#oops I talked A Lot

[canisonicscrewyou]

hi !! i got this idea from some of my other mutuals (evildead and ratoffstring and sharktoothedfae) can you tell me about some things you enjoy ? please and thank you !! :3

!!!!! oh boy I just took a big hit off my pen let’s seeeee

I. Love. Making. Little. Drinks. I love the rituals and craft of coffee and tea and cocktails. I love it at my job, and nowadays the only thing I really dislike about being a manager is that it means I can’t bar as often as I’d like. I love it at home where I brew myself & my partner & our roommate coffee with my French press on our days off. I have strong opinions on coffee roasts and types of tea and gin. I love light roasts and used to especially lean towards light roasts so acidic that they’d curdle milk/nondairy/etc. I prefer something that’s less heartburn inducing for my regular nowadays(Starbucks Green Apron & Anniversary Blends my beloved)(Atomic Coffee Cabot Street my beloved)(Trade Coffee in general my beloved). Likewise, I also really like shitty cumbies gas station coffee, and instant coffee, and Arizona iced teas and what have you. I do NOT like energy drinks because most of them are carbonated(yucky)(aside from when it’s alcohol that’s carbonated for some reason?). But I do like Monster’s Lemon or Raspberry Iced Tea if I ever need one. I’m just a beverage opinions girlie.

On a similar note I also really love herbs and other botanicals !! I have a little “apothecary” near my altars and also a big tea/coffee/herbs cart in the kitchen lol, and used to dabble in making different cordials and tinctures and stuff- and I wanna start doing more of that again soon. But I also just like rose and mugwort teas now. I’m in the process of setting up an old snake tank as a little herb garden and I’m excited!!! :3 My mom and I had an herb garden & a vegetable garden (+ the home to one fuckass big blackberry bramble) when I lived with my parents so I’m sosososo excited to make a little one againnnn.

I love cooking dinner and more specifically I love cooking dinner for @demonicomens . I love cooking them good food & experimenting w stuff I think they will like. I also like introducing them to the concept of a sunbutter & jam sandwich(and the next time we get bananas I have promised a sunbutter and banana sandie). I like peeling oranges for them and cutting strawberries into hearts for them. Now I’m just thinking about how much I lovelovelove cooking & baking for other people.

I have lost the energy to ramble. I love decorating my spaces. Here was my living room at some point, I wanna take newer pictures when I put more stuff on the walls (as usual)

Finally that gay bitch the Master (Rory!Master AU my beloved).

Thank youuuuuu

[heartvisor]

the first boonboom was nice. i liked it a lot! (overly longwinded discussion and spoilers below)

it's only the first episode, so this may be a bit much, but i think this episode was more thought out about women's genuine regard for and autonomy in marriage than like, any other season i've seen so far (not that that's an especially high bar, considering genre convention).

my positive impression on this is significantly informed by my personal sentimentality for similar subjects so maybe take my commentary with a grain of salt, but it really did speak to me! the episode and the characters operate alongside the energy generally expected for women (not that i think the archetype of the "cheerful bright pink" is bad in and of itself--but the expectation feels like a constraint at times) and it is a simple narrative, but that there is such a deliberate, forefronted space made for mira's discomfort and personal feelings was a very pleasant surprise!

it isn't that she didn't like her boyfriend exactly, nor that she hates the idea of marriage (not to say that disliking marriage or her boyfriend would be bad, to be clear)--she in fact treasures her grandmother's gown, but that these important matters are as of a course decided separately by the men in her life is terrible.

becoming a bride is often set forth by shows like these as an obvious aspiration for young girls, almost in the same breath to the idea that a becoming a super hero is such an obvious aspiration for young boys. these are a part of the presumptions of gender that the genre often takes as a given, but they are thoroughly false. marriage is a life choice, and a very personal matter--it should be a culmination of your own will to get married and conduct your life as you like.

you would definitely be upset to be pushed into a loveless marriage without a choice, but similarly, it would also be really upsetting to be suddenly carted off to the airport by your partner without being consulted before at all. contrary to any expectation from the world that says otherwise, you should be allowed to feel that way! and furthermore, to be able to act against it!

i like marriage episodes as a concept (i like pretty dresses and flowers and explorations of love), but their deployment often dips into some very disheartening reinforcements of misogyny and heteronormativity. that it was executed here very knowingly to articulate a reckoning with those things, it feels very clever! as well as a comfort.

