#but at the same time im confused

[cthulhum]

does anyone realize how crazy it is to have the actor of a mostly headcanoned queer ship say the fans were never crazy and they were right all along after 10+ years of everyone just absolutely going nuts over the said queerbaited ship

[mcyt-cats]

Flick has made several apperances in Jimmy's Just Dance stream!

ft. "dad what are you doing?"

and "this is too weird, let me out"

[aousboom]

It bothers me when you act like this. You're distant and awkward. It's not like old times. It can't be like old times forever.

LOVE NEXT DOOR (2024)

[avocado62524]

[rexecutioner]

Sorry ive been so inactive recently, I have a life that I needed to get back to for a bit! I am returning with a new hyperfixation (i am seven years late)

I drew me and my friend’s favorite characters in a silly artstyle!! We are going through the game together and we are almost done with Chapter Four (i am so scared) (ignore how tiny Rantaro’s head is) (i rant in the tags beware)

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[ardentpoop]

common problem i have w/ a lot of fanon is that people tend to heavily overestimate how attentive dean is to sam's issues/needs. dean is often fucking clueless abt what sam is going thru lol. outside of the immediate strain it places on their relationship and their ability to do their Job.

[intotheelliwoods]

Someone asked/requested something that I super want to draw a comic response too, but it requires a separate comic for the buildup and!!! ahhhh!!!?

[kaiserouo]

Bloodhound in Destiny 2

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

I always thought that handcuffs were kinda stupid. As a little kid I would watch movies where the bad guys were hauled away in cuffs and I'd always think "alright, I guess that's inconvenient for them?" but I never really understood why they didn't just... take them off and escape

This curiosity heightened when I saw that my aunt had real metal handcuffs that locked with a real key and I quickly, before any adult could see what I was doing, shackled both my wrists with the cuffs as tight as they could go.

And when I say tight, I mean tight. I had reaaaaal skinny wrists and I was a child wearing adult handcuffs, so you'd think the cuffs would be loose but nope. Those things weren't circular anymore, they'd folded in so much that they looked more like the shape a cat's pupils turn when they're mad.

And what they don't tell you about real handcuffs? Those suckers are sharp. The inside edges are almost bladed, I guess to discourage exactly what I was trying to do but that certainly didn't stop my curious lil neurodivergent brain, oh no no.

Anyway, after about five minutes of pulling, straining, huffing and puffing, I finally went to find the adult with the key.

I was so disappointed.

And so, so hopelessly confused.

Course, no one questioned why I had locked my aunt's handcuffs and why I needed them unlocked. And, of course, I didn't communicate my confusion in any way.

So it wasn't until way later in life, when I had quickly shimmied out of one of those indestructible water park wristbands and saw the horrified eyes of my friends watching me with morbid glee, that I discovered that, apparently, most people can't dislocate their thumbs at will.

The moral of the story here is that neurodivergent children have no concept of typical versus atypical and that I cannot be contained by your petty mortal means.

[natjennie]

thinking again about how no one on planet earth could do stede bonnet justice quite like rhys darby and his funky autism swag.

[rojekte]

seeing people's takes about the whole watcher situation is just a bit.... mind-boggling.

i think the apology they posted was good in the sense that they admitted to fucking up and walked back on their decision, and i think the model they've settled on now is a lot more reasonable (having content be released earlier for those who choose to subscribe), but like.... that doesn't mean that no one should've ever been mad at them in the first place???

like seriously, why does it seem like people are looking at a "good" apology and thinking "huh! they sure did apologize well! i guess that means that it was ridiculous for people to be mad in the first place! no one should have ever complained!!". if no one complained, they wouldnt have walked back their decision! they would've kept going with their dumb completely paywalled option!

and thats not even getting into the fact that their financial woes seem to come from completely mismanaging their money - hiring people when they can not afford to and spending more money on "high quality productions" when they cant afford to.... these are core issues that im not sure will be completely fixed by this? but idk.

also, this situation i think has really helped my own self come to terms with the fact that i do not enjoy many aspects of their content. i sorta already knew that considering i can not remember the last ghost files video i watched because i find that shit incredibly boring and overproduced, and even things like too many spirits have become a chore to watch bc they decided to extend the Not That Funny drink making portion when i just wanna hear some funny spooky stories.

anyway i guess my ultimate point here is: im glad they acknowledged they fucked up, but i also am not sure how interested i am in their content anymore in the first place. oh well

