you clock a disruption in the blank whiteness. A tiny disruption. Or maybe it’s just far away? The emptiness of this place is hell on your depth perception. You veer in that direction, squinting as you approach, until you’re finally close enough to make out what it is.

In the middle of the vast nothingness, there is a tiny ball of crumpled up yellowish paper floating at knee height.

Huh?

Isn't this a complete void where nothing exists or can exist? Why is there trash here?

You squat down hunching over your knees until the little paper ball is eye level and inspect it closer.

The color and thickness of the paper is familiar. It looks like a post-it note that’s been folded in half, tiny, uneven triangles sticking out at each of the four corners.

How weird.

Crumpled as it is, you can see now that the crooked folds and creases aren't all random. Looking closely, there seems to have been a failed attempt of trying to fold them in a sequence but lacking the proper hand to eye dexterity to do it properly.

Wait, is this…? It must be.

You recognize it now. It’s one of your unfortunate attempts at an origami frog from when you were killing time with Miguel at your work. But what is it doing here of all places?

Tentatively reaching out, you poke at the piece of paper. To your surprise there’s resistance.

That's... odd.

There's nothing else here. Nothing holding it.

Just the failed paper frog suspended in thin air.

You try again, grabbing a corner of the paper this time, but the results are the same. It stubbornly refuses to move. When you tug, it jerks back, away from you.

Squinting your eyes, you lean closer and carefully observe the space in front of you.

Now when you’re paying close attention, you can just about make out a vague, almost invisible outline.

It’s barely there, and you can only tell because the blank whiteness in front of you seems to warp slightly with the smallest tremor of a movement.

Whatever this is, it really doesn’t want you to take your piece of trash back from it.

You frown in annoyance. This doesn't make sense. Why would your poor deformed paper frog even be here? The only people who even had anything to do with the stupid thing are you and–

"Miguel?"

The movement stills at your voice.

When you don't look away, it seems spooked by your gaze, shirking at the attention. The thing shifts in its shape, shrinking down like it's trying to make itself smaller.

You try to move closer, and the obscure translucent form moves away from you, gliding seamlessly into the empty space.

Without a shape it takes you a few moments before you register its movement and what it's trying to do. It's moving fast, as if it's trying to flee from you.

Because it is. Shit!

You run after it, guided by the vague hazy contour against the nothingness that surrounds you. Even without legs, this shapeless thing is moving fast.

"Stop!" you shout, "Stop, stop, please stop! It's me!"

You leap forward, grabbing at the empty outline in front of you, and to your surprise find purchase on the nothingness under your grip.

"Miguel, stop running!" you shout.

It does. He does.

There is something there now, a semi-invisible mass, slightly more opaque than it was a second ago.

You open your mouth to speak, but you don't know what to say. Don't even know for certain that this is Miguel or not.

But you hope it is. Have to believe it is. You’re too desperate to overthink it, and you spout the first thing that comes into your head.

"Come back, Miguel. Come back, and I'll take you back to that cheap Chinese diner you liked so much. We can get all the food you want, all of it deep fried! I'll even share the egg tarts this time."

You think you see something shift before you. It could just be your imagination, but the tiniest speck of color seems to emerge from within the translucent mass.

Somehow, whatever you’re doing must be working, and you quickly try to think of what else you can say that will tempt him to come back.

Food. Maybe more about food will work? It worked for you, after all.

"The Reese buttercups in our other apartment are all expired, but I think they'd still be okay to eat, and– and– And I'll make you cookies if you come back! Blue spiderman ones that match your suit."

The speck of color pops, fading into thin air, your fingers sinking further into the nothingness of his form, and a spike of panic stabs through your chest.

Why isn’t it working!? Was it not the food that made him react after all? You don’t know what else to try.

That first time you were here, Miguel was able to bring you back to yourself with the intimate details he knew from the other lifetime you two had shared. Maybe you can do the same.

"Your name is Miguel O'hara," you start, "and- and-" And then you have to stop, not sure of what else to say. "And your eyes are red... for some reason. And you have fangs! Fangs that can deliver some kind of fucking paralysis venom, which is completely ridiculous by the way!"