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[daily-yin]

Can u draw paper and yin being best buds

Day 16

[l3t-me-perish]

[From 23/12/2024]

Simeon is so swancoded 2 me.... also finally at the end of the backlog omfg

[evermoredeluxe]

[soren-apologist]

kinda wild to think about how much ike and soren’s first meeting as children changed the course of tellius’ history.

most of you already know how the story goes, but ike stumbles across soren slowly starving to death in the forests of gallia. in direct contrast to the abuse and scorn soren has only ever known up to this point, ike not only gives him his lunch to eat, but actually wants to help him further, promising to return the next day with more food and even offering to bring him back to his home. while soren ultimately refuses the latter offer and ike disappears the next day, this act of genuine, unconditional kindness is so earth-shattering to young soren that he chooses to spend years searching for the boy who saved him. after finally locating him, soren joins the greil mercenaries and chooses to repay ike’s act of kindness by exclusively dedicating his arcane and tactical abilities to aiding him, even when ike himself is still unable to recall their first meeting.

with that established, let me start diving into the ramifications of all this by stating that soren is nothing short of a tactical genius. in fact, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to claim that, even in his young age, he’s likely the best tactician on the continent. it’s honestly kind of a blessing for everyone else that ike has no desire for power and soren just follows his lead, because if he really wanted to soren could probably have the entire continent in the palm of his hand in like 5 years just by pulling the strings from the shadows.

now, this isn’t just me extolling soren’s virtues because i’m a fan (i am, and that’s what i’m doing— it’s just besides the point); if soren hadn’t decided to join the greil mercenaries, it’s honestly pretty unlikely they would have even managed to survive daein’s onslaught. even with titania and greil’s combined might in combat, they still had to contend with daein’s sheer quantity of soldiers up against their small mercenary company. in real life, numbers are a really big deal in warfare— even if you’ve got a group of professional soldiers going up against a bunch of untrained peasants drafted into an army, if those peasants outnumber the soldiers enough, you’re probably going to lose unless you can come up with a really good strategy. while yes, this is fire emblem, the same franchise where just one guy on a horse could literally solo the entire campaign just one game before, a lot of that ability to survive maps comes from you as the player being able to strategize and effectively command them. this means that even though titania can hard carry the entirety of fe9’s early game, if you just plonk her in front of the enemy’s line of mages with zero terrain cover and a single iron axe, she’s probably not going to survive.

as such, this is exactly what makes soren so important to battle as a whole. diegetically speaking, your role as a player is essentially managing ike and soren’s jobs in the army. not only do you command the forces (ike), you’re also the one handling things like budgeting of weapons and supplies, as well as working out the specific strategies meant to guarantee your army’s survival and success (soren). consequently, ike’s decisions as a commander rely heavily on soren’s advice and tactical acumen to make sure his forces aren’t just immediately decimated the second he gives orders. simply put, without soren’s tactics essentially performing miracles to allow the greil mercenaries’ tiny number of forces to defeat daein’s massive numbers, they’re all probably going to die or end up captured. in the best-case scenario, elincia somehow manages to evade daein’s forces and get to gallia, but the more likely outcome is her capture and subsequent execution.

if elincia does manage to reach gallia and go to caineghis for aid, it’s unlikely she would be able to garner much in the way of any sort of protection, considering the mercenaries are gone and any laguz forces are likely to be very unwilling to fight for a beorc princess. any battles from here on out are going to be significantly more difficult, and while it is theoretically possible for her to defeat daein and reclaim crimea with begnion and later gallia’s help, the odds of it actually happening without their forces being defeated entirely would be astronomically low.

