#They do have violent thoughts about particular parents

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

I think sun should be allowed to snap the neck of one shitty parent. As a treat.

"Oh if only!" they sighed dramatically.

Sun???

[cassscainss]

some of my favorite things about Anora in no particular order (SPOILERS BELOW):

the goons, wow what all timer movie goons. concussed guy for goon of the year

when anora beats the shit out of those goons for a fifteen minute stretch and they get increasingly more afraid of her. comedy gold, just pitch perfect comedy treading the line between should-i-be-worried-for-her and the disarming buffoonery of the goons

ivan's mom stomping on the last step of the private jet stairs. her incredible houndstooth suit. every second of her on screen.

all of them throwing the pens at the annulment woman

ivan's dad dying laughing during the annulment as anora throws all of the moms shit on the ground

every parking in new york joke from the ticket in front of the courthouse to getting towed down on brighton beach

how the entire time, nobody pulls out a weapon, not once. and yet, the threat of violence and danger still lingers in the periphery because of the deftly constructed tension of the roving camera and contextually what we don't know about this family and the broader scope of ivan's world and the looming threat of the parents. how far can she push the goons until they get violent, and yet they never really do, but baker never lets you exhale that breath.

when they walked into tatianas..... like sean does his RESEARCH

also the t.A.T.u needle drop like i screamed

also the fight over driving or walking for five minutes in the cold. the new york specificity in this movie is pinpoint accurate, down to the mundane

the ending, her having a breakdown release of everything that had happened to her and how humiliated she was, but also how she thought she had gotten out and made a fairytale of her life. how using her body was the only power she has ever had, and how that was what she defaulted to with Igor in that last scene, but it was when he wanted to kiss her that the facade of power broke down and so did she. how she had to face her own humanity, and in that moment ask herself if she wanted to kiss him, because he was giving her perhaps her first real choice in a long time, and that opened a pathway to maybe questioning whether she truly wanted any of what had happened to her. maybe in that moment she realized that her body is not as powerful as she perhaps convinced herself it was. she was far more powerless than all her bravado and will probably always be powerless in the socioeconomic systems of the world that are built up around her. how disposable she was made to feel maybe for the first time, and how she thought she had built up that bravado and detached arrogance around herself so that she would never feel that way, but the feeling still seeped through nonetheless. all of that delivered wordlessly, in silence, buried under the falling white snow that will throw a white, pristine blanket over everything as if nothing significant had happened at all.

but also like igor, i too would fall in love with her almost instantly and tbh i did. rip to Ivan, anora i am hopelessly in love with you, and i would die for you.

[f1fantasys]

I love your writing. The fic you wrote made me think about this one… Lando and reader getting caught by another driver on the grid. Like they are on a vacation and nobody knows for sure if they are dating but they do those little things and once they get caught. Like that?

Aww you have no idea how happy it makes me you like my writing! Hope you enjoy this one anon.

You were mine all along

Warnings - swearing, smut (p in v, oral receiving m and f, blowjobs, unprotected sex, minors DNI)

3.1K

Working for F1 as a social media creator meant you spent a lot of time with all the drivers and their teams. You'd been doing this for 3 years now and it was safe to say there was one driver in particular with whom you were immediately attracted to, the both of you dancing along their lines of exploring something more than just a friendship - Lando.

But that was the problem - you became friends first and foremost, and the thought of risking that for a relationship where you might lose each other? Neither of you were ready to take that step forward.

A lot of your mutual friends (drivers and other media personal) always teased the two of you. What you both didn't know was that bets were being made behind your backs as to when you two would finally get together.

So has close as you were, the days always started perfectly, and the nights always ended internally painful.

That was until 2 months ago though. It was the weekend before the triple header - Lando had invited you, Max and P to his parents cottage in St Tropez.

You knew the more time you spent with him, the more difficult it wold be to keep your thoughts and hands to yourself but on the last night you found yourselves in the hot tub alone, when Max and P called it a night.

The air was palpable, sexual tension reaching a new high with both you and Lando just staring at each other. No words being spoken verbally, but rather with the darkened gaze on each other.

It was no secret to the other that you so badly wanted each other - and after 10 minutes of agony, Lando reached for your arm and pulled you to sit on his lap, eyes never leaving yours.

You bit your lip as you felt Lando's hands explore your body - your shoulders, arms, legs, tummy, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your boobs, and eventually your ass through your bikini bottoms.

As your breathing increased and you tried to suppress your moans - partly because you could feel his hardening dick, Lando bought his hand up to your face. His own thumb now swiping across your lip.

''Lando....'' you said, not sure if you were edging him to carry on, or to stop what he was doing because of the consequences you'd face later.

He blinked a few times, face laced with a sense of confusion, before he spoke two words that changed everything.

''Fuck it'' he mumbled, before crashing his lips to yours, hard and rough, as if his life depended on it.

You reacted instantly, opening your mouth up and letting him slip his tongue in, while your hands pulled at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

That was where it all began, and you'd been inseparable from each other ever since. You wanted to keep yourselves in your own bubble for as long as possible, not telling anyone, not even your friends.

It was difficult to say the least, during the triple header. Trying to act normal around each other while working in the paddock, although you'd made a few trips to Lando's driver room for a few pre-quali or pre-race fucks.

Luckily, you were always at the same hotel, so it was easy for you to slip into Lando's room in the late hours of the night where he'd show you how how much he missed you with rough kisses, violent fucks - him slamming into you and filling you up - and after sex cuddles, until you had to sneak back to your room in the early morning.

Things had been going well, no one seemed to have caught on to your relationship - which you were grateful for. It was nice just being the two of you alone.

You were now on a holiday with Lando in Lake Como, two weeks into the summer break. It was a secluded little village with the privacy you'd both craved, so you were spending an entire 10 days here. Lando rented out a little cottage and your days so far had been spent joined at the hip - whether it was cooking, dancing, relaxing doing nothing, and not to mention the endless amounts of sex you'd had.

He'd truly fucked you in every corner of the house - inside and out. The physical part of your relationship was something you both very quickly learned would be a big part of your lives. And Lando never missed an opportunity to get down and dirty on you - so to be together for 10 whole days with no prying eyes - whether it was friends, family or fans - he was going to take advantage of it and not let you up.

Not that you were complaining. You loved when you'd wake up in the morning, Lando's face between your legs, his tongue biting and sucking at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of you, until you came all over his face and he made sure to lick you clean.

You also loved that one night which started when you cooked and ate dinner, Lando put on some beautiful slow music which had you both waltzing (as best you could) from the lounge to the dining room, and ended with you on your knees in front of him, eagerly pulling his shorts down to reveal his thick girth standing tall, begging for attention. You sucked on his tip, swallowing his pre-cum before you deep throated him, letting him fuck your mouth until he was a moaning mess above you, praising your name and coating your throat white with sheets of warm cum. He said that was the best head he'd ever received.

And let's not forget that time he had you bent over the balcony, his dick fucking into you so hard you saw literal stars above you. You'd both said ''i love you'' for the first time, and after a slow, sensual kiss, things turned heated. You both stripped your clothes as quickly as possible and in no time Lando was forcing you to hold on to the railings as he railed his cock into your pussy overwhelmingly, and his hands found your waist and surely left purple marks to be the seen the next day. He told you how good you were for him, taking him so well. So wet and so tight, only for him. Only for you, you'd told him back. before your came violently around his cock. Your body could barely hold onto the railing, not mentioning how your legs were like jelly, so Lando sat back down and you sat on his dick, riding him almost painfully quickly, as his lips found your hard nipples and bit and pulled on them. You came again, and this time your body gave up on you, so Lando had to fuck himself up into you to chase his own orgasm, before releasing into your pussy, dick twitching inside of you.

So although there was an awful amount of sex happening, you also enjoyed the sweet kisses and cuddles Lando gave to you through the day and night. There was something so domestic about sharing a house with them and you happily agreed when he asked you to move in with him back home in Monaco. Having known each other for 3 years meant you knew each other inside out, so moving in together 2 months into a relationship excited you more than it worried you.

It was your last night here so Lando had booked a dinner at a Micheline star restaurant - a cozy, intimate place. The food was so delicious - you might call it better than sex - though nothing could beat sex with Lando so you take that back. You were both about 4 glasses of wine in while waiting for dessert and Lando was definitely becoming very handsy and affectionate. Not that you could keep your hand to yourself either.

Lando had left his seat to come and sit next to you and you felt his hand rest on your thigh before you felt him slowly make his way up, close to your core, which by now was dripping wet.

Your face flushed as he slipped it through your lacey panties and swipe through your folds before settling at your clit, pinching at it harshly.

Luckily the lighting was low in the restaurant, and anyone who looked your way would have just thought the two of you as young lovers who wanted to be seated as close as possible. If only they knew what was going on under the table you thought.

Conversation had long left you and Lando was his focus was solely on getting his fingers in your cunt, and yours was merely on trying to enjoy the stimulation without letting out any audible moans and pants.

Just as Lando slipped a finger through your entrance you heard an all too familiar voice, which had you shaking with fear as Lando's fingers stilled, still inside of you. ''Fuck'' you heard Lando mutter.

You looked up and saw none other than George and Carmen, staring sheepishly at the two of you.

''Fancy seeing you both here, together'' George muttered very matter of factly.

Lando shook hands with him with the hand that was not in your pussy, as Carmen leaned down to peck your flushed cheeks.

''Oh fuck off'' Lando said, the pair of them the best of friends, so not taking it seriously.

Lando signaled to the waiter to bring two more chairs, which internally had you screaming at him because hello? His finger was literally still in your cunt.

You both knew you'd been caught though, so there would be no denying your relationship - at least to G and C.

''Sooooo'' Carmen started.

''Soooo'' you said back, pretending you didn't know where this was going.

''Fuck it, just tell us the two of you finally sorted your shit out and are fucking'' George piped in.

If your cheeks were pink before, they were fiery red now. You looked at Lando, who by the looks it was feeling the effects of his wine at just this moment, so he was a smiling mess

''Fuck. Well. When you put it like that - fine. Yes'' you said softly.

''But we're not just fucking'' Lando chimed in. ''We're making love too. Coz we're together together'' he said.

''Lan!'' you shrieked, not able to keep a smile at bay, though shocked at his response.

''Blimey, you're in deep'' G said, smirking at Carmen.

You suddenly shifted in your seat, biting your lip, as Lando slowly started to thrust his finger again.

He and George started talking about something, but you were a fool to think Carmen wouldn't catch on to what was going on.

She looked at you, then at Lando, and back to you, and took a breath.

''Are we-wow. Are we interrupting something?'' she asked, trying to keep her smirk in.

''What? no'' you said, although the tremble in your voice said otherwise.

''Fuck, George, time to go'' she quickly said, ushering a confused G up and out of his seat.

''What are you-'' then he looked between you and Lando, for the first time noticing the looks on your faces, then he caught on.

''Holy shit, enjoy, lovebirds, and don't think I'll ever forget this!'' he said, before he and Carmen quickly walked away giggling to each other.

''Fuck me'' Lando groaned, though sped up his actions in and out of you.

''Gladly, take me home baby'' you said as he pulled his finger out and licked it clean, turning you into an even wetter mess down there.

The ride back to the house with palpable with tension. The thought of getting caught sending a rush of adrenaline through you both.

As soon as Lando helped you out the car he picked you up by the back of your knees and threw you over his shoulder, rushing into the house at such a speed you had no time to react.

He placed you down on the kitchen counter before ripping your dress of of you, eyes darkening when he saw you weren't wearing a bra, only panties that barely covered anything.

He snatched them off of you before spreading your legs apart and placing them on his shoulders.

''Lan'' you mumbled, desperate for him to do something.

''Patience babygirl, we're only getting started'' he said, licking his lips.

His one hand reached up to pry his fingers into your mouth for you to suck while his other hand pinched and pulled at your hard nipples. All the while his own mouth found your dripping cunt, licking a stripe up and collecting all your juices.

''So fucking wet. All for me, yeah?'' he asked.

You moaned. ''All yours Lan, only yours'' you answered, pulling hard at his curls.

Lando quickly found your clit and dramatically pinched it between his lips, the stimulation letting you reach new heights.

''Fuck, Lando, please. More'' you begged of him.

He pryed your pussy open with his two hands and then his tongue was sliding in and out of you, hitting just the right spots.

You watched as he slowly became a mess - lips and chin full of a mixture of his spit and your juices, strings of sticky liquid dripping down your thighs.

''So tight, yeah baby, just the way i like it'' he said between breaths.

Within minutes your body was shuddering, shaking as your orgasm ripped through you harshly, making an even bigger mess of Lando's face.