Nothing happens. There’s no change save for that the form underneath you squirms and tries to get away from your grip.

"And... and..."

Shit. This is getting you nowhere.

Unlike Miguel, you haven't had the front seat experience of living a lifetime together with him. There's only so much you know about him. Because that man is more secretive than a CIA agent.

You bite down on your lip in frustration.

"Goddamnit, Miguel! I barely know anything about you because you never tell me shit!"

The shape underneath you stops wiggling underneath you.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you gather yourself, then you reopen them again, staring up at the upper part of the half-invisible shape like he's standing in front of you.

There's no point in trying to beat Miguel at a game of knowledge. You will never win. You never got to learn or memorize every personal and intimate detail about the man and his life. But there's one thing that you know beyond any doubt.

"I miss you," you tell him.

Strokes of soft colors streaks through the translucent mass at your words. A gentle blossoming spreads and you can see the opaque material reform inch by inch, until it vaguely resembles the silhouette of a body.

"I can’t even eat without you around, which has never happened to me before. I’ve been able to eat through food poisoning. But now the cupcakes from Gladis remind me of you and how you're not here, and they taste like cardboard."

He feels firmer somehow, more solid, and there’s even the faintest trace of warmth under your fingertips. Hope flutters in your chest at the change, and you tighten your grip on him.

“I miss you. More than I ever thought it could be possible to miss someone."

You can faintly make out limbs and shoulders, and the outline of a head.

"I miss falling asleep next to you. It's too quiet without your snoring, and the bed is too big without you there."

The body grows taller, and you can see the familiar tan of his skin now, the line of his jaw and the sharp angle of his nose re-materializing before your eyes.

"I miss watching you eat three dozen tacos in one sitting, scaring the tables around us. I miss having you with me and getting to talk to you, or even just sitting next to you doing nothing.”

You lean up towards him, raised on the tip of your toes, until you're up against him. “I just want you to be here with me. Please come back," you whisper into him.

Then he's there. Right in front of you, large and firm and warm as he towers above you, forehead pressed against yours, in your arms.

He’s here. Miguel is here.

His hair is a soft tousled mess. Eyes warm and hazy as he slowly blinks them open like he's just woken up from a hibernation while he gazes down on your face in an intimate silence.

It doesn’t last for very long. His gaze sharpens, blinking in rapid succession as confusion bleeds into his face. You can see the exact moment that consciousness and awareness fully return to him. Because he steps back from you, red eyes burning with an angry determination.

"What are you doing here?" he snarls at you.

Because of course he does. Of course anger is his first reaction at seeing you here.

"You can't be here," he says.

You don't even get a word in before Miguel reaches for your wrist.

"Lyla!" he barks out, and there’s a ping on your arm in response.

"Lyla, stand down," you command, smacking your palm over the face of the dial before the hologram can pop up. You already know that the next words out of his mouth will be a command to whisk you away again if you let him speak.

His lips twist into a frustrated snarl. Eyes glowing with that red fury that you recognize by now as the beginnings of an anger tantrum.

“Why don't you get it? I need to do this," he seethes, gesturing at the void, "I have to disappear. For your sake! It's my fault. I'm the reason you keep dying. I’m killing you!”

“That’s not true! You saved me! You caught me when I fell off the Chrysler building—twice!—and–”

“That doesn’t matter!” he snarls, rounding on you, “Don’t you understand!? You’re still going to die! If I'm with you, you die.”

There’s a moment of resounding silence, and you watch as the anger bleeds away from Miguel’s face, leaving something else in its place.

Something like grief.

“I can’t– I can’t do that again,” he says quietly, and he looks so sad that it damn near breaks your heart.

“Miguel…”

You don’t know what to say in the face of such raw and obvious grief. Until… suddenly, you do.

“Whether you're here or not, I could still die, Miguel."

Your words seem to hit him like a blow, and he flinches back, his eyes going round and liquid, open mouth quivering for a moment before it pulls right into a hard downturned line.

"Even if you were gone, there still wouldn’t be any guarantees," you say.

You brush your hand alongside his, trying to hold his hand in yours but he draws it away.