if elincia isn’t able to reach gallia and then make it to begnion to petition for aid, or if her forces are ultimately defeated by daein, ashnard’s original plans of marching through crimea to invade gallia and dragging all the other nations into it would have continued. while gallia was definitely far better equipped to handle a military invasion than crimea would have ever been, they would still have to deal with the combined forces of daein and begnion once the latter is dragged into the beorc vs. laguz conflict (assuming elincia doesn’t manage to reach begnion). considering how much of a nightmare it was for them to fight begnion in fe10, they’d similarly petition for aid from kilvas and phoenicis, effectively forming the laguz alliance three years early. with that in mind, while i ultimately doubt this conflict would fully manage to awaken ashera without hatari’s and, depending on how events turn out, goldoa’s involvement, it’d still be an extremely messy and bloody war that would leave scars on the continent far greater than those of the canon mad king’s war.

if ike hadn’t found soren that day in gallia, there likely would have been no patriotic hero and princess of crimea to bring together the continent to defeat daein and save crimea. the rifts between beorc and laguz would have been deepened instead of bridged, and in the same way ashera would remain asleep, the pain and suffering of tellius would be left unchanged, continuing to haunt the living as the bloodied bodies of the dead piled higher and higher. ironically, amidst all the great and legendary feats ike would come to be known for, his simple act of genuine kindness would ultimately be the catalyst for the salvation of tellius.

[quinn-pop]

let’s do some autistic meta knight headcanons!! over explaining my interpretation of meta knight yet again wooooo

this orb has NO idea how to talk to people!!! outside of work anyway. a lot of this is partially due to upbringing (suppressing his emotions all the time) but he does not know how to express emotions, like…at all.

this goes into a few things

1. yeah talking is hard. even after figuring out what he wants to communicate he will struggle. conversation can be so overwhelming, especially under pressure. he will need time lol

2. because of that, forming connections is hard. i really don’t think meta is much for shallow relationships, and certainly not early in the timeline. which also means he has very little experience with friendship. so a lot of the relationships he did have went kinda neglected, and issues that probably could’ve been worked on by talking became…*cough romk* escalated.

3. honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if meta convinced himself he couldn’t feel emotion (anymore) until like. katam-ish. he tried very hard lol

vulnerability is terrifying. (though this gesture here is also just comforting, like his little cape cocoon thing he does.)

unmasking—yeah im taking the mask thing very literally here—is a big deal and a very slow process for mk. i’m sure he has a lot of feelings on that lol. it served as a way to ensure no one could ever, y’know, see him.

i can’t say i think he’d ever fully ditch it—there’s always gonna be some days that are more stressful than others and if having it could help him get through it, it just makes sense. mainly when working.

it really is about vulnerability. granted, i don’t think he has the most expressive face (in my head every astral just tends to stare at things) but i doubt he has much control over it. can’t fake a smile but also can’t hide it. probably blushes easy because yeah, astrals; just look at kirby’s face.

just the idea that someone might be able to read his expression and know what he’s feeling before he’s ready for them to (or even understands it himself…) yeah he doesn’t want that

but emotional turmoil aside, i think his mask also hides a lot of his stims

remember that whole “suppressing your feelings” thing? yeah turns out that ignoring half your instincts isn’t a good idea. so in true meta knight style, he tries to stim as subtly as possible

1. he has the least control over his wings, so they will flick and twitch on their own. they’re usually a good indicator of how he’s feeling, not unlike the body language usually seen in cat ears and tails lol. flapping is also an extension of this of course, though he probably suppresses it more.