He rode you through your orgasm before pulling you up by your arms to sit up, meeting your halfway to lock lips and let you taste your arousal.

''Need to feel you in me, please'' you said through gritted teeth, your hands already working on removed his button up and belt on his trousers.

Once he was free of his constraints, you took his girth into your hands and pumped him a few times, your thumb brushing the slit where pre cum was already dripping.

He hissed at the contact before taking himself into his own hands and sliding his dick through your folds. ''Ready for me baby?'' he asked, smirk on his lips. You knew that smirk - he was going to ruin you, and you wouldn't have it any other way, but you still braced yourself.

''Please fuck me'' you begged.

''Juuust remember. You asked for it - no going back now yeah? he said, smirk growing bigger and eyes getting darker by the second.

'''Hmmm mm'' was all you time to say before he violently thrust himself into you, started a pace unlike any other time you've had sex.

This time he didn't give you time to adjust to the intrusion, he slammed in and out of you at a pace that had your hips hitting each other within seconds.

''Of fuck Lando uh'' you moaned, bottom lip caught between your teeth. It felt fucking amazing but with the amount of non stop sex the two of you have had the last 10 days has your cunt aching and throbbing, quickly becoming overly sensitive.

''Come on baby, I know you have at least 2 more in you. Gonna be a good girl for me yeah?'' Lando said through gritted teeth, his own sensitivity reaching a new high.

''Fuck Lan, gonna cum now'' you panted, digging your nails deep into his biceps.

''Give it to me angel''

Within seconds you body was shaking and you were screaming Lando's name, releasing your fluids all around his dick.

''Fuck baby, that's it. Gonna let me fill you up now?'' he asked, though you were too fucked out to answer him, and with no warning another orgasm rocked through your body causing you to be on the verge of blacking out.

By now Lando's movements were becoming sloppy and clumsy, clearly he was on edge too as he was mumbled out incoherent words - ''fuck, y/n, my own whore, so tight, fuck, yes'' before you felt his warm cum splutter through you, his own body now shaking above you, a sheen of sweat covering his whole body with the workout he'd just done.

You both stilled, trying to catch your breath, before Lando let his weight fall onto your lower body, hugging you around your stomach as your hands tangled in his hair.

You could feel him softening inside of you but neither of you made any effort to move.

''Baby?'' he started.

''Hmm yeah?''

''I'm sorry i called you a whore. I meant it as a complement, I promise''

''Fuck Lan'' you giggled and rubbed his cheek earning a look up from him. ''Call me your whore any day. Tells me I'm yours and only yours'' you cooed.

He couldn't help but send you the biggest boyish grin he had. ''Fucking love you so much. Why the hell did we wait this long to get together. Could have started from day 1'' he said, this time taking his weight off you and slowly pulling his dick out. You hissed at the loss of contact but he pulled you up and held you gently.

''Baby our day 1 started 2 months ago, and we have forever to go, i hope'' you said, winking at him.

''Hmm mmm'' he replied, bending down and spreading your legs again.

''Lan I love you but no more, I'm so fucking sore''

''Shhhh let me'' he said as he licked a stripe up you cunt, collecting a mixture of yours and his cum.

You gasped and watched as he leveled his head back with yours and pryed your lips open with his fingers before letting the liquid drip down from his to your mouth.

''Hmmm'' you moaned at the taste, wetness already pooling between your legs again but you knew you were too sore to do anything about it.

You swallowed everything before Lando kissed you hard and deep, his tongue slipping into your mouth before sucking on your own tongue.

''I'd say t'was a good summers break, yeah? he asked.

''Best ever'' you replied, pulling him in for another kiss.

''Bet George's already told everyone. Gossip king'' you said, remembering how the night unfolded.

''Hell yeah'' Lando said, checking his phone and seeing there were tens of messages flooding in on your groupchat with the other drivers and their wags.

''Fucking bastards'' he mumbled.

''What?'' you asked.

''They fucking bet on us. On when we'd get together. Looks like Charles won''

''Urghhhhh'' you groaned.

[belovedmuichiro]

I saw a post once that entertained the idea of Tsutako being in the background of Sanemi’s hometown in the anime, and it got me thinking about a sanegiyuu childhood meet cute.

…

- When Giyuu was 13, he took a trip with Tsutako to a neighboring city where her fiancé had come from

- Though Giyuu was a much friendlier person as a child, he was still quiet, reserved and nervous. As a result, being in a bigger city was overwhelming and he struggled to keep up with Tsutako as they walked

- Before they could reach her fiancé’s home, Giyuu was separated from her in a crowd

- Without any people skills to speak of or the confidence to ask for help, Giyuu let the crowd swallow him up until he found a small spot he could cower in

- He ended up hiding under the stairs of a shrine where nobody could see him. He cried so quietly, nobody could possibly hear him either, but a boy did miraculously find him

- The boy was strikingly beautiful with stark white hair and piercing eyes. His presence made Giyuu stop crying almost immediately, but only because he was mesmerized.

- When the boy spoke, he was blunt and sort of rude but Giyuu hung onto every word he said as if he was a kind spirit come to save him

- “You cry like my little siblings,” he observed. It was a simple, random sort of thing to say but it perplexed Giyuu so much that he didn’t cry any longer

- Giyuu learned that this particular shrine is where the boy would find one of his brothers hiding, so when he saw Giyuu curled up, he thought something might’ve happened to him

- Giyuu reluctantly explained he was separated from Tsutako while visiting. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he should trust a stranger but they were clearly of a similar age and that put him at ease compared to an adult

- The boy gave Giyuu a small canteen of water before they could continue because the crying had obviously overwhelmed him. He then asked for the fiancé’s name, which he scowled upon hearing, surprisingly knowing the person

- “Is that bad?” Giyuu nervously asked

- “He’s one of the sons of our landlord,” the boy explained, “He’s fine. His family’s a buncha dicks.”

- Profanities aside, Giyuu asked if he could lead him there, and the boy agreed

- “What did his family do?” Giyuu asked on the way

- “Their kid brother said some shit about my family bein’ too big and my brother got into a fight with him about it.”

- “How big is your family?”

- “Nine of us. I have six siblings.”

- Giyuu learned that his mother had just given birth, which prompted the rude comment from their landlord’s son. He also had a father who he didn’t want to talk about on account of him angering some violent people

- Though the boy didn’t seem terribly interested in prying into Giyuu’s life, he still asked, “What about you?”

- “I just have my sister. My parents died when I was young.”

- “Lucky you have a sister.”

- “Yes… I’m Giyuu, by the way.”

- For a moment, the boy looked hesitant to give anymore details about himself, but must’ve decided he doesn’t have much to lose.

- “Sanemi.”

- On the way to the landlord’s home, it began to rain so Sanemi pulled Giyuu aside near a food stall to wait it out.

- Giyuu, as luck would have it, did have a small amount of money on him and suggested they share a meal.

- Sanemi agreed, not letting on that he rarely has enough money to ever eat out. However, Giyuu became curious when Sanemi awkwardly held his food at his side and wouldn’t take a bite.

- He didnt want to admit it, but his plan was to pocket whatever Giyuu bought him to bring home to his family. He wasn’t going to tell Giyuu, but the boy’s earnest, honest face pulled it out of him

- In response, Giyuu bought him another and asked that he feed himself as well

- When Sanemi finally did eat, Giyuu smiled for the first time. It flustered Sanemi, who quickly learned he couldn’t handle a pretty face

- When the rain ended, people came flooding to the streets in overwhelming numbers that scared Giyuu again

- To reassure him, Sanemi grabbed his hand and returned his earlier smile, promising he’ll be okay as long as they stick together

- Giyuu took to Sanemi with awe. The crowd was still scary, but Giyuu grounded himself in the feeling of his companion’s hand and trusted his word.

- Eventually they did find themselves at the landlord’s house. Most of the family was out looking for Giyuu, but luckily Tsutako stayed and was there to greet him.

- This was also a relief to Sanemi, who wasn’t sure he would be able to resist driving his fist into the face of the boy who fought with Genya

- Sanemi intended to leave with no commotion, just an odd empty feeling at the notion of leaving his new acquaintance, but Giyuu stopped him

- “Thank you for helping me,” he said with much more confidence than the first time he spoke. “You’re very kind, Sanemi.”

- Sanemi, flustered, shrugged and promised it was no problem. “Couldn’t just leave ya there…”

- “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

- When Giyuu said this, he held onto the hope that because Tsutako new husband had close ties to Sanemi’s, they would surely meet again one day

- It was hard to explain but Giyuu felt drawn to Sanemi, like he was a special person he was meant to meet

- Of course, he couldn’t predict the tragedy that would befall both of them

- Years later, long after Tsutako and the Shinazugawa family were murdered, Sanemi was welcomed into the Hashira and finally met Giyuu again

- Only this time, he was quiet and cold. He didn’t give any indication that he remembered Sanemi and didn’t have any of the kindness he was full of as a child. Sanemi decided that he must’ve turned into a conceited ass with no time for the little people, he probably didn’t even remember him.

- But it was impossible for Giyuu to forget who Sanemi was. Even under all the scars and curses, he was still the boy who saved him that day. But Giyuu knew they had fundamentally changed as people, and clearly Sanemi wanted nothing to do with him any longer

- Unfortunately for them, the draw remains there no matter how far apart they try to drift.

[marzipanandminutiae]

parents know to talk to their kids about sex and violence and bigotry in things they see on TV, generally or at least, there's a conversation about that in the media. but I want to add "archaic views of self-esteem" to that list

no I'm not joking

I was a highly anxious kid who grew up reading a lot of historical fiction and/or actual 19th-century kids' literature. and the MASSIVE dose of "pride goeth before a fall" and "Don't Be Vain or Bad Things Will Happen" applied to situations that are literally just...a character liking themself or having confidence in their abilities and getting taken down a peg for it (sometimes violently) really screwed with my mind

but nobody talks about that risk. so you end up with a bunch of children getting those messages undiluted. and for girls in particular- or children being raised as girls, at any rate -the Vanity side of things can be particularly rough. since we're also getting the message still present in modern culture, that you're supposed to be pretty but NOT actually LIKE the way you look because that's Conceited and Bad (ie the Mean Girls self-deprecating mirror scene)

obviously not everyone in the past thought that way, and some cases in books are legit examples of a character hurting someone else through pride and having it go wrong- see also: Amy March convincing her sister to spend their family's ONLY spare money on something she wasn't actually allowed to have in school. or villainous characters taking it too far, like Jane Eyre's headmaster insisting that her friend's naturally curly hair be cut off because VanityTM. some people recognized how this language could be weaponized, and the differences between legit and overzealous use thereof, even at the time

but it IS a thing and I never see anyone talking about the way it can result in children- and later adults -who are petrified to like anything about themselves, for some nebulous ingrained fear that Bad Things will happen if they do

[cuddlytogas]

there was some Twitter madness recently where someone left a comment on someone's art to the effect of, "Ed shouldn't wear a dress, he's a man!" which I do disagree with on principle, but unfortunately, it brought out one of my least favourite trends in the fandom

so, naturally, I had to write a twitter essay about it. and I already largely argued this in a post here, but the thread is clearer and better structured, so I thought I'd cross-post for those not on the Hellsite (derogatory). edited for formatting/structure's sake, since I no longer have to keep to tweet lengths, and incorporating a couple of points other people brought up in the replies

so

I want to point out that the wedding cake toppers in OFMD s2 aren't evidence that Ed wants to wear dresses. Gender is fake, men can wear skirts, play with these dolls how you like, but it's not canon, and that scene especially Doesn't Mean That.

People cite it often: 'He put himself in a dress by painting the bride as himself! It's what he wants!' But that fundamentally misunderstands the scene, and the series' framing of weddings as a whole. I'd argue that Ed paints the figure not from desire, but from self-hatred; it's not what he wants, but what he thinks he should, and has failed to, be.

(Yes, I am slightly biased by my rampant anti-marriage opinions, but bear with me here, because it is relevant to the interpretation of the scene, and season two as a whole.)

The show is not subtle. It keeps telling us that the institution of marriage is a prison that suffocates everyone involved. Ed's parents' cycle of abuse is passed to their son in both the violence he witnesses then enacts on his father, and the self-repression his mother teaches, despite her good intentions ("It's not up to us, is it? It's up to God. ... We're just not those kind of people. We never will be."). Stede and Mary are both oppressed by their arranged marriage, with 1x04 blunty titled Discomfort in a Married State. The Barbados widows revel in their freedom ("We're alive. They're dead. Now is your time").

But even without this context, the particular wedding crashed in 2x01 is COMICALLY evil. The scene is introduced with this speech from the priest:

"The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It is the obligation of people of standing ... to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony."