"You could save me by erasing yourself from existence and tomorrow a bus driver that isn't paying attention might hit me and I'd die anyhow," you continue, and he flinches visibly. "You can't control these things, and I would rather be with you and take the chance and be happy until it happens."

His hand balls up in agitation at his side. "I– I just don't want you to die again," he says, helplessness bleeding through every syllable of his words.

Your heart aches at his obvious pain. All you want, all you've ever wanted is to make that pain a little bit smaller. You step forward closing the distance between you, and he doesn't back away or move from you this time.

“Everybody dies. Regardless of what happens here I will too someday. But you’ve given me extra time. You did that. You saved me, again and again. And I’m so happy that you did. That I got to have that time with you. To share donuts with you in bed, or fold post-its frogs in the office."

His eyes close tightly, and he gives a slight shake of his head, grief and denial warring in his features. “None of that matters if you don’t survive,” he says quietly.

“You say it doesn’t matter, but it does, Miguel. Those moments matter to me. And even if we die here in this stupid video game loading screen, or if we make it out of here, but something else gets me, it will still matter to me.”

There's no telling if your grand speech is actually getting through to him because he's still not looking at you or meeting your eyes. You grab at his shoulder for his attention. It's all you can do to not shake him and rattle him until he accepts what you are trying to tell him.

"I want to be with you, and even if you can’t save me in the end, that's okay. I just want to be with you for as long as I can. However long or short of a time that is, I won’t have any regrets as long as I get to spend it with you. I told you, didn’t I? Every me in every universe would say the same, given a choice."

He doesn’t respond this time and part of you feels like you’re talking to a besieged wall. Reaching up, you cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his face down to meet your eyes.

“How many other universes are out there where those versions of us never get to know each other at all? …Thousands? …Millions? We’re the lucky ones, Miguel. We got to meet, and we have a chance against all odds. So what if it means we have to jump through a few hoops and universes to be together?”

His eyes open fully at your words, and lock on your face. You think you can see the cracks in his defenses. His hands unfurl and twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting himself to reach for you.

"I love you,” you tell him, and his lips part with a slight tremble.

You’re running out of things to say that can convince him now. The only thing that’s left is for Miguel to make the choice.

Your hand slides down from his face, and he looks distraught at the loss of contact as you take one small step back and away from him.

"Let's try to be happy this time," you tell him.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you try your best to smile through your nervousness, hoping that he is going to say yes to you this time despite his trademark stubbornness that you’ve come to love and hate sometimes.

Miguel looks at your hand, hesitation carved into every shade of red in those eyes. His hand flexes by his side, but doesn’t move.

He’s still unsure, and hope falls flat in your chest at the thought that he might very well make the choice to stay and destroy himself despite how much you don’t want him to.

But then he nods, and your heart begins to sing.

Tentative as it may be, his arm still reaches out towards you, fingers seeking out yours and he takes your hand.

"Yeah," he answers quietly. “Let’s be happy.”

Your smile grows wider, eyes watery as your vision blur around the edges when you look up at him. Happiness blossoming in your chest until it feels so full you think your ribs might burst from it.

You squeeze down on his larger hands in yours, to reassure yourself that he is really here, with you. And he is.

"Lyla," you say, and your watch pings at your command, before Lyla’s face lights up the space above.

"Good to have you back with us, boss," she says with a salute in Miguel’s direction. “Where to now?” 

“Lyla,” he acknowledges with a faint smile and a nod, but he doesn’t look away from your face. "Do the thing. Take us home. Home-home."

Warm amber light rises up to surround you both, and Miguel pulls you into his chest. A kaleidoscope of colors explodes before your eyes, swirling around the two of you as he holds you in his arms.

You can't stop smiling at him, grinning like an idiot, as you tilt up to press your forehead to his.

Reality reforms around you, specks of navy-blue filling the large and vast sky. You're standing on the rooftop of a tall building surrounded by the skyline of brightly lit skyscrapers, a labyrinth of levitating bridges and streets laid out beneath. Floating vehicles buzz and soar through the sky like flamboyant dragonflies. Below your feet there is an ocean of dotted neon lights and colorful hologram billboards filling every inch and corner of the city below.