2. this also effects when he takes his wings out. pretty much every time he’s excited or nervous it just happens. kinda makes me wonder if his wing cape ordeal might also go into the suppression thing… (i’d say yes, but using a cape is also very comforting so it’s not necessarily a bad thing)

3. going back to the mask thing; he stims a lot underneath it. think like biting or pursing your lips. he bites his tongue and clicks his mouth. that sort of thing. his mask also makes it harder to notice that he is constantly sighing, humming, grumbling…all that

one nice thing about the mask though is that it helps a little bit with lights!!! woo

(look at him and his magically floating glasses)

sensory stuff—i think he’s mostly bothered by light and sound. maybe a bit of texture. he’s pretty sensory avoidant and perfectly happy standing off to the side not touching anything.

the one exception to this is physical affection, which is, despite all of this, most of how he shows affection. it’s a lot easier to hug someone than to try to explain your feelings for them, after all.

i think he would like pressure though. so that’s probably part of it. and i’m pretty sure there’s some connection in here to fighting (dang, is that the only way he knows how to get his energy out?)

anyway, pretty much all of this is in contrast to kirby, who i would gladly nominate as the champion of Doing Whatever He Wants. he might pick up a few bad habits, but he will never mask the way meta knight does. he might not understand how he feels, but he’s in tune enough to express it…usually.

this is a very good thing for meta because it helps him to do the same thing. kirby’s so energetic, it’s hard to not want to stim with him. it reminds meta to be kinder to himself and explore his own emotions. he can also help kirby understand themselves, so this connection is very important.

yeah, at the end of the day, everything kinda just boils down to kirby and mk as parallels

this is the conclusion i promise

to me, meta’s arc is about growing stronger by growing kinder, and this is mostly by learning to be kind to himself. letting himself be a person again, loving and understanding other people, and eventually, letting go of all the expectations placed on him and doing the things he’s always wanted to do…

autism headcanons are fun for me because it’s cathartic to write, but at the same time, it just makes sense in this sort of narrative. meta is, to me, inseparable from these things. and so is kirby! that’s a dynamic that’s a lot of fun to play with, and it’s at the heart of my kirby interpretation.

if you actually read all this WOW thank you

[lanternlightss]

dewdrop leaves

> this was written for day 3: immortality/corruption! and of course i could not pass up the opportunity to write a corrupted venti, and bard’s reaction to it <3

Though Venti does not necessarily feel the sensations such as “warmth” or “cold,” the sheer thickness of Dragonspine’s chill tries its hardest to threaten that motion. It clings to him, weaving around and through the fabrics of his clothing, wrapping his limbs. Frost dapples at the tip of his nose, extending to his cheeks. It coats his clothing, too, the material starting to crinkle, turn firmer, and rigid.

(During his flight to here, his hat had been tossed off, and his cape’s bow had been torn unevenly….. how he quite liked those….)

When he lands, sprawled out onto all fours, sinking into the snow and feeling how it gives in, the beginnings of ice fall from him in clumps, sloughing. He extends his wings, fluttering them, and watches as even more are flicked off from the action.

Going to stand, a sharp pain pulls at his chest, seeming to bounce off of the space where a rib-cage would be, before it spreads throughout the rest of him, pinpricks of blazing flares. He doubles over from it, his forehead and bangs pressing into sparkly white (his braids choosing to sprawl across them instead.)

Making the decision to fully lay his upper half onto the snow, and partly burrow there, wings folding to slide more onto his form, it—for a moment, upon the first touch—feels almost soothing. Rubs at the itchiness lying beneath this imitation flesh, one that strikes and tears and shrieks at him every passing minute that goes by. Each louder, more vicious, than the last.

Venti grimaces.

With a tremble, he pushes himself up, crawling forward to fresher snow—areas where he did not mess with. Raises his hand, watching as the deep blue (nearly a shade close to the night sky, dotted with small magentas) covering his fingers and palm reaches up, up, up, a little past his wrist, in splotches. Racing alongside the blue, is deep, fracturing golden lines and cracks, painted across in random strokes. He flexes his hand, wincing, and noting he has his talons, as well.

(There is a prickle on his back, too, where feathers begin to sprout, beneath the pair of wings he already has out.)

He huffs a breath and continues to stand, shaking off the snow when completely upright. Crouches slightly, one foot forward, stancing for a flight into the sky once more—for as much as he would like to, Venti cannot stay here, it is too close to Mondstadt still, and there is a concerning pressure building within him, one that he fears may blast away everything here.

Wings flap, he leans. Snow then scatters and sprays in various directions, from his take-off.