It's upper class, all-white, and religiously sanctioned. "Vile natural conditions" include queerness, sexual freedom, and family structures outside the cisheteropatriarchal capitalist unit. "The obligation of people of standing" invokes ideas like the white man's burden, innate class hierarchy, religious missions, and conversion therapy. Matrimony is presented as both "sacred" (endorsed by the ruling religious body), and a "transaction" (business performed to transfer property and people-as-property, regardless of their desires), a tool of the oppressive society that pirates escape and destroy. That is where the figurines come from.

When Ed, in a drunk, depressive spiral, paints himself onto the bride, he's not yearning for a pretty dress. He's sort of yearning for a wedding, but that's not framed as positive. What he's doing is projecting himself into an 'ideal' image of marriage because he believes that: a) that's what Stede (and everyone) wants; b) he can never live up to that ideal because he's unlovable and broken (brown, queer, lower-class, violent, abused, etc); c) that's why Stede left. He tries to make himself fit into the social ideal by painting himself onto the closest match - long-haired, partner to Stede/groom, but a demure, white woman, a frozen, porcelain miniature - because, if he could just shrink himself down and squeeze into that box, maybe Stede would love him and he'd live happily ever after. But he can't. So he won't.

The fantasy fails: Ed is morose, turns away from the figurines, then tips them into the sea, a lost cause. He knows he won't ever fulfil that bride's role, but he sees that as a failure in himself, not the role. It's not just that "Stede left, so Ed will never have a dream wedding and might as well die." Stede left when Ed was honest and vulnerable, "proving" what his trauma and depression tell him: there's one image of love (of personhood), and he'll never live up to it because he's fundamentally deficient. So he might as well die.

This hit me from my very first viewing. The scene is devastating, because Ed is wrong, and we know it! He doesn't need to change or reduce himself to fit an image and be accepted (as, eg, Izzy demanded). Stede knows and loves him exactly as he is; it's the main thread and theme of season two!

(@/everyonegetcake suggested that Ed's yearning in these scenes includes his broader desire for the vulnerability and safety Stede offered, literalised through unattainable "fine" things like the status of gentleman in s1, or the figurine's blue dress. I'd argue, though, that these scenes don't incorporate this beyond a general knowledge of Ed's character. Ed is always pining for both literal and emotional softness, but the significance of the figurines specifically, to both Ed and the audience, is poisoned by their origin and context: there is no positive fantasy in the bride figure, only Ed's perceived deficiency.

Further, assuming that a desire for vulnerability necessarily corresponds with an explicit desire for femininity, dresses, etc, kind of contradicts the major themes of the show. OFMD asserts that there is nothing wrong with men assuming femininity (through drag, self-care, nurturing, emotional vulnerability, etc), but also that many of these traits are, in fact, genderless, and should be available to men without affecting their perceived or actual masculinity. It thematically invokes the potential for cross-gender expression in Ed's desires, especially through the transgender echoes in his relieved disposal, then comfortable reincorporation, of the Blackbeard leathers/identity. It's a rich, valuable area of analysis and exploration. But it remains a suggestion, not a canon or on-screen trait.)

Importantly, the groom figure doesn't fit Stede, either. Not just in dress: it's stiff and formal, and marriage nearly killed him. He's shabbier now, yes, but also shedding his privilege and property, embracing his queerness, and trying to take responsibility for his community. In a s1 flashback, Stede hesitantly says, "I thought that, when I did marry, it could be for love," but he would never find love in marriage. Not just because he's gay, but because marriage in OFMD is an oppressive, transactional institution that precludes love altogether. All formal marriages in OFMD are loveless.

So, he becomes a pirate, where they reject society altogether and have matelotages instead. Lucius and Pete's "mateys" ceremony is shot and framed not like a wedding, but as an honest, personal bond, willingly conducted in community (in a circle; no presiding authority, procession, or transaction).

That is how Stede and Ed can find love, companionship, and happiness: by rejecting those figurines and their oppressive exchange of property, overseen by a church that enables colonialism and abuse. Ed is loved, and deserves happiness, as he is, no paint or projection required.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: draw Ed in dresses! Write him getting gender euphoria in skirts! Write trans/nb Ed, draw men being feminine! Gender is fake, the show invites exploration, that's what 'transformative works' means! But please, stop citing the cake toppers as evidence it's canon. Stop citing a scene where a depressed Māori man gets drunk and projects himself onto a rich, white, silent bride because he thinks he's innately unlovable and only people like her can find happiness, shortly before deciding to kill himself, as canon evidence it's what he wants.

(Also, please don't come in here with "lmao we're just having fun," I know, I get it. Unfortunately, I'm an academiapilled researchmaxxer, and some of youse need to remember that the word "canon" has meaning. NOW GO HAVE FUN PUTTING THAT MAN IN A PRETTY DRESS!! 💖💖)

[mysterycitrus]

All of your Bruce takes are so real and so true. It must break your back having to carry the weight of being the most correct batman account on this website. 🙏🏻 I love your thoughts about Bruce and Dick in particular and I was wondering if you had any thoughts about Bruce and Damian? Something about them is just… oh boy.

that’s very sweet but untrue, anon 🫰

i love damian and bruce's relationship, but it's hard to talk about without mentioning two other crucial people - talia and dick. for my own sanity i only accept damian's conception as a consensual act, so in this context talia is a fundamentally well-meaning person who attempted to protect her son from a violent life, and hid his existance from bruce until she felt he could be safe. damian loves and respects his mother. this is important.

dick, on the other hand, is really the foundation for their relationship. bruce spent like two weeks with this kid before he went on his timestream roadtrip and left everything behind for dick to juggle. contrary to popular opinion, i think it's a real disservice to act like dick taught damian to "be a good person" or like basic etiquette - a more realistic interpretation would be that dick taught damian that he didn't have to prove himself to be worth something.

the robin mantle from the time it was taken from dick has always been about proving yourself to bruce, to justify your role as his partner. always unfairly, mind (think how tim is treated vs. steph, for example), but damian is the first robin's robin. dick isn't a wayne, he's a grayson. there's an interesting point of comparison being that dick is the only robin who had a clear trajectory for his life prior to his parents dying - he was a core member of the worlds greatest acrobatic troupe - but he then left that path to become something else. damian is destined for the bat, but becomes robin instead, serving beside someone who achieved greatness by his own skill and kindness. damian has been told about his father, and here he is with someone who knows bruce better than anyone but also understands what robin means, better than anyone. i cannot emphasise how important i think dick being damian's first batman is for their own development. it's so so crucial to combat damian's perspective on family and blood. it's so important that he has that foundational knowledge of what robin means.

by the time bruce returns, damian has made tangible human connections in gotham. he's not the prickly, reactive kid that bruce first met. he's allowed himself to trust that the people around him have his best interests in mind. he knows that he isn't cared for because he's bruce's son - he's cared for because he's worth loving. his siblings aren't competition for affection or honour. he no longer sees bruce as an omnipotent force, and rather as a man he could learn to love. i think seeing bruce through both talia and dick's persepectives really helps with that.

bruce i think is confronted by the fact that for the first time in his life he can't try and hide behind the "im not really xyz's father" excuse. not that his adopted kids aren't his kids, obviously, but i do think he sometimes tries to lean on that as a crutch so he doesn't get attached (way too late for that lol). he loves damian, and there's a lot of fear about damian reflecting his worst habits, his most self-destructive behaviours back at him. maybe there's some fear about damian's history of killing, and how close bruce himself always feels to that edge. maybe there's misery about missing one of his kids growing up, again, like he's always a second too late to the important moments. bruce and damian are so similar, but this is bruce's second chance to be there. he is thomas wayne, emerging from the alley alive. do u think damian looks like his grandparents?

[aajjks]

Mommy Issues (IV)

synopsis. They wanted you, they needed you.

pairing. yandere!single dad!jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings. yändêrê bêhãvïöür, 0 tö ä 100 rêäl quïck, ängst, jk ïs kïnda än äss ïn thïs, mänïpülätïön, dëprëssïon, mëntïöns of vïöliêncè.

note. hello y’all. 😳 umm it’s surely been a while… but here’s another update, enjoy! and please share your feedback and thoughts! also send in asks for mi characters as well. AND PLZ DONT FORGET ABOUT MI KOO.

series masterlist.

taglist: @mageprincess7 @bids97 @saltandsugaa @minshookie29 @oppa-agust-d @sugarvenomlit @jinat8mydumplings82 @bloombaekhyun @peach-olic @multifandombishthatlovekth @vcutvante @minshookie29 @douknowbts @xjiminsthighsx @knjkitten @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @koocreampie @kooksmataec @monijeon @swaneffects @dragons-flare @dragonjimin @illnevertrustmyselfagain @itsjust2am @vicki1031 @burnahtsw @fjssk @jamacaicanxbarbie [will tag more people later!]

Jungkook regrets saying that out loud because now you’re gonna think that he’s a creep, or definitely a weirdo. You’re staring at him completely caught off guard and he doesn’t blame you.

But before he can overthink and let his anxiety take over, because of how creeped out you must be at his remark, why did he even say that out loud it was unnecessary… you give him a small smile, and all of his nerves immediately calm down. The effect that you have on him… he’s so in love with you.

“U-Uh I’m so sorry how inappropriate of me… yeah, I remember not in the school, right.. Ms yn I’m so sorry.” Jungkook looks down in his lap, but all he sees is Jeon Seol staring back at his father, with a confused look in his Bambi eyes, even though there’s no no one left except for him, you and his son he still feels really bad because you must feel really uncomfortable.

“Well..” you clear your throat, “I don’t think there’s anything in particular that I need to tell you about the progress of his studies because he’s doing good in them but behavior wise,” your smile, fades a little and you’re all serious now, he notices every inch of your expression.

You look concerned.

“you don’t have to worry about Seol getting lost in the school the assistant teacher will take care of him because there is something that I need to discuss with you about him in private.”

Jungkook looks at you with confusion, because what possibly could you be telling him that you need Seol out of the room for?

“I-Is everything all right?” Jungkook stutters out, his nerves are back once again. You don’t say anything and that just scares me one more because what did his five year old do for you to be so serious? But jungkook has got your hint and he whispers something in his son’s ear before Seol runs off.

You sigh before saying, “Mr. jeon.. I’m a little concerned.”

“On Thursday, Seol punched a student because he said I loved him more than Seol.” You cross your arms across your chest. Your demeanor has completely shifted and you look so serious.

Damn, you look really hot- he’s so focused on you that he doesn’t even listen to what you’re saying that is until the word punched settles in his brain.

“what? W-What?” he’s so confused right now. Jungkook cannot believe that his five-year-old punched someone. “Uhh what?” Dumbfounded he asks you once again.

“Yes… the child was even bleeding…” you shake your head, “as his teacher, I feel like I failed him because he wasn’t an aggressive violent child..” Jungkook doesn’t like the way you get a little sad.

No, it’s not your fault.

“Mr Jeon.. he’s a little possessive… for a five-year-old I don’t think that’s healthy… I mean I love him with all my heart I love all my students, but.. it seems like he wants me to only love him.”

Jungkook wants to scoff. And what is so wrong with that? Yeah he shouldn’t have punched the kid, but the kid must’ve instigated him. But he decides to keep his expressions neutral.

“Is everything all right? you’re his parent and I think it’s my responsibility to let you know everything about him.” The way you speak is so tender, so professional and gentle, but he feels a little pissed off.

You have left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“A-Are you saying that you don’t love him? Or that he’s got a problem?” His could you- can’t you see you’re breaking jungkooks heart right now?

“If only he had a mother…” he sighs, sadly.

Jungkook nods, coughing so he can clear his throat, he doesn’t want to come off as mean, but.. he cannot help it anymore.

“I understand… I think that my son has misunderstood you.” He begins, as he gets closer to your face. “he has confused your role in his life, I’m so sorry for that, but the truth is that he sees you as his mother-rather than a teacher and..” he takes a breath, “you’re not his mother. You’re just his teacher.” He barely manages to resist Make sure that his tone is appropriate.

And you’re speechless.

He immediately sees a change in your expressions and your mouth is a little wide when you hear him say that. “ I’ll make sure that he understands that and he will never do it again I am so sorry.” Jungkook smiles, Before he leans back in the chair.

“I’ll even apologize to the boys parents.” Jungkook just wants to get away from you now, first his father and now you.

This is the worst day ever.

And tomorrow he has to meet his father. Someone kill him.

“can I go now? Also, please could you tell me the boys name?” He is not speaking to you with a smile. As you tell him the boys name and his parents names, he can tell that you’re almost about to cry, for some reason.

That’s how he feels right now too. Maybe you’re not what he thought you were. You will never understand him or his son.