This must be Miguel's home dimension. What did he call it?  Earth-3000-something? Nueva York, he said, and it certainly looks new—bright and fantastical, like nothing you’ve ever known before—but you only have eyes for the man in front of you.

Miguel pulls back slightly, squeezing down on your hand.

"So what do we do now? As long as I exist, the universe will still be out to get you," he says.

Despite the bleakness of the picture he’s painting, his eyes are soft and there’s something that sounds like hope in his tone.

You smile at him, eyes narrowing against the bright neon lights of the tall towering buildings around you.

"We live,” you answer, “Together. As long as we can. I hear you're some kind of genius scientist or something. I'm sure we'll think of something fun to do in the infinite multiverse."

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

“Sleep.”

He's smiling at you, the corners of his fangs peeking out against his lower lip, eyes squinting in a way that makes him look almost boyish.

The sight of it makes your cheeks warm pleasantly and affection blossoms endlessly in your chest for him.

This isn’t the end, but if it were, it feels like it's a good one this time. Miguel walks out towards the ledge of the building, turning back to reach out his hand to you.

"Let’s go, Cielito."

[Nueva York, Earth 928-C]

The end.

Credit and Dedication: One final time, this is dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss who is my muse, my partner-in-writing-&-brainstorming, who makes writing so much more fun everyday.

And then of course. To everyone of you. We are finally here. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I want to thank everyone who has followed along in this story this entire time. Writing Every You Every Me has been one of the most joyous writing experiences I've had. That is largely because of you guys! Thank you for every heartfelt feedback you guys have left here, thank you for coming into my asks, thank you for clicking that little heart on the bottom letting me know you've read it and for the lurkers who has followed along all the while, thank you for taking the time to read this story of mine! Having this audience has made me grow so much as a writer. Having your company while I wrote this has brought me so much joy. Reading everyone's reactions and theories has been a privilege that not a lot of writers get in the process of writing a multi-chaptered story. Thank you so so much.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[lilyinlosangeles]

On December 14th, 2023, the New Beverly Cinema in Los Ángeles, California released its calendar for January 2024. The slate included many classics such as Funny Girl, Trainspotting, and In the Mood for Love. However, one show stood out; a five-movie marathon of The Twilight Saga on 35mm. I saw this and immediately fell to my knees. My mind was racing, thinking about not only what would happen if I went -- but also the dangerous corollary that would occur if I didn't. So naturally I forced my dad to take out his wallet and phone in the middle of dinner and dropped $72 on [two] tickets for this event.

One might ask: why would you go to this with your dad? And to that I answer -- I just didn't want to pay for my own ticket. Originally, he agreed to go to the first couple of movies then leave to eat then come back to see the last film. This did not happen. By the end of New Moon, my father -- 42, a film school graduate, and a hater of most female-centered media -- was so absorbed by the remarkable world of Forks that not only did he stay the entire time but hung around after to discuss with our fellow Twi-Hards.

The actual experience of the show was like none other. For context, I have seen Twilight (2008) in show at the New Bev twice before and have watched the Saga back to back at home many times. So although I'm VERY familiar with the films, this would be a feat like no other. Watching 720 minutes of this beautiful/terrible/heartwrenching/tragic/corny love story with a sold-out audience reminded me of why I love Twilight so much.

The collective awws, oohs, yays, and boos transpired cemented my belief in why this movie is so culturally cardinal. This is cinema. Regardless of the actual quality of the picture, Twilight has formed such a nexus with so many people that almost 20 years later they would sit in uncomfortable polyethylene chairs and watch all 5 films back to back. The purpose of cinema isn't to win the most Oscars or to make the most money at the box office -- it is to grasp the opportunity to bridge humanity on film.

I realize this reads more like a diary entry than a film review, but I find it important to discuss other aspects of film than just the quality on this app. So thank you Summit, thank you RPattz and KStew, thank you Catherine Hardwicke, and a begrudging thank you to Stephanie Myers. Because without Twilight, I would not be the daughter, artist, friend, person, or consumer...I am today.