The corruption worsens as his journey continues—that accursed statue, but its situation was becoming harrowing—sending shocks so severe that it has his wings beating harshly to keep himself righted. Even more terribly is when the ruins of Old Mondstadt come into view, and the extra wings find this the perfect time to sprout in full, snapping out, and colliding against the ones above them.

That has him stumbling into one of the many strong currents dotted around; where he allows them to spin him in a lift, and he dips towards the ground when they let go, upon where he forces his wings to untangle, opening and catching wind. He twists, pivoting, aiming towards the ground, his surroundings a blur—and lands onto a patch in a cloud of dust. Once it has cleared, he remains in his position, sitting on his knees, hands pressed to the sides of them as he leans slightly forward.

(Belatedly, he realizes he has lost his cape, and shoes.)

Venti heaves. The pressure from before is unbearable now. The blue-gold has creeped up his arm, the splotches trailing off in fading dots when it reaches where his archon form’s gloves would end, and he presumes it is the same for his legs—though, he can feel a weight at the back of his head, half-formed, in what could only be a halo. Go and break him down to his more divine forms, why don’t they!!

Bubbling. Too much of it, his grasp on everything fraying, thinning, even as he scrambles in an attempt to keep it locked shut, fingers twisting and flailing—the threads of wind, patches of time, the weather, it slips, becoming fuzzy. A gratitude undercuts it, a vague thankfulness that the ruins have sunken enough to fit the wrath of a thrashing God, a vague thankfulness that Dvalin had been sent away beforehand, before it is overrun by the thoughts—what if this is not enough? Will they fall, to his hands, just as the tyrant had done to them? Will he lose what he has fought to protect, what he has set everything to prevail for?

He cannot lose anyone again—

His imitation heart splinters and spills, the corruption truly sinking in. His vision blurs around the edges, flashes of gold tracing them, his breaths coming out labored..

(He knew, when Dvalin had been corrupted by the Abyss, that he was hurting—if it was to this extent, he wishes he could have soothed away everything.)

Around him, the wind races, becoming erratic, kicking at any surface it can find, zipping across in uneven lines. He leans further, wings curling, and the distant sounds of this place are doused, muffled, becoming white noise—a consistent ringing, overlapping

Underneath his hands and legs, the ground shrivels. The wind grows harsher, rocks being scraped across, propelling into the air and torn asunder, the glowing crystals diminishing to mere crumbles of rock. Both the dirt and grass are dragged from the ground, plucked and ripped. The intensity continues to ramp, the noises becoming overwhelming, ringing in his ears pitching, finding that his hands have raised to grip at hair, that his wings seem to wrap around him completely as he—

As rapidly as it had seemed to start, it feels as though something grabs hold of him and yanks to a halt. Venti gasps, cut hair strands falling around him.

The winds stutter, and the ringing fades. He jerks up, hands still embedded into his hair, and finds that… the place he landed in was not so deserted. Their tree stands, swaying, waving hello.

And, that everything had truly come to a messy standstill; threads of teals dipped in a bleeding mixture of a blue-gold suspended in a whirling vortex, a few parts of the wreckage they had caused gently floating besides in its grasps. The threads are not all the same, some of them cutting in dotted lines as they zoom, some of them having their lines wavering to point it threatens dispersing, some of them are thoroughly solid, some of them are splitting into branches, teal twisting and curling, and—

And—

And…

Blue eyes blink, fluttering as if just awoken.

He rubs a hand at the right one, brows furrowing at his surroundings the more aware he becomes of them. Pure raven-black braids sway, as he swivels his head, and Venti notes with a whirlwind in his mind, that the locks have stray strands flicking out from not only the braids, but the bangs, and hair that frames the face. Windswept. The clothes, as well, are missing the tear in the bottoms of the shorts, the tops of his boots, and his right sleeve. If he were to turn, there would certainly be holes in his cloak, too.

But—if he does not have those, then how is he…?

A gale is thrown into the cliff, repeatedly, tearing apart the ground, as they respond to Venti’s dread.

His eyes widen, then narrow.