[seiwas]

hi sel!! i missed seeing you around dash - i hope you’re enjoying your lil vacation!

n for your lil game.. if it appeals.. may i suggest touya + rain/storm ?

scar hello!! sorry i've been on and off these past months 🥹 i missed being on here too!! i have been enjoying my lil vacation though 🥺 it's been a while since i've just chilled at home! thank you for sending in a prompt 💗

contains: fallen angel touya, visions in dreams, kind of disorientating what's reality vs not, reader tries melatonin, there is a fire

touya + storm

there's a storm outside your window.

the rattling of string lights on your balcony jolts you awake, the wind howling an eery melody. this weather is common at this time of the year, but tonight, you feel uneasy. you think there's something on your front yard.

your footsteps are light as you make your way down your staircase, the flashlight on your left hand clutched tightly as you reach for the umbrella by the door.

it's zero visibility on your front yard, heavy rainfall being dragged sideways by the wind. you squint, flashing your light at the area in front of you.

a broken branch from your neighbor's tree dangles loosely towards your fence, but you can't make out anything else apart from that. you contemplate stepping outside to get a better look, but a burst of light streaks itself across the sky, lightning flashing before thunder rumbles loud enough that it reverberates in your heartbeat. a sudden chill breezes over you, your skin prickling from strands of hair standing.

your flashlight flickers, the light going out once before you tap it on your wrist twice. and when it turns back on, you think you can make out a figure hunched over the shrub at the far right of your garden.

you flash your light over the area to get a better look but it turns black―your vision or the light, you're not sure.

the next time you open your eyes, you're tucked in bed, squinting your eyes at the brightness of sunlight.

a dream? you wonder. the jacket you're certain you reached for is still right by your vanity, untouched. could be.

your front yard is trashed, just like you expected it to be, if your subconscious was trying to tell you anything from last night's dream. plants are uprooted, with small branches scattered all over the grass. you suck in a breath when you spot the broken branch from last night just as you saw it―still barely hanging on as it dangles over your fence.

you must have heard it break off in your sleep, you tell yourself. the mind can be quick in associating these things.

things become weird after that.

you get more visions in your sleep, mostly when the storm beats heavy raindrops against your window. sometimes, they're the same as the first time―instances of you searching outside but blacking out and waking in your bed the next morning. others, they're stranger, more vivid. you see a man with white hair turning red at the tips.

he comes to you in flashes―in between lightning strikes and thunder claps; in fragments, distorted by sheets of rainfall. you can never fully make out his face, but his eyes glow a striking blue amidst the darkness that often surrounds him.

the melatonin makes it worse. for a few nights now, you've begun to see more of his silhouette, similarly hunched over that shrub from the first night, except it grows taller, almost as if he's standing.

you wake up every time he almost reaches full height. but were you even really sleeping?

your therapist tells you it must be stress. this particular time at work is busy, after all. and, "halloween festivities can be impressionable when the mind is tired."

so you let it go, hoping that the dreams disappear eventually.

but then you find a feather. it's long, far too long to belong to any animal you know of; the color is charcoal black, with its tips slightly crisp as if it's been burnt. you find it by the shrub, where the silhouette crouches over every night in your dreams.

your palms sweat as you handle it, a mixture of anxiety and fear. you feel sick to your stomach; scared and disoriented. what even is real?

you call your friend, midoriya, to keep you company. he's no cynic, but if anyone could think up an explanation for anything, it'd have to be him. he has notebooks and journals full of analyses and theories on a bunch of weird things.

"can you tell if he's... uh..." he tries to find the words, as if trying not to scare you, "demonic?"

though with how jittery he is, you're pretty sure he's just as, if not more, nervous.

"i don't know yet," you admit, setting down his blanket for the night, "i guess he does feel kinda angry, but..." you think back to those blue eyes, trying to discern the exact emotion in them, "not at me i think. i don't know."

midoriya jots down some more notes as rain increasingly patters outside your window. you're sure he'll spend the whole night figuring this out from the way he continues to ask you more questions.

that night, you dream of the figure again, but something about this time feels ominous; larger. it starts out with his face, lightning illuminating glimpses of his expressions. you see scars across his cheeks and his hair turning a shade darker. another crackle of lightning brings him further away, hunched over the shrub again, except this time, he begins to stand; and you're prepared to wake up again right before he shows himself in full height―except you don't.