[thyandrawrites]

Do you have any dabihawks fic recommendations?

Mh, I already made a fic recs post a while ago. You can find it here. Though I do have a few more suggestions:

The lies we tell ourselves by Desbelleschoses 

I’m pretty sure a lot of people already know this one, as it has been updating regularly for a while now. But essentially, little by little during his double agent gig, Hawks finds out that Dabi is Todoroki Touya. 

Metal Chick by glitteringeva 

Hawk’s career as a musician is undergoing a bit of a rocky situation in the aftermath of some incident involving Enji. Enter Dabi, the singer of a metal band that has taken an interest in him, and Miruko, determined to make the two of them work together. Not going to lie, I’m on this boat equally for the dabihawks endgame and for the todofamily feels. 

Dragon head, snake tail by Lycaonpictus77

THIS FIC IS EVERYTHING. Lol, okay, it had me stupidly hooked since chapter 1. Essentially, bodyswap AU in which Dabi gets thrown in a world where Shinogu Touya is a hero, while Touya wakes up in a world where not only is he a villain, but also somehow estranged from his family. LISTEN I HAVE A MAJOR WEAKNESS FOR BODYSWAPS AUS and this one checks all my boxes. Please read it, you won’t regret it 

Canary in a coal mine by marreena

can you believe that this is the only fic I was able to find in which Dabi is portrayed as the right amount of soft and touch-starved? Gosh, it’s a godsent amongst all the dub-cons out there and I’ll forever cherish it

Fever dream, by sushibomb 

Hawks takes care of a very sick, very bratty Dabi. Who doesn’t need to have the mental picture of Dabi in a blanket cocoon with only his eyes poking out? 

the phoenix, by domestichobgoblin 

this one is shigadabihawks, but please consider reading it even if the pairing is not your cup of tea. This fic has the best Hawks’ characterisation I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, and it’s the most believable take I saw so far of Hawks’ “fallen angel” theory

to nurture a phoenix, by seiyuna 

crack treated seriously but boy, you’re missing out if you haven’t read this little gem. Basically, Hawks brings home an egg and tells Dabi that it’s their child. Dabi takes his sudden fatherhood very seriously

Asterism, by Bacchant

a collection of dabihawks drabbles featuring various prompts. It goes from corny to heartwrenching with such ease it’ll probs give you whiplash, but the author has a great grasp of Hawks and Dabi’s respective personalities as well as their dynamic. 10/10 would recommend

give me more than the things i’ve lived for, by eliestarr

In which Dabi finds a healthier way to channel his revenge towards his dad, Hawks wants desperately to save him, and the todofamily gets to have the heartwarming reunion that it deserves. Kudos to this fic for making me incredibly soft. I love the way Hawks’ and Dabi’s mutual support system is shown. All the soft scenes of comfort were what truly made this read so worth it (also, this fic has a good take on how the aftermath of Endvore’s fall from grace would affect the ranking system, which is another great plus imho)

[chimerafeathers]

a short list of things that i may or may not expand on (update: lol “short.” “may or may not expand on.” hahahahaahaha.)

- the way i was fucking screaming (/affectionate) at Siffrin the whole time to fucking talk to his party. “I’VE TRIED EVERYTHING, WHAT ELSE IS THERE?” oh did you try everything buddy? did you really. or did you decide for no reason at all that going “hey guys i’m actually in a time loop, got any ideas about that” was off the table instantly and never actually attempted it hm? hmmmmm??? i’m putting you in a jar and shaking it vigorously until you grow some communication skills. like activating yeast maybe. idk how baking works

- speaking of communication skills. i’ve seen a lot more posts/conversation recently pushing back against “therapy-talk” and characters using identity labels with unrealistic levels of self-awareness/introspection than the context (of the time period, their culture, their character, etc) would allow for, and i was squinting at the dialogue/presentation in this game a lot trying to decide where it fell for me. and it IS quite corny and heavy-handed and introspective and i still think it works! the Change religion does a lot of heavy lifting in that “pronouns in bio” regard (among other things, i could speak on this more), but beyond that it’s the fact that it’s not universal or unchallenged. the Change belief is not the only belief, and it’s also not exactly the perfect utopic queer belief that it maybe sounds like at first. surprise!!! anyone and everyone can be trans and gay but BOO! ACE/AROPHOBIA JUMPSCARE