“Well Ms L/N have a good day.” he chooses to address you with your last name as compared to your first… jungkook doesn’t know why he’s feeling so bitter right now, but he feels like you’ve crushed his heart.

He just made him feel like his son has a problem and that you don’t love him. He almost feels a sense of betrayal.

He can just sulk in the car so he gets up before bowing to you, as his son’s teacher, he has to show you some respect, and he picks up Seol’s bag that was on the floor before he ran off, and he’s out of the room.

What a heavy heart, and a heavy conscious.

It’s about time that jungkook lets his son know that you’re not his mother. You’ll never be. You’ll never understand them. Truth is that you’ll never want them and need them like they do.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

what’s your opinion on draco x hermione as a couple? sorry if you’ve answered this before but i haven’t been able to find an answer 🤔

Hi, and no I don't believe I have spoken about Dramione before.

As with all shipping things, ship whatever you want these are just my opinion.

With that out of the way, I honestly, I have a little soft spot for Dramione. Now, do I think it makes sense in canon, not really, but I don't mind them as a side pairing. Like, you won't find me reading/writing fics specifically for Dramione, but I'm fine when they are there.

You see, Dramione hits a very particular spot for me. That spot is that I like both characters about the same amount (which is I think they're written alright for what they are, but I find them kinda annoying in the books). That places them as equals inside my head and makes shipping them with each other easier than shipping them with characters I like more than them. This is just how shipping works for me sometimes.

As for the character personalities themselves, I think Draco and Hermione have a surprising lot in common with each other.

Draco is implied to be a top student (he's in Potions NEWT class, for example), like Hermione, meaning he's also very academically inclined. But neither of them is some brilliant strategist and while they can come up with creative solutions, they don't think very far ahead with these solutions. They don't necessarily complete each other intellectually, but I think they're about equal to each other, I think. Both are brave when the situation calls for it. Hermione hangs out with Harry and Ron, who never really had money growing up, but her family goes on ski trips. She's the only daughter of two dentists. You just know she lives well and is used to comforts at home.

Both, while having very loving parents, feel isolated from their peers growing up. You can tell Hermione was likely bullied in her muggle primary school and while Draco hangs out with Crabbe and Goyle, he isn't actually close to any of them. Both of them also share the experience of loving their parents, and yet having a great divide between them and their parents. Hermione's parents love her, but they could never connect to the wizarding world fully. Lucius and Narcissa love Draco, but once Voldemort returns, I think Draco feels more and more distant from his parents because he isn't actually a blood purist. We see that when he's truly alone and seeking comfort and a friend in year 6 he talks to Moaning Myrtle, who is a muggleborn.

I think, like Myrtle, Hermione could appreciate that Draco is sensitive. This is something I feel might get on Harry's nerves on occasion considering how he hates Cho being all weepy, but I think Hermione would find it sweet.

I do like that Hermione is the more ruthless one between the two. Like, she is the more willing of the two of them to come up with some crazy idea that is most difficult illegal (like trapping Rita in a jar or setting Snape's robes on fire). Like Draco would be horrified at the thought of breaking into the ministry, Hermione would consider it a challenge. This dynamic could be really fun.

It's a dynamic that doesn't exist with Drarry or Dron in the same way since Harry and Ron, while both are more ruthless than Draco and also break into the ministry do so out of necessity and usually would try to avoid danger. Hermione, on the other hand, is more willing to go in headfirst into crazy dangerous shit like the Gryffindor she is. I think Hermione is less hinged than Ron, and Harry is what I'm saying, and it's one of my favorite aspects of her character. And while Hermione can be ruthless, and even violent, she's also weird about violence. She has a certain line she is terrified of crossing; that line is around killing and Unforgivable curses. I think terrified is the right word because I think she knows she could cross it and it scares her. We see Harry cast Unforgivables, and while I think Hermione could cast them if she was pushed to it, it wouldn't be something she tried on her own accord. I also think she'd be more horrified with herself for succeeding than Harry is. Draco is similar in that he can cast Unforgivables when pushed to, but he's disgusted with himself over it and feels sick. What I'm saying is that Hermione is softer in that respect (but also wackier in her plans), which I think would be very interesting when paired with Draco.

Both of them could be incredibly stubborn, which I think they'd both enjoy. Both Hermione and Draco are very verbal characters, they love talking and blabbering on and that would help them connect to each other because they would just start talking about something, and just, never really stop talking because both of them are like that. I think Draco would also enjoy bantering and arguing as a playful pastime the way Hermione and Ron do, which is also a point in Dramione's favor.

Hermione is less forgiving than Harry is, though, but she is capable of forgiving Draco, I don't think it's beyond her. Yes, slurs and all, I think it's in character for her to forgive him under the right circumstances.

So, like, while they're not a pairing I read all that much, they do compel me a bit. My main problem with Dramione is that often when they're paired up, both of them are too out of character for my liking.

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 2

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing, discussion of magical jewellery

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

It was a rest day when she finally pulled out research she hadn’t touched in decades. 

Though right now, she had a reason to do it. A very good reason if she was completely honest. 

Azriel was her reason. 

He showed up on her doorstep, bruised and scratched to hell and there was nothing that she could do against it. 

Patch him up and put him on her couch and ply him with food after an hour, and then some more food until most of it had healed and he had gone home. Even when she hadn’t wanted him to. 

But she hadn’t been able to protect him. 

And that stung

Mostly because it had been well known that Oriana had excelled at using her skills for protection . 

That had been what she had concentrated on. 

They made art, not war. 

But Oriana…Oriana made protection. 

Oriana fitted every child in her family with a personal enchanted bracelet. She had always just used them to alert the parents if the kid managed to get themselves into a bad situation. 

But the start of it was there. 

And then there was…her own necklace. 

She touched the thumb thick gold metal necklace around her throat. 

Her wedding necklace. It had been soldered around her throat when she had been 18 and she had never taken it off. Traditionally a female would wear it for the mourning period after her husband’s death and then take it off. She hadn’t. 

She was still mourning. 

At least as far as her people were concerned. 

A very visible sign to everybody that Oriana wasn’t available for anything other than friendship. Not even companionship. No sex without string attached. 

And after Wynstan had died…Oriana had made that visible reminder of her marriage into something else entirely. 

Wynstan would have hated it. She was certain about that. But she was also furious with him. And it was…fitting. In a way nobody but her would realise. 

That necklace was fitted with her own enchantment.  

It would keep any male from touching her in any way that she didn’t want. It would keep her safe. And it would violently dispel anybody that disagreed with that . 

She had only ever done that once. And she knew that it had been fucking suicidial to do it like she had done, etching in the runes, while it was around her neck. It could have blown up. She could have died. 

She hadn’t cared. Not one bit. 

Now with a few decades of distance she knew how fundemantelly stupid it had been what she had done. It went against everything she had ever been taught. 

And it was also the one and only time that Oriana had created something that she had willently imbued with the power to kill another person. 

It wasn’t…It wasn’t what she should have done. 

And still she had. 

She had done that and she hadn’t apologised or felt bad about it. 

And now….

Now Oriana was playing with that thought again. 

If she could make something that protected Azriel…something that would keep him safe…if it was something that…something that would kill his enemies, so he didn’t need to be in danger…she would do so in a heartbeat. 

But she hadn’t worked on anything like that in decades and starting with something complicated was going to be…fundamentally stupid once again. 

So she started small. 

She was a trained goldsmith, but Oriana had spent a few year learning blacksmithing as well. 

And she used both that day, as she sharpened the iron into blades. 

Knifes and stiletto blades, still lovely, with stone encrusted hilts…more art than function…though the function was very obvious. 

Azriel’s shadows hung around as well. She sometimes saw them out of the corner of her eyes and it amused her more than anything to see them swirl around, freeze in place when they thought she saw them. They didn’t even try to be subtle. 

“I can see you, you know,” she said drily, her voice amused besides herself. “Did Azriel put you up to it?” That thought did give her a warm glow. She quite liked to think that he checked up on her like that. 

She couldn’t help but flinch violently, when the voice was suddenly there. Like a hissing right in her brain. Not a real voice, not something that anybody else would hear, she was quite certain of that. But it was there, and she just knew that it was the shadows. A part of Azriel and then not a part at all. Both and neither at the same time. 

No, Mistress. Master doesn’t know we are here, they told her. 

She was amused beside himself. Even when Azriel didn’t outright check on her, a part of him was obviously still worried, enough that…well…His shadows did check on her. Even against their master’s orders. 

��And still here you are,” she muttered on her breath, jsut as one tendril wrapped itself around her wrist again, seemingly sinking between the bunch of bangles she wore every day and she reached out, patting it fondly. 

What is Mistress making? they asked her, another tendril seemingly investigating the knife that she was still holding in her hand. 

"Knives," Oriana gave back drily. 

For Master?  Somehow that made them excited. They swirled together, poised like a dog that was just waiting for her to throw a ball. It amused Oriana to no end. 

“Do you think he would like knives?” she asked his shadows, wondering. She had seen the knife that he kept strapped to his thigh, the one weapon that he wore openly and it made her wonder. Giving a warrior a weapon wouldn’t be out of order, right? And still, she didn’t think that Azriel, Azriel who seemed terrified of the idea of her being scared of him would like the idea of receiving something like that from her. 

Maybe it would be less of a sign of acceptance to her and more something that made him think that being a warrior was all she saw in him. And it wasn’t. It was just a small part of the male that she was getting to know and she didn’t want to reduce him to that. It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair. 

Master would like anything Mistress makes. The shadows assured her, but Oriana just hummed uncommitingly. Maybe not a knife. Not at first…something else. She just wasn’t sure what yet. 

“Is he alright?” she asked the shadows instead. “You don’t need to tell me where he is or what he is doing, just…is he alright?” she asked them and they seemingly hummed with pleasure. 

Master is alright, they promised her. 

Alright then. 

“You can keep me company if you want?” she offered to the shadows. “But I need to solder, and I don’t want to hurt you, so maybe move up my arm?” she suggested. She could swear she nearly felt the amusement from them as they wrapped herself around the necklace she wore instead. 

Her two lives, intertwined. 

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. 

“Comfortable?” she made sure and they seemingly hummed with pleasure. 

And that’s where they stayed, while she soldered and continued on with her knifes. 

Somebody is coming, Mistress, they said suddenly and their soft touch disappeared. She was quite sure that they bled into the shadows underneath her window, but she wasn’t certain. 

“Well, that’s --- practical, i guess,” she mumbled under her breath. 

Just seconds later she felt the ward pinged. A smile took over her face. 

“Well, hello there, little sister,” her older brother said as he came strolling into the forge.

While she had inherited the creepy eyes and a few wisps of shadows that clung to her legs sometimes, Cyrus seemingly had taken every bit the look of a High Fae. No shadows, no creepy eyes…but also absolutely no protection against fire. Oriana could walk through it. She could touch it with her bare hands like every other proper Tartera. Cyrus would just get burns for his troubles. 

So maybe it shouldn’t have surprised anybody that he had left the mountain as soon as he was able, while she had been willing to play the role she needed to play. 

Still, they were both half breeds, half Tartera, half High Fae…out of touch with both worlds and belonging to neither in a sense. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Cyrus quipped as he sat down across from her, watching her work. 

“It has been less than a week,” she gave back drily. “Literally. How is Briony?” Her sister-in-law was High Fae, dark-haired with pale skin and beautiful. Cyrus had been a mess when he had first met her and somehow he had convinced her to marry him. Oriana still sometimes wondered how exactly he had managed that. 

“She’s good. The kids are good too,” her brother answered the unspoken question. “But..” he trailed off with a pointed look. 

“But?” she repeated absentmindedly, grabbing a rag and finally starting to polish one of the knives she had made. It looked…well. Not perfect, but then she had always been her own sharpest critic. However, for something that she hadn’t done in decades…she was chalking this up as a win. 

“You want to tell what is going on?” Cyrus asked drily. 

“Nothing,” she responded deadpan. Nothing that he needed to know at any rate. It was better that way. 

“Don’t lie to me, Oriana,” Cyrus gave back with a roll of his eyes. “I know you better than that.”

He did. 

“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked him instead, laying down her knife to meet his eyes. “If you know, you can’t tell our sibling. Or Mom. Or grandma,” she warned him tightly. 

She wasn’t ready for everybody to know. Especially because she knew that whatever she did, she would have her scandal. 

Oriana Belmond, Third daughter of the First daughter, mated to an Illyrian warrior of all people. 

Her grandmother would have opinions . 

Her mother would have a bloody conniption . 

“Well, now I am intrigued,” Cyrus said drily. “You haven’t told me that in decades. The last time was when you wanted to leave the mountain.” Right. 