he stands before you still concealed by the downpour, but his presence is simultaneously chilling yet glorious. and you don't expect it, what happens next―the unfurling of wings right by his sides. they span the width of your entire yard, large and so unlike anything you've ever seen before.

then, an alarm breaks, and you wake, neither in bed nor on your front porch.

your feet touch wet asphalt, the sensation hardly differentiating itself from how drenched you are by the rain. thick smoke fills your lungs as you stand before a blazing house a few streets down yours. sirens sound around you―an ambulance, a firetruck, and a police car, all managing the commotion.

people evacuate their nearby houses as the policemen round them up at a safe distance. out of everyone in the scene, you seem the closest of all, the heat from the fire nearly licking at your cheeks.

"everybody, please step back!" one of the firemen shout. to your right, another one hurriedly hauls a body down to the stretcher beside you. a paramedic immediately tends to the person before you can even catch a look.

"please step back!" the fireman closest to you calls out, but the sound is muffled in your ears, almost by a dull ringing and the subtle sound of wings flapping. an unexplainable urge pulls you toward the body.

"hey―!" the fireman tries to call for your attention, but you ignore him, inching closer towards the stretcher. you tiptoe to get a better look, and as you catch a glimpse of the body's face―

the fireman holds you by the shoulder, "i said―!" as another paramedic addresses you and asks, "do you know this man?"

and right there on the stretcher is him―white hair with red at the tips; his cheeks are an angry shiny red, like its been melted, burnt. he remains only semi-conscious, eyes half-lidded as he is tended to. but when you peer over, he blinks and manages to look at you.

you find the same striking blue.

[fascinationstreetmp3]

putting this all under a readmore and not tagging i just wanted to put my thoughts down somewhere .. talking about marius and his fans & tw for mentioning csa / sa

personally. i understand that the marius/armand relationship has been a popular part of the book series for decades and it's fictional and yes i get it. but. i dont understand those fans who encounter people who find it purely horrifying or upsetting and then get mad at them for it. just because of how it's framed in the books as a beautiful gothic love story (filtered through both the author's intention & the skewed perspectives of the two characters involved in it) doesn't mean EVERYONE has to romanticise it and it's only babies or idiots or show only fans who "can't handle gothic fiction".

and then the people who try to convince everyone marius is armand's saviour who only ever treated him with love and kindness really confuse me. like, is it a wholesome relationship built on mutual love? or is it abusive and awful AND loving and caring at the same time? aren't the people who deny marius did anything wrong to armand really the ones who can't stomach enjoying gothic romances and have to twist it into something else?

it's a story of a fully grown man, a millenia old vampire, rescuing a teenager from sex slavery by purchasing him for himself, renaming him, showering him with affection, sexually abusing him, genuinely loving him, treating him like a child and an adult and student and son and lover all at the same time, making his entire world revolve around his master, punishing him emotionally and eventually physically whenever he gets too clingy or aggressive. and it's all done, not under just the 'guise' of love, but from a place of genuine love, and that's how both characters see it. it's entirely damaging and fucked up and the aftereffects of it on armand's mind and sense of self are present for centuries, compounded by everything else he went through. he still draws both comfort and pain from thinking about his past now and even tries to partially recreate the dynamic with someone else both in the book (with daniel, armand taking the role of the master; and keeping young 'mortal slaves' for a time) and in the show (with louis, armand taking the role of the slave)

it is a super fucked up relationship & i'm not one of those people who thinks you shouldn't be allowed to enjoy those in fiction. there's a lot of them that appeal to me obviously, and of course everyone has their own boundaries when it comes to that too. AND i know it's not all marius fans or even all marius/armand fans. i literally don't care what people like in fiction and i think we should all just mind our own business honestly

but it's the people who act like they're the only ones who get that it's just a tragic beautiful romance, that nobody else can read apparently, that 'marius haters' are just looking for things to be mad at that make me go ???????

[spaciebabie]

hey so im not white

[fishareglorious]

older windsong would use glasses right. something something albinism (everything in her physical appearance kinda points to that) leaving her with poor vision and years of bad eyesight habits from work taking its toll on her

anyways this is just my excuse to talk about a post-storm timeskip moment where phones now exist and one of their kids (vila's students? hers? their actual kids? the rayashki ones? who knows the world is your oyster) shows her this meme and her immediately unknowingly replicating it irl like that one video