- on that note i’m not entirely sure how i feel about Siffrin’s post-Mirabelle hangout paradigm shift of “hah, pictures of naked people doing fun/interesting things” and being pretty neutral towards the romance books —> “ew, sex and romance, gross.” is it a case of Siffrin sort of…absorbing traits of a party member again, similar to how they adopt “allies” or “family members” depending on how they perceive the *party’s* (in that case, Odile’s) perception of the situation? is it more that even in the privacy of their own mind, they were sort of passively performing amatonormativity until Mirabelle gave them external validation to recognize how he *actually* felt about those things? i’m leaning towards that explanation, but it still feels kind of odd to go from a pretty solidly sex-neutral vibe to [is basically confirmed asexual without using the exact label] “anyway sex is YUCKY.” i kinda hoped those reactions would mellow out over time after the first Mirabelle hangout but lolllllll nothing Siffrin did after that could be described as “mellowing out” so.

- i’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of “blank slate protagonists” bc of other games i play that uh…don’t necessarily utilize them well. and how Siffrin introduces himself as being there bc he had nothing better to do and i was like. uh. that’s a bit of a weak connection to the events. hm. alright sure whatever, not important i guess. but now i keep thinking about a Black Sails post i saw a long time ago that stuck with me, about how a certain character’s lack of a backstory was, in itself, a more heartwrenching and tragic backstory than any other. and i’m like, god, it WAS important, it mattered, it all mattered. the payoff for these little throwaway lines and jokes. THE PAYOFFFFFFF.

- i’m the kind of perfectionist sap of a player that spent a lot of the game treating almost every loop like it COULD have been Siffrin’s last. i wanted to collect every memento and bring them to the end, pay attention to any changes in dialogue, get all the cute interactions, so that if it was somehow the last, Sif would have the “best” ending possible. i had the thought early on, “if i enter the House without the friendship doodle, assume i’ve died and been possessed.” and really, i was activating every one of the game’s fucking trap cards by playing that way. i intend to play Start Again once i’ve digested everything more, but i read up on the endings, and the “perfect ending” is perfectly tailored to say “you fool. you fucking idiot. why would you think anything would change if you do it all like you did in the past? why would your party notice something is wrong (like you so badly want & need them to) if you do a ‘perfect’ job pretending everything is fine? moron” to me specifically. you’re right, you got me, goddamn. Siffrin is sick of their favorite food because i didn’t want to make Bonnie sad on a potential “final run” (it probably won’t be this one, but you never know!!!) Siffrin feels manipulative and disgusting because i pick the charming cute options that i know will make Isabeau blush and stammer. i see the rake on the ground and step on it and it slams in Siffrin’s face on the way to the “perfect final run.”

- i’m a bad perfectionist though lol. i tried the passwords for that one locked house in Dormont but not the Blind One’s house, so i never built the bomb and spent the whole playthrough wondering what the FUCK i could have missed while looking around the House despite clicking on what i thought was Literally Everything, including all the barrels. but trying to get into this guy’s house while he’s standing right next to it did not occur to me. that would be rude. Siffrin in the classroom not getting the key from the notebook because it said not to open it energy, i guess

- the actual gameplay is, on a surface level, nothing to write home about. basic turn-based stuff, literal rock-paper-scissors, albeit with that concept cleverly and humorously turned into an actual, somewhat believable magical framework. but mannnnnn i am such a sucker for when gameplay mechanics are just storytelling mechanics in a trenchcoat. “memories” as equipment. collectibles being interactive means of tracking Siffrin’s mindset and unveiling more about his past (whatever there is left to find). alllllll the subtle and not-so-subtle art changes for combat sprites and attack animations. the visibly widening canyon between Siffrin’s level and everyone else’s. (you don’t want to leave them behind). how strong you feel as a team the first time you beat the king, how pitifully weak everyone’s attacks feel later in comparison to what Siffrin is capable of. the convenience of having checkpoints to loop forward to so you can skip the grind, of having a “fast-forward button” to zone out (dissociate???) during convos you’ve already heard, but what will you be missing out on if you take those shortcuts? how much might change that you’ll never notice, passing it by in a daze? but then, how many times can you hear the exact same words and still engage with them with any sincerity at all?