No, no, no, no, no. Stop looking at him like that.

Venti hunches into himself, talons clenching and shredding more strands of hair. The gale intensifies, lashing behind him, carving out chunks and causing the ground to rumble in its fury. He bares his teeth—wanting to shriek, to grab at his head and!!!!

Stop looking at him like that!

(Why wouldn't he?

A wind out of control? A wind that slices, destruction in every path? Why would he not back away from it?)

He tilts his head, starting to stand, and his expression shifts at Venti flinching away from his approach, the wind whipping to a higher degree with the flinch. He goes to take a step forward, the grass he steps upon having a simmering, bubbling line of a thread hovering there—and there is a quiet screeching as the threads are forced away, unraveling in spools and flinging out towards the cliffs; it has him jolting away from it, one step taken back, boots hitting the ground and kicking up dust.

His gaze snaps up to Venti’s.

(He has a fleeting thought, a moment where the minuscule inch of himself that the corruption has not touched speaks; that he should fix everything, that this mess has gotten severely out of hand, to fly off deeper into the ruins before he does something truly regretful.

But it is just that—fleeting.

Because at the attempt to follow through with the ideas laid out, the corruption rushes to overtake that last final inch, smothering and snuffing it out without regard. It halts Venti’s hands when he tries to wave them, refusing to let them budge the Bard in front of him, dark blue and gold chaining them to remain where they currently are. You do not truly want that, do you? It whispers, false care and comfort in its voice. You wish for him to stay, so here he will stay.)

That gaze of his shifts once more, briefly scrutinizing, then the ever so slightest of widened eyes, before reaching a blankness. It seems that something has clicked. He tries again, purposefully angling his path to the swirling threads, and Venti grits his teeth as he moves them away, hooking a finger round them and pulling, so that no interactions happen between them and him.

(And, how during this, he sees—for a moment—a glimmer of something magenta across his form.)

And blast it all—

Venti raises himself and situates his legs into a crouch, his wings flaring unraveling from around his form. And bounds.

He crosses the distance between the two of them in seconds. Nose mere centimeters away from his, Venti grits his teeth, watches as the other blinks owlishly at him, as if not expecting to be approached so suddenly, especially not like this, Venti poised in a manner similar to that of a cat pouncing still.

“Keep off from those,” he nearly growls, “Can you not see that they—”

Hands shoot out, to place themselves on his cheeks. Venti falters, words dying in his throat.

“What has happened to you?” He murmurs, gently tipping Venti’s head up, to the side, checking the dark-blue that has climbed up to his face, “Your teal… where has it gone? Have you always had gold?”

He swallows. A twitch goes throughout him, one that does not go unnoticed by him.

And, oh. That was what had clicked.

The words build, his tongue bubbling, bitterness and sweetness coating it. A name he has not said for centuries, a name he has kept clutched close to him, hidden in the palms of his hands, in the place where a heart would be beat.

Venti’s mouth opens, and croaks: “Cecil….?”

He pauses, meeting Venti’s eyes.

“Hello, little bird,” Cecil replies, softness in every feature of his. “Ah—I suppose you would be an angel now, hm? How much you have grown��”

The softness does not last long, his brows knitting as he thinks, a frown replacing that wondrous smile of his. His fingers trace the edges of the colors, outlining them, almost, a silent fury and puzzlement to the actions. “But, my friend—why are these… like veins? Why do you hurt? Did someone else do this to you?”

(I will hurt you, I will hurt you, you need to get away from me—)

“No one. This is my own doing, you see,” he says, offering a reassuring look, “I am not hurting at all.”

And—that is true, if partly. There is no stabbing prodding at him any more, attempting to wrench him towards the ground so he stays there. It aches most certainly, however, the wind underneath his skin thrumming as it races incessantly.

Cecil’s brows scrunch.

He steps forward to pull Venti closer, his right hand falling down to his waist, tracing a tear in his clothing, and… ah. Ah. He revokes everything he had said about snow and their so-called “soothing effects” beforehand, this is so much better than it, he curses them and nearly purrs at the feeling of his friend being a breath away from him, his touch curling into his bare skin so softly, lovingly.