When she had put her whole family in front of a fait accomplice. Well, it had worked. 

Her mother had not been on board with it. Then she had thought that she was just throwing a tantrum. Close to a century later, that was still what her mother thought, completely ignoring that Oriana had built herself a life out of the mountain, right here in Velaris. 

She just shrugged. 

Cyrus hummed. 

“Alright,” he agreed. “I swear that I won’t tell anybody what you just told me unless a tie where you are certain that you want it known,” he offered. She was the one who sealed the bargain, promising to tell him exactly what was going on. “So what is going on?” Cyrus asked her. “Wanting to go back into the mountain?” he asked her. He very carefully kept the judgement out of his voice, even when Oriana knew exactly what he thought about that. 

“Not in my lifetime,” she said drily. For a visit, sure. Back to living there? Never. “I…I met my mate,” she admitted quietly, 

Cyrus stared at her, opening his mouth to response and then stayed quiet. She picked up her knife again, checking on her work. “You…” Cyrus started, then stopped. “Alright. That’s…” he stared at her hands for a moment before he sighed. “ Oriana .”

“Yes?”

“You met your mate and you are making knives ,” Cyrus pointed out, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What is really going on?”

“That's it. I met my mate,” Oriana repeated. “I met him, Cyrus.”

“And what happened to him that makes you think that you need to take up blacksmithing? Again?” he asked her drily. She said nothing. “What’s next? Are you going to start to go back to…” when she said nothing, again, Cyrus just stared at her. “You are,” he finally said flatly.

“It’s what I was trained for,” she gave back, crossing her arms. “I can’t spent the rest of my life making useless earrings and bracelets.”

“They aren’t useless, they are beautiful,” Cyrus disagreed sharply. “They are works of art. And we both know why you stopped being an enchantress in the first place.”

She couldn’t help but flinch. 

“Don’t bring that up,” she said tightly. It wasn’t…It wasn’t so much a sore spot as it was a gaping wound. 

“Don’t bring that up?” Cyrus asked incrediously. “You nearly died!” he snapped. 

Right. 

Ruby red blood trickling down her body. Spearing Pain in her stomach…Fire everywhere…the sound of an explosion…of magic escaping the prison it had been forced into. It was marked into her brain and Oriana could do nothing to escape it. 

She saw it all. 

She swallowed. Locking her memories back down. Forcing her hands not to start shaking. 

“That was all on Wynstan,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, it fucking well was,” Cyrus agreed sharply. “It was on Wynstan and it was on Mom. It was on Grandmother. It was on everybody but you, Oriana. Still…it happened. It wasn’t on you, but you don’t exactly have the best track record with males.” She didn’t disagree with that. 

“And you also don’t have the best track record of knowing when to cut your losses,” Cyrus continued, fixing her with a glare. 

Her hand strayed to her necklace. 

“You are still wearing it,” Cyrus pointed out his voice soft. “Why?”

She said nothing. 

Cyrus didn’t know about the enchantment on it. Neither did her mother. Or anybody else. Nobody else knew what she had done. 

Nobody else knew that she couldn’t just pry it off like it was usually done with wedding necklaces after the mourning period. 

Nobody but her. 

If she wanted to remove it…it wasn’t that easy to achieve. Not if she actually wanted to survive it. 

And she still didn’t know if she wanted to remove it. The enchantment? She could live with that. Before Azriel showed up on her doorstep it had not been anything she had ever really worried about. It wasn’t that she had a whole handful of suitors vying for her hand after all. And the few that had shown up over the years…well they had been nice enough to accept that she wasn’t very receptive to it. 

Still, the fact that she still wore her wedding necklace even when Wynstan was by now longer dead than he had ever been alive…Yeah. Yes, she wanted that off her. 

But recreating the enchantment she had made when she had been out of her mind with grief and trauma and pain…

it was something else entirely. 

The ward pinged and she felt Azriel enter the shop. She had very carefully altered her ward so that he would always be able to walk into her front door which wasn't exactly something that she allowed to lots of people. Namely Cyrus and Briony and that was it. 

She allowed him that though. 

Still, she swallowed as he entered and caught sight of her and her brother’s broad back. 

“I…I brought lunch?” Azriel brought out, caught aback and Oriana smiled at him. 

“Thank you.”

Her brother turned around and Oriana watched as he took in Azriel. 

Great. She hadn’t wanted that to happen until…well. 

“Cyrus, that’s Azriel. My mate,” Oriana said calmly as she left the forge to walk into her shop room, greeting Azriel with a bright smile that she wasn’t really feeling. “Azriel, Cyrus, my brother.”

Neither of them spoke. 

“Nice to meet you,” Cyrus finally said, his voice carefully even and Oriana wanted to roll her eyes at the posturing of both, of Azriel’s wings twitching like he was thinking about actually flaring them out and decided against it. 

Great. This is just what she needed. 

Instead, she picked up the bag of food he had brought with him, kept warm in a specially made warming bag 

“Likewise,” Azriel finally responded, his voice quiet. 

“Let’s go upstairs. I need to interrogate your mate,” Cyrus said abruptly and Oriana glared at him. 

“Cyrus,” she hissed at him, but her brother ignored her in favour of already climbing the stairs to her apartment. 

“Let’s hope he’s less of an asshole than the last one!” Cyrus called from upstairs and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Sorry, about that,” she apologised to Azriel. “I didn’t know you were going to come over before this evening or I would have warned you,” she said drily. Azriel shook his head. 

“No, I should have used my shadows to check that you were alone first. That was on me,” he disagreed. “Did your brother mean Wynstan with that?” he asked, sounding something like morbidly curious and Oriana sighed. 

“Yes. Yes, he does.” Well, she wasn’t going to get out of it now. “Seems like you are going to get an introduction to my family earlier rather than later. You coming?” she asked as she turned to walk up the stairs. 

To say that lunch was an awkward thing was an understatement. It wasn’t helped that Azriel had gone nearly completely mute and she was left playing mediator, between a ruffled Cyrus and a near-silent Azriel. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Cyrus finally commented and Oriana opened her mouth to respond but Azriel beat her to it. 

“If I have something to say,” he said calmly and Oriana bit back some amusement at her brother’s face, who looked like he had just bitten into a lemon. 

“Cyrus,” she said quietly, but her brother just crossed her arms, still glaring at Azriel. “ Cyrus .”

“You are Illyrian,” Cyrus said with a pointed look to the wings that Azriel kept tucked close to himself. 

There was a part of Oriana that really wished she would get to see them stretched out, that wondered how big they were like that…how it looked when he actually went flying and if…if the near iridescent leathery skiing that stretched between bones was soft to the touch. 

But she also hadn’t dared to ask because that just seemed like something intensely private. 

Still, Azriel nodded. 

“I do know how the lot of you treat your females. If you even think about treating Oriana anything like that I am going to kill you,” her brother then spat out and Oriana swallowed. 

Right. 

“Cyrus,” she said quietly. “He hasn’t done anything .” 

Her brother just held up his hand. “Forgive me, if I don’t exactly trust your word on that after what happened the last time,” Cyrus pointed out, his voice cutting. 

She couldn’t help but flinch. 

“I am serious,” Cyrus insisted.  “And don’t even think you are going to see me coming.”

Azriel inclined his head. A tacit agreement if there ever was one. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He had been really, really stupid. 

Because in all of his…thoughts about Oriana and her own admission that she had her own set of scars, he had never even thought about the fact that Oriana had her own trauma. 

It hadn’t even crossed his mind, until he first met her brother. 

They did look alike, with the same big eyes, the same nose, though Oriana seemed to have inherited more of the Tartera characteristics

Still, it was obvious that her brother had a very good reason to feel protective over her and it all tied back to her husband. 

Oriana herself had said that he had been a better friend than a husband but Azriel had never even thought about what exactly she meant with that. 

“I am so sorry,” Oriana apologised to him with a grimace when Cyrus finally left, but not with another glare thrown in Azriel’s direction. He could understand that. The way females were treated in Illyrian war camps was abhorrent. His own mother had been one of them. And even when Rhys had outlawed Wing Clippings as soon as he had come into power…it wasn’t like everybody listened to their High Lord, which was another problem entirely. 

A problem that they still hadn’t found a solution for. 

“You don’t need to apologise,” Azriel disagreed, watching as her brother left. “He’s protective about you. He’s your brother. I understand that.”

“He’s overprotective, that’s what he is,” Oriana disagreed with a sigh. “I…We should have probably talked about this before. I told him that we were mates, but we made a bargain that he isn’t going to tell anybody until it was a time when I am ready,” she explained to him and his eyebrows lifted when he realised that she had done everything in her power to keep them both safe. He hadn’t expected her to even think about it. 

“You are good at keeping secrets,” he said fondly and Oriana shrugged. 

“I am not ready to tell my family and have them build themselves an opinion about it. Not until we have figured out where we stand,” she told him. He could understand that. He didn’t want to tell anybody yet. He kept any thought of Oriana locked away between the thickest mental shields he had ever been able to build. 

Keeping her safe and far removed from anything and anybody. 

“But you are ready for Cyrus to know?” he asked her curiously and she sighed. 

“He’s special to me,” she admitted. “We are close in age, just a few years apart…we both know how it is to not belong anywhere really,” she explained quietly. Azriel could understand that. 

He hummed in agreement.

“Are you going to tell your brothers?” she asked him, curious, but with no judgement in her voice. 

"No. Not…not right now,” he struggled to bring out these words. He didn’t want anybody to know. He wanted to keep it as close to his chest as he had ever been able to keep anything and he knew that that was ridiculous and that it wasn’t going to…always be that easy. And he didn’t even want to imagine the reaction when he finally did. “I am not ready for them to know.”

“Alright,” she agreed, reaching out to hold his hands across the table. He slipped his bigger one into her smaller one, her skin warm to the touch. She smiled at him. 

“Thank you for lunch,” she said softly, eyes soft, no flames anywhere to see.  “Sorry for destroying your romantic plans with my brother.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s alright,” he promised her. It was. There were going to be more lunches if he had his way. 

They went back downstairs into the forge not much later. By now, Oriana had somehow acquired a chair that accommodated his wings and put it in one corner, obviously making a space for him there and…somehow that quiet, unspoken act of acceptance made his chest painfully constrict. 

“What are you working on right now?” he asked her because he couldn’t quite put it into words and he needed to talk about something else so he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Like, kiss her right then and there. 

“Knives,” Oriana said brightly, holding out a knife to him, hilt first. It was definitely one of the prettiest knives he had ever seen. Very ornamental, with wavy lines, a bit like vines growing up the hilt. 

“Somebody told me that you would enjoy them,” she said with some amusement and he stared at her. What? 

“Your shadows. They came to visit,” Oriana clarified at the expression on his face. “Told me that whatever I made you would like it,” she said with some amusement and he just stared at her. 

What? 

Never in his life had his shadows ever talked to anybody but him. He didn’t even know that they could if they wanted to. He had used them to secure knowledge and to torture people…but he had never sent them to talk to another person. He had never even thought that they would do that, because nobody else could hear them when they talked to him but Azriel himself. 

And now they…talked to Oriana? Had a conversation with her?

“They talked to you,” he repeated, ensuring he understood that correctly. 

Talking. To her. To Oriana. 

“Yes?” Oriana said questioningly. “Is that wrong? Should I not have talked to them?” she asked him, sounding worried but he just weakly shook his head. 

“No, it’s…fine.” He grimaced at how that sounded. “They just…don’t do that. Have never done that,” he hurried to explain. “I didn’t even know they could do that,” he admitted weakly. 

“Huh,” Oriana made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. “Do you think it’s because I am…your mate?” she asked him hesitantly. 

“I have no clue,” he admitted frankly. It was as good a theory as any other. Probably the one that made the most sense. 

What is this about? He asked them sharply and the shadows seemed to be doing the mental equivalent of a shrug. 

Mistress is intelligent. We are not going to ignore her questions. They responded immediately. 

Right. 

Fair enough. Remember to keep my secrets. He gave back. It resulted in a sharp pulling back of them, rushing to wrap themselves around Oriana’s wrists and even around her neck. 

He could just stare. She didn’t even flinch as they threaded themselves through the necklace she wore. 

“You hurt their feelings,” Oriana said drily and he just stared at her. 

What? 

“Are you getting that from them?” he asked her and she shrugged as she lifted her hand to pat the tendril that was wrapped around her neck gently. It flexed and shifted like it was a snake that enjoyed being petted.  He just sighed. “Do you really want me to apologise to my shadows?” he asked her, not thinking that she was serious but she nodded. 

“Shadows have feelings too,” she told him pointedly and he sighed. He could argue that point. 

“I am sorry,” he said instead, aloud, more for her benefit than for the shadows. They seemed more amused by her antics than anything else. 

Oriana reached out to flick his nose. He couldn’t help but grin, grasping her hand and tucking her close to him, breathing in that scent of hers that was like a warm hearth on a winter day.  

He watched as the flames danced in her eyes, no longer the pure black that was always a bit disconcerting to look at, but the flames that he was sure were her natural state. 

He hadn’t really thought this too though, because now she was so close to him and he could feel the warmth of her boy and it felt…a lot.

“So that was all that you made?” he managed to bring out, swallowing and she shook her head. 

“No, I made something else as well,” she agreed. “You know how some females put these pin..sticks in their hairstyles?” she asked him and he nodded. He had seen that a few times, holding in place some sort of updos. 

She pulled a pair of them from her workbench, that made the knife she had made look like a toddler had made it. The tiny details on it were… incredible. They weren’t finished yet, he could see it…they seemed to need something else, maybe the addition of some stones, as settings were already soldered on. 

Still, the last thing he had expected was for her to slowly unscrew the cap and pull out a stiletto blade, that she offered him. 

He stared at it. Lightly curved and silver. Stabbing something with that would be…painful. And nobody would ever think that ornamental hair decorations were anything but that. 

“Beautiful and deadly,” he said softly. “You are a genius,” he told her, and she preened at his praise. He stared at them for a moment longer.  “When you are finished with them, can I buy them?” he asked her and she grinned at him. 

“Why? Do you have many pretty females to hand deliver gifts to?” she teased him and he swallowed. Right. 

“I…” he stuttered. “It’s for my brother’s mate,” he rushed to explain and she laughed. 

“I was just teasing,” Oriana told him fondly. “Any colour preferences for the stones that I still need to add?” she asked him, stepping back as she started to rummage through a couple of boxes that she kept underneath her workbench. 

“Red,” he said immediately. She arched an eyebrow at him in question. “It matches his Siphons,” he explained and she hummed as she selected one box in particular and then pulled out a smaller box from it, filled to the top with red stones in every shade, which she placed on her workbench.

“So…” she said, turning towards him, a grin slowly covering her face.“Should I start stockpiling blue gems for myself?”

The sudden stab of desire was so visceral that it took Azriel by complete surprise. 

His hands curled into fists on top of the workbench as he suddenly couldn’t stop himself from imagining how Oriana would look if wore stones in the same colour of his siphons set into something like the necklace she wore…and nothing else. He swallowed against a sudden dry mouth. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked him, a tinkling of laughter in her voice as she stepped into his space, without a care in the world. 

He still expected her to flinch from him, but she didn’t. She was so close to him, the flames flicking in her eyes and he was quite sure that that was the moment when he fell in love with her like a ton of bricks. 

The first clues had already been there, for that female that took him home with her and fed him dinner, that patched him up and forced him to eat sandwiches she made, that was so clever and so kind and seemingly didn’t realise that she was either. Or maybe took it for granted. That treated him like he was just another fae that she met and wasn’t scared of him for even a moment. 

He could just stare at her, a little bit in awe. 

“Would you?” he asked her, allowing his hands to settle on her hips and her lips broadened into a smile. Would she wear that?

“I think I would enjoy everything that makes it obvious that I am yours,” she whispered. 

He kissed her. He couldn’t stop himself. The heat that ran through him as his lips first met hers was terrifying and exhilarating and a little bit magical. 

She opened up underneath him, a soft shocked gasp escaping her, just as her hands clenched in the fabric of the jacket he wore, as she pulled him as close to her as she could. 

He should stop. He knew that. He should have made their first kiss a chaste peck and left it at that, but he just…couldn’t. He couldn’t stop, not when her taste and her scent and every bit of her warm willing body was promising to be his solace. 

Finally, finally, he managed to force himself to pull back to lean his forehead against hers, to look into her eyes, flames flicking at him. 

“Seems like I got my answer,” he quipped. He had no idea where that came from, but the shocked laugh that escaped her, made him grin. 

She leaned up to kiss him again, twining her hands behind his neck. 

“You did,” she agreed. “I’ll go and find myself some blue gems.” There was a heady promise in her voice at that. 

And somehow he couldn’t wait for it. 

Still, she stepped back, picking up the hairpins she had been making before he had interrupted her so rudely and started to sort through her box of red gems. 

He picked up the first knife that she had made, testing the weight of it in his hand. The size was off, just a little bit. He wasn’t quite sure if it would fit her hands comfortably. 

“Do you know how to use it?” he asked her, mustering her body with less appreciation and more trying to figure out if she was trained in self-defence. 

She should be. She definitely should be. She needed to know how to defend herself because he wasn’t always going to be there to protect her and if something happened to her it would be…

He didn’t want to imagine that. 

Especially if he could rectify it. 

She was quite tall, probably even taller than Nesta, though her body definitely was on the curvier side, with a pronounced waist and full hips. 

She stared at him like he had gone insane. “See, that is the blade…” she started, amusement apparent in her voice. 

He shook his head. “Do you know how to defend yourself?” he clarified. 

“The pointy bit goes into the other person,” she quipped, though she grew serious at his gaze. “You know, throwing fire at another person seems to be quite the good way to stop them to do anything else to me,” she said, serious. “And if that fails…well, at least against most men, I have something else.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “I have a…personal enchantment of sorts,” Oriana explained, her lips set firmly.

He had never heard of that. 

“It’s…if anybody touches me with intent to…sexually assault me or rape me, they will be more and more violently repelled,” she told him and he stared at her. 

“I have never heard of anything like that,” Azriel said carefully. It was…it would be safe. In a lot of ways. If that could be replicated, he was quite sure he would put that on every female he knew. Just for peace of mind. 

“Because you must be idiotic to do it,” Oriana spat out. “Crafting it is stupidly dangerous.”

She didn’t need to say anything else. He could read between the lines. 

“You made it,” he said softly and she just nodded, setting a bright red stone in the tops of her hairpins. “What happened that made you…”

“Think I needed it?” she ended his sentence with a sigh, her anger dissipating already. “Wynstan died.” Her husband.  “I wasn’t about to be put into another arranged marriage, so I did what I thought I had to. In the end, putting one of my suitors on fire was enough, but I preferred to be safe,” she said darkly. 

The anger that welled up in him at that was…harsh. “They were planning on that?” he asked, his voice gravelly. 

“They had their reasons,” Oriana said, waving him off. He could just stare at her. 

“What could possibly be a reason for it?” He snapped. 

She laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. 

“The same reason why I was married off in the first place, Azriel. Political Maneuvring,” she said easily. “It could have been worse. Then, Wynstan was my best friend.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but finally swallowed it out. Something did tickle at the edges of his brain though. Then, Wynstand had been her best friend. Had that changed during the course of their marriage?

“So you wear that enchantment,” he said instead and she nodded. “How does it work?” he asked her curiously.  

“It’s intent-based. I wouldn’t suggest putting your hands on me if you are angry,” Oriana explained. “Or doing more than kissing me, at least until I have restructured it,” she mumbled under her breath. 

Oh. 

“It’s a chastity device?” he asked her and she grimaced. 

“Of sorts,” she allowed finally. “There is a price to pay for this kind of protection.” He didn’t doubt that for one moment. 

“It didn’t do anything to me right now,” he said carefully and Oriana sighed. 

“You didn’t want to do anything but kiss me,” she pointed out.  “And I wanted you to kiss me. So the enchantment didn’t need to do anything.”

“And if you didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asked her curiously. She grimaced. 

“You would have been shoved away…and then more and more violently repelled. If that didn’t stop you… you probably would lose a limb. Or your life,” she admitted, sounding less than pleased with it. 

“That’s…genius,” he said with wonder. It wasn’t like it would immediately go in for the kill. It would give ample warning. And really if somebody didn’t top after the first time they could live with the consequences. 

“You think limb removal is good?” Oriana asked him with a snort and Azriel just shrugged.

“If they don’t want to lose their hand, they should learn to keep their hands to themselves.” 

[writing-for-life]

Dream’s Therapist

Parents

The session notes get longer and longer, so I decide to go over all of them again to decide on today’s topic of conversation.

Intake

Insomnia

Nightmares

Emotions

The client is on time (well, 35 minutes early, but my receptionist tells me he brought a book; she is certain it is “Le Mythe de Sisyphe” by Camus, and he reads it in French). When he comes into my office, he wears a black… robe? despite it being 25 degrees Celsius. Surprisingly, he takes it off though and hangs it on my coatrack. There is still no smalltalk, although he asks, very politely, if I could open the blinds a bit more since today, the room is too dark for his liking.

DT: I’d like to talk about your family today. How do you relate to them? (I notice immediate signs of stress and he looks at my paperweight) Take it, it’s fine.

Dream (He takes the paperweight and begins to fiddle with it, turning it over and over and over again): My family is like… a cosmic jigsaw. We should fit together perfectly, and I reckon we do. In theory. From a distance. To all you mortals. But you should never, ever look too closely.

DT: And why is that? What about your parents?

Dream (Silence ensues. It lasts for 9 minutes. I contemplate several times whether to cut it short but decide to let him sit with his thoughts until he is ready): They like to play a game of charade, I suppose. If we communicate at all, it is in cryptic symbols and metaphors….

DT: You like communicating like that, too, don’t you?

Dream (I notice a glare, quickly followed by a violent shake of his head): My father once gave me an hourglass with a note that read, “Your move.” I still have no idea what he was trying to tell me.

DT: Did you ever ask?

Dream (I notice the familiar eye-roll): No.

DT: Why not?

Dream: You would not understand.

DT: Try me.

(Another bout of silence ensues. This time, it lasts 10 minutes, and I decide to finally intervene—he’s not getting a lot of bang for his buck this way. I notice a moment too late I shouldn’t use the word ‘bang’ when relating to my clients, not even in my mind).

Maybe just explain to me what your parents are like.

Dream (I notice a slightly annoyed exhale through his nose): My father has a particular (he frantically turns the paperweight in his hands) …watch that is a source of contention, and he insists on synchronised cosmic events. Well, not really synchronised as you would define it I suppose but… (he shakes his head again). No matter. My mother has a thing for unravelling galaxies and the ensuing chaos. They are not a great match by any means.

DT: Doesn’t sound like it. Are they still together?

Dream: No. They have not been for a very long time.

DT (Divorced parents. It makes sense): And how did that influence your upbringing?

Dream (He laughs. It sounds… I have no clue what to think and try not to show it on my face. He truly sounds like someone who has forgotten how to laugh. I actually feel sorry for him. I remind myself not to show that on my face either): My father is Time, my mother is Night. Do you expect me to relate to them as my role models?

DT: (I notice bitterness that most certainly covers up some hurt and wonder if he tries to be metaphorical, or if he is diving down into the depths of his delusion again): Do you? Or did you at any point?

Dream (He leans back in his chair and spins the paperweight on his index finger. It keeps on spinning. I’m confused): How could I possibly relate to someone who prunes roses before they are fully in bloom and never even smells them? Or someone who permanently entertains herself with moonlight cocktails and star-shaped canapés? My parents are… unrelatable and exhausting.

DT: And is exhaustion all they make you feel?

Dream (The paperweight stops spinning, and the silence lasts for 6 minutes this time): No, they make me feel conflicted. (He didn’t say he doesn’t feel. Good.) My father… might have taught me something about duty and the weight of eternity. But I suppose I might have preferred warmth (he starts fidgeting with the paperweight again and briefly looks at me) over cosmic-level indifference.

DT (I am surprised at the sudden willingness to share his emotional landscape. I still don’t show it on my face. I hope): And your mother?

Dream (I notice a hard swallow before he gazes out the window. His voice is very quiet): My mother paints the skies with stars. But those… nights are lonely. She revels in the beauty of darkness and starlight but never touches the hearts of her children. She never dreams of us (His voice turns quieter still). Or of me.

DT: You don’t know that.

Dream (He looks at me again): Trust me, I do. Perhaps you should remember who and what I am?

DT (I decide to tread carefully): Yes, you told me you are the embodiment of imagination, dreams and nightmares.

Dream: Correct. And I know she doesn’t dream of me.

DT (That delusion is stubborn. As they are): If your parents never gave you what you needed, did you ever try to seek comfort or solace elsewhere?

Dream (I notice he holds on to the paperweight so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Even whiter than they are): For as long as I remember I longed for nothing more than just a fleeting touch transcending cosmic duty. (He looks at me through his lashes before he focuses on the paperweight again) Make of that what you will.

DT (I wonder what’s gotten into him today. The sudden openness is confusing. Not that I’m complaining): I don’t make anything out of anything. Let’s stay with those desires. (I notice he flinches) What do you truly want?

Dream: I… feel adrift. (He seems to think for a moment): Sometimes I envy you humans (Okay, I can work with the delusion). Your families argue about burnt toast and forgotten anniversaries. My family argues about the curvature of spacetime and the existential implications of your socks disappearing in your laundry. You have no idea how these things affect… (He stops himself) Never mind. You have simpler families—Sunday dinners, awkward Thanksgiving conversations, and no cosmic-level crisis before dessert.

DT (I decide to play): I think you might underestimate the crisis potential of our dinners.

Dream: Do I? (He actually smiles.)

DT: Yes. But let’s stop changing the subject (I notice he looks slightly embarrassed, which is surprising) and get back to your wants. If you had to choose one thing you really wanted right now, what would that be?

Dream (His voice is very quiet again): To escape the endless cycle. But my duty binds me.

DT (That took the wrong direction and definitely requires reframing. Change of tack): It seems to me that you think of yourself as a silent observer at times. Or as being responsible for other people and their dreams. At least that’s what I’m gathering, correct me if I’m wrong. (He just looks at me but doesn’t say anything) What if you dared to dream yourself?

Dream (I notice the deep frown on his face before he puts the paperweight back on my desk): It is not possible to dream beyond one’s destiny. And mine is not to dream.

DT: What if that weren’t true?

Dream (Silence again. Quite brief this time): That seems… like a tome bound in too many shadows.

DT: Did you ever notice you relate to yourself as if you were (I’m fishing for the right words here) a book, written by someone else?

Dream (I notice he shuffles uncomfortably in his seat): That would be assuming I had a story of my own, which I do not.

DT: And why would you believe that?

Dream (I notice he taps his foot. Six times): I trust our time is up?

DT: No, although we’re getting closer.

Dream: Good, I shall leave then. (He makes a move to get up)

DT: I’ve got homework for you.

Dream (I notice the eye-roll, but he actually stays seated): The infernal diary again?

DT: No. I’d just like you to reflect on a thought.

Dream (I notice the raised eyebrow): And what thought would that be?

DT: If it is truly paradoxical to allow yourself to dream while thinking you are responsible for other people’s dreams.

Dream: The former seems… highly improbable.

DT: Are you going to think about it though?

Dream (He gets up and looks around the room for a moment before his eyes finally connect with mine again): I shall, despite the very apparent futility of your… experiment.

DT: I don’t experiment with people’s thoughts or feelings. I just encourage them to step back and have a closer look at them.

Dream: I shall try to… forgive me: I will trust your expertise on the matter.

DT (I notice he actually has internalised our last session. At least to a degree): The delusional one?

Dream (I notice he really wants to suppress a smile, but it’s not working): No, the real one.

DT: Same time next week then?

Dream: Yes. And you may still use ink in your diary. For however long you deem necessary…

< Previous Session

Next Session >

[brw]

1, 9 and 10 for your ask game please!

1) the character everyone gets wrong

I'd go with Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne, and I know that's cheating because that's two, but in my defence, the ways in which people get them wrong independently absolutely inform the ways they get the other wrong to.

Janet is a lot more proactive in her relationship with Hank than people give her credit for, and was a much bigger reason of why their relationship failed than people also give her credit for. There's a push to rewrite history and make her a very flat victim, and I can see why, but it's frustrating because I think it's a lot more interesting that Janet repeatedly and purposefully ignored multiple warning signs that Hank's health was imperiled simply because she held on to a belief that love could overcome anything, including a man's undiagnosed and unmedicated schizophrenia. It is JANET who makes the decision to marry. She is essentially the one who proposed, after Hank–hallucinating as Yellowjacket and genuinely thinks he is his own murderer–kidnaps her, then briefly becomes lucid and backs off.

Genuinely, right. Genuinely. I don't think the Hank we see here, violently hallucinating, thinking he murdered himself and having a totally different persona and attitude, was in a position to give meaningful consent! I think it's very clear this is a man a danger to himself and to other people, who was not in the right frame of mind to agree to marriage, but people prefer to write Janet as a very basic victim, which I think is a massive disservice to the actually really nuanced way her relationship with Hank was sometimes written, where Hank was clearly unwell and Janet knew it but thought it was an issue that could be fixed with holiday's and sex and Avenging and not a more fundamental psychological one, and that's a far more interesting story to me.

9) worst part of canon

Lotta things I can put here. I think at the moment I am most frustrated by "Krakoa had no people on it before mutants fine, therefore it isn't an ethnostate and it's totally cool and awesome", because the lie of "there were no people here before us!" has been used time and time again throughout history to justify genocide, oppression, violence and colonialism, and I do not think it is the place of the white Americans in charge of writing Krakoa to essentially legitimise those lies because they didn't want to write Magneto or Nightcrawler or Wolverine and company to be out and out colonisers. If you are writing this kind of project, I think you should have the dignity to commit to it.

10) worst part of fanon

in no particular order

Dadneto, House of M dynasty as a whole

Charles is walking. More than anything else with Cherik this annoys me the most. Motherfucker I'll break his legs myself. Please at the very least let the disabled character be disabled.

The notion that Sue/Namor is real and happened

Logan Howlett girldad

Crystal doesn't exist in the Maximoff family conversation, related to that I once saw a haha fandom meme where Crystal was called an absent parent and that is so fundmantally untrue it felt like I was being trolled

Claremont's racism and zionism isn't real don't worry about it. Close your eyes and only mention it when it's something you can't pretend doesn't exist like Kitty Pryde saying the n word multiple times

Hank McCoy was Always Evil and Always Fated To Go Dark. That's just a regular man forced to hang out with his high school friends after three years of doing nothing but smoke weed with a gay 1950s theatre nerd. You would turn "evil" too.

That Reed Richards doesn't love his wife??? He invented comic guys being really intense about their wives. Leave him alone... that's the love of his life above all else??? Excuse me.

[theside-b]

We really are living the Era of hustling gays on the BL-sphere. But who would’ve thought that Hwang Da Seul would be the one bringing duplicitous characters to KBLs?

The first half of the show plays all the expected beats from the director-writer: somber mood, grounded and realistic approach, intimate shots and this cold and harsh atmosphere, but I must say that when it comes to the craft this might be her best yet. Da Seul has technically never been better, the framing, angles, close-up shots, lighting, volume, you can tell she is doing the absolute most with very little she is given. The contrast between this and Where Your Eyes Lingers is striking, it’s amazing seeing how much she evolved since then.

Story wise, this is also a different one. Because while the first part could easily be taken as To My Star 2 depressed cousin the second half devolves into something entirely new and unique.

The moment Dohoe and Juyeong meet again something feels off, and not just because Dohoe vanished for twelve years. Yes, there is baggage between them, one dragging the past around and the other wanting nothing to do with it, but there is something more lurking around. Hints of what could be happening are slowly dropped along the way, other turns come without warning, the story being told here is still a novelty for KBLs.

Korean dramas as whole tend to depict perfect characters whose biggest flaws can be overcome or erased with the power of love. It’s not the case here. If anything, it’s the power of love that detonates the boys’ relationship and shows a different side of Dohoe that most didn’t see it coming when the series started. Juyeong was predictable for most of the run — the revelation that he knew everything about the scam was a nice curveball — and while we all expected Dohoe to change, seeing him take a dark turn was a (delicious) surprise.

He doesn’t make excuses, he has an evil side: Scamming his way to place where nobody bothers to look into his past, the series shows the many moments where he could’ve easily taken a different path, the openings to come clean with Juyeong, dragging Hyeon Ho with him and not letting go while knowing that he is just stringing him along. He could’ve cleared the mess he created, but as we know, he is committed to what he sets his mind to, it all boils down to him running from the past. None of that would’ve worked on the hands of a lesser actor; Nu Rim (in his first protagonist) and Seon (in his acting debut) are together another Da Seul staple: Couple oozing chemistry.

Whenever they meet in the first half the mood lifts, when they see each other in the second part the pressure rises and when Hyeon Ho is with them the tension skyrockets. Again, Da Seul has never been better behind the camera, she gets everything from them, every single emotion. But the show is not without it’s faults. My biggest gripe is with the time-jump, the twelve years gap felt like made mostly for shock value, could’ve been easily trimmed down, because such long spam of time required quite the suspension of disbelief in order for me to buy certain aspects and plot points. The show also tries to handle one particular storyline that doesn’t quite land for me.

Juyeong and Dahoe’s father relationship is very interesting. Abuser and victim find common ground and something changes, but we don’t see how that happens or how it come to happen, not fully. We get an idea, but that’s about it. Many saw it as some sort of redemption for the father. Personally, I didn’t read like that, there was no redemption for him, he was like that, violent, uncompassionate, desensitized and egoistical to the bitter end, the one element that left me curious was if he was really okay with having Juyeong as his son-in-law, they allude to this, the old bastard implies as much, but it’s left implicit, and then he dies. Oh well.

There is also the plot with the kid and the abusive parents. It was interesting having Dohoe dealing with that, but there is just so much happening that this particular storyline felt like an afterthought, so much so that it took me a bit by surprise when it resurfaced in the final moments.

That said, this one goes down the books as another solid entry in Da Seul’s filmography. That woman is always ready to put viewers through the wringer, and they will be happy to let her do so.

[coffee--writes]

Graceland Too

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Violence, and Drug Use (Not by Reader or Five)

A/N: This is inspired by Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. The lyrics are italicized!

Summary: Five Hargreeves embarks on a mission with you, a Commission mystery.

Five Hargreeves had not been there when you arrived with scars on your skin and your lips in a thin line. 

Although he hadn’t been there, he had heard all the stories. 

You were a Commission daydream. You were hard as steel. Took orders without a second thought. No one ever broke through that stony exterior of yours, something the two of you had in common. But that didn’t stop the stories from getting around. That day you showed up scarred and cold, you had been running from something. Abusive family, violent parents, constantly cracked up or hungover. No food on the table, barely a warm sheet to cover you at night. You had been in and out of depression. In and out of your mind. 

Then one night, things changed. 

The night you decided you were no longer a danger to yourself or others. 

You made up your mind that night, the night your parents didn’t show. You laced up your shoes, yelled down the hall of your crumbling apartment building. Nobody answered. So you walked outside without an excuse to stay. That night, as you stumbled through city streets, starving, thirsty, bruised, defeated… the Commission saved you. 

You were everything they could’ve wanted. A clean shot of an assassin, a hardened soldier loyal to its infantry. You spoke little. Friends were out of the picture. Another thing, you and him had in common. But one thing was never doubted , that you could do anything you wanted to. One of the highest kill counts, most assignments completed, employee of the year. 

A Commission daydream. 

Your story was infamous. It was one Five Hargreeves resonated with, admired. After all, his family had never been the definition of functional but at least he had had people to call home. Your story ran through his head as he stood outside the Handler’s office listening to your voice, quiet but firm. Your voice never raised and he wondered how you did it. He was indulgent to his anger. It was the driving force behind every kill, every shot. But even as you argued, the Handler’s voice becoming increasingly frustrated, yours never raised, not a decibel. 

The result of the argument over this particular assignment had ended in your favor. Not a shock, you could do whatever you wanted to do. A high-end assignment could easily be won in your favor. What was a shock was you approaching Five, paper in hand. 

“Boss says I’ve got to have a partner for this one.” you state blankly, sliding the paper across the lunch table to him. “How about it, Hargreeves?” 

He blinked, reading the paper, glancing up at you. Another thing Five knew about you, you could go home. The Commission had signed off on it, the works and all. But no, you stayed. Dedicated as ever before. The thought ran through his head, your eyes glared into his. You could go home, but you weren’t going to. 

He didn’t know what prompted him to state a firm, “Sure”. Maybe it was the cold, blank stare in your eyes. Maybe it was the quite beautiful, stoic impression you had. Like the marble of a Greek statue, depicting some tragic tall tale. But whatever it was, it earned him a delicate smile. “Thanks.” you replied, leaving him wondering what on Earth he had gotten himself into. 

—— 

Traveling with you, he learned you weren’t all you were made out to be. 

Sure, the quiet, cold exterior was still there. But upon first glance, he noticed the slight care you put into things. The way you packed two mugs of coffee as opposed to just one. Not a word said but the action said enough. The way you meticulously packed each and every item you brought, making sure to extend the same courtesy to his belongings. 

Small things really, but it said enough. 

So you picked a direction, foot pressing down on the gas pedal of the 1977 Ford F-150 you had chosen out of a random parking lot. You were going 90 in Memphis, turning up the music. An old Van Morrison song, he could recognize the voice. It reminded him of his sister. 

“Why so loud?” he ventured to ask. 

Your eyes never left the road. “So thoughts don’t intrude.” 

He blinked, not sure of what to say. You raised the coffee mug to your lips and he was once again reminded of the one you had brought for him. It raised a curious thought in his head. “Not an easy thing to just not think.” he remarked. 

You glanced at him, almost as though you were taking him in. “I’ve managed.” you said plainly. A moment of silence went by. “Although, I will say Hargreeves you’re making it quite difficult to not think of anything with all your yapping.” 

He chuckled, eyes peeled towards the rising sun. “Well what are you thinking about now that I’ve disturbed your peace of mind.” 

Your lips turned up slightly, almost sadly although it was a smile. “Predictably, I wound up thinking of Elvis.” you chuckle softly. It was the first time he had heard you laugh. It was a nice sound, comforting almost. Somehow reminded him of home. 

“Why Elvis?” he asked, a slight smile coming to his face. 

You took one hand off the wheel, shrugging. “Mom always had it on the few times she was around.” you remarked. He noticed the way your lips curved as you spoke. The one small notation of emotion in your face, the one thing that gave you away. “Plus I wonder if he believes songs could come true.” 

Five’s brows furrow. Your hand drums on the middle compartment of the truck. “Well, he spouts all this bullshit about love. Shit, he made a career off of it. But does the man actually believe in it? Love?” 

“I don’t know.” he commented. “I mean I don’t think you have to believe in something to sing about it. There are thousands of others who wrote about it so I’m sure he had plenty of background to work with.” 

You scoffed. “Well, then that would be plenty sad. I’m usually a cynic but I’d like to believe the man who wrote some of the most notable love songs the world’s known to have believed in it himself.” 

“We’re in a world full of copycats and unoriginal imbeciles. The chances that Elvis believed in love songs is slim.” 

At that you gave a laugh, a full bellied laugh. He looked up quizzically. Your face scrunched up as you did. The marble statue seemed to have melted into a beautiful glaze of colors. Five delighted in it. The fact that he had made your statue slightly crack and crumble. You had done the same to him, if he were being honest. 

“And I thought I was the cynic.” you smirked, cheeks lifting ever so slightly. You sigh, looking at the sunrise with a sense of warmth. A nostalgic pull in your eyes. “All I’m saying is I’m asking for it if they do. Those love songs, I mean.” 

Five nodded briefly, his eyes also glancing out at the sun. 

“Have you ever loved someone like that?” 

“No… have you?” 

“No.” 

The silence lay steady as you went ninety in Memphis. 

—— 

The two of you stopped at a 7-Eleven, dead of night. The bright fluorescent lights blinked as you walked through, taking a grab at the edible things that stuck out to you. When the two of you arrived at the register, your hand moved to your pocket. A ten and a five folded up nicely. There you were again, doing the thing he got such a mental kick out of. He had come prepared but it hadn’t even occurred to you to ask him for money. 

You handed the cash to the man at the register, the same stony expression on your face. 

A beautiful thin line. 

There you were, paying for his things. If it were anyone else, he would’ve rejected this action. He would’ve seen it as a one up, a power dynamic, a petty maneuver. But with you, he realized it seemed to be your nature. There was a gentle nurturing you hid beneath your surface. 

Five desperately wanted to know more. 

You sat at a shitty table, wobbly with faded seats. You bit into a burger, silence hanging in the air almost peacefully as it always seemed to do with you. He looked down at his coffee and bagel. “Why’d you take this?” he asked quietly. “I mean… this assignment.” 

You blinked, eyes vacant and blank. It was as though you were conjuring an answer to that yourself. As if, you still didn’t know the answer to it yourself. He was slowly beginning to realize that maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. 

Your composure slacked, putting down your burger. “Better than nothing.” you responded, taking a sip of coffee. “This is my job. Might as well take the interesting ones.” 

The lights seemed to blink with the slow pace of his heart. He took a bite of his bagel. “What are you going to do… after this is all over?” 

You frown, as though the next thing that you were going to say would make you sad. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

He took a quiet sip of his coffee. “Me neither.” 

The silence lay peacefully thick once more. 

You were a rebel without a clue.

——- 

Traveling with you only made Five more enamored with your presence. 

You were gentle. Quite the opposite of him, actually. Sure, both of you were statues, cracked and slightly damaged, depicting a long life of sorrow. But you had a gentle warmth beneath the surface which Five rejoiced in. 

The truck was filled with music as you went along. Sometimes you talked, other times you didn’t. You were there though. Present, in the moment. You pulled him back to Earth when his head seemed to wander off. You were deep, intellectual, interesting. 

All the little things you did only made him admire you more. The way you quietly filled the gas tank. The way you flipped the pages of your book when he drove. The cadence of your voice, the vocabulary you used. The sad peaceful look on your face after a clean shot, the way your finger rested on the trigger. 

A peaceful kind of falling. 

One night, the two of you stopped at a motel. The night was dark, the stars shining brightly over an Alabama sky. Two beds, a small television that played old reruns of fifties sitcoms. “This is oddly nostalgic.” you commented. “Reminds me of home.” 

It was one of the rare times you talked of home. He smiled softly. “Reminds me of home too… Maybe we can make the most of it.” 

That night, you spent what was left of your serotonin. The motel door lay wide open, the laugh track on the television muffled as you sat on the second floor balcony. Both your backs lay stiff against the brick wall. 

Five looked over at you, and you were gorgeous. 

You chewed on your cheek and stared at the moon. “Hargreeves, I’ve got a confession.” 

He blinked, looking over at you. The moonlight seemed to illuminate your graceful features. “What’s that?’ 

“I know I lived through it, all that pain… I lived through it to get to this moment.”

“This mission?” 

You nodded. “With you.” 

Five paused, his breath seemed to hitch in his throat. You glanced over at him. “I’ve got to say… I kinda like you, Hargreeves.” 

He didn’t know words could mean so much. They were simple, short, barely a sentence. But you had said them and he knew from even the brief conversations with you, that you said what you meant. His lips upturned slightly, not enough to give him away. “I kinda like you too.” 

Silence ensued. Five had a handful of grapes in his hand. You ate a sleeve of saltines on the floor. No proof of anything, not much said. But what was said was enough. In that moment, Five knew: he would do anything you wanted to. 

You didn’t demand much. Maybe that was how people realized they would do anything for someone. Because they wouldn’t demand something irrational for them? Maybe that’s what made the few irrational demands doable? He realized he would do anything for you. 

Whatever you want. 

You looked over at him, a slight smile. “I Love Lucy marathon?” 

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from your face. 

“Whatever you want.”

… 

Whatever you want. 

——

No tags except @olive-recs because i literally don’t know if any of my other mutuals are active 🕺

[machinepixie]

RAMBLY HUNTER THE PARENTING THEORY.

EPISODE 4 SPOILERS AHOY!

PROBABLY SKIP THIS IF YOU ARENT COMFORTABLE WITH TOPICS IN HUNTER THE PARENTING. BLOOD, GORE, MENTAL HEALTH RELATED TOPICS DISCUSSED WITHIN.

heads up my knowledge of WTA is not oh-so-deep, ive mostly just been on the sidelines of one particular campaign at one point. i know a good bit but my knowledge is largely as a mage player.

i think simon "spit" spires is a werewolf or other kind of rage-plagued werefolk, and just underwent his first change.

not sure if its a late change. possibly? i forget the specifics of when things happen.

triggered by the stress of his adhd medication withdrawal amongst other things, overstimulation, a spiral of anxiety and such.

fatigue is a scholar of lycanthrope lore also if you catch it early on. could have possibly noticed when listening to spit venting to him that he is at the very least a kinfolk or associate with werewolf kind, pointing it out, being the full on catalyst for that change.

first changes are often blind, violent rages, far from the more methodical killing of a vampire or their minions, hence the heavy gore and viscera, ending with spit in a state of horror, and confusion, a possible state after a first change.

smaller little thing. i think the blood test could be one aggravating factor in spit's anxiety spiral, as he may be worried it would out him as a kinfolk or as the potential mole. so, spit could very much be another mole, asked to befriend the son of a hunter. i forget if anything was stated about if git and spit knew brok for a while. being afraid of discovery would not help this situation

additional thing: i also think possibly some of the nightmarish things spit is thinking is from a bubbling of rage, boiling to the surface, he's horrified, he's rejecting those thoughts.

ANOTHER THING THATS IMPORTANT TO NOTE BY THE WAY: i do not want to simply say "oh these adhd symptoms mean he's a werewolf!!1!!!!!1!!" though, i myself am adhd and i dont want to seem like im just accusing this poor guy of being a werewolf for just having a breakdown, bless him, this could be a red herring or me overthinking about this.

(i dont think this is insensitive as a theory but if this comes off as such, my apologies.)

im spitballing and trying to sort this now after the rush of the new episode.

thanks for reading. cant wait for more HTP this series is awesome.

edit: forgot to mention literal claw markings.

[fnaffancontentbutmostlyglamrocks]

This is primarily aimed at Security Breach fans in particular, not FNAF fans as a whole.

You all are so damn toxic sometimes.

Even worse is that people are just being mean to Monty fans right now

"Don’t get all angry because your favorite wasn't in the game," and I don't think they get that he’s the ONLY one not to be in the game.

I hate being a fan of Monty cause we had to deal with the Glamrock Bonnie fans harassing anything to do with Monty on Tiktok or Twitter. "MONTY KILLED BONNIE!"

FOR FUCK SAKES THIS SERIES HAS A LITERAL CHILD SERIAL KILLER WHO ABUSED HIS CHILDREN! WHY IS THE ANIMATRONIC ALLIGATOR WHO MIGHT. LET ME REPEAT THAT. MIGHT HAVE KILLED ANOTHER ANIMATRONIC MET WITH THE SAME ENERGY AS SAYING SOMEONE SIMPS FOR DAHMER?

Not only that, Monty fans have been playing each game hoping Steelwool will treat him better. Expand on his character a bit more. Instead his negative personality traits and "evilness" being played up more and more cause Steelwool and Scott saw some people hate him, and thought it wasn't enough.

In Ruin there's not one moment Cassie shows any concern for him. It's that Monty thing, it hurts to look at. Than they made him just the worst off of the trio, and fucking killed him.

Now even in a game he rightfully should appear in. He's the ONLY one cut.

Monty fans get the short end of the stick.

We are harrassed by fans

Our boy is treated worse and worse each game. Physically, mentally, and even in narrative.

Now, he’s just fucking gone with little fanfare.

Its like why are you obsessed?

Honestly, because Monty speaks to me. This is mostly head canon, but based on how he acts.

I used to have really bad anger issues in elemantary and middle school. Even worse, I had to deal with a mentally abusive teacher telling me I wouldn't amount to anything. I was bullied relentlessly because they knew that when I reacted with my outburst class would be delayed. I even lived in the same neighborhood as them so I couldn't escape. It got so bad I attempted suicide. What saved me was after so long of being harrased, after so long of people only judging me based on what they heard. Never defending me. Someone finaly went to the principal and told them to look at my bullies before I reacted. Suddenly, the bullying stopped. What's sad is, it's not like I didn't try. I went to the principal and guidance counselor every dat. In the end to them I was that punk kid who would snap at any moment. Not a person.

With Monty I see someone who was like me. With anger issues because he hates himself as much as he thinks everyone hates him. I wonder if in universe he's constantly reminded he's not Bonnie. He sees fans clamoring to see Freddy while ignoring him. People always bring up the Missing message and his Arcade game to judge him. Then seemingly forget about the message that states he will skip shows to be over Monty Golf. You know the same shows he apparently killed Bonnie to appear in. What I see is someone who needs to work on his anger issues and get better, but isn't evil. They're dealing with the fact that one day their anger got the better of them, and they did something they couldn't take back. Something that I think many people with mental health problems can relate too.

My anger issues didn't just get me bullied. I was an embarrassment to my parents. I hurt people I loved. I was violent. I didn't hurt anyone, but I threw books and flipped tables. I was in this loop of feeling like everyone hated me because of my anger issues, and that only made things worse and worse. Even now I have a hard time loving myself.

That's why Monty means so much to me. I saw someone who was like me. I saw someone with anger issues but was more than that if people gave them the chance.

All I wanted was to see Monty one last time before he was retired when the new band is announced.

I couldn't even get that.

Before you make fun of me, this is what a comfort character is. I'm sure there are fans who relate to Roxy’s insecurities. Who have an eating disorder and feel for Chica. Who felt lonely and wanted attention like Sun. Who lost a loved one like Freddy.

I just wanted people to understand why this is just more than "my favorite didn't make it" for some people

I really hope Steelwool sees how much people really love Monty and not only put him in HW2 fully. They also treat him better