- fucking love that the character see their own world in black and white. it’s a funny meta nod to the art style, but it raises its own questions and imparts so much more significance to the sky breaking red. Siffrin’s time loops, the King’s curse, the way everyone “forgot” how to see color, they way everyone “forgot” Siffrin’s homeland….are these ALL the effects of Wish Craft? did those people really get what they wanted, or perhaps were they, too, victims of devastating consequences for the intended scope of their desires? could those things be undone? SHOULD they be undone, if it would take using that fickle power again, risk breaking the world somehow again?

- Loop. god. i’m really really really glad i fulfilled the conditions for the 2hats ending, whatever those conditions are, idk. i actually didn’t realize you could walk out the door and head back to Dormont at the end, so my first ending was just talking to the family, then the head housemaiden, getting the ending scene and the one hat at the end of the credits. but then i went “hold on hold on hold on, what about Loop???” and did a quick google where i saw something about visiting the Favor Tree in Act 6 and i sprinted (digitally) back to reload my save file so i could talk to the rest of the revived House/town and find Loop. and i thought, “DUH, with all the undertale influences why didn’t i think about backtracking at the end!! THIS IS JUST LIKE BACKTRACKING TO FIND ASRIEL AT THE FLOWER PATCH.” and yeah, it sure fucking was like finding Asriel, huh!!! (btw, going to the creator’s website and finding an introspective post-Flowey Asriel fancomic was the Least Surprising Thing Ever (/positive).) i knew Siffrin and Loop had some connection/were the “same person”-ish thanks to fandom osmosis of seeing art/comics stuff on my dash, but i thought it was more like the story about the person who made a wishcraft clone so they would feel understood. and it was like that and it was also Worse. im gonna be sick. Loop i love you.

- i couldn’t play this game for a while (a little over a month i think) after Siffrin got it in their head that saying the right things to the Head Housemaiden would fix everything. because. Loop knew it wouldn’t work. i, the player, knew it wouldn’t work. and post-Bonnie-Incident-Siffrin was clinging onto that false hope by their fucking fingernails and i did not want to see him shattered again and thinking about that too much literally, physically made me feel sick to my stomach. i was 99% sure there was some kind of a happy ending on the other side of it all but looking into the cavernous abyss of despair that Siffrin had coming his way made me very very scared and i just played Ace Attorney and Echoes of Wisdom instead bc that was dramatically less emotionally/mentally challenging. whining to a friend about how scared i was about it DID make me suck it up and keep playing though, and i’m so incredibly glad i did.

- it’s approaching 4am so i should sleep but i might continue this tomorrow/another time? we shall see

i had (and have) sooooo many thoughts while playing isat and i Wanted to just babble to my friends about everything about the experience that was making me insane but i was like “noooo but what if i can convince them to play it one day” or “they wouldn’t be interested/it’s too much to explain” etc all the while forgetting i can babble on my own fucking blog and it doesn’t have to make a lick of sense to anyone but me. this is what tumblr is FOR

[whenyousayrun]

Please play Enigma:

I just finished playing Enigma: by which I mean I just finished crying my eyes out.

Enigma: is a pretty short (about 12 hours) and pretty unknown VN available on steam and it seriously needs more love. It’s a fantasy novel about Chester, a guy with the incurable and fatal disease called enigma who gets shipwrecked and ends up on an island with a mysterious white forest that shares its name with the disease.

There’s three distinct routes and 19 endings and it’s really not a romance game at all. If anything Enigma: is about hope. Like it sounds corny but I don’t think I’ve ever read anything that so perfectly sums up what hope is. It’s also really heartwarming and heartwrenching at the same time. Fair warning that some of the bad ends can get pretty gory and disturbing.

I’m just blown away by it and feel like doing my best for the future. Also that op is really good and like the only reason I played it at all since it sounds like it could have been an Umineko opening.