Venti chases it.

All but lunging into him, Venti dives his head into Cecil’s chest, careful of the halo behind his hair—do not want to slam it against him. The rest of his body follows suit, his arms encircling around Cecil’s torso (with his hands carefully closed, knuckles pressing into the fabric of the green vest), knocking their legs together so that he can hook it around one of his dear’s, and his wings complete it all by flaring out to then snake around and envelop them both. Feathers brushing against skin and cloth with every other breath.

(The wind has gone still.)

“Oh,” Cecil gasps, startling at something, “you have six wings? I only saw four… have your limbs been multiplied, too??”

Does he? Venti thinks dazedly. It must have happened when the pain was ramping up, he could not distinguish it under all the other sensations attacking him. He had wondered how far the transformation would go—his most divine form has much more than four wings and a halo.

He does not give Cecil a response. Choosing to nuzzle into his clavicle instead, head going even fuzzier, thoughts narrowing to Safe safe safe, stay stay stay, love love love, here here here.

And—what an idea.

Cecil’s chest expands, as he inhales, exhales. It takes a moment, but he begins to reciprocate, an arm going around Venti’s back, between the middle wings and bottom ones. The other arm lifts to the space above Venti’s shoulders, near his nape, pulling him further into himself. He rubs at those places, in small, circle-like motions, and it has the God wholly melting in his arms.

“Is this alright?” He asks, “Is this helping?”

“Mmmmmhmmmm…..”

Gradually, the threads dissipate, dropping closer to the ground, and having the wreckages they carry collapse against the water around the tree, the dirt and rocks. Twist higher into the air at the end, then wobbling, and falling apart. He watches it all, a steady thrumming sounding in the air the longer he holds onto Venti. For one of them, he tests, to see; what would happen if he nuzzled into Venti’s cheek, patting at his back? The answer: it causes the threads to speed up, swooshing so swiftly, that he hardly has time to blink before the teal is fading.

Eyes wandering, they slide to—

Ah! Cannot have that, can we? Venti blocks his view with his right most top wing, fluttering the appendage to truly catch his attention, making his dear jolt in surprise. See, if Cecil is to stay by Venti’s side, then it should be away from here—the safest spot is the Tower, but he would not like that very much. Perhaps they should cross to the Dandelion Sea?

“Venti?”

“Hmm..?”

Cecil raises his hand up, to tap to the back of his head, his knuckles briefly brushing against the halo. He lets it stay there, for long enough that he can weave strands of hair around his fingers, to light tug at them—a non-serious scolding, for the blocking he did. They drop to rubbing circles on his nape after. “How are you feeling?”

Right, right—conversation happening.

He shuffles backwards, only a few inches, so that his dear is not forced to let go of his grasps—skin still tingling and fizzing with that loveliness. Tilts his head, then, to where Cecil gazes at him, a quiet concern and pure curiosity to his eyes, now.

Another wave of winds zip by them, these ones far lighter, livelier, and peppy than the others from earlier were—however, still the same mix of colors, if slightly more solid, slightly lukewarm in temperature. They swirl around them, teasing at hair and cloth, dancing in chiming sweeps and dives; that of which distracts Cecil for a moment, his hair blowing into his face, a muffled sound of a “wuh” escaping from him when it has strays loosing from the braids he wears. He shakes his head to rid of them, glaring halfheartedly.

A beaming grin tugs at him, at the sight. One that lifts the bottoms of his into soft crescents, slowly revealing how his teeth have grown sharper canines. His pupil—still a lovely teal, though, now captured around blue-gold—shines, constricting to a thin slit, as a glittering gleam dances across his gaze. He hums, unclenching his hands from fists to press the palms of them more firmly into Cecil, scraping the talons across his vest.

“Much better,” he says, a lilting, distorted pitch to it. Extends his right’s hand index finger, while he talks, to prod at his back—tracing a symbol there, one that causes Cecil to minutely shiver from it, unexpecting the action. “Thank you.”

And perhaps it is that, that has Cecil truly understand what has happened; that Venti is really not so much hurt as he is a far, far worse thing, that there is something gripping at him. Or perhaps it is the way he looks upon him, as though he were the sun, a gleeful, thrilled and eager gleam to his gaze. Or perhaps it is the way his wings gradually tighten around his form, not constricting him, yet he suddenly feels the reason they continue to be folded (and twitching, fluttering, so often) is not that Venti just wishes to hold him with everything he has.

Whichever it is, whether it be a combination of all of them, it has him widening his eyes, a near whisper of “Oh,” trailing into the winds. Winds that take the words greedily into their hands, rolling them over—winds that tell him murmurs, almost frantically, a gentle urging in the way the threads crowd further around them both, hushed jingling of bells accompanying it: stay, stay, stay, stay?

Oh.

[daily-odile]

Odile patting Molly Epithet Erased on the head, you know why

have two bc i care them

[musubiki]

moments of overflowing desire

[theshslpumpkinghost]

(Warning for pink blood- If you don’t wanna see that-)

Y’all, what if this- Was David

Because like- I always assumed it was Xander, but- What if it was David-

(if it’s actually him im gonna be so happy with myself-)

But yeah, uh- David is apparently sort of the mc which is cool- Him copying Xander’s sprite is so ahfjwuviwkvodo

DRDT is getting so good rn and Ch2 isn’t even done yet I’m so excited for the next ep-

[another-clive-blog]

HOW HAVE I NEVER NOTICED THIS

LAYTON USES TU FOR FUTURE LUKE BUT SWITCHES TO VOUS THE SECOND CLIVE'S IDENTITY IS REVEALED.

Tu and vous both mean you but Tu implies closeness : in the entirety of Unwound Future, Layton only ever uses Tu with Flora, the Lukes and Claire

[mockiery]

Once Upon A Time 3x05 "Good Form" my beloved, I know the text and shots and scene transitions directly parallel Hook saving David's life to Killian's loss of his brother, and Killian's pained expressions of seeing David succumb more and more to the same poison Liam did. Killian's insistence David tell his family, give them the chance to say goodbye that Killian didnt have with his brother. Of Killian himself sayinf David reminded him of Liam, his canonical hero. I know the ep's dialogue speaks of Killian's want to be seen as a man of honor, to be that man of honor.

And I know Killian would absolutely have been a deflective ass with the "I didn't do it for you" to David about saving his life, bantering teasingly that he did it for Emma like David has accused all of his actions to get to and be at Neverland as - just a selfish attempt to have Emma.

And I know Killian's half-joking flirtation with Emma later with "Is that all your father's life is worth to you?" is in character bc for his entire presence on the show previously he has used compliments of himself and flirtatious remarks as deflection, jokes, and to be actively antagonistic/inflammatory/annoying/playful.

I know all of this. I know this is all perfectly in character and the nonspoken motives informed by the flashbacks to his past and his performance are deeply in character. But christ alive I wish that a tiny little line would've been added in somewhere that made it clear that his motivations in this ep and the Neverland arc as a whole weren't just about Emma bc it feels like the writers partially forgot this in 3a, despite the strength of this episode and all its parallels. They say characters' feelings out loud or allude to them more directly in dialogue all the time like pleeeeeeease, you could've made it a lil more obvious it's not solely bc of Emma like. i just wish it wasn't easily misread if u didn't read into it deeper with Killian's characterization, beyond his contradicting words

[fantasticalleigh]

american audiences need whatever the european audiences are taking injected into them it is embarrassing how alive they are at every show compared to american audiences being so quiet in comparison

[moeblob]

@crazify linked me in a "spell your URL out with songs" post and I was like hmmmm probably not. I'm pretty shy with my music tastes. Then I did this anyway and not only picked song titles but also the specific OC from OIFIL that I would associate it with.

Yes, B is just the same song. I didn't really have many B titles that could fit Rick..... so I just slam dunked him like a leech onto Karen's B song. It actually still works for him so its